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Post by norcaler on Apr 25, 2017 3:21:36 GMT
Romulan Neutral Zone
2267
"No change in course, Commander," reported the warbird's science officer. The ship's commander barely could believe what he was seeing; an asteroid traveling faster than the speed of light, barreling towards an inhabited Romulan star system. Definitely a potential weapon of certain power, but one that could easily destroyed by the three warbirds now moving to intercept. It was something else trailing the asteroid that gave the commander pause. "The Earth vessel is maintaining its pursuit course."
"Commander, we should destroy it the moment it enters the zone," warned the weapons officer. "That rock won't withstand a barrage of our plasma torpedoes. If it gets past us, we won't be fast enough to stop it before it reaches Rator!"
"I am aware of it," the commander said coldly. It certainly seemed to be a preemptive strike; Rator III was one of the Romulan Empire's most populace worlds. If the asteroid were to impact, the planet and its inhabitants would ultimately be wiped out. But the commander knew of the reported capabilities of the Earth starship in pursuit; one just like it destroyed the empire's flagship, sister vessel of this one, a year ago. Even three might not be enough if the Earth captain chose to engage them.
However, he was a Romulan soldier and had a duty to defend Romulan citizens. He stood up straight next to the bridge's center control stations, and ordered, "Signal all ships to disengage cloak and prepare to fire the weapon."
"Yes, Commander. Cloak disengaged, weapon is priming...what the...?"
"Report!"
"Commander, look!" the science officer said, gesturing for him to look into his scope. He did and watched as the asteroid faded from the readout until it was completely gone.
"We've lost target lock," added the weapon's officer. "Does that asteroid possess a cloak?"
"No," said the commander, still peering into the scope. "There's nothing there. No mass displacement, no reading on the motion tracker; whatever it is has just vanished."
"Or it's a more advanced cloak..."
"Commander," said the communications officer. "Signal coming in from the Earth ship."
"On screen." He turned to the communications display that when activated displayed an Earthman clad in a gold shirt. Judging by his increased rate of breath and beads of sweat upon his brow, the Romulan commander surmised his counterpart had just rushed into the chair he was now sitting in.
"This is Captain Gregory Thorpe of starship Midway."
"Valak, commanding the warbird Ra'kholh. What is the meaning of this attempted incursion into the Neutral Zone?"
"That asteroid was an alien vessel, an ark," Thorpe explained in a rushed tone. "It was built by a now extinct civilization; they were hoping to seed an uninhabited planet with the microscopic life forms held in the asteroid's core. It ran into an ion storm and was malfunctioning; when we fixed it it engaged some kind of subspace fold drive. I give you my word that it wasn't an attack. Don't let what we're trying to do at Nimbus fall apart over a misunderstanding!"
Valak could have mentioned that the asteroid's intended course would have impacted it against an inhabited planet instead of the dead one he claimed, but standard Romulan practice was never to betray vital information to an enemy, such as the location of a prosperous military port like Rator. And whatever Thorpe claimed was going on at Nimbus, Valak did not know; fleet command at ch'Rihan never kept their officers fully abreast of matters of state. In response, he simply asked, "And why should I trust that, Captain?"
"Do you think the Federation has the capability of moving something that large at warp speeds, let alone faster than warp, Commander?"
"I don't doubt that many things aren't beyond your capabilities, Captain." He could concede that elements of Thorpe's account could be correct, that being any assertion that this was a first strike against Rator III was nullified by the fact that the massive projectile had now disappeared. But he was not the sort to voice his conceits to an enemy commander easily. "However, if what you're saying is true, Captain, then I see no further reason to continue this conversation, do you? No need to go to war over a vanishing rock?"
"Agreed," the Earther said.
"Just know this, Captain. If this was an actual incursion, you will find that we Romulans will defend the Empire tenaciously, no matter the cost."
"I don't doubt that, Commander..."
***
Agrama System
Present Day
"I don't doubt that, Commander..." Even after a century and a half, those words echoed in Valak's head just as if their now deceased speaker had just uttered them once more. Much had changed since then; more would have to if Valak were to defend the Empire yet again, no matter the cost.
