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Post by oyani on Mar 24, 2017 14:50:00 GMT
Ki’is drummed her fingers against the desk, thick pupils transfixed on the Hang In There, Epohh poster--those corners were clearly yellowing from that cheap adhesive tape Katai had bought--wondering whether she could let the light in. The console screens in her cubicle weren’t bright enough to puncture the night light office--the hhakh supervisor had dimmed the overhead lighting when had he had left for the evening, unaware that Ki’is was still digitising the latest image file batch from the R.R.W. Khallianen's excursion into Lukari space.
So Ki’is tapped her fingers, migrating her gaze from the poster to the PADD. From the PADD to the poster. Poster to PADD. Until finally, she stood, tiredly--she thought--and walked to one of shuttered windows on the other side of the office; placed a finger on the release switch without activating it. Instead, Ki’is closed her eyes and pictured the space outside the windows, priming her ears for Hathon’s busy streets barely once removed from the astro-intelligence division building, and sought for the vibrations of late night street vendors, the heavy bursts of Klingon limbs, Starfleet strides mingled with monotone voices, militia disruptors jostling against belts, tourists whose holocameras had stopped to admire a bronze sculpture on the far side of the street. If she found the vibrations, she would let them run through her body, partaking in the tactile transience of unsettled bones. When she found the vibrations, she let her tongue slacken, partially obscuring her airflow as she translated the foreign ambience into muscle and skin. Hang In There, Epohh.
“Jolan’tru Lieutenant t’Aimne.”
So she misread the vibrations; she let them run through her body, partaking in the tactile transience of materialising bones. When she felt the vibrations of that baritone voice, Ki’is’ bones shrunk, cracking slightly against their grain. She turned slowly, eyes unsettling on the Romulan who blocked the entrance to her cubicle.
“It is good to see you again, Ki’is,” the Romulan said.
Hang in there, Epohh.
The Romulan grinned and, without breaking his gaze, swaggered backwards--she had forgotten the confident rhythm of his strides--leaned against her console, and carelessly began to flick through her PADDs, datachips, knitting needles, Klingon plushies, and Reman bobble heads that lined the spare surface.
“Your cubicle is smaller than I imagined,” he said. He tapped at an Obisek motivational poster on the wall--my people will be free! “You know, he’s not as beefed up in real life. Four packs instead of six. True story.”
Hang in there, Epohh.
“Come on, Ki’is. Aren’t you a little happy to see me?” Ki’is blinked. “What?” she weakly managed. “How is this possible?” “Never left, e’lev.” He replied. “Wow. Wow. That’s your response, Galan?" she spat. "It’s been nearly thirty years. Thirty fvadt years. Do you have any inkling how hard it has been for me? In the refugee camps? With the Republic? Dealing with the suspicion.” Galan sighed, and leaned his weight against the console. “I know. I know.” "You're a lousy fehill'curak, Galan. I hope you choke on a hyaa-aifv." Galan chuckled, “So much for a family reunion.” "Where the hell have you been?" “I’ve been around. Not far. True story.” Ki’is began to breath again, heating up the stale air in her contracted lungs. “I thought as much," she said bitterly. "How are the kids?” Galan smirked. “Which one?” “Elements. How many do you have now?” Galan shrugged, one eye briefly twitching. ”I saw you on the holonet, actually,” he said instead. “How’s the face?” She scowled and he threw his hands up, chuckling. “I’m joking, e’lev. Joking. But we do need to talk. No joke. In all seriousness. True story.” Ki’is folded her arms, glancing towards the exit. “Dhat. We do not. You need to go. I’m calling security. You need to go. Now.” Galan smirked slightly again, but his lips tightened, paling from the pressure. “Really? Always on the defense, Ki’is. Besides, I hear you’ve already had a little visit from Internal Security. No point making them do a repeat trip.” “Nothing gets past you, does it?” she responded. “Have you tapped my comms too?” “Hey now. I’m here, Ki’is, if you need to talk,” Galan replied. He disinterestedly picked up a plushie and rested it on his knee. “But you really should be more careful about what you put on your blog.”
Hang in there, Epohh.
“I know you’re onto something, e’lev,” Galan continued, toying at the plushie's batl'eth. “About Senator Hvirr tr’Nai and the Tal’Shiar. I could help you.” Ki’is looked at him incredulously. “Really, Galan? A Tal’Shiar officer telling me about a Tal’Shiar conspiracy. I know how this goes.”
A strand of orphaned light from the console suddenly cut across Galan’s face; he dropped the plushie on the desk. “I’m serious,” he said. “Even the Tal’Shiar have their parasites, which need to be contained. And tr’Nai is as much a threat to my agency’s interests as he is to the Republic. He’s putting us all at risk.”
Galan removed a datachip from his pocket, offered it to her with an outstretched hand. But Ki’is stared warily at him and took a step back. “Is this your Riharmony profile?”
Galan laughed. “Dhat, dhat. Just some odds and ends on tr’Nai, but it will help clarify...the scope of things for you. And what we--the Republic and loyalists in the Tal’Shiar--stand to lose if tr’Nai’s plans go ahead.” “I don’t correspond with the Tal’Shiar ryakna.” “You were Tal’Shiar.” “I was.” “Major t’Aimne,” he said, shaking the chip slightly. “The title suited you.” “Major.” “Good times.” “Mostly,” she replied.
Galan hesitated slightly--his right eye quivering as he frowned--before he placed the datachip on the desk and clicked his tongue. “Think about it, e’lev. Reclaim your mnhei'sahe. Just read the contents on the datachip and you’ll see what we--you and I--are up against.” He stood and approached her with smirk that had its own swagger. “The Republic needs its contrarians but I’m not the bad guy here.”
She snorted. But Galan grinned, bringing up his wrist communicator to his face. “Besides, what’s the worse that could happen? You could gain some literary fodder for your romantic short stories out of all this. Although you might want to reconsider your ending of ‘Rhaauno and Jhunek.’” He chuckled as he tapped his communicator. “It’s a little morbid, e’lev. True story.”
Ki’is closed her eyes briefly as he disappeared, feeling the air become rootless in her lungs. Hang In There, Epohh. My people will be free! Finally, she raised the weight of her lids and stared through the space that Galan had occupied; walked heavily to the console, feeling the drag of Hathon’s ambience graze her buccal skin. If she found the vibrations, she would let them run through her torso, groaning at the exiled transience of familial bones. When she finally felt the vibrations, her eyes fell on the naked datachip, resting at the foot of a Reman bobble head. Cautiously, Ki’is picked it up, wondering whether she should let the light in.
[Oyani-note: critiques and ideas are always welcome!]
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Post by oyani on Apr 6, 2017 16:12:29 GMT
(The following takes place prior to McBride's ( norcaler ) chat with Katai in Quark's. This was written quickly, so if there are lacunae where comprehension fails, let me know.) "Yo, Ara. Can you restock the lippy shelves?" Kee emerged from the storage room and dumped a cardboard box on the cashier counter in front of the rainbow-haired Bajoran woman. "I could have pulled the box out from storage for you." Ara grabbed a box cutter from under the counter. "I have strong arms." Kee snorted and pinched Ara’s slim wrist. "Did your boyfriend tell you that? No can do, bunny. Once you're done, you can go pick something up from the moba seller in the plaza. Just say it’s for Lo Kee." "Again? What exactly are you doing with that rotten fruit?" "For facials. What the hell do you think?” “Dunno. Mum used to make moba loaf with old fruit, but that seller’s offloading toxic waste.” Kee shrugged, her face crusting with annoyance as she nodded toward the storage room door. “Got a meeting a few, and I want nada interruptions, you understand? No knocking, no hooplas, no questions." "Yeah. What kind of meeting?" The older woman sighed as she rubbed her glass eye. "A meeting called none of your Prophet's damned business. No interruptions. I mean it, Ara." Ara watched Kee disappear into the storage room behind the cashier desk--the shop floor seemed to sink slightly with each limp of the old Bajoran's grousing--and heard the lock click a pitch of disappointment as the electronic deadbolt crudely slid into its cap. Ara exhaled deeply, ran the cutter down the seam of the box--tulipping its fat flaps--and removed the small pallets of cheap lipstick stacked untidily inside. Orion Emerald. Iconian Purple. Rihan Grey-- Isn't this a little speciest?--Risian Rouge. Human Pink Skin-- Come on, now--Klingon Pink-- Who makes up these names?--Caitian Brown. Feresan Blue. Andorian Azure. Bajoran Gold. Ara removed the Bajoran Gold and grabbed a small compact mirror by the computer, flicking open that cracked case, and licked her lips. On a scale from moba to face melting, how toxic are these?
