Tis The Season
Davin stood in front of a broad green banner, alien silk glimmering in the light. At either side is woven a planet; on the left the red rock of Vulcan, on the right the lush purple-green of Mol'Rihan. In the center, under the swooping bird-of-prey emblem of the Republic, was a Borg Queen, run through by the blade of the spiky haired Romulan who stood above her. Truly, it is a masterpiece.
"Aithaen, faiihr. And keep the banner in frame." Davin turned, beaming. "In fact, always keep it in frame. Every recording. Forever." The computer beeped, and Davin tossed himself into his desk chair with a contented sigh. "Rellir is far too good to me. Shame about her dhael. Guess it could have been worse though, if Foster hadn't noticed the Trellium." His expression turned thoughtful, though his swig from a well sampled bottle of kali-fal did not help the image.
"Fvadt Starfleet doctors nearly lost it when we said the T-word, though." That thoughtful look again. "Although I guess it was two T words, 'Trellium Toxicity'... Ah well."
The Romulan lifted something from his desk, which the focus on the tapestry had kept out of frame. It turned out to be a Lirpa, the Vulcan round axe with a weight at one end. He held it uncertainly, balanced in one hand above his desk. "More gifts from Rellir," he said. "I'm guessing it's not for the Terran gift exchange, though, unless McCarthy's handing out plasma torches to everyone." The weapon clattered back to the table, hinting at more metal on the polymer desk top.
"What I'd really love is for this Aurelia Nethali situation to be over with." Davin nodded, slowly, then caught himself. "Oh, no, what I really want is tr'Dahn to fall down a turbolift shaft."
Enemy Of My EnemyActual spoilers ahead for those who haven't reached Kobali Prime. Thunk! The twin tines of the flat Romulan throwing knife buried themselves in the holographic tree with a realistic enough sound, soft wood cushioning the force of the rushing, tumbling metal. A simulated wind rustled the grass around Davins knees as he pulled another knife, one which had just been rendered, from the low wooden fence behind him. "Aithaen," he said into the rustling of the grass, and the computer, unseen, chirped its acknowledgement.
Thunk! "Stasis pods. Hundreds. Thousands. I don't know how many. THAT is what we found under their temple." Thunk! "The Federation was upset, yeah. For a minute I thought the Kobali might get a stern reprimand. But we're still defending them."
Another blade rendered, and Davin turned the thing over in his hands. The weight was right but the texture was always off. The holographic knives always seemed oily somehow. The iridescence was never quite right either, never accurate to the metals alloyed in a proper Romulan blade.
"All I could think if when I saw those pods was the Elachi. Holo images of their ships, the holds... I mean, how different are they from the Kobali anyway? Does their 'breeding' process only work after death? And what does that make me, huh? The fvadt Tal Shiar, defending these... things!?" Davin whipped the knife with all his strength, snarling out his fury, his indignation. The spinning bit of metal struck the tree hilt first, echoed a metallic ring, and tumbled harmlessly into the grass.
"...I should have blasted that crypt from orbit. One torpedo... I'll keep fighting. But not for those creatures. For our people. To stop the Vaadwaur."
In Retrospect...This log is rated PG-13 for Mild Language. Viewer discretion is advised.
"Aithaen, faiihr." This latest entry saw Davin in that fabled land, the mythical expanse known simply as 'his actual quarters'. The space was fairly standard for a modern Romulan warship, spacious but spartan, though the SubCommander had chosen to decorate with an assortment of techno-clutter more fitting for a workshop than living space. The bed had enough space cleared for Davin to sit and a spot for his discarded jacket, but that was all.
"Well, I've made a complete ass of myself. Again." A nervous hand ran through that spiky black mane, tipping the mans head back as fingers curled around tufts of hair. "Though to be fair," he said as a single raised finger waggled to his defense, "Buchanan wasn't exactly making progress. Starfleet doesn't excel at playing hardball."
Davin flopped back onto his bed, the impact tossing a smattering of lighter bits of technology into the air. "Probably should have put more thought into things before I butted in, though." Laying across the bed left Davins face conveniently off-screen, the camera instead lingering on where he had been, if only to keep from putting the seat of his black and grey cargos front and center.