He emerged at the rear of his Scimitar-class flagship's bridge, now commanding more and much larger warbirds than he had in his relative youth. His bridge crew was far younger than he; old enough to be his great-great-great grandchildren. Few like him were left in the Empire, but then again after recent events, few like them were, as well.
"Admiral," said his first officer, Subcommander Kera, as he descended the staircase to the bridge's main level. "We've received a reply in code. The Federation is willing to send an envoy."
"Very well," he stated. "Signal Commander Kalabam that the fleet is his until our return. Pilot, lay in a course for the Nimbus system. Prepare to cloak as soon as we're underway."
"Nimbus, Admiral? To that den of pirates and Orion veruul? Why?"
Valak blamed his first officer's upbringing among the elite of Rator for her impudence; something difficult if not impossible to break even for a man of his experience. He simply answered her terse inquiry with, "We're going back, Subcommander. Back to when foolish notions of peace were once thought possible among some of our people..."
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Post by norcaler on May 5, 2017 3:30:56 GMT
U.S.S. San Francisco
In orbit of Deep Space 9
"What do you mean overnight?" complained Captain Nathan McBride while sitting on a biobed in his Galaxy-class ship's sickbay. As if his day hadn't been aggravating enough. First it started with inquiries from an Admiral Palmer about McBride's ongoing investigation into the Tal Shiar smuggling arms into Hathon, then there was trying to break up an almost fight between a source in said investigation and some random aggressor in Quark's. Throw in meeting a mysterious Vulcan official who knew an ancestor of his and getting dragged by said source to meet with his "benefactor" aboard her ship and what his chief medical officer just told him just struck the wrong nerve once more. "You said the scans were clear."
"You know the regulations, sir," replied Doctor Bett Texa, a Bajoran woman who seemed to be enjoying this. "Any officer with prolonged exposure to an Orion vessel must be kept under medical observation until the medical staff is one hundred percent sure that said officer hasn't been compromised by Orion pheremones. And reactions to pheremones can be delayed in certain cases. Besides, this is your fault."
McBride said through gritted teeth, "...Ivey wasn't givin' me much of a choice."
"I meant you didn't have to warn us beforehand." He was about to retort that it'd be foolish to go aboard an Orion Syndicate vessel without warning his crew in the event that it didn't end up being a (mostly) benign affair as it turned out to be, but then his chief of security entered sickbay with a certain tall Romulan with a distinctive chin in tow. The doctor turned and nodded, saying, "Eli."
"Doc," replied Lieutenant Commander Elijah Turner. "Commander Decius, Captain."
"Thanks, that'll be all, you two." McBride got off of the bed; if he was going to spend the night in sickbay, he wasn't going to spend it all laying or sitting down. He recalled something and quickly added to Turner, "Oh, and keep monitorin' for Lo Kee's ship. Zoria seems awfully keen on gettin' her hands on it and that ain't gonna bode well for our investigation if she captures its crew before we do."
"Aye sir. And the Morakos?"
"Also keep an eye on that ol' Klingon hotrod. Same reasons."
"Understood, sir." Both Turner and Bett gave McBride and Decius their space, the Romulan commander fixing the Starfleet captain with a quizzical look.
"Ivex's ship?" Decius asked. "What'd you get yourself into with that filthy clown now?"
"Laugh it up, Playboy," the captain chastised grumpily.
The Romulan winced. "Please don't remind me of that. You know you didn't have to favorite that picture!"
"Your wife didn't have to press Select All when she uploaded your honeymoon album for everyone and their cousin to see."
"...fair point," Decius conceded.
"I got called into a meetin' with Ivey's boss, Zoria," McBride explained. "Me and a Vulcan named T'Amar."
"A Vulcan?"
"Apparently an officer of the V'Shar. Also apparently served with my great-great-grandaddy at Starbase 8 way back in the day."
Decius raised an eyebrow. "And what's her interest in Ivex?"
"Same interest I got," he replied. "Your pseudo father-in-law."
"Galan? What does he have to do with this?"