The wind chimes covering the entrance door rattled as she briefly poised the lipstick at the rim of her mouth, waited for the customer to enter the shop and the musical hum of the chimes to fade. When the tall long green legs, a pair of red stilettos materialised through the threshold, Ara rubbed her nose, instinctively feeling dread crinkle at the back of her neck. The Orion herself seemed to pause at the frame, frowning slightly before she walked into the shop, her large oversized bag--Ara could tell it was an authentic Ferengi fake at this distance--draped over her shoulders. "...Oh em eh? This isn't the alfalfaccino cafe." "...No," Ara replied. She turned her head away from the entrance, allowing the vibrant spectrum of her long hair to fall over her face. "Cosmetics, ma’am. Orion blushes are that-away." Ara pointed toward a shelf on the far side of the shop, and quickly ducked behind the cashier. The Orion tilted her head, glancing briefly at the empty shelf, and toddled to the cashier desk--her posterior slightly raised as she maneuvered herself awkwardly in those weapon-grade heels. "Hmmm. I have a surcharge of blush. But might as well pick up some lippy, hun. What have you got?" Ara pretended to check the cabinet under the counter. "You got what now?" "Surcharge." "Surcharge?" Katai rolled her eyes. "Surchange. It means 'plenty.'" "Oh...surplus." Ara grabbed a rag and began to wipe down the cabinet. "Well. We’ve got nothing fancy. Mostly expired stock. This is a clearance store. Try the pharmacy across the road." Katai seasawed her head. "But you have..." She picked up a lipstick packet from the counter sprawl and read the label. "'Tzenkethi Mauve. Walk down the Path of Fabulousness.'” She blinked, turning the packet on its side and squinted at the brand logo. “Mog, Rog, and Bog Pharmaceuticals really needs new copywriters." "Hmmm." Ara rubbed her forehead. "I guess I can't help you." Katai dropped the lipstick and leaned over the counter. "Do I know you?" She asked hesitantly. "Nope," Ara briskly replied. She wiped furiously the cabinet. "I'm really busy." "Hey!" Katai exclaimed. "I do know you! You're..." "Oh no..." Ara leapt up and pushed the rag over the Orion's mouth. "Shhhhh!" She hissed, glancing nervously behind her. "You don't know me. Okay?" Katai blinked; carefully wrapped her fingers around the Bajoran's own and disentangled the rag from her mouth. "Oh. Okay. I hear you." She looked around the shop and lowered her voice. "Thought you were on Earth, actually." "I am. On the record." "Not much of a front is it?" "What do you know?" Katai smiled. "Absolutely nothing!" Ara sighed. "Neither do I." "Been here for a while, hun?" "Just a few weeks.” Katai drummed her fingers on the counter. “Actually, I’m glad you’re not here. I really wanted to apologise to you in person.” “Apologise?” Ara dropped the rag. "For what?" “For co-opting your mother’s statue in my selfie exhibition.” “Don’t worry about it,” Ara bristled. “I do. I’ll make it up to you somehow when you're on Bajor.” “No! Please don’t!” Ara exclaimed. She took in a deep breath. “Please. Just forget it. Seriously.” Ara looked to the storage door again. “I need to keep things quiet out here. It might be best if you leave.” Katai rolled her hair behind her ears, pointed to the closed door, raised her clean eyebrows with some amusement. "Right. So what's in there?" Ara shrugged. "It's the storage room. Dunno. I'm not allowed in. Not yet, anyway." "You work here and you can’t go out back?” Ara heaved her shoulders again, in tune with the Orion's drumming. "I'm on probation. Kee doesn't trust me yet." Katai pinned her eyes on the door, her eyebrows rising and falling, rising and falling, rising and falling with her motion of her fingers. “I’m going to make it up to you, little one,” she said quietly. The hairs on the back of Ara’s neck crinkled again. “Really,” Ara begged, “that’s not necess…” “Let's open the door!" Katai grinned and swung around the cashier counter, rummaging through her purse before Ara could stop her. "I insist! I'm being helpful! I'm a helpful woman!” "I don’t need any trouble! You'll blow my...” Ara weakly cried. The Orion, however, strode to the door, turned the handle, pressed her green ear to the door, her lips pressed tightly in concentration. She listen for a few seconds before removing a bankcard from her purse, flashing the plastic at Ara--a holographic raptor logo glinted in the shop’s pale tungsten light. "I never buy anything without my husband's approval," Katai grinned as she swiped the card down the door frame; the electronic deadbolt pinging as the plastic popped the lock. "Bajoran Gold: 5 latinum. Orion blushes: 4 latinum. Breaking open doors: Priceless." Cautiously, Katai pulled the handle of the store room door. Ara stiffed slightly as they quietly walked down the stairs that gave way to a large room; felt the gravity of its pungent air, cold light settle in her lungs; scanned the room, letting her skin adjust slowly to the temperature differentials, her eyes accustoming to the grey dust that seemed to settle thick on floor. "...I don’t think we’re in a cosmetics shop any more, little one.” Katai whispered. “No.” Ara rubbed her head. “I think we’re in an armory.” Katai pressed her long index finger to her lips, and carefully-- How can she walk in those heels?--navigated the crates, the boxes, the pallets of grenades, cannons, pistols, disruptors, charges, lirpas, bat’leths, swords, and whips that lined the shelves. Katai beckoned Ara and pointed towards an alcove--Ara could hear the twang of Kee’s soft Sakelo’s accent--and they inched closer still, ducking behind a crate near the nook, where small vortexes of particulates stirred as they knelt on the floor. "What do you mean that none of these are no good?" Kee asked. "I was quite clear,” a male voice replied. “Federation issued photon grenades." Kee snorted. "These are perfectly viable." "I don't doubt that Ms. Lo, but they won't exactly stand up to forensic scrutiny." "What about the Klingon disruptors?" "Federation photon grenades or photon charges, Ms. Lo. That was the deal." Ara peaked over the crate, her head bobbing as she blinked through the dust. "I can't see who Kee is talking to. It’s too dark." Katai frowned, cocking her head slightly. "...He’s Rihanha, I think," she replied. “His Bajoran is pretty good.” “I thought Kee was smuggling counterfeit cosmetics," Ara sighed. She dropped back down again. "Not weapons.” "Even better!" Katai replied; she reached, and plucked a grenade from a shelf, dropping it in her bag. "The Bajoran smuggling business must be experiencing a boom!" “Did you hear that?” The Romulan hushed. "I thought we were alone." Kee grew quiet. “Ara? Damn it! Are you here? I said no interruptions.” She turned to the Romulan. "Go. I'll deal with this." The old Bajoran limped from the alcove, crabbing deliberately toward the crates. "Ara, bunny, show yourself." She picked up a disruptor from an open box. "Bunny? Answer me." "Prophets help me," Ara whispered. Katai smiled. "Got a better idea," she replied. Slowly, she raised her hand above the crate, and stood. Her knees smeared thick with dust. "Don't shoot, darl! I'm looking for a price check on Tzenkethi Mauve!" The Orion emerged from behind the crate. "Spring colours are the in thing according Hathon House and Garden Magazine!" Kee gaped in confusion. "How the hell did you get in here?" The Orion grinned, "With self-service! Your cashier seemed a little occupied." "That's too bad." Kee raised her disruptor and limped forward toward Katai. "We thank you for your custom, but we don't serve nosy Orions." "Speciest!" Katai exclaimed. "It's not easy being green!" She spun on her heels, and grabbed a cannon from the shelf, her arms easily weilding the heavy weapon. "Suck the barrel, Bajor!" Katai swung the nozzle at the Bajoran, curving its smooth weight against Kee's stomach. The Bajoran yelped as she lurched backwards with the blow, falling into an empty pile of boxes as the dust plumed the property of basement air. Katai laughed and threw the cannon over her shoulder; she dashed--with fluency much to Ara's surprise--up the stairs, her hips swaying with the severity of the weapon. How can she run in those shoes? Kee groaned as she wobbled back onto her feet, stumbled after the Orion up the stairs. "Damn it. Stop! Bunny? Bunny? Help!" Ara, however, waited until Kee had disappeared, until the cries faded, and the windchimes ebbed back into the folds of the shop's dull ambience. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, her soft hands rising then falling into a clenched success kid fist. Slowly, an embryo of a smile hooked the corner of her mouth. She opened her eyes and stood, walking to the base of the stairs. She looked up. She held the rail. She grinned. Finally. She thought. A hot tip!
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Post by oyani on Apr 13, 2017 15:09:18 GMT
Ki’is glanced down to the plaza, barely registering the midden of Kolari, Romulan, and Trader’s Tongue that seemed to swamp the apartment. One language, she thought, wasn’t enough to hold all of Katai’s thoughts.
“Oh em eh, can you just believe that? So I said to Dodo, I said, I’m not paying for those cosmetics when you’ve already accepted the proscription software! And then you’ll never guess what she said next! Ki’is? Ki’is? Are you listening?”
Ki’is turned her head slightly, catching in her periphery the Orion, kneeling on the floor with that white cat in her lap. How does she move through air and light and bend neither?
“Prescription,” Ki’is said at last as she turned back to the window, frowning as she watched a rainbow-haired Bajoran animatedly argue with a moba seller in the plaza.
Katai blinked. “Huh?”
“Prescription. Not proscription.”
Katai rolled her eyes slightly, brushed Taev with a green glove--the kind with bristles that pulled thick coats of underfur from the animal. “Anyhoo, Dodo said, listen to me, she said, ‘Iron’--she has terrible execution--’I’ll forget the charges if you supply Mog, Rog, and Bog Pharmaceuticals with a full software package at no cost.' Well. I. Was. Just. Livid! Can you believe that? How dare she shake me down like that!”
“...I’m happy for you, Kat.”
Katai shook her shoulders. “No, Ki’is. It’s not a good thing. What’s wrong with you?” “I’m sorry, I’m what?” The Orion sighed and stood, stretching her long legs as she gently dropped Taev onto the floor. “Why. Are. You. So. Mopey?” “I’m not mopey,” Ki’is replied, her eyes still stationed on the crowd. The early morning glare seemed shrill against the apartment clear windows; Ki’is squinted, let the light curl on the bare of her cheek. “You’ve been staring out that window since daybreak.” “I’m people watching.” “Uh-huh.” Ki’is cringed. “...True story.” Katai folded her arms. “Uh-huh.” “People are interesting,” she weakly offered, tapping the glass. “That moba seller is switching rotten fruit when the customer isn’t looking.”
