(A message will be sent in the next databurst from the Keterix to New Romulus before it departs Deep Space 13, addressed to Uhlan Ahnar i-Rhallan tr'Veras at the camp outside the ruins on mol'Rihan. Aurelia is standing in front of a blank-looking wall wearing Republic casual clothing.)
Y’hhau, Ahnar.
It turns out that I will not be coming back to mol’Rihan with Lekh and the others after all, as I’ve been assigned to a new detail near the border with the klivam. You’d better watch yourself, because even in the Republic there are consequences to believing in reunification.
Oh, I can just imagine your face right now. Calm down. You’re rihannsu, not a Vulcan, no matter what Mother told you – you do have a sense of humor, whether you like it or not. The consequences are a nicer post doing something I like very much at which I am also quite good. See – if you keep mnhei’sahe, good things come your way. We were both able to get away from the imperial fleet with all of our limbs intact, and I only had to spend a year on that fvadt flying singularity core breach. Blowing up pirates on the sly is entertaining, but I am now in a position to do even more good for the Republic and our allies. Trust it, Ahnar! Read your Surak all you like, but know that the Vulcans have something to learn from us, too.
I cannot tell you much about the new assignment right now – only that, while it’s further away from the civil front, it will further our mutual goals in the end. Brother, while I’m away – you must hold to the promise of our revenge, just as I do. I am sorry I cannot be there in person, but please know I think of you quite often. Please send me messages through Command – it will be wonderful to hear from you and Lekh and hear about what they've found in the ruins.
Be well. Kill some Tal Shiar for me.
3 Likes
Centurion Aurelia t'Veras, personal log, spoken in the casual variation of the Rihannsu-Rhalla dialect:
"I located and read my transfer orders this morning. I don’t know what I was expecting. I spent my junior years serving on imperial subcapital ships with fvadt political officers, Tal Shiar wannabes who couldn’t make the grade on a real warbird – I was assuming that there would be some variation on hidden orders, where I’d make secondary reports on a tertiary channel to some lady wearing a raptor sash. That’s the way it always was.
Before.
But no. There’s nothing at all here that isn’t completely aboveboard. Command honestly requested a rihannsu intelligence officer to serve at Deep Space 13 as part of the exchange program in the development of cultural and professional ties, et cetera, et cetera, and Command honestly thought, 'Oh, let’s send t’Veras. She speaks Federation Standard and can usually hold her temper in unfamiliar and aggravating situations.' Seriously. It’s written right there, right at the bottom, and Subcommander Avala herself even signed it! ‘Can hold her temper in unusual’ – fvadt! The promotion was really great, don’t get me wrong, and I'm very happy to be here, but --
Some mornings, it’s like I’m waking up in a bizarre mirror existence, like I’ll wake up any moment and be back on the Irix the morning of the attack on Virinat. But no, I wake up in a Federation bed and use a Federation replicator. I’m sitting here, going over Federation reports on Federation computers, writing analyses in Federation standard for my Federation commanding officer, doing weapons training in a Federation holodeck, drinking in a Federation bar at night. Yes, they have a bar -- like that would fly on the Irix, ha. And the Starfleet officers have been very nice to me, like Ensign Kermit, Commander Yores, Commander Black, Captain Corrano -- and oh, not everyone has been polite or respectful exactly like you'd get on a proper Republic ship, but it’s not like I can’t handle myself in a fight if it comes to that, which it won't. And what was it – not even three standard years ago? On the Irix? That battle near the Liih star? I was so proud of myself…
Everything has changed so fast. I feel like I’ve got whiplash.
There are other rihannsu here, which is – it’s great. There’s a cook on the embassy level who has promised to make me food from home. There are at least two Republican warbirds attached to the task force, with rihannsu crews and even some Remans, and one that employs a very combative human pilot, although I'm not sure she's part of the... exchange program. She does fit right in, and her commander is very, um, uh, capable. A few others are around the starbase right now – one that’s serving in the Federation framework like me, and another who’s an independent explorer-type, and I already can't wait to talk to her when she gets back. And others whom I haven’t met yet. It’s not like I’m alone.
Still. It is a very, very strange universe we live in today.
I have to sign off. Things to do for the Federation tomorrow, bright and early... Federation breakfast to eat... Federation reports to write... fvadt!"
"I located and read my transfer orders this morning. I don’t know what I was expecting. I spent my junior years serving on imperial subcapital ships with fvadt political officers, Tal Shiar wannabes who couldn’t make the grade on a real warbird – I was assuming that there would be some variation on hidden orders, where I’d make secondary reports on a tertiary channel to some lady wearing a raptor sash. That’s the way it always was.