McBride sighed, recalling a detail that slipped his mind prior to summoning Decius. "I promised your wife I wouldn't say..."
"...she's probably forgotten," the Romulan interrupted and he was probably right, knowing the spouse in question.
"That beauty shop slash arms market Katai stumbled across apparently had contact with the Tal Shiar," the captain stated. "Specifically something connected to the Reconaisance Office."
"...where Galan worked until his not quite death..."
"And isn't it just a coinky dink that Katai saw someone matching Galan's description near Lo Kee's place in Hathon?" McBride paced back and forth a few steps and ran his hand through his beard. "Ivex and Zoria's boss suspect that Galan's in league with another Orion bigwig named D'ana and that she's tryin' to horn in on their territory here in the Bajor Sector. T'Amar struck a deal with them that if they produce Galan, she'll turn over a Tal Shiar database that D'ana might be usin' to cut into their profits."
"A database?" asked Decius.
"Something called Ohreth," McBride answered. "It was a name listed in Lo Kee's correspondence. We and the Orions thought it was a person until T'Amar revealed what it really is: some sort of mass threat assessment file that was drawn up pre-Hobus."
"You could carpet my apartment with all the threat assessments the Tal Shiar drew up over the years, but if it's pre-Hobus, then it's grossly out of date at this point. Unless..."
"...I hate it when people can't finish their sentences."
"It is possible that there is information, even that old, that could be used for blackmail purposes," Decius said. It occured to McBride that his Romulan counterpart seemed to me more coherent when his oft-referred to spouse was nowhere near him. "Recall the lengths the Syndicate and Salen Del went through to keep their collaboration from decades ago a secret. Perhaps Galan and D'ana have information that could be used as leverage to achieve their goals, whatever they may be."
"Well right now as much as I'd be content to hand this off to Vulcan security and let them deal with the Orions, I'm under orders to snuff out whatever the Tal Shiar's up to in Hathon sooner rather than later," said McBride, "and I don't exactly have all that much confidence that Galan's goin' to be sent giftwrapped to T'Amar in one piece."
"Even if Zoria and Ivex gave her their word?"
"Ain't them I'm worried about. It's him."
The commander raised his right hand and corresponding index finger along with his mouth opening as if to retort, but all three froze in place and reverted to their previous states. "Point taken. So why the sudden urgency? It's been weeks since Katai found that lipstick bazooka of hers."
"I don't know, but I got a four star callin' me from out of the blue and breathin' down my neck about it," said McBride, "and four stars in this day and age don't get hands-on with us lowly Galaxy-class folk. The thing that made it so damn odd that Admiral Palmer was callin' me from New Romulus. Y'all know anythin' about what's goin' on?"
"I'm not sure I should say," Decius replied with a frown.
"That stage coach just left Dodge City."
"...only that the senate was suddenly called back in from recess by Proconsul D'Tan himself. And here you tell me that there's an admiral on Mol'Rihan suddenly interested in securing Bajor from the Tal Shiar. Maybe I have more reason to dislike Ivex than I thought, if he's somehow caught up in this."
"Why y'all got a burr up your ass about him?" McBride asked. "Thought you two were as thick as thieves."
The Romulan gritted his teeth. "We weren't, and we certainly won't be after what he pulled."
"What'd he do?"
"He crossed the line!"
"What?"
"Of all the sick, vile things to do...!"
"WHAT?!"
"He dressed up as a clown!" Decius' forcefulness and anger caused McBride to freeze for a moment, but once he processed the seemingly dire crime Ivex had been accused of, he started laughing. "What is so funny?"
"A clown?" he asked. "Really? That's what got your uniform all wrinkled?"
"I HATE CLOWNS!" the commander barked. Which in McBride's experience meant Decius was actually was afraid of them, terrified to the point of losing all rationality as he seemed to be doing in this very moment. "One these days I'll get back at him for this; inflict something so terrifying against him..."
"You know," McBride prefaced, "y'all just reminded me of somethin' I mentioned to T'Amar. One of only two things that can scare the kilt off of an Orion male."
Decius' mood suddenly brightened and he flashed a wide, eager, and expectant smile. "Do go on..."