Katai joined Ki’is at the window and pressed her nose against the glass. “...I suppose I could offer the sturgeon the software if it keeps her happy.” She breathed onto the glass. “The customer is always right except when they’re wrong.” Ki’is frowned. “Why do you do that, Katai?” “Do what?” “Pretend to forget names. Put words out of place like dirt.”
Katai pushed her checks against the glass as she turned to face Ki’is. Her skin oils leaving a smudge on the otherwise clean glass. Without replying, she breathed deeply onto the glass, again, etched out a heart sharp onto the fog, smiled as her index finger squelched the soft vapour against the hard surface. “It’s easier to insert things into rotten moba,” the Orion said at last. Ki’is glared sharply. “What? What on Mol’Rihan could seller be inserting into the…” She shook her head. “Actually. Forget it. Nevermind. I don’t want to know.”
Katai shrugged. “It’s a little Oh Tee Tee, Tee Be Aach, Eye Em Aach Oh.” “Oh elements. Don’t start with the abbreviations. It's noisy enough in here as it is.” “Really, if I were that seller, I’d be more cautious about that Romulan in the MaRGA cap by the fountain.” Ki’is started. “You’re kidding me?” She hurriedly scanned the plaza. “Who’d be so fvadt cocky to wear Imperial casualwear in Hathon?” The kind who swaggers through air and light and bends both.
Ki'is' communicator buzzed on the coffee table, broke that intimate air of the apartment, startled that cat who lurched over the table and dashed into that kitchen with the raptor decorated cupboard doors. Tacky. Ki’is briefly closed her eyes, felt ghosts map the cartography of her bones, let a hang in there, epohh nebula in her ears with the early siren of a migraine. It's too noisy in here. Ki'is rubbed her eyes.
“Ki’is? Someone’s calling.” “I know.” Ki’is made no move to pick up her communicator. Let it vibrate. Fvah-udt? “Ki’is?” Ki’is sighed, and swung her head toward the device. “It will be the office. Again. New images from Imperial space to digitise. Every Terrh, Dhiemn, and Hhirl is trying to enter the Republic. ” She pulled herself from the window, walked to the coffee table, picked up the communicator, flicked a glance to the display. Silenced it. “...I have to go.”
Katai frowned. “Wait. Where?" The Orion crossed her arms. "I thought you were coming to my prancercising workshop this morning?”
Ki’is brisked herself toward the coat rack, and grabbed her jacket, gripped the threshold, wrapped her hand around the metal door handle that sucked the heat from her hand. “I can’t,” she said as she turned the handle, and pushed through the threshold, the door, the hallway, to the elevator, breaking into a stride in tune to the flashes that began to punch behind her eyes. Katai trailed after her waving her hands frantically. “Wait! Ki’is? Where are you you going? It’s my special double dream hand session!”
Ki’is shook her head as stepped into the elevator. The Orion stood in the hallway, at once confused, her face tightening with the sudden briskness of her mother's departure.
“I’m sorry, Katai. Duty calls,” Ki’is weakly said again. She felt her body stiffen, full of dirt and glass. The doors slowly closed, slowly cut the early morning air and light from her tired face. For a moment, in the modern cool of the lift, it was almost quiet.
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Post by oyani on Apr 14, 2017 14:54:06 GMT
(Oyani-note: please let me know if I've stumbled on any lore here.) Ki’is watched the porli peck frantically at the mapa crumbs, felt the morning light cut like glass on her check. With a brisk shake, she emptied the remainders of the paper bag onto the grass leaned her back onto the park bench, inhaled the scented air of Hathon’s botanical gardens. That morning, the arboretum itself was quiet, save for a sole Vulcan woman tending to a cluster of trees that stooped low their boughs over her fastidious surveying. Ki’is watched her as she measured the trunks, their thick barks coiling like scroll paper on touch. Every so often, the Vulcan would tilt her head, arched her eyebrow with her lips sliding syllabically an “intriguing”--or so assumed Ki’is--before she tapped her PADD and continued her measurements. The porli fluttered with surprise as Ki’is caught that smirk approach, bending the cool light and air, allowed her lungs to deflate, felt a hard vacancy snag between her bones. It cuts like glass. Hang in there, epohh. His brilliant green Make Rator Great Again cap seemed particularly jarring in the manufactured landscape of the arboretum, and more so as the swagger of those strides broke the regime of the birds scavenging. “...Y'hhau Galan.” The Romulan sat down on the bench next to her, grinning as he shamelessly manspreaded, cast his arm wide around her back. “E’lev! I’m delighted you agreed to meet again.” “There’s more to stake than your ego,” she replied cooly. “So Sela surrendered.” Galan sighed, nodding grimly. “Ie. Bad timing too.” He absentmindedly tapped the plaque at the back of the bench. In loving memory of Li Nara. “The parasites in the Tal’Shiar might push tr’Nai to expedite their plans. Then we’ll both be out of a job.” Galan chuckled. “Perhaps I should defect.” Ki’is side-eyed him. “I’m not sure if my son-in-law would be so welcoming to the mastermind behind the unificationist massacre at Rateg.” Galan grinned. “You sure? I could take a new identity. I’ve always fancied the name Decius. True story.” Ki’is snorted. “How about D’Tan?” “Now you’re just insulting me.” Galan laughed with enough sharpness to cause the Vulcan woman to turn her head and settle her face into a fascinated tilt. It cuts like glass. She’d misremembered the volume of his voice, dismembered the anatomy of those decade-old memories. “Picture it, Ki’is. We could build a little cottage on the Epohh Fields. I’ll bring home the epohh bacon, while you write your erotic fan fictions.” “The only bacon you’ve brought home are your mistresses,” she replied irritatedly. “The Republic won’t give you a free pass. Hell, they barely gave me one.” He exhaled slowly. Ki’is felt the mass of his respiration cut like glass. Slow violence that sank deep into her skin. Hang in there, epohh. “...I’m sorry. About everything,” he said at last, running his fingers through the sleek of his grey hair. “True story.” Ki’is shook her head, face creasing with anger. “I’m not letting you off the hook. I spent two years fielding questions about your whereabouts after I arrived on Mol’Rihan. FNN newsflash, Galan, you’re a wanted man.” “Me?” Galan smiled with mock surprise. “But I’m such a nice guy.” “You’re a suspected terrorist, and you can be fvadt sure they’re searching for you after you decided to join the protomatter postal service.” “Oh. You heard about that?” “Galan, I work in the intelligence division.” “As a point ‘n’ click holocamera. You’ve said as much yourself. All you do is digitise photos.” “I hear things.” Galan exhaled slowly again. “Everything I did, I did for ch’Rihan.” “Not everyone sees it that way. The Republic is pretty iffy about Rihanha rights violations.” “Everything I did, I did for ch’Rihan,” he repeated forcefully. “You’re not listening. Neither of us have a ch’Rihan to go home to. What you think you did no longer matters.” Galan’s eye twitched slightly. “Harsh e’lev. But deserved. Maybe I’ll write my own novel one day. The conclusion would be more satisfying than the homeworld blowing up.” He leaned the arc of his back into the bench again and for several moments, neither of them spoke. They watched the porli tending to the alienated crumbs, punching their heads between the lean blades of grass; watched the intrigued Vulcan wrap her tape around the trees; observed the light cut low like glass through the foliage. “I guess it’s unfortunate that I’m loyal to the Empire, e’lev,” Galan broke the silence. “...I would have defected like you. True story.” “The Empire wasn’t particularly loyal to me. I had no reason to stay. Unlike you, it seems.” “Perhaps. Still, I can’t imagine...Decius--is it?--asking me for fatherly advice about how to deal with epohh infestations with thalaron bait. Shame, I would have liked that.” “Thal...?" She shook her head. "Right, I know. So why are you here?” He gestured toward the porli. “To watch birds.” “Dhat. You know what I mean,” Ki’is snapped. “Here. What are you doing here?” Galan rubbed his eye. “...I feel...” he said, slowly, “...that time is running out.” Ki’is frowned. “...The Empire isn’t going to crack over night.” He huffed slightly, but smiled. “True story,” he quietly said and pulled out a PADD. “Go on. Have a look.” “What’s this?” “We’ve intercepted tr’Nai’s communications.” Ki’is glanced at the PADD. “So he’s taking bribes from both disaffected Tal’Shiar and the Federation?” She frowned as she scrolled down the page. “Both factions are at each others’ throats. None of this makes any sense. What’s his endgame?” Galan tapped the PADD. “It's not what he's saying that's important. Look at where the communications originated.” Ki’is paused. “Ain? Huh? Why is he there?” “Ain 1 to be exact. Funnily enough, it happens that his sister is one of Imperial consultants for the Ain senate.” “So?” “Think about it, e’lev. tr’Nai is turning a blind eye to rogue Tal’Shiar activities on the planet. Some individuals--don’t ask me who--are trying to consolidate their power--and quickly too now that Sela is out of the picture. Ain 1 could become a new base for these parasites. ” “Ain 1 has been historically friendly toward the Empire.” “To the Empire, not necessarily to the Tal’Shiar.” “So they’re trying to destabilise the government there?” Galan nodded. “True story.” Ki’s glanced at the display; her brow pitched sternly. “But isn’t that what the Tal’Shiar wants?” He pointed to his cap. “Not all of us.” “Really, Galan?” she snorted. “You’re a lousy liar.” Galan threw up his hands. “True story, e’lev. As hard as it is for you to believe, our priorities--mine too--have had to change. Fighting amongst ourselves isn’t going to help anyone.” “So how does the Federation factor into this?” Galan rubbed his eye again. “...I’m not sure. Not yet at least.” “That’s a first.” He grinned. “ I don’t know yet. But we will find out.” Hang in there, epohh.