"Playing the Rihannsu card doesn't work so well when the other guy can't tell a Romulan from a Horta. Fvadt 'Bensans', or whatever the void they are..." The groan of frustration that followed defied onomatopoeia; a low, throaty rumble rising slowly in pitch to a near-scream only to cut itself short. "And the whole station was watching. If I'd known that, maybe I wouldn't have hopped the railing."
With a kick of his legs Davin threw himself back up into a sitting position, only then releasing his grip on his hair. "The more I have to deal with the Delta quadrant, the more I start to think we ought to just hole up in the fvadt Dyson spheres. Leave the rest to the Vaadwaur."
Emo enough for you, Quae?
Wind rustled the tall grass, the field stretching on forever in the Mol'Rihan twilight. At the edge of the clearing, back against a tree, we find Davin sitting, his house blade sunk into the dirt beside him. Apart from the whistle of the wind and the rustling of the grasses, there is silence.
Beyond and below the lights of the command center shimmered in the sunsets purple haze. The New First City, all scaffolds and fresh structures unmarked by time. There was a serenity to it, a peace that betrayed the constant struggle to reach this point. Or maybe it was the opposite, and the silence, the calm, was the whole point of it all.
In the distance a Dhael cried out. It's raptor shriek surely meant the end of some unfortunate thing. But the world would go on, wouldn't it? Indifferent or entirely unknowing, the suns would still set. The light would still fade, and the lights below would shine on into the Vastam peaks. It was just the natural order of things, wasn't it?
'Hunter or hunted, Empire or Republic, the stars don't care,' Davin thought. Somewhere below, in the new city, was D'Kera. Not a Commander but a prisoner of the Republic. What will she be without the Tal Shiar? What will she be without the Okhala, without that chip in her head?
The Departed
"Is it bad that I'm glad she's dead?" It wasn't a good break to the silence, but there was only so long Lir could stand sipping her rum and coke in silence with Davin. While D'Ishae did indeed feature a full bar, the pair were imbibing in a secluded access junction just off of the main zero-point conduit. Lir had claimed the space as hers, and decorated with a string of fiberoptic lights woven into the ceiling grates.
"Depends," was Davins reply, and he gestured with his bottle. It wasn't kali-fal for once but some alien alcohol he had acquired in the Delta quadrant. Talaxian brandy, perhaps, but he honestly wasn't sure. "I don't mind that the Orion's dead, but I'm like that. You, though, you're more sympathetic. You won't even let us have epohh stew unless we replicate it."
"But they're sooo fuzzy!" Lir blurted, clutching her glass to her chest.
"Exactly." Another bottle-point and a smirk from Davin.
"But she just..." Lir slumped back against the wall behind her, staring up at the wild tangle of soft blue light. "It's not even like she was trying to steal James. That would have been messed up, but this was like mind control! That's a whole different level of not okay!"
The outpouring seemed to have little effect on Davin. "So you're glad that's over with. That's fine. But are you really glad she's dead?"
"Yes. No. I don't know... Ugh. I guess not." The final admission carried notes of defeat. "I wanted her gone, that's all. Death is just... I feel so petty for even thinking I wanted her dead."
"That's just your human side talking." Davin knocked back another swig of his beverage. If it was Talaxian, he might need to rethink his position on their people. "Listen to it. Somebody on this ship ought to be half-way sane, right?"
Lir nodded, and once again the pair drank in silence.
Tattered
D'Ishae barely managed to limp back to the Starbase. Systems across the board registered either in red or grey streaks. Lir's hideaway by the zero point junction was open to the void. And the ships captain sat at the heart of the mess, slumped over an engineering console, looking like he hadn't slept in days.
"Fvadt thing... just need to reset the actuators... Imirrhllhse!" Testing Davin's last nerve the console defied his input, refused to realign the singularity modulator. For their resistance the captain issued swift and harsh corporal punishment via a boot to their lower plating. Heeding the reprimand the display turned from an angry yellow to sky blue, and the great arms of the modulators took their places by the singularity harness.
Davin and his handful of engineers rose up in a mix of muted cheers and sighs of relief. Repairs were difficult enough on their own, but so many had been injured in the attack on the Orions. Crews were stretched thin trying to restore even basic functionality, much less restore the ailing warbird to combat condition.