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Post by norcaler on May 6, 2017 21:24:47 GMT
U.S.S. San Francisco
In orbit of Deep Space 9
"This guy's good," commented Elijah Turner with Captain Nathan McBride looking over his shoulder. They, along with first officer Angela Gorman and science officer We'norra N'iss had repurposed the bridge's aft science stations to review surveillance footage acquired from a restaurant in Hathon. McBride had been informed by Decius tr'Merek that the latter's wife suspected her adopted mother, Ki'is t'Aimne, had been on a lunch date at this particular restaurant with her ex-husband, Major Galan tr'Aimne of the Tal Shiar. After getting the security recording through the Bajoran Militia, a portion of the San Francisco's senior staff were pouring over it to obtain confirmation of what they had suspected was going on. "He intentionally picked a table with its back to the camera, kept his face pointed away when he walked in, keeps his focus on her."
"Are we absolutely sure that's Ki'is?" McBride asked. The lighting in the restaurant wasn't ideal and he had only encountered her once in Quark's without memorizing her facial details; she was after all yelling wild conspiracy theories at him at the time.
"Facial recognition confirms it's her, Captain," noted the Caitian science officer. "Why would an Imperialist choose to meet her at a restaurant called D'Tan's? That's almost begging to be noticed."
"Maybe the local Little Sela's was closed," Gorman noted wryly. The captain wasn't up on the Romulan restaurant scene, but he was fairly certain his first officer was making a joke. Then again, an eatery named after the leader of the Romulan Republic or that pizza chain called Kai Pie were fairly out there. "And this is the only camera?"
"The only one inside the restaurant," Turner replied. He was seated at Science Station 2 while N'iss at Science Station 1 to his left. McBride was trying to scrutinize the footage being on both screens closely while his second in command stood a bit back with her arms crossed. The security chief switched to a feed taken from a security camera situated on the street outside. "See, their table can't be seen from this angle. And there's too many ways in and out of the place where this guy can leave without us getting a clean shot at his face."
"All we got is her meetin' with a middle-aged Romulan male," McBride concluded. With no way to glean the man's identity, he tried focusing on what was going around around them. "I suppose we could circulate Galan's profile pic among the waitstaff, but what we got's a little out of date."
"They both look a little uncomfortable," Gorman commented, pointing at the screen. "There, she rubbed her forehead, he's...rubbing his eye maybe? For all we know this is a really bland blind date."
"Gestures and doin' a bad lip readin' of one side of a conversation ain't gonna help us. Wait, there..." He too pointed at the screen, a gesture Ki'is was making. "Stop and play, half speed."
They all watched Ki'is reach under the table and then place her hand on the table. She slid something across the table that the male snatched up. He then started to turn it over in his hand. The candlelight glinted off of it just enough to suggest what it might be. Turner remarked out loud, "...that...almost looks like a Republic isolinear chip."
"If it's a chip, then what's on it?" N'iss asked. "We know she works for Republic Intelligence."
"As a low level analyst for recon probe images," Gorman countered. "It's not likely she has access to much that'd interest the Tal Shiar."
"For all we know it's a collection of her daughter's...art work," McBride remarked. "Resume in realtime."
The recording resumed at normal speed and they both raised their glasses up in an apparent toast. However, the male's hand suddenly seized up and he dropped his glass; it fell to the floor and shattered. Turner remarked, "I guess her date's a little clumsy..."
"Maybe not; run it just back to when he was raisin' his glass and play again at half speed." N'iss did so and with the framerate slowed, McBride watched the man's hand tremble slightly before it suddenly spasmed once more before he let go of the glass. "He don't strike me as the type to nervous on a date and he also strikes me as a tad young to get the shakes. For a Romulan. Get the doc up here; I want her take on this."
"Dr. Bett, report to the bridge," the first officer ordered.
"Even when his hand locked up like that, he didn't look towards the camera," Turner noted. "I know this looks circumstantial, Captain, but the average person, Romulan or not, doesn't manage to go out of their way to not get their face recorded on camera. I think it's enough to confirm that he's more likely to be Galan than not. We do have eyewitness reports putting someone of his description with Ki'is at the local arboretum."