“Why do you need me?” Ki'is handed back the PADD. "I haven't won any employee of the month awards." “You’re the eyes of the Republic.” “I’m a point ‘n’ click holocamera.” “Who hears things.” Galan smirked, “You said so yourself.” Ki’is stared at him, her eyes slow narrowing. “So what’s the plan?” “The plan is…” Galan looked out toward the ring of trees surrounding the bench, “...to go for a walk.” He stood and offered his hand. Ki'is balked, staring at his hand. “Rha? Really, Galan?” He waved his outstretched hand, grinning. “Sure. Why not? It’s going to be a bright, sunny day. Besides…” he smirked, “we have a lot to catch up on. I want to hear all about the sparkly Remans in your new story Draomn.” “Remans don’t actually sparkle,” she replied hotly. “Their eyes just glow like rave sticks.” He laughed, the pitch of voice shattering the ambience of the arboretum. Galan shook his hand again. Ki’s stared at his open palm, wondering if it would cut like glass.
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Post by oyani on Apr 20, 2017 21:45:44 GMT
Ki’is rolled her shoulders, felt the ambience of the city pinch her spine, ignored the cut of tungsten light on her neck as she tweaked the brightness of her monitor. “I’m working late tonight, Kat,” she briskly spoke, dimming her screen. “You and Decius have dinner without me.” The Orion sighed. “You say that every night. And I booked a table for three at D’Tan’s!” Ki’is raised an eyebrow. “What?” “It’s a Vulcan-Romulan fusion restaurant not far from Kai Pie. They have Vulcan-styled jumbo Romulan mollusk!” The Romulan stifled a scowl. "That's just Jumbo Vulcan Mollusk, which they serve smothered with week-old Rhombolian butter in Quark’s.” Katai raised her sleek index finger. “Yes, but--Oh Em Eh--this restaurant also donates ten percent to the Mol’Rihan Refugee Society for every table catered. How atheistic of them!” “Altruistic. And I am a refugee, by the way.” A Romulan never forgets. “Who’s now in a position to help others,” Katai whined. “Come on! You’ll heart this restaurant!” “By feeding myself on fusion food? Vulcan cuisine gives me gas and I really don’t think sabotaging my intestinal tract’s going to help Rihan refugees any more than a ten percent donation on the table.” “But Ki’is…” “Sorry, Kat,” Ki’is tensely interjected. “Duty calls.” She cut the comms before her daughter could respond, crunched a fist on her desk as she pinned her weary eyes on the We Will Be Free poster. Let her thoughts curl the vacuum of the cool cubicle space, that’s how it goes. Hang in there, epohh. He’s not as beefed up in real life. It cuts like glass. To watch the birds. Thalaron bait. Four packs instead of six. Bodies that bend cold air and light. Protomatter postal service. True story.
Sighing, she dropped her head into the cup of her hand and tapped a Reman bobble head on her desk, watching it dip awkwardly as she waited for the ambience of that voice to pass. She counted each nod of the bobble head with a drum of her fingers; hwi, kre, sei, reclaim your mnhei'sahe, e’lev. What’s that pressure behind your eyelids? Jumbo Vulcan Mollusk!
“Working late again, Arrain?” Ki’is started, swiftly spun her chair to face the Romulan at her cubicle threshold. “Subcommander!” She hurriedly stood, dusting the osol twist crumbs off her jacket. “Just digitising the last image batch from the Ain system. It’s a weighty folder. I’ll be done shortly.”
tr’Rahu nodded and gently waved his hand. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Please sit, Arrain.” Ki’is lowered herself into her chair that squeaked from rust and sore limbs, kept her eyes on tr’Rahu, side-smiled with slight embarrassment. “I’ll forward the pictures promptly. I'm sorry it has taken me so long to process them.” “Actually," tr'Rahu cautiously said, "I wanted to talk to you about something else.” He entered the cubicle and leaned his body against his desk, pausing with some amusement before he pushed aside a Klingon plushie.
“If it’s about that Militia raid in the Artist District, my daughter swears she had no idea her canon was dangerous.” tr’Rahu chuckled uncomfortably. “No, no, no.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I'm following up on a report. Someone--not saying who--is alleging that they saw you were with a Romulan in a MaRGA hat…” Ki’is stiffened against the back of her chair. “It’s nothing. Some tourist found himself lost. I gave him directions to the temple.” “All day?” “You’re keeping tabs on me?” Ki’is shook her head. “Nevermind. Of course you were.” “Arrain." tr'Rahu rubbed his nose--the way he did, so Ki'is had noticed, when he broached the kinds of topics he'd rather avoid. Like Reman immigration, single-payer health insurance, and former Tal'Shiar employees. "Can you understand our unease at this time?" he continued. "Especially in light of the U.S.S. Avalon’s recent encounter with the Rakh’hol? We’re not sure what--or who--we’re really dealing with here.” “Sure,” Ki’is replied bitterly. “And one is always an outsider even when within.”
tr’Rahu frowned. "Arrain?" Ki’is sighed, and bobbed the Reman bobble head again. Hwi, kre, sei, reclaim your mnhei'sahe, e’lev. Jumbo Vulcan Mollusk! “Okay, okay," she said, quietly. "Look, he was someone I once knew. Long ago. Long before we lost ch’Rihan. He recognised me from the holonet and stopped by to say hello.” “I see. Family friend?” “No.” Ki’is replied. “Tal’Shiar?” “No!” Ki’is quickly exclaimed. She calmed herself. “No...prison, actually.” tr’Rahu raised his eyebrow. “Excuse me?” She exhaled slowly. To watch the birds. “Like I said, it was a long time ago. I spent five years in solitary in Chaltok IV after failing to execute my duty at the Khitomer massacre.” tr'Rahu blinked. “I didn’t know that.” “It’s in my intelligence file.” He folded his arms, tilting his head. “I don’t have access to all your details. He was a prisoner?” “Guard actually. It’s kind of messed up when you think about.” “I’m sorry lieutenant, I didn’t know.” Ki’is pointed to her lips. “It’s where I received the lisp.” “I never noticed,” he smiled. “Sure.” “So how did you get out? The Empire never had a functioning parole system.” “My brother pulled some strings.” tr’Rahu shook his head. “I didn’t know you had siblings." “Twin. Stayed on ch’Rihan,” she responded tersely. Jumbo Vulcan Mollusk! “Anyway, I ran into Giellun a few years after my release. He helped me get back on my feet. Hadn't seen him in over thirty years until we bumped into each other in the arboretum. You can be sure we won't be reserving a table for two at D'Tan's.”
“...Of course,” tr’Rahu nodded. He rubbed his nose again. “Given the way things are, your friend would be wise to present himself at the embassy if he wishes to defect. Otherwise, he risks having a conversation with Intel. His choice of casualwear will certainly prompt some curious questions.” Ki’is dimmed the brightness of her monitor. “I really don’t think he’ll be sticking around,” she said slowly. “Some people just want to watch the birds while the world burns.”
tr’Rahu pulled himself from the desk. “Ie. I'm more concerned that the Republic is entering a dangerous period with the flux of new arrivals. And this Ra'kholh faction strikes an ominous new direction for the Empire. I'd rather not be caught in the crossfire here in Hathon.” He walked the threshold, placed his hand on the edge of a Mol’Rihan wasn’t built in one day! poster, and looked over his shoulder. “Arrain?" "Yes sir?" "Thanks for your hard work," he said. He rubbed his nose. "We’re fortunate to have someone with your experience here. I mean that.”
Ki’is blinked. “Khlinæ arhem, subcommander.” Her console beeped, and Ki’is tapped a button. “Those pictures are done, sir. I’ll send them through now.”
tr’Rahu nodded, stepped out of the cubicle, leaving the light fill in the space where he had stood. Ki’is swivelled her chair and tapped her console display, quickly warming the cubicle with her rhythms. With a “Iyyhae!” she leaned back into her chair, threw her gaze on the dark monitor. She paused for a moment, before she looked over her shoulder, and picked up an isolinear chip in its port. Some people, she thought, just want to watch the birds while the world burns.
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Post by oyani on Apr 27, 2017 23:45:21 GMT
“None of this makes any sense,” the Romulan muttered as he examined the stacks of files. He ran his fingers through his bushy eyebrows--those eyebrows that his subordinates also urged him to pluck--and picked up a picture wedged between two PADDs. “Do we know where Major tr’Aimne is?”
“Not officially sir,” replied the centurion. “Although sources suggest that he may be in the Bajor Sector.”
Amin tr’Amaihn frowned slightly, and raised his eyes over the picture. “What’s in Bajor?”
The centurion shrugged slightly. “A weapons dealer apparently. Called Lo Kee. She had a base in Hathon's artist district, although her operations have since turned south.”
“What happened?”
“An Orion thief is what happened, sir. Made off with a canon masquerading as a beauty product.”
"The what...?" Amin shook his head, smiling. “Well, that’s some good news at least. The last thing we need is more heat. And no one has heard from tr’Aimne since?”
“No sir.”
The Romulan inspected the picture, twirling his brows as he explored the rim of the photograph. Such an unusual token. “Very well," he mused. "We ought to consider the worse case scenario in case things come unstuck on Rator. What else is missing, Agrippa?”