"Ought to get a Scimitar out there," Takar called from underneath the zero point distribution matrix. Takar was a bit rotund for an engineer, but he managed consistently to work his way into D'Ishae's varied nooks and crannies. "Teach those Syndicate susse'thrai a lesson about Thalaron radiation." Half-attentive murmurs of agreement rose up from the other technicians.
Davin merely shrugged. "I just want to know where they keep getting ships. If we could pump out vessels like these fvadt pirates..." He shook his head. 'If wishes were fishes'. It was a favorite saying of Lir's father, Captain Callahan. Davin always expected there to be more to that lymric, but if there was then the Captain never recited it.
Lir. Repairs would have been a lot easier with her here. No one else here had her knack for the transporter systems, which were still barely functional. But she was on Starbase, no doubt nursing her disruptor wound and keeping a close eye on her nearly kidnapped boyfriend. Even if she offered her assistance she was in no shape to be repairing a starship.
Then again, neither was Davin. "You are only aggravating your condition, SubCommander." The sudden sound of D'Ishae's doctors voice drew a legitimate gasp from the laboring captain.
"Hnaev, you scared the... You are NOT pulling me away from this, Ketra." Davin stepped away from the console he had been struggling with. "I'm the only thing standing between you and a power outage in the infirmary."
Ketra was undeterred. "We both know the power supply to the medical deck is stable. Do not make me order you to stand down, SubCommander."
"Are you sure I'm not just aggravating my chief medic?" It was a clear jab at Ketra's Reunificationist ways. One which drew a jab from Ketra, in the form of a pointed finger pressed against the SubCommanders chest wound. He found that less amusing, and recoiled with a hissed inhale.
"You are clearly unfit to continue working," Ketra said flatly over Davins muted curses. "If you protest further I will be forced to relieve you of duty."
"You will do no such-"
There was a reason Ketra was assigned to Davin. In a flash her hand was at his neck. No hypo was necessary, only the study of Vulcan neuropressure and knowledge of Romulan anatomy. Her fingers pinched at the base of his neck and the stubborn SubCommander immediately crumpled forward into the waiting doctors grasp.
Charade
An unfamiliar presence stalked the SubCommander's ready room. A woman, with long black hair draped over the shoulders of Davin's jacket. The garment was too big for her, almost comically so, and after a few moments she tossed it over the back of Davin's desk chair.
"One week and I've already alienated two friends, gotten myself beaten senseless by holographic Klingons, and I don't even want to know what S'Tev wants with me." The woman threw herself into Davin's desk chair, sending the thing sliding backwards. A moment passed and she straightened up, speaking to something off-screen in a clear parody of the khre'riov's voice. " 'In light of your turn of fortunes, it is your duty to preserve your house's future. Procreation is your duty. I am a living antique.' "
She chuckled, no doubt thinking herself clever. "Just watch it be even worse than that, somehow. Void, the Elements are just gonna let me have it all at once, aren't they?" She slumped back into her chair. A kick to the end of the desk sent her spinning a lazy circle. "Doomed to a future of Lir's cosmetic torture sessions, Nethali giggling like a fvadt Rigellian hyena, and Dawsons looking at me like I'm a two-headed dhael."
The ridge in her brow deepened, her scowl growing more pronounced as she lifted herself back onto her feet to pace behind that chair. "Seriously, his type is 'living'. I'm... honestly kind of insulted." A quick about-face brings her back from the edge of the frame. "It's probably just more Terran gender issues. Ihhuein, for such an alleged utopia they have plenty of lingering cultural hang-ups..."
Divan stood with Ketra in front of a medical display she could not quite wrap her head around in spite of her medics increasingly basic explanations. The display showed the structures of Romulan DNA; her own. The pair of X shaped protein bundles hovered in their rendered pale blue, spinning slowly for dramatic effect.
"I am saying that this procedure will likely not be as straight-forward as you surmise." Ketra, Vulcan as she tried to remain, was quite obviously trying not to seem frustrated. "The added strand is a duplicate of your existing genetic data. Attempting to delete this added strand in transport carries the risk of deleting the original as well."
Divan canted her head to one side. "Which would be... bad?"