"'Of his description' could mean lots of folks, Eli, and the admiral wants certainty, not possibility," said the captain just as Doctor Bett Texa entered the bridge. "Ah, Doc, mind lookin' at somethin' for us and tell us what y'all think?"
"Are you asking me to make a medical diagnosis just by looking at said something, Captain?" inquired the Bajoran as she made her way to the science stations. "Dr. Salen taught me back at the academy that the eyeballs are only good for telling if someone's dead, about to be dead, or apparently alive."
"Then think of yourself as a medically inclined detective. We', run it back to the toast, half speed again."
The segment of the recording played again, but this time McBride watched the reaction of his chief medical officer. She narrowed her eyes that contracted the wrinkles in her nose and asked, "One more time." The science officer replayed it yet again, to which the doctor reacted by saying, "It'd help if I could see his face."
"What do you mean?" asked Gorman.
"If you're asking me if there's something medically wrong with him, absent knowing any other factors, there is one neurological disorder that might cause this," Bett explaind. "Tuvan Syndrome. It affects Vulcans, Romulans, and Rigelians; could occur at almost any age, even under a century. Mid-to-late stage symptoms involve a loss of motor control, which could explain the trembling in his hand just before he dropped his glass. I wouldn't know for a fact unless I ran a full scan of his brain and nervous system."
"If he is who we think he might be, I don't think he'll submit to that, Doc," Turner remarked.
"The early stages go after the facial muscles first; weakened facial muscles, drooping eyelids. That's why seeing his face would make a diagnosis easier. If he does have Tuvan Syndrome and it's affected his extremities like what we're seeing, he's likely had it for a decade or longer. But again, that's just based on watching a ten second clip. I'd need him in sickbay to make a full diagnosis. There could be a lot of other explanations for this."
"A lot of other explanations seems to be the story of the day," the captain concluded in frustration.
"So we still don't have much," commented Gorman, "at least in terms of confirming what's going on down there."
McBride folded his arms, thinking for a moment. "No, but we might have enough to get someone to start talkin'..."
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Post by norcaler on May 15, 2017 1:48:41 GMT
F.M.S. Rule 109
In orbit of Deep Space 9
"No, no, no; too many colors," complained DaiMon Paig as he looked over plans in his office aboard his ship. He was pleased that his new business venture, Bellator's Soupcraft, was coming together so fast...at least until he found out Katai t'Merek was now an investor. His misgivings were being reinforced when he was looking over the advertisements she had submitted to his partner in this endeavor, Ivex. "Garish, too loud; just like that blasted fee-male!"
"DaiMon?" asked one of his crew over the intercom.
"What?!"
"Someone here to see you."
"Who?"
"He said you'd know him when you saw him."
"Fine, send him in," Paig grumbled, choosing to focus on the gaudy B.S. adverts. So focused was the Ferengi that a good few minutes passed where he did not hear the door to his office open. When he finally realized whoever it was that wanted to see him had yet to enter, he angrily got up and headed for the door to see what the delay was. It opened upon his approach, however the corridor outside was empty, as well. "Of all the...! I really don't have time to waste..."
He backed up but before he could turn around and return to his desk, he slammed into a hard structure that hadn't been there before. Letting out a yelp of surprise, he fell over flat on his face. Paig quickly flipped over and saw an all too familiar Reman towering over him. Scrambling backwards only to find the wall, he let out a meek cry of, "Jhunek!"
"Xianek," he corrected.
"What do you want?"
The Reman didn't move and Paig almost could swear he could see a smirk on Xianek's face. "To warn you and perhaps assist you. A Caitian was in Quark's earlier seeking to collect upon the bounty posted against you."
"And let me guess, you're here to get it for yourself!" Paig shouted. Jhu...Xianek had invited the daiMon aboard his vessel on the claim of discussing business. Instead, Paig just sat in a room by himself for several hours before the Reman threw him off in a huff. "I swear I don't know what this Ruvio wants with me!"
"Yes, Rusio. From Drozana Station."