The centurion hesitated. “...Nothing else but Ohreth’s files.” Amin blinked, dipping the photo. “Ohreth? Ohreth hasn’t been in operation since Hobus.” “Yet Ohreth's files were copied and erased, no mistake.” Amin rubbed his forehead, sighed slightly. "None of this makes any sense," he muttered. He stood slowly, neatly stacked the PADDs and loose papers--even in conflict, care must be gifted to order--slid the picture into his back pocket. “We need to sort this mess pronto. I’ll inform the Vice Proconsol's office. In meantime, prepare the I.R.W. Imosmollaisedh for immediate departure.”
“To Bajor?”
Amin nodded as he tugged his Tal’Shiar uniform. “Indeed. Maintain silence, centurion, on this matter. We have enough holes in the dam as it is.”
Agrippa steeled his back. “...Shouldn’t we inform the Chairperson?”
Amin walked to the door--confidently he thought, although his feet felt like thorns and water, and threw a firm look over his shoulder to his subordinate. “Dhat, my friend." He paused as if to consolidate his interstitial thoughts into a concrete vocabulary. "We're loyal soldiers to the Empire,” he replied cautiously at last, “but I’m also loyal to the truth.” Amin patted his pocket, and stepped into the outside.
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Post by oyani on May 4, 2017 16:00:24 GMT
Amin bowed as the Vulcan approached, her movement thorning the processed air of his ready-room. “Envoy. Thank you for coming.”
Older woman returned the bow, if stiffly, the flaps of her jacket dipping forward, she placed her hands behind her back as she righted. “It would seem we have a mutual problem requiring immediate resolution.”
Amin nodded, suppressed a sigh as he gestured to an open seat, sat in his own, felt the weight of the photograph press against his pocket lining. “Perhaps. tr’Aimne is still missing, although it would appear he approached D’Ana’s caj for Federation issued photon grenades before heading down to the surface.”
The Vulcan sat and rested her hands on her lap. “He was not successful in procuring the weapons?”
“No. Fortunately. At least not with D’Ana. However he may have secured them from a source in Hathon.”
“With whom?”
“A Bajoran weapons dealer called Lo Kee. She is currently in Militia custody after an Orion woman stole a cannon and alerted the authorities--under some duress.” Amin smiled, “As you can imagine, the Militia are unlikely to permit the Tal’Shiar to question her.”
“They may permit me, on the other hand.” She slightly tilted her head. “I will negotiate with the city authorities in order to ascertain what purchases, if any, Major tr’Aimne may have made. Unfortunately, his enterprises have taken my office my surprise. I did not anticipate his departure. The situation now demands that we expedite our response to the unfolding crisis in the Empire.”
Amin nodded slowly. “Indeed Envoy.”
“Have you determined what was in Ohreth’s files that may have sparked tr’Aimne’s interest?”
Amin shuffled in his seat. What a time to be alive? Thorns and water. “Ohreth had undertaken extensive research on a number of perceived threats to the Empire up until Hobus. Until recently, much of that information was under lock and key. Elements, I had never bothered with what was in those folders myself. Most subjects were either killed on ch’Rihan or have since defected to the Republic.”
“Please explicate the threats. It may clarify why tr’Aimne accessed the information and to what end.”
“tr’Nai, naturally. And of course, you.”
The Vulcan raised her eyebrows. “Clarify.”
“Don’t play coy, T’Amar.” He narrowed his eyes at the Vulcan. “Your little excursion to Ain 1 over a hundred years ago was enough to warrant attention.”
“I reject the charge of 'playing coy'. It is unlikely that Major tr’Aimne is interested in me alone although I would understand why he perceives me as a threat to the security of the Tal’Shiar given my recent involvement. However tr’Nai was also one of the key orchestrators of the Ohreth program when he lived on Ain 1. I am intrigued that he was also perceived as a threat.”
“The Tal’Shiar perceived everyone as a potential threat, Envoy. And naturally, we still do.”
"You do not trust me, Major?"
Amin dipped his head slightly. "Trust is a commodity hard earned, Envoy. However, I want the truth."
“As does my office. Perhaps your distrust of me will one day change,” she said. Her voice broke a little. Doubt, he mused. No matter. Only the truth matters. Dust on water. “At the time,” she continued, “I was unaware that our encounter on Ain 1 would cultivate tr’Nai’s desire to defect to the Unificationist movement.”
“He kept his cards close to his chest--according to Ohreth’s files. How do you know he will not betray us again.”
“If we successful in swaying the Ain 1 Senate, it will not matter. Anything else?”
“A woman known as Ki’is t’Aetrar. Galan accessed her folder countless times.”
“And what were her criminal charges?”
“Minor really. She disobeyed orders at the Khitomer massacre.”
“Do we know her whereabouts?”
“She works for the Republic intelligence in Hathon. She is also Galan’s wife.”
T’Amar stood. “I suggest you observe t’Aimne, then, from afar. Although evidence would suggest that we need to rehearse our plans for Ain 1 if we are to be successful, especially as the Senate prepares to meet.”
“We will go ahead?”
The Vulcan nodded. “If we are to be successful in securing the future of Ain 1. I know you do not agree with what must happen, Major.”
“I am loyal to the Empire. This does not feel like a victory. At least, not from where the Tal’Shiar stand.”
“It is a victory for the truth and the Romulan people, Major,” T’Amar replied. "I will see myself out."
Amin didn't respond, felt the photograph freighted with Thorn and Water as the Vulcan left. He pulled the picture from his pocket and placed it on his desk, stared at the image, waited for the dust to settle.
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Post by oyani on May 5, 2017 19:04:17 GMT
“Rha Galan? Of all the places we could discreetly meet, you chose this place?” Ki’is sat down in the chair, threw a cool glare over her shoulder at the Romulan behind her.
Galan grinned as he pushed her seat into the table. “Why not? D’Tan’s gives ten percent to the Mol’Rihan Refugee Society.” He walked around the table and sat in his chair, picked up a PADD menu, flicked through the variegated dietary items. “I thought we could eat and feel good about benefacting poor Rihannsu at the same time.”
“...You’re a pig.”
He smirked. “But a caring one at that, e’lev. You should try the Jumbo Vulcan Mollusk. I hear it’s pretty good.”
“I’ll pass.” Ki’is replied tersely, felt the hard tungsten light of the restaurant mix with the sweat on the back of her hand. It cuts like wind and dust. “You ought to be more careful. Not only were we spotted together at the arboretum, but the Republic and the Feds are pretty testy at the moment thanks to the Lo Kee bust up. I’d rather not have to answer for my whereabouts to tr’Rahu again.”
“tr’Rahu?” Galan briefly closed his eyes. “Ah yes, the s’Rahu family. The father Lai tr’Rahu was a Unificationist.”
“You know them? The s’Rahu?”
“Ohreth helped to arrest them. The children managed to escape, but the parents were gaoled at Chaltok IV. Shame.”
“I know how that goes…”
“I’m sure you do, e’lev.” He gestured over the Bajoran waiter. “They really ought to hire Rihanha refugees...”
Ki’is blinked. Sand and water lung'ed. She gripped her knees under the table, felt the pressure of air. Hang in there Epohh. One day, we will be free. “I didn’t realise that Ohreth was still being used.”
“Ohreth always works.” Galan’s eye twitched. “For the good of the Empire.”
He paused as the waiter came over, tapped at the PADD, coolly smirked. “We’ll both have the Vulcan Mollusk and two glasses of kali-fal.”
Ki’is waited until the waiter was out of earshot, turned to him with a hard scowl, drummed her fingers against the edge of the table. Hang in there Epohh. “You know I don’t drink kali-fal.”
“You should. It’s good for your heart.”
“What’s left of it anyway. Look, what’s this business about Lo Kee? Your involvement. No lies, Galan.”
“Me? Lie?” Galan threw a mock hurt look at her. “You make it sound as if I’m up to no good.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“True story.” He poured a small glass of water, spilling a little as his hand trembled. “Thing is, Lo Kee and I had a pre-arranged transaction before everything went down. All thanks to an Orion friend I found in the Ohreth database.”
“Who?”
“The D’Ana caj. She’s trying to muscle into the Bajoran sector although another Tabadi has been blocking her progress. Only uncovered D'Ana when I was looking for pre-Hobus Orion-Romulan links in the database several years ago.” He sipped his water. “Funny story. Her great grandmother Maela had quite a spat with a Starfleet captain back in the day. The caj is still out for revenge after he destroyed her looks. Anyway, I shared a little information from Ohreth to D'Ana and she shared a little regarding Lo Kee. Unfortunately D’Ana was a tad greedy and wanted more. That’s when I said Bedah.
“So you didn’t part on good terms.”
“She’s a yikh. What happens now to D’Ana and Lo Kee is none of my business.”
Ki’is rubbed her forehead. “So kind of you. Why did you even feel the need to approach the Syndicate?”
“E’lev, e’lev, e’lev. If we’re to succeed at Ain 1, we're going to need all the help that we could get. It doesn’t hurt to have a finger in many pots. Besides, we have new problems.”
“Like what?”
“A Vulcan called T’Amar.”
“Never heard of her. What does she do?”
“Just your friendly neighbourhood V’Shar officer.”
“The V’Shar working with the Tal’Shiar? Wow." Ki'is blinked. "That’s unprecedented.”
“...Not quite.”
Ki’is looked at him expectantly.