"In the event you materialized with two Y chromosomes, I could ensure your continued respiration for one hundred fifty three kehreha. Beyond that, modern medicine could not compensate for the physical detriments arising from so much missing genetic information."
Silence fell after that. Divans gaze fell to the plating at her feet, the V of her forehead visibly pronounced. "...Which is bad."
Ketra felt her expression soften against her will. A hand went to her Captains shoulder, resting there gently as another silence came and passed. "I... I am sorry, but the risks involved... I cannot recommend this course of action." She saw the pang of Divans anguish there, the instant her words were processed amid the tense moments as she entreated the Elements for Ketra to say something, anything, but that.
"It may be possible to restore Davin... You... as you are in the buffer, as another 'instance' of Davin Mandukar, but I cannot yet see a way to restore you."
"Thank you, doctor." The words were soft, timid almost. Divan did not raise her eyes. "I... I should probably give this some... thought."
Ketra grimaced. Already she was preparing herself for what was sure to be the Captains prompt return to her care. "Please try not to 'think' too hard. You are under enough emotional strain right now. Your usual injuries would only exacerbate your situation."
"I promise nothing." Ketra had to smile at that, in her coy little reunificationist way. Not that Divan saw; she was already out the door, headed for her quarters. For a Mandukar, introspection was best handled with a blade.
Davin shifted his stance, arms crossed over his chest. "So you say."
That drew an exasperated 'tsk' from Divan. She knew this wouldn't be easy, that she... he... they were prone to a touch of paranoia, but after a dozen retellings she couldn't help but feel a bit frustrated with himself. "There was a transporter error. A glitch in the reconstruction. I saved our pattern before the buffer cleared it, and when I couldn't restore myself I reintegrated you."
Davin just stared her down, his face an impassive mask. "That has got to be the dumbest, most asinine, half-assed science fiction trope of an explanation I have ever heard."
A roar of rage filled the ready room as Davin's obstinance sent Divan reeling across the room. "Rrrrrgh! Are you kidding me!? Hnaev, I can not seriously be this irritating!"
"Please, for all I know you're one of D'Kera's contingencies." Davin pressed, following his doppelganger across the room. "Some too-stupid-to-make-up ploy."
That drew her back into a proper cinfrontation, giving Davin a rare glimpse of his own reflected anger. "So what do I have to do to prove I'm you, hmm? Tell you our fifth name? Drag Nethali up here? I doubt even the Tal Shiar have the technology to recreate that frothing bucket of crazy. Oh, or maybe I should just point out Daegnus on the star charts, show you where we-"
She could have continued, but it was clear she had struck a chord. The color drained from Davin face in a way that was impossible to mistake. "Oh, well, that did the trick. Our 'dirty little secret'."
Davin gaze narrowed. "Okay. Fine. I will entertain the ludicrous possibility that you're me. Why are there two of us?"
Divan smirked, that predatory little grin that Davin often wore but rarely saw. "The short answer?" Davin nodded. "We're doomed."
"Us we, or-"
"The quadrant. The galaxy. Everyone." Divan moved to one of the displays at their desk. She called up a star chart to an empty patch of space, an unassuming void a hundred light-years from anything. "It's bad. And there's a reason I mentioned Daegnus."
Davin ran his fingers through his hair, staring at his double in disbelief. "You really think it's that bad?" Divan nodded. "Alright. But I'll need the shuttle."
"I can't believe she's gone." Divan looks to Khellian, her faithful Sehlat, curled up beneath her desk. His fur is not pink, there are no bows on his tail. She reaches down to ruffle the cats ears, and he bears it with an absent-minded purr. "I don't believe she's gone."
She sighs, and her eyes drift up to the ceiling. "Nethali Aster... She was the first one to say more than two words to me when I came aboard this station. She didn't mind talking to the shifty-eyed green blood. McCarthy, either. But now he's busy with his business ventures, and she's off on Pariah." She scoffs. "Those poor colonists."
"I still don't know what strings Tirian pulled to get himself transferred to that rock. Now I need a new flight deck chief and a new science officer. Ihhuein, as if things weren't bad enough..." She runs a hand through her hair, still adjusting to the shaggy pseudo-regulation length cut that had taken the place of the more familiar spiked faux-hawk.