"Drozana...? That's where Qul wants me to deliver those medical sam...supplies." This other business Paig had made was now making him panic. "...and she's there? This must be a trap! You have to help me, Jhunek!"
"...Xianek..."
"Whatever."
The Reman folded his arms. "I am more than willing to, Paig. My ship and crew are at your disposal...for a price."
"How big of a ship are we talking?" Paig asked, now desperate for any help he can get. "T'Varo? Hathos?"
"Mogai."
"I can't afford that!"
"Relax, Paig, my price isn't latinum, it is information," Xianek explained. "In exchange for my ship to escort yours and defend you from these bounty hunters, I require you to obtain what information you can about the security arrangements for Hathon's central district, particularly the embassies."
"Embassies?" asked the daiMon. "What do you want that information for?"
"Does it matter?"
"No. Deal."
"Good, you don't know how helpful you will be, DaiMon," said the Reman as he slowly strode to the door. "I would advise you that if you wish to make this journey to Drozana, I will make whatever arrangements required on the station. It would be easier to protect you from this Ruvio if you remain aboard your ship."
"Whatever it takes!"
"Now tell me about this delivery and what you know of this Rusio."
"QUAC hired me to deliver medical sup...samples to a Romulan woman named Taau on Drozana," Paig replied. "As for Rusio, all I know is that she's a fat Orion. Talk to Ivex if you want to know more; he's really getting annoyed that she's affecting his cut on Deep Space 9."
"I believe that shall be sufficient," said Xianek. "Do try to be more careful on DS9 if possible. I can't be everywhere at once..."
"Yes, yes; whatever," Paig said as he got up and headed for his desk. He turned to say something further to the Reman, however he was suddenly gone with no trace. Paig sat at his desk, put his feet up on his chair, and quivered in terror with his arms wrapped around his knees...
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Post by norcaler on May 16, 2017 21:15:31 GMT
I.R.W. Kholhr En route to Bajor
The kali-fal burned in the throat of Valak tr'Kassus, each sip an assault against his esophagus and the lining of his stomach. Real kali-fal that somehow managed the destruction of ch'Rihan probably wasn't the best thing for a Romulan of his age to be consumed; by Valak's recollection, he had more years on him than this father, both grandfathers, and all four of his great-grandfathers. Remarkable, considering how Valak managed to survive something far worse than anything they had to contend with: the destruction of ch'Rihan and the near collapse of the Romulan Star Empire. Perhaps this was why he found the sheer simplicity of an after-dinner drink and music more comforting than ever. It was all he could to ground himself in what little familiar was left in his life.
The doors to his quarters hissed open and Subcommander Kera entered. For someone so much younger than Valak, her face was so easily creased by the frown of disgust she exhibited as she heard what he was listening to. She asked through her partially clenched teeth, "More Earth music, Admiral?"
"Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, Subcommander," he explained. "By Wolfgang Amadaeus Mozart, regarded as one of the best composers in human history. Remarkable that in the span of a few centuries, the humans equaled and surpassed our Vulcan cousins in what took them a millennia. Music, art, propulsion..."
"We've received word over a coded channel, Admiral," Kera interrupted with impatience. He saw the angle of her eyelids, that of superiority. The upward twist of her mouth, that of a youth tired of putting up with her elders. The tremors of the muscles of her hands, someone desperately holding her rage back. How utterly predicable. "The dock workers on Achenar Prime are threatening a general strike if Rator doesn't accede to their demands. The 5th Fleet..."
"The 5th Fleet has ships, Subcommander, but few ground troops to thwart any worker uprising." Also predictable and Valak prided himself on analyzing patterns and deducing the next probable outcome. "And the Imperial Senate dare not give in lest other factions believe they can extort what they want from Rator. Status of Ain 1?"
"Undetermined, sir." Informative, but again impatient! Clearly Kera considered the matter minor by the slight, almost undetectable inflection on the pronoun she addressed Valak with. "The vote is due to occur..."
"The vote is meaningless," Valak concluded, sipping his aged kali-fal. "And rigged. The Tal Shiar has seen to that. Computer, Beethoven's Piano Sonata Number 14..."