Galan patiently explained, rubbing his eye. “T’Amar’s first assignment was a double V’Shar-Tal’Shiar operation. Very hush hush back in 2315. As far as I can tell, she was undercover on Ain 1, seeking to apprehend rogue Vulcan agents on the planet who were trying to infiltrate the government. As you can imagine, the Tal’Shiar were only too happy to assist the V’Shar.”
“What happened?”
“Ohreth says she retrieved three defectors, but refused to apprehend another.”
“Who was that?”
“One you know, e’lev.”
“Wait he’s…” she blinked, felt the hard tungsten light of the restaurant mix with the sweat on the back of her hand. Like wind and dust and the hot scent of Jumbo Vulcan Mollusk. “He’s...a Vulcan? How is that possible? I’ve seen his picture in the newspaper!”
“Surgical intervention has come a long way?”
Ki’is lowered her voice. “Who else knows about all this?” she whispered.
“Certainly not the Republic or the Federation. Make be the Klingons, but who knows? tr’Nai has kept those cards close to his chest. For reasons unknown, T’Amar decided to leave tr’Nai--born Tavek--to his own devices on Ain 1 until he defected after Hobus. Sources sayshe contacted him after the Iconian War and together they began to liaise with disenfranchised Tal’Shiar agents.”
“So...Galan?”
“So I have Ohreth’s files. We know now that the V'Shar are involved. Proof, e'lev! Ain 1’s Senate will be meeting soon and we can use this information to sway the senators to reject a peace treaty with the Republic, and shore up their ties with Rator. It’s a win-win situation. True story." He paused and tapped the tabletop forcefully. "I just need current photographic data on Ain 1 in case the locals have decided to install a new planetary defense system."
Ki’is drummed her fingers again, felt the ambience of the busy restaurant accrue on her spine, ran a finger over the flame of the candlelight on the table. Carefully, she pulled out an isolinear chip and slid it across the table. “Fine. As you asked.”
Galan blinked several times, before smirking; he grabbed the isolinear chip. “E’lev! I could kiss you!”
She scowled. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
He toyed with the chip in his hands, beaming. “E'lev. Do you remember our visit to Ain 1 all those years ago? Fond memories. True story.”
Ki'is snorted. “Yeah. You spent our honeymoon chasing that Suliban woman.”
“Good times. I still have photos of our vacation actually.”
“Really? I thought I broke the holocamera when I smashed it over your head.”
“I was able to salvage the album,” he grinned, looked up as the waiter brought over two kali-fals. “Don’t worry, I won’t be uploading it to SpaceBook. I’d rather not become a celebrity like my bum-in-law.”
He picked up his kali-fal, still grinning, his hand trembling as he nodded to her, raised a toast. Let the glass sparkle in the dull light. "To a brighter a future on Ain 1." Ki'is raised her own glass, "To the Romulan people, Galan."
"Of course." As he leaned forward to sip her drink, a spasm jerked the liquid from the glass onto the table. The glass fell from his hand, hit the side of the table, broke onto the floor. “Fvadt!” he swore.
Ki'is started and glanced at the shards on the floor. Quickly she beckoned the waiter, turned to Galan, who clenched and unclenched his fist. “Galan?" She said cautiously. "Your arm?”
“It’s nothing," he scalded. "Just fatigue.” He grabbed a napkin, dabbed at the blue droplets that refracted the tungsten light of the restaurant.
Ki’is looked down at her drink. Hang in the Epohh. “...It’s the beginning of the end, isn’t it?” she said quietly.
Galan put down his napkin and reached over, placed his hand over her own, where the cut of light and sweat meet, and said nothing.
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Post by oyani on May 11, 2017 2:23:31 GMT
Amin nested a small computer under his arm before picking up the Reman bobble head from the desk. He glanced towards the door as T’Amar entered the small studio apartment. “It seems Galan and Ki’is have made a clean getaway.”
The Vulcan stood quietly at the threshold, her face squinting against the dusk lighting, put her hands behind her back, quietly clenched and unclenched her fists. “I told you to put a tail on the latter. How were you not successful at apprehending both of them together.”
Amin raised an eyebrow and put down the bobble head. “Do I detect a raised voice, T’Amar? You’ve lived too long amongst Rihannsu.”
She stared at Amin in kind, her expression first impassive, until she raised her face from the glare of the light. She looks tired. The years are not kind to discard. “The needs of the many outweigh the few, or…”
“The one,“ responded Amin, tersely. “I know. You need to keep your emotions in check if we are to complete your mission objectives.”
“Our objectives, Major.”
“You haven’t been especially forthcoming, Envoy,” the Romulan said. He scoped out the spectrum of the studio, absorbing its vacancy, its sterility that only a desk, bed, an empty hypospray, and a few evacuated vials cancelled. His condition is worsening. Like thorns and water.
“You do not exactly trust me.”
“Not when you deliberately withhold what I need to know.”
“If I gave you the information you need, you would terminate our agreement," T'Amar replied. "Consider it my guarantee that you will not betray me.”
"I just want the truth, Envoy."
"And you shall have it. But not right now."
Sighing, he threw his arms up and walked around the desk, sat down, felt that fragile photograph press against his back pocket--the years are not kind to discard--and opened up the computer.
“tr’Nai once said that I kept my emotions near the surface,” the Vulcan said quietly as he began to scan the computer. She walked to the window, and peered down to the street below, watched--or so he thought--the patrons sitting outside the Klingon bar. “Like many things, he was wrong. As are you.” She turned around sharply. “Galan chose an apartment with excellent ground surveillance from multiple high angle points. He and Ki’is must have beamed to his ship in orbit. Can we not localise their position?”
Amin shook his head as he began to inspect the computer with his tricorder. “He generated a dispersion field following transport. However, we may be able to glean something from this computer we found under the bed.”
T’Amar turned toward the window again, ran a finger along the outer frame. “Interesting that he should leave the computer. Is Ohreth on it?”
The Romulan looked over the screen. “It’s not his. Republic issued. My guess is Ki’is didn’t have time to grab it before they beamed out. We must have just missed them.”
“It is most unfortunate, especially while we now have to contend with the Klingons learning about the peace negotiations with the Empire, not to mention Admiral tr’Kassus and Vice Proconsul t’Khiell’s recent encounter with the Reman Resistance.” She placed her hands behind her back. “Perhaps Ambassador Korroth might be a worthwhile ally with an ear to the ground while we navigate this mess.”
“You know him personally?”
“As intimately as you can get when you have a disruptor to your face.”
"Ah. So you two go way back." Amin smiled as he fiddled with his tricorder. “Of course. I can’t say I care for the veruul tr’Kassus. t’Khiell, on the other hand, will make...One minute, I think I’ve gained access to her main directory.”
T'Amar seemed to stare through the window, her body blocking the twilight from the small musty studio. Amin twirled his long eyebrows--those eyebrows his subordinates urged him to trim--and scanned through the directories. “She managed to rewrite much of the data in binary; there isn’t much here.” He frowned. “Except selfies of an Orion female.” He strolled down the folders. “...A lot of selfies. This must be Katai.” He blinked. “She’s very beautiful.”
“And, apparently, neurologically deficient. What else is in the directory?”
He moved through the files. “Mostly meaningless ones and zeros, and…” He cocked his head. “Well, jolan’tru...what do we have here?”
T’Amar turned her head, slightly, before approaching the desk. “Please be more specific.”
He smiled slightly, surpressed the urge to remove the photograph from his pocket, examine it closely for the upteenth time, like thorns and water. The years are not kind to discard. “I’m getting to it, Envoy. There’s a partial message in a hidden folder…” He frowned. “Odd. All I can work is ‘Butter’ and ‘Margarine.’ She doesn’t strike me as the baking type.”
The Vulcan moved behind the desk and looked over his shoulder at the computer screen. “Can you determine to whom she sent the message?”
Amin narrowed his eyes as he toyed with the settings of his tricorder. “There’s only a partial tag on the target address. Something...N...Bride?” He leaned back against the chair, felt the photograph crinkle. “Could be a human name, I guess.” He looked up and caught T’Amar staring at him, her eyes blank, or tight--he thought--like the tip of a thorn. “Envoy? Who is he?”
T’Amar was silent as she walked towards the door, paused at the threshold. The end light of the long day fell across her back.
“A problem,” she said.
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Post by oyani on May 12, 2017 20:19:01 GMT
(Note: Despite the delay in uploading this ‘chapter’, the events within occur at the same time as the previous post.) Ki’is closed her eyes, leaned her head against the wall of the turbolift, felt the stagnant air shudder through her bones and dust. V’Shar butter and margarine. Did you get that? Ain 1. To watch the birds. Hang in there, epohh. McBride, we will be free. Light and glass. Her head began to throb as the turbolift slowed down; its gears grinding quietly as it finally reached its destination. When the doors opened, she blinked, waited momentarily before her eyes and ears adjusted to the sudden onslaught of cold light and the hot hum that rumbled throughout the warbird bridge. “Major t’Aimne,” a voice greeted her. Ki’is, barely registered the various stern faces that glowered at her as she stepped out of the lift. Nervously, she locked her fingers around a cluster of stray sequins on her grey uniform that sparkled under the sharp glint of the warbird's lighting. That fdvat Orion must have found her uniform in the trunk under her bed, must have attempted to joosh the dusty fabric, must have tried her hand at costume sewing some red and gold sequins onto the shoulders as if to recreate A rave outfit, darling! We’ll party like it’s 2399!