Davin sat on the edge of one of the spacious Kestrel shuttles sleeping nooks. The ship sported several such spaces, handy Romulan-sized compartments to serve the shuttles crew and passengers on longer flights. But these were clean, mostly unused save for the nook Davin had settled into.
"I wasn't thinking. That was the problem." Davin tugged at the hems of his battered flight jacket, well worn but just as well cared for. A relic of the Star Empire, and one of the few surviving possessions of Davins father. "Bringing Daegnus out of the void was a mistake. Aurelia was right... Not that she can ever know I said that. Ever. No circumstances."
His gaze drifted from the camera to some point above and behind it, a nebulous space undefined by the recording. "The ship is... Nothing good can come of that thing. I thought I could control it, keep it in check, but..."
An unsteady hand dove into the lining of his gray jacket and came away with a battered flask. With practiced precision he sent the cap spinning and fortified himself with a deep gulp of the liquid within. "It wants something. I think... I don't know. But I can't be on that ship anymore. I... I can't be connected to that ship anymore." He rubbed at the back of his neck, grimacing.
"I need to think this out. Just me, not... whatever that thing is...
Ship In A Bottle
A holographic readout of a T'Varo warbird was an unexpected sight in a Federation suite, but it was no more out of place than the rest of Davins assorted Romulan technologies. But it was the hologram that held Davins interest, the ship rendered in pale blue wire frame and exploded to allow access to its small scale internal components. "Aithaen." A beep from his wrist-comm replied. "Faiihr."
"Optimizing a T'Varo is no small task," he more croaked than said, hunched over his holographic model. "Most of the ones still flying are a mix of parts from a dozen decades, and getting all those components to play nice isn't easy. Mismatched firmware, variable powerflow tolerance, and centuries of ad hoc repairs..."
His voice trailed off as he plucked at a tiny warp nacelle, contoured to produce an oblique warp field. A panel materialized in pale blue to show the specs of that nacelle, from its serial numbers down to its current calibration. Davin made a sound, half chuckle and half hiss, and entered a new strings of numbers into his console. A flourishing stroke finalized the changes and sent the translucent models scattered pieces flying back together.
"Okay computer, project warp field stability and subspace drag using the updated dynamic field algorithm. Warp one to maximum warp, standard acceleration at ten percent speed." A chime acknowledged the request but Davin waited, pouring through his rushing g thoughts in search of anything he might have neglected. "...Engage." Suddenly a bubble of blue light formed around the ship. A perfect sphere, slowly but steadily deforming as the speedometer began to climb. Warp one point six, one point seven. At warp four the bubble was vaguely egg shaped, blunt at the bow but looking a bit squeezed astern. Five point one, five point two. He watched as the shape continued to change, growing more and more distinct.
By warp seven point to the egg shape was clear, a blunted 'base' tapering to a slimmer, rounded 'peak' at the ships tail. And still the speed climbed, eight point nine, nine point oh. Davin grinned, watching, waiting, until the counter slowed and finally stopped at warp nine point eight seven five. The warp field was a tear drop, or so it looked at a glance. The truth was more curious than that by far.
The warp field was a pair of counter rotating tear drops, twisted into a sort of reverse drill bit shape. Each nacelle was devoted to one of the fields, overlapping and rippling and distorting subspace to propel the vessel within faster and faster. When all was said and done the tiny Romulan ship had topped out at warp nine point eight seven five.
"Asynchronous warp field simulation oh one four, success." Davins grin was proud and predatory. "Log configuration and prepare four full scale simulations. One control, three under randomized test parameters." His wrist-comm, tethered to the Starbase computer, chirped.
The More Things Change...
Davin returned, and D'Ishae greeted him like an old friend. Not the crew, left too wary and weary to trust even themselves, but the ship. The familiar thrum of the singularity forgave his transgressions, the pale white-green deck lights soothed his troubled mind. He had not heard from High Command yet, could not say whether or not he had been deemed fit to resume his role as Captain, but he would stay until they came for his head.
Even the colors of his new house were no guarantee. It was tempting to think of his dark blue jacket as a suit of armor, a shield against those who would hold him accountable for the actions of the other s'Mandukar, but that would be a false comfort. And the illusion of solace is no solace at all.