"Sir?" Kera asked as the computer played a different piece of human music, darker and more foreboding but picking up tempo and mood as it went along.
"The Moonlight Sonata, Subcommander. Almost every human knows it by hearing a few bars, but they never seem to remember what it's called. They seem to remember almost everything of their species' history, but through a narrow lens; a context written by those who live now, who wish to claim history as their own vision than rather what it was to those who made it." Tension on her face again, implying impatience; each chord of one of the oldest enemies of the Empire grating upon her disposition. Kera's rage continued to be hidden behind a veneer worthy of a Vulcan. His eyes turned to her as he sipped at what kali-fal remained in his glass. "What of the vice-proconsul?"
"Secure in her quarters, Admiral. The Avalon has passed along the security arrangements in place in Hathon, but respectfully, sir, she should remain aboard the ship when the negotiations are in recess." Kera's scowl was more pronounced, betraying far more dissatisfaction. Valak wagered this was intentional and not a slip of control.
"Unfortunately, since they've already told us that the Bajorans won't allow the Kholhr in orbit, we may have no choice but to let her utilize whatever accommodations the Bajorans provide," he noted. This time, no change; a conclusion she had anticipated before the matter had been brought up. "Have the hangar bay prepare three shuttlecraft. Security is to sweep each one and ensure no one but the top flight crews have access. One shall be for her, one for myself, the third an emergency spare."
"Yes, Admiral."
"Anything else, Subcommander?"
"Little of note, sir," she replied. "The intelligence section is still sorting through the fallout from the Reman attack, but it would seem that the Resistance is all but destroyed."
"Do not underestimate them still," Valak noted. "Even a handful could be a threat to our plans."
"If the Remans found out the route the Avalon was escorting us, then much more could have been compromised. The sooner these talks are over, the better." Kera's disdain for talks were plain, but there was something else in her voice. And she didn't endorse simply turning back to Imperial territory and forgetting the whole endeavor as someone exercising an abundance of caution would in her place.
"You disapprove, Subcommander?" he asked.
"Disapprove of what, sir?" she asked. Both eyebrows up, betraying that she wasn't curious but didn't wish to answer this vital question.
"Of our mission here. Of seeking Federation mediation in producing a treaty between the Empire and the Republic."
"Vice-Proconsul Vriha is chairwoman of the Foreign Relations Council of the Senate. This is under her purview."
"As it is," Valak concluded. The disapproval of Kera was etched in the creases around her eyes, the narrow furrowing of her brow ridges. Anger she tried her best to conceal but one that was as easily read by a well trained eye as the admiral. He waved his hand to signal a change of subject, adding, "Contact Commander Kalabam; order him to muster what ground troops he can and set course for Achenar. He is to relieve the 5th Fleet's subadmiral on my direct order and crush any uprising swiftly."
"Of course, Admiral, though I imagine the vice-proconsul will protest the use of force if it comes to that."
"As you said yourself, foreign relations are under her purview, not domestic concerns. That will be all, Subcommander." Kera's salute was crisp, her heel turn sharp, her march out deliberate; more confirmation that his first officer despised the mood despite her best efforts to conceal it from notice. Valak wasn't naive enough to think she would be the only one. He was counting on it...
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Post by norcaler on May 23, 2017 18:24:07 GMT
U.S.S. Midway Sector 005 Earth Year 2267
By the time Gregory Thorpe made his way to sickbay, it was late into the ship's night. For the past day the Vulcan archaeologist Professor Selek had been confined there while in a state referred to as a healing trance. Having a bit of personal interactions with the Vulcan people dating back to his youth accompanying his parents on business related to the Winston Foundation and beyond, he was more aware of Vulcan history and culture than most humans. The healing trance, like the revelations he learned of at Planet L-1010, were something beyond even his level of understanding. T'Amar left a lot out...
"Captain," said Nurse Temple, a burly human male of dark complexion and deep voice as Thorpe entered the ICU. The Vulcan patient under his charge just laid upon the biobed; his breathing drowned out by the beats of the heart monitor.
"How is he?" Thorpe asked.