“Commander tr’Sahen,” she replied as she walked toward the command chair. “It’s been awhile.” Ki’is pushed an edge to her voice, hoped it fvadt-well acidified its tone, made it dry and rough like foliage. She felt like dirt. tr’Sahen eyed her cautiously as he stood, stiffened as she approached, threw a scowl that cut like glass and light. “Thirty years,” he said curtly. She had forgotten how tall he was, how he carried his body like a man who would approach her on the street to ask for directions, eat his way through her space, plant his masculinity on the sidewalk and surprise her instead with “Smile, gorgeous!” or “Hey, sweetie, do you have a lisp?” Ignore a veruul with a mouth full of glass. Mostly she did, would ignore those queries, brush through Hathon’s plaza with disguised fear, feel the ambient vibrations of her bones turn water, until they backed off and rolled their eyes with a ‘Bitch, I’m being friendly’ or, worse still, with a 'I’m only asking.’ Of course, they were. They were always asking. For some reason whenever she remembered those intrusions, the men always sounded like Galan. Even the Gorn who followed her after she left D’Tan’s the other day. Everyone sounded like Galan except, strangely enough, Nathan McBride. How to emote that thatness? Okay. Hang in there, epohh. I can’t believe it’s not butter!
“This is rather unusual,” tr’Sahen said, approaching her. “I know.” “I…” “You’re not comfortable with defectors on your bridge,” Ki’is shot back. “I get it. I’m not happy being here either. Let’s just get this done so we can both get back in time to watch our favourite holoshows.” tr’Sahen paused slightly, furrowing his brow. “Fine, Major. Are we ready with a final course heading?” She nodded. “Plot a course to the Ain System. 315-mark-012. We’ll bypass the wavey waypoint and proceed direct to Ain 1 via the lima checkpoint. Maximum warp once we’ve broken orbit from the Bajor system. Maintain cloak and radio silence on all frequencies.” tr’Sahen turned to his helmsman and briskly nodded. “As the Major requests.” Ki’is rolled her shoulders, ignored his tone shift--her Tal’Shiar uniform was a little tighter since she last wore it--and watched the helmsman methodologically plot the course into his computer. Was he indoctrinated? Who here really understands what is going on?
tr’Sahen, however, returned to his seat, seemingly regaining--or so she thought--his stern composure. “So…” he rubbed his hands. “...I saw you on the holonet.” Ki’is pursed her lips. “Commander, I suggest you stop right there…” “...Yes ma’am,” he smirked. “And how is Major tr’Aimne?” “Resting,” she responded briskly. “The V’Shar almost landed on us at his hideaway. I even caught a good look at her Tal'Shiar friend.” “Can Galan walk?” “The Major is fine,” she responded tersely. “Good, good.” tr’Sahen rubbed his hands again. Hang in there, epohh. “We only have one chance at this, and I’d rather not have to deal with the V’Shar and a Tal’Shiar splinter group on top of everything else.” Ki’is stared at him for a moment, felt the vibrations of the engines prick her skin, pulse in tune with the slow burn of a nascent migraine. “Inform me when we’re approaching the Ain system," she said at last. "In the meantime, I will confer with Major tr'Aimne about the mission parameters. Hopefully, we will arrive prior to the Senate's assembly." She turned and strode toward the lift--confidently she thought, Hang in there, epohh. Margarine McBride. We will be free!--and steeled her face for the inevitable snark. “Major?” Indeed. Ki’is spun around, angrily. “Yes Commander?” But tr’Sahen simply gestured to his shoulder, smirking. Ki’is waited until the doors closed before she glanced down at her uniform, and sucked in the air around her weary body. Her torso sagged. A single gold sequin glinted under the dull light. In the turbolift, it was almost lovely.
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Post by oyani on May 14, 2017 0:42:31 GMT
Galan pointed at the floor plan on the monitor in the warbird’s conference room. “tr’Nai and the senators will be meeting here at the Assembly before they take their vote.”
“And you think the Senate will vote to ratify the free association bill?”
He nodded. “Ground sources suggest that senators are likely to vote 86 to 14 in favour of developing formal relations with the Republic. The bill won’t negate Ain 1’s ties with Rator, but it will open new corridors for trade, commerce, and tourism to Mol’Rihan.”
“That leaves the Tal’Shiar loyalists in a difficult place,” Ki’is said.
“Indeed,” Galan rubbed his eye, dropped his trembling hand, scanned the monitor. He sagged his weight on his left foot as if he walks on glass and air. “We know now that Major Amin tr’Amaihn is involved with a Tal’Shiar splinter group. We also know that he’s colluding with the V’Shar to maintain some measure of influence in the Empire…” He rubbed his eye again. “Clearly, they intend to use Ain 1’s new ties with Mol’Rihan to inform the political landscape on Mol’Rihan through their Vulcan lackey tr’Nai.”
“So, potentially,” Ki’is mused, “Ain 1 could become become a satellite colony for his group if they’re forced out of Rator.” She blinked. “The evidence does seem rather compelling.”
“Exactly! And the Ain senators don’t know that tr’Nai is a Vulcan…”
“...But they’re going to get a rude awakening if he’s exposed, which may force them to reassess the bill." Ki'is frowned. "Galan, do we really need to do it this way?”
“E’lev, e’lev, e’lev.” He limped toward where she was sitting, dropped down in the vacant seat beside her. His face drooped like hot glass. Liquid light, butter, and margarine. We will be free. “Dedicated measures are now needed if we are to protect Mol’Rihan and Rator from Amin and T’Amar.”
Ki’is rubbed the back of her neck, felt the migraine drill behind her eyes. “I don’t like the idea that we might end up killing people in the process.”
“You’ve done it before,” he smirked. Lopsided. Hang in there, epohh.
“A long time ago,” she countered. “On ch’Rihan. No excuses. But we’re potentially endangering innocent people based on--what exactly? Interglobal disputes?”
Galan patted her hand with tremorous condensation. Don’t touch me. Lousy liar, I can’t believe it’s not butter! “No one is innocent in times of conflict,” he replied. “True story.” He sighed slightly as he studied her tired face. “Listen, there’s no such thing as safe place anymore, e’lev. And who knows what tr’Kassus or t’Khiell are planning for the Empire. What about the Rihannsu in the lacuna? Those in the interstitial zones--neither Empire nor Republic? Who speaks for those who are overlooked, censored, and marginal?” He tapped his chest with a tremor that cannot sit on the border. “I will. The real Tal’Shiar. Not Amin and certainly not his V’Shar agent, T’Amar.”
Ki’is slowly nodded, felt a We Will Be Free flutter down her spine. Let her thoughts curl the bright vacuum of the conference room, that’s how it goes. Hang in there, epohh. He’s not as beefed up in real life. It cuts like glass. To watch the birds. Thalaron bait. Four packs instead of six. Bodies that bend cold air and light. Protomatter postal service.
“You’ll need to plant the photon grenade outside the assembly,” Galan continued, slurring his words. “The unusual architecture of the building will helpfully amplify the blast effects. Although the flash will likely blind anyone close by in the first instance.”
“A Federation-issued grenade?”
“Of course,” he smirked. “Lo Kee faithfully delivered before her arrest.”
“ I know how this goes,” she responded. She stood and walked to the window, looked out to the planet below, bathed in the hot light of a waxing star. “You better beam me back up in time before it goes off.”
“E’lev, e’lev, e’lev.” Galan grinned. “Jol-ao au, sahe'lagge. I’d never leave you for anything. True story.”
“You’re a lousy liar, Galan,” she said, folding her arms. He stood up from the chair, still smirking; limped to where she stooped at the window, put a hand on her stiff shoulder. Butter, Margarine, San Francisco, Capital, bodies that bend air and flashbang. Help. She felt a tremour, watched the world turn.
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Post by oyani on May 16, 2017 2:44:17 GMT
Ki’is paced the empty corridor outside the Assembly Hall. She heard muffled voices within, listened without absorption, felt the heat of Ain’s noon sun that streamed through the wide windows nick the back of her neck. She felt like dirt. When the voices began to coalesce into one monotone channel, she stopped fidgeting long enough to catch snippets of half legible conversation. They’re arguing about when to take the vote. Before or after lunch. Soup or sandwiches? Did you hear about the B.S. franchise? Good stuff. Hang in there, epohh. Frustrated, she walked down the hall and felt the weight of the grenade’s components sag in her bag, searched for a quiet bathroom to assemble it. Men’s room. No lines, no chitchat. She felt like glass.
Instead, she stepped into a small vacant office, walked to a console, and sat down, put her head in the palm of her hands and counted each dull throb of her migraine. One, two, we will be free. When she got to twenty, she blinked and pulled out her communicator, hoped that the San Francisco was soon in orbit, although she conceded that McBride probably didn’t understand her cryptic messages, no matter how on the ball Katai insisted the human was. Oh em eh, Ki’is, he’s, like, this famous detective from the twentieth century. Parrot. Ki’is blinked away the Orion’s intrusions and began to key in a message on her communicator. Margarine won’t pull me out in time. Coordinates of Itaeru is one, two, we will be free...
“What are doing in here?” She froze.
“Hey. Who are you?” The voice asked again, more insistently, as it threaded its presence around her stiff body with a high pitched tenor. Male with an edge that could cut glass and water, and three drops of sweat. Slowly she turned her chair and found herself face to face with a stern Reman, thin with a scar pinned against his cheek that made his physical register somewhat curt. In his sixties, seventies? Younger? Older? she mused. Some people carry their age poorly.
“...Housekeeping,” she replied.