The blade laid out on his desk, jagged and sleek and fiercely Debrune, he could count on. Rellir he could count on. Aurelia... was unlikely to kill him in cold blood. And now that he stood beside her under the banner of s'Lhiahthra her ties to tradition worked in his favor, at least.
So he would wait. And he would work. And once the dust settled he would gather whatever tools lay at his disposal and set things right. If that left him with just a sword and a shuttle so be it. For now, all he could do was pour over the Intel reports coming in and try to make some progress tracking...
Progress. He turned the word over in his mind, revulsion and excitement warring as he seized on the word, on that jumble of Romulan syllables.
Daegnus.
He nearly toppled his chair in his rush to his ready room door.
Ashes, Ashes...
D'Ishae drifted through the tangle of debris, silhouetted by the blue-green of Terra below. The warbird had stood against the Iconian onslaught, fought and killed for the home world of the Federation. And, somehow, it had come away with hardly a scratch.
Davin stared out his shuttle viewport at his ship, the wings lightly singed, the hull scuffed but intact. One of the ships scorpion fighters buzzed his shuttle, wiggled it's wings and pulled back, nose up, to fall in behind Davins Kestrel. His eyes drifted from D'Ishae to Starbase Zero-One, once again a smouldering derelict, and then to Terra itself. A planet still teeming with life. A planet turning around its star as the light of a new day dawned on the continents below.
Davin turned his eyes to the void. The emptiness hardly seemed empty. Debris choked the space around the Terran home world, metal and slag and countless lives ended in a battle that had not concluded, merely stopped. Hefelt numb. He, like Terra, had survived. He, like Terra, had escaped the fury of the Iconian juggernaut when so many others had not.
Why? The word echoed in his mind. He knew what was happening. He could feel it coming, building in stages. The steady build in his heartbeat, his breathing growing ragged, the restlessness in his legs as he paced his shuttle. Why me? Why again? What's so fvadt special about me!?
His shoulder crashed against the shuttle door, and slowly the SubCommander slid down until he sat on the floor with his back on the airlock. Unbidden, his mind returned to the other times he and his ship had escaped near annihilation. To the other blue-green planets he had left behind, and the lives snuffed out by a force he could not stop.
Why? The word echoed in his mind as tears welled in his eyes. Why? Why me?
All Ahead Full
Like so many times before Davin sat before his computer. He had traded in his Logistics green jacket traded in for s'Lhaihtrha blue, but aside from that things were much the same as they always were aboard the Warbird D'Ishae.
"I... have nothing to report," Davin said flatly, offering his upturned hands to the camera. "The Iconians are staying quiet, in spite of the best efforts of our 'friends' in the Klingon High Command... The Mirror Universe is playing nice, the Delta quadrant is quiet, we haven't had so much as a sighting of a crystalline entity." Fingertips rapped on the hard top of the SubCommanders desk. "I don't want to go throwing around the word 'peace', but if the Iconians really were the ones orchestrating all of this trouble for us, all these years..."
Faced with that implication Davin could only shrug. "Maybe this is it. Maybe we're safe for a while. No one has all that many ships to spare anymore. Even the Klivam are playing the defensive right now. All that's really left now is..." The thought held in the air. In the silence the camera could only catch the flicker in Davins plasma green eyes as thoughts unwound inside his head.
Civil Blood, Civil Hands
The camera came on when Davin was dropping into his ready room chair, dark olive jacket draped over the back of his seat. He took a moment to run a hand through his hair, and a few moments to open his flask and take a fortifying sip of its contents.
"Why do I agree to go on missions on Federation ships?" The sound he made was somewhere between a groan and a growl; pure auditory frustration. "Why do I not always insist on bringing D'Ishae?" Davin counted off on his fingers. "Cannons, fighters, and proper cloaking device. If there is even a chance of danger, we should be bringing a Warbird. My Warbird."
Davin sighed. He tapped out a few quick commands on his console, and a holographic map of an M class world flickers into being. "Terix. An independent Romulan colony that seems to be in the throes of a violent insurrection, if not outright civil war." The world spins slowly in holographic facsimile. "Hundreds dead, if not more. Starfleet and Rihannsu. The rebels even have a few warbirds, though they don't seem to know how to work them."