"Conscious, but resting, sir. I admit it was a hell of a sight when Doc Thalla slapped him out of his trance. She's lucky he didn't clock her the moment he..."
"I can hear you both," Selek interrupted with his eyes closed. "No doubt you have questions for me, Captain Thorpe."
"Give us a few minutes, Nurse," said the Midway's captain. After Temple departed the ICU, Thorpe added, "And you're right, Professor. I have a lot of questions about what you found on L-1010. Such as the artifact those Vulcanoids in the masks almost killed Lieutenant McGann over. Such as this First Son you mentioned before you lapsed into this Vulcan trance of yours."
Selek's eyes opened and trained on Thorpe as if they were about to fire upon him. "Is the spectre aboard ship, Captain?"
"We recovered it before Phoebe's attackers could claim it." Thorpe folded his arms in anger over the unrelated question to his questions. In spite of what he knew about Selek's relation to T'Lor, it didn't temper his agitation over the professor's evasiveness. "And they were Vulcanoid; that was the least the we could determine about them."
"Then we have nothing more to discuss, Captain," Selek said, reclining upon the bed as if to convey an additional message that this conversation was desired to be over. "This is now a Vulcan matter. Please deliver me, Commander Schmidt and Professor Merkel to the nearest Vulcan outpost..."
"Schmidt and Merkel are dead, sir," Thorpe said tersely. "You and McGann are the only survivors of the expedition to L-1010. Even your attackers are dead..."
The Vulcan nodded. "I see. Then you killed them..."
Thorpe felt the impulse to slap the foot of the bed in anger; something about interacting with Vulcans in situations such as this tended to draw out such behavior in humans. "Our weapons were set to stun, sir. They had some form of implant in their skulls; something that killed them the second our phasers struck them. Now I'll ask you this one more time; what is the First Son? Why did these Romulans attack your expedition?"
"You assume they're Romulans, Captain," Selek said with a raised eyebrow. "The burial mounds on L-1010 seem to be unrelated to the Sundered's eventual arrival on what you call Romulus. As for the First Son of the Avenger or the Avenger itself...L-1010 was the first time I or any Vulcan has ever heard of such a thing..."
"'Avenger?'" Thorpe asked. "What is that?"
"A word I saw repeated in the crypt, Captain. A word written in one of the ancient tongues of Vulcan used by the Sundered. The crypt appears to be the final resting place of an individual bearing that as a title. I trust, Captain, you understand the implications of such a title given to one who might be related to the Romulans."
"Revenge? For being exiled?"
Selek sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and now looking as though he had fully healed from his trauma. Vulcan resilience always astounded Thorpe. "Records from that time period are fragmentary; a result of the chaos during the Time of the Awakening, however we know that their exile was self-imposed. Those that chose to leave Vulcan rejected the teachings of Surak, of embracing peace and non-emotion. We believe the Romulans are their descendants, but we know very little about what happened between their departure and the present. This Avenger, we know even less save that he was interred there."
"If it's not revenge against Vulcan he wanted," the captain commented, "then who?"
"Unknown, only that he failed to accomplish this goal at the time of his death and that his successor, the First Son, left clues as to where he and his followers had relocated to."
"Lieutenant McGann mentioned the artifact had what appeared to be markings on it," Thorpe remarked, "something that could be coordinates or locations."
"And something that our attackers deem worth killing over," Selek concluded. "All the more reason to bring the spectre back to Vulcan, Captain."
"We're scheduled to transfer you and your effects to the science vessel Vulcana Regar. They'll be transporting you home."
"Thank you, Captain," Selek said with a nod. "Your service has been quite adequate under the circumstances."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Thorpe said, knowing something about how Vulcan praise could be considered tepid if not bordering on insulting. He turned to leave, but hesitated, adding, "If you wish, I can re-arrange T'Lor's schedule so she can spend more time with you."
"That will not be necessary, Captain. I do not wish to interfere with my daughter's shipboard duties than I already have." The captain decided to drop the matter then and there. While he had no idea how this Avenger factored into the history of the Vulcans and Romulans, he did know well enough to stay out of Vulcan family affairs...
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