The Reman deadpanned as he stepped aside, exposing his janitorial trolley. She nodded weakly, “Yeah, first day on the job.”
“In a Tal’Shiar uniform?”
“I like to be subversively comfortable...It’s very avant-garde.”
The Reman put down his mop and bucket. “Right, and I’m Xianak of the Reman Resistance.”
Ki’is leaned back in the chair and flashed her disruptor, still sheathed in its holster on her hip. “Look, I'm a tad busy, so turn around, keep your mouth shut, and we can both go home and watch Mol'Rihan's Funniest Home Holovideos.” She pushed an edge to her voice, hoped she sounded like hot light and glass. She felt like dirt again.
The Reman, however, stepped forward. “What’s your name, Romulan?”
Ki’is sighed. “...Eaha Epohh. Now go.”
He snorted. “...Sounds like a name for an erotic fiction author.”
“...It is. Now go.”
“Wait…” He cocked his head, stepping closer to the console. “Haven’t I seen you on the holonet?”
Ki’is winced as the Reman pointed excitedly at her. “I did! You were on that make-up tutorial, the t’Merek! I can see why it was cancelled after one episode.”
She gritted her teeth. The Reman grinned. “No seriously, you were great. I hope the facial injury wasn’t too painful.”
“Just to my pride.”
“And? You're clearly not on Ain 1 for a fundraising tour."
“Just for reasons…” She pushed herself into arch of the desk, and continued to key her message. "Leave me alone."
"Like?"
Ki'is broke her gaze from the communicator and fastened her gaze on him. "Secret Romulan reasons."
"Oh." The Reman blinked. "As long as it doesn't involve glakh spills, you can do as you please." He picked up his mop and dipped its fabric into the bucket, drawing it out slowly so that it sprayed droplets on the marble floor. "I've had enough trouble cleaning up Tal'Shiar blood as it is." He splattered the mop onto the ground. "And nothing gets out the stench of Tal'Shiar."
"You might be cleaning up for a while if tr’Nai and his Tal’Shiar splinter group destabilises the planet,” Ki'is countered. Why tell a stranger strange things? Hang in there, epohh.
The Reman laughed as he swished the mop back and forth awkwardly. “tr’Nai? I don’t believe it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“For starters he would never work with tr’Aimne and the traditionalists.”
Ki’is blinked and put down her communicator. “Say what?”
The Reman approached the desk, dragging the mop. It left a smooth sheen on the marble floor. “You’re talking about the splinter group right? The Tal’Shiar loyalists have been circulating memos for weeks to be on the look out for a disaffected group operating under a Major Galan tr’Aimne.” He began mop by her feet. She raised her legs to allow him to sweep under the desk. “Yup," he said, digging the mop into the corner of the furniture, "I heard that they’re even working with V’Shar to track them down. That’s how serious it is.”
Ki’is felt like dirt, felt her face whiten. “Of course," she glumly replied. "And I thought this time would be different. Nice to know that I can still be wrong.”
The Reman leaned his mop against the desk and walked behind the console. He turned it on. “Well, my little spy, the evidence we need against Galan tr'Aimne is only a keypad away."
Ki'is watched him as he began to type. Hang in there, epohh. “What’s your name?”
The Reman stared intently at the console screen. “Anar. Yours?”
“Ki’is. Are you really a janitor?” she asked.
He smiled. “Are you really Tal’Shiar?” he replied.
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Post by oyani on May 17, 2017 1:27:47 GMT
Ki’is stepped onto the D'deridex’s bridge just as the second torpedo hit the ship, sending a shudder that briefly threw her briefly off balance. tr’Sahen had leaped from his chair as the first wave of vibrations began roll through the hull, and rushed toward his helmsman with a caustic bellow that snapped the crew into frantic pace. The lights dimmed slightly until the ship again grew still, and Ki’is--with barely disguised panic--quickly took her place by a console to the right of the turbolight. Reclaim your mnhei'sahe, e’lev, she thought, What’s that pressure behind your eyelids? Jumbo Vulcan Mollusk!
“They knew exactly where we were,” the helmsman grimly replied to tr’Sahen. "They know exactly where we are. Cloak reestablished."
Galan, however, slammed his fist against the wall and limped toward the viewscreen that betrayed the Galaxy-class vessel in orbit of Ain 1. “Fdvat!” he spat, “How did they...?” But Ki’is tuned out, turned her gaze toward the San Francisco, and traced the contours of the ship against the dull green of the planet. It was, she thought, rather beautiful.
She was watching the light reflect from the ship’s hull when she realised the bridge had fallen silent. She turned her head and met Galan’s glare, quickly scanned his darkening face that ticked with increasing rhythm. The combined weight of his spasms pressed against her spine, felt the ambience of his body cut like glass. Some people want to watch the warbirds as the Federation ship burns.
“Whoops,” she offered.
“Whoops?” Galan repeated incredulously. “What is this? Ki’is, so much for a proud Romulan.”
Ki’is wrapped her arms around her torso. ”Somehow I thought this would unfold more smoothly,” she weakly said.
Galan snorted, his eye twitching. “You…I hope you like a dark gaol cell,” he said bitterly. “No one will bail you out this time. True story.”
“So much is true,” she responded. “for a lousy liar.”
“Incoming hail from the Federation vessel,” the helmsman interrupted. “Audio only.” Overhead, a familiar Human voice spilled onto the bridge, cutting heaviness of the warbird with its sonic architecture. “I.R.W. Itaeru. Stand down, immediately.”
Galan waved a trembling hand at tr’Sahen. “Prepare to drop the cloak and concentrate disruptor pulses on his navigational deflector dish. On my mark.”
“Galan?” Ki’is quietly said, pushed herself from the console, walked toward the command chair, still hugging her torso.
“You’re damned as we are!” Galan limped toward her. “Don’t you know what you’ve done? What's at stake?”
“Galan?” she repeated.
“Ain 1 will remain in the Empire, regardless of what happens here."
"Galan?" She stood only a foot apart from him now, felt her bones under the skin like light dust in the hard textures of the bridge.
"A Tal’Shiar prison is nothing like your former digs," he continued. "I’ll personally tell the warden to throw away the keycard this time.”
“I know.” She paused before repeating more firmly, “I know.” Slowly she unwrapped her arms and opened her palm exposing a photon grenade. Hang in there, epohh.
Galan’s face grew white. “Ki’is? I thought...”
But Ki’is suddenly grinned. “Isn’t it wonderful, e’lev?” she gushed. “We’re finally together again!” She put her hand on the pin. She wondered if she could let the light in.
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Post by oyani on May 17, 2017 1:39:53 GMT
Epilogue
T’Amar had her hands on the railing as she stared intently out toward the planet. Amin paused at the threshold of the observation deck of his warbird, watched her stillness, wondered how she would end. With hesitation, he approached, quietly at first as if not to disturb her, but, then, with a quicker pace as he felt his investment in the cool vacuum of the room. When he reached her, he realised what had occupied her attention. The debris field of the I.R.W. Itaeru still locked in geosynchronous orbit of Ain 1. A large piece of the bulkhead was still visible in its entirety, still in evidence. Still of him and her circulating the spatial polis. It looked beautiful in the glint of the light. “There were no survivors according to Captain McBride,” T’Amar said without acknowledging him. She seemed hesitant. Amin joined her at the window. “Tactical thinks the explosion happened on the bridge,” he said. “A photon grenade amplified. A rather fitting end for Galan tr’Aimne but he didn’t need to take Ki’is with him.” Like water and thorns.
“There were a lot of strings in this narrative,” she replied. “I am not certain if we caught them all.” She turned to him.“ If the San Francisco had not arrived in time, the outcome could have been different. There is something to be said for McBride’s nosiness." She seemed tired. "The Ain 1 Senate is currently taking their vote. If all goes to plan, the planet will open formal negotiations with the Republic. And you,” she paused. “You can concentrate your efforts now on Rator.” “And tr’Nai?” “He will remain here and rejoin his family.” “As a Romulan?” “As a Romulan. The needs of the many…” “Outweigh the needs of the few, or the one. Wasn’t your plan to bring him back to Vulcan back, as it was in 2315?” T’Amar paused. “I could not then. I cannot now.” “Sounds like,” he mused, “you’re privileging the needs of the one over the needs of the many.” What a time to be alive?The Vulcan ignored his comment. “You could defect, Amin. The San Francisco can ferry you to Mol’Rihan. They need experienced officers like yourself.” Amin contemplated the offer briefly, twirling his thick unibrow before slowly shaking his head. “I have responsibilities too, Envoy.” Like trimming eyebrows, water and thorns, heat and scars, the first son of a long dawn. She came to prosper. The years are not kind to discard. “Our contract is now terminated.” “You want the truth,” she conceded. “Are you sure? Honesty is a double edged sword.” Amin smiled. “I want the truth.” He pulled out the photograph from his pocket, felt it sag in his dip of his hand with heat of the old horizon, stared at the picture of the human woman by a shoreline, her feet slightly dipped in the water, her youthful face caught with look of surprise as she clasped a spectre with spinose teeth. She did not expect the photographer to snap her picture. He held up the picture to T’Amar. “Now. I want the truth,” he said forcefully. “Who is she? Who is this woman?” T’Amar pinned her eyes on Amin for a moment before she turned away and walked to the threshold. She placed her hand behind her back, the dull light of the warbird cut shade across her back. Amin waited expectantly, felt the air caught at the back of his throat. “Phoebe McGann,” T’Amar said, and she stepped outside into a long cold light.
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