Davin stared down at the holo-globe, at the oceans and continents, plains and mountains and the faint markings of civilization. "D'Ishae could have made short work of them, even if they did have a D'Deridex. Instead we brought a Starfleet ship and a Starfleet crew, and we came uncomfortably close to being killed by a gang of wanna-be pirates."
The SubCommander chuckled, but the sound dripped bitterness. "How am I surprised that we are the ones to break the peace?" He leaned back in his seat, cast his eyes up to the ceiling. "Aithaen, sehhae faiihr."
No Win Situation
The freighter drifted dead in space. Not far from it a trio of impossible warships drew closer. From the far side of the Iconian Exclusion Zone rescue was impossible without plunging the galaxy into an unwinnable war. The ships refused to answer hails, and the freighter could only drift further from safety as it's impulse drives sputtered.
The captain's voice was solemn, his expression hard as a gravestone. “If you can hear me out there, know that your sacrifice is not in vain.” In one stroke he closed the comms channel. In another he gave his silent order. The tactical officer nodded, and set his hand on his command console. A single torpedo flew out across their viewscreen. The angry red orb crossed the threshold, the gulf of space ahead of them, and slammed into the freighter. The ship erupted into a burst of blinding light as it's antimatter core exploded.
In an instant the view screen went blank. The bridge crew dissolved save for the captain, and in strode a red headed officer in yellow. Her expression was one of utter shock.
“Davin! What the actual hell?!”
The captain blinked. “I just-”
“You blew up the Kobayashi Maru! YOU BLEW UP THE KOBAYASHI MARU!”
The captain rose to his feet, starting to look a bit green. “The Iconians-”
Lir talked right over him. “LITERALLY NO ONE HAS EVER DONE THAT. EVER!!!” She turned in place, paced the holographic deck, turned about, played with her ponytail. “WHYWOULDYOUDOTHAT?!”
Davin took all this in with that special sort of surprise he saved for Lir. “They would have been killed any-”
Lir raised a hand to silence him. “But you didn't have to torpedo a defenseless cargo ship! And you know what you did?”
“I torpedoed a defens-”
“YOU TORPEDOED A DEFENSELESS CARGO SHIP!”
Davin put a hand to his face, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “If I tried to rescue them it would have been war with the Iconians.”
Lir circled the bridge to put herself in front of the captain's chair. “You could have just done nothing!”
“But the Iconians would have just killed them anyway.”
“But then YOU wouldn't have killed them!”
Grimacing, Davin tried to step around Lir. She moved on front of him, blocking him with her arms. He stepped left, she countered. He stepped right, she followed him. He frowned, and she just glared back at him.
Davin feigned left, and when Lir moved to counter he pivoted in place and put a boot on the seat of the captains chair. Now all he had to do was vault the chair and-
“Computer end program!”
In an instant the chair under his boots ceased to exist and Davin slammed onto the bare holodeck floor, muttering curses. He didn't need to look to know Lir was grinning.
“Cheap shot,” he grumbled as he hauled himself up off the floor.
Lir made no move to assist. “And who do you think I picked it up from?”
“Remind me to stop teaching.” With a giggling Lir in tow, Davin limped his way out of the holodeck.
The Next Generation
Davin had been drinking. Not the sort of casual, calculated consumption he usually engaged in, but rather in the privacy of his ready room the SubCommander had truly indulged himself. An empty bottle framed the camera shot that showed him nursing a much less empty bottle on his couch, duty jacket thrown across the armrest.
“Parenthood,” he blurted after a long period of silence. “Shouldn’t be a dicey subject… right?” Staring down into the contents of his colored bottle Davins eyes seemed to use the glass and the liquid within to lose his eyes’ focus as much as his mind. “Nethali… Now Aurelia and Jack… Basic biological drive, right?” He scoffed and took a pull from his bottle.
“So why don't I wanna think about it?” A moment of silence fell as he pondered. “Well. Anthony, for one... Heh. No chance of continuing the species there.” Another sip cut off his chuckle. “He'd prob’ly see the logic in continuing the species though… Something about heritage, or diversity, or…” Thoughts unraveled in his head like a knot coming undone, twisting this way and that, tugging him down tangents that led nowhere. His ready room fell silent once again, and save for the occasional sounds of sloshing liquid and lips on glass it stayed that way for a long while.
“…Don't remember much about Dad.” Davin leaned toward the camera, his elbows propped on his knees, bottle hanging between his fingers by the neck. “Mostly just feelings and Si’s stories. But if I try to picture his face…” He held a fist up to the camera, fingers curled tight, and slowly unfurled them above his upturned palm. “The picture just slips through my fingers.” The last of his drink poured down his throat, and the empty bottle was discarded on the empty cushion beside him.
Suddenly his eyes flared, flickering in the dim like the embers of a plasma fire. “What if I try?” Davin threw his arms up at his sides. “What if I do it, and I end up like her? Lose myself, put a child through that… No one deserves that! What… chance do I have of giving a kid a normal childhood? I'm a soldier, not a fvadt nursemaid! Not, not…” The fire in his eyes burned out, and left behind nothing more than an orphan trying to comprehend the upbringing he had been denied. Not years on a refugee ship watching the stars pass, not life in a cramped apartment learning repair work while his caretaker learned how to be a parent.
Davin reached under the couch for another bottle. “...Aithaen, faiihr sehhae.”
Repetition
Davins jacket lay across the arm of his sofa, but aside from that the SubCommander still wore his rugged duty uniform. And that included his sidearm and his command saber, secured on opposite sides of his belt. He moved from one end of his ready room to the other, caught up in the motions of stress in its purest form: running fingers through his hair, fussing with his uniform, and sighing out at uneven intervals.
"An Andorian just smashed a mug into the face of the Vorta at the bar earlier." Reaching the wall Davin turns a quick about-face. "Not terribly shocking in itself. I mean, who hasn't wanted to do that?" A beat passes in silence. "I mean, probably not Lir, but she hasn't exactly made great strides in earning friends. Especially not after she uploaded a sociopathic mass murdered into her head."
Davin turned, once more coming to an expected dead end. "But the officer that attacked her didn't seem to be aware of what he was doing when he was doing it. So, considering what happened to me last time something like this happened, I'm just going to camp out on D'Ishae for a while. Maybe do some actual work. Put some time in on my..." The thought slowed along with the speaker, and in a rush Davin dove to his desk. His hands roamed the cluttered tabletop amid a faint stream of curses.
"Fvadt, virka... Dhat, hnaev! Don't tell me left it at the bar! Ugh!" A pair of reversed steps put Davin in range to fall back onto his sofa, both hands gripping fistfuls of his hair. "And I didn't back up the schematics... Uuuuugh!" Slowly the SubCommander began to list, until he toppled onto his side and sprawled across the cushions. "I spent four hours working on that exosuit prototype! And now it's... Rrrrr. Fine. I'll start over. Aithaen, bring up the engineering readouts of all known Voth exosuit configurations and launch a new holo-engrammatic simulation, engram name Davin Personal Zero Four Six Beta."
Rather than the expected chirp the computer intoned a grating, dissonant tone.
Aid And Abet
Davin sat in front of his desk, his duty jacket draped over the back of his chair. The sleeves were dark with dust and soil, with a matching dusting of grime in his spiked locks.
"D'Ishae arrived in orbit of the Kiivar colony earlier today. Republic SigInt forwarded their distress signal while we were on a supply run, and we diverted to assist. It seems they've had some unexpected seismic activity. Casualties were low, but the infrastructure damage was... well. 'Crippling' seems to get the point across."
The SubCommander breathed a sigh, and after a moment he began to smile. "It's nice to see that the crew can do more than just fight. We've been sending a steady stream of replicated rations and supplies to the surface since we arrived, and I've tasked engineering teams to assist on the surface. Zazris is thrilled, naturally," he said in a sardonic deadpan, "but Sevius is having the time of his life playing sheriff.
"It's nice not to be fighting for once. Refreshing. Makes me think I might be able to leave a mark on this galaxy beyond just a plasma burn. We'll probably be tied up here another few hours before the Republic can get a proper and convoy out here, but D'Ishae's not going to slack off. We've got a good ship here, and a good crew.