Before.
But no. There’s nothing at all here that isn’t completely aboveboard. Command honestly requested a rihannsu intelligence officer to serve at Deep Space 13 as part of the exchange program in the development of cultural and professional ties, et cetera, et cetera, and Command honestly thought, 'Oh, let’s send t’Veras. She speaks Federation Standard and can usually hold her temper in unfamiliar and aggravating situations.' Seriously. It’s written right there, right at the bottom, and Subcommander Avala herself even signed it! ‘Can hold her temper in unusual’ – fvadt! The promotion was really great, don’t get me wrong, and I'm very happy to be here, but --
Some mornings, it’s like I’m waking up in a bizarre mirror existence, like I’ll wake up any moment and be back on the Irix the morning of the attack on Virinat. But no, I wake up in a Federation bed and use a Federation replicator. I’m sitting here, going over Federation reports on Federation computers, writing analyses in Federation standard for my Federation commanding officer, doing weapons training in a Federation holodeck, drinking in a Federation bar at night. Yes, they have a bar -- like that would fly on the Irix, ha. And the Starfleet officers have been very nice to me, like Ensign Kermit, Commander Yores, Commander Black, Captain Corrano -- and oh, not everyone has been polite or respectful exactly like you'd get on a proper Republic ship, but it’s not like I can’t handle myself in a fight if it comes to that, which it won't. And what was it – not even three standard years ago? On the Irix? That battle near the Liih star? I was so proud of myself…
Everything has changed so fast. I feel like I’ve got whiplash.
There are other rihannsu here, which is – it’s great. There’s a cook on the embassy level who has promised to make me food from home. There are at least two Republican warbirds attached to the task force, with rihannsu crews and even some Remans, and one that employs a very combative human pilot, although I'm not sure she's part of the... exchange program. She does fit right in, and her commander is very, um, uh, capable. A few others are around the starbase right now – one that’s serving in the Federation framework like me, and another who’s an independent explorer-type, and I already can't wait to talk to her when she gets back. And others whom I haven’t met yet. It’s not like I’m alone.
Still. It is a very, very strange universe we live in today.
I have to sign off. Things to do for the Federation tomorrow, bright and early... Federation breakfast to eat... Federation reports to write... fvadt!"
5 Likes
Sent in the most recent databurst to mol'Rihan, addressed to Ahnar i-Rhallan tr'Veras, and coded on three levels with a DNA lock:
Y’hhau, Ahnar.
I am being punished. That is the only rational explanation for being posted here. I still cannot tell you where I am, and I still cannot tell you what I am doing. Soon. What I do know is that somebody at Command must hate me desperately to have put me here, so far from the important matters of the Republic.
No, brother, I am not being paranoid. You can’t expect things to change overnight, even if the Reunificationists are in charge. You can’t expect a Klingon to surrender and you can’t expect a human to be rational and you can't expect the Senate to have no secrets and you can’t expect a proper t’Veras to ever let her guard down. That’s right, Ahnar – you are Veras, you are never off duty.
Well – all right, I told you I would try to think of things like you do, and I will try, I will. I suppose someone thinks I am a decent diplomat, to send me here. Maybe they do not hate me. Maybe they honestly think I can be of assistance to the cause. Nevertheless, I’d like to see them be polite all day, like I am required to be. It’s impossible. I’ve already beat up a superior officer in an honor duel, and it hasn’t even been two weeks. On top of that, you never know what to think with these aliens. Reading their facial expressions is like reading ancient Breen drunk on kali-fal when you’ve been awake for three days.
Maybe I just need to give it a little time.
Speaking of decent kali-fal, I hear there’s a ship in the Flotilla whose cargo bays have been converted to distilleries. I hear that it’s absolutely delicious. Goes down your throat like a plasma burn. That’s all you get. Never say I do not love you.
I am glad to hear that the Tholians have pulled back towards the mountains. They are wretched and deserve every Republican boot to the face that they get. Keep your rifle ready and never forget why we do this, brother. It will be our time soon enough.
Y’hhau, Ahnar.
I am being punished. That is the only rational explanation for being posted here. I still cannot tell you where I am, and I still cannot tell you what I am doing. Soon. What I do know is that somebody at Command must hate me desperately to have put me here, so far from the important matters of the Republic.
No, brother, I am not being paranoid. You can’t expect things to change overnight, even if the Reunificationists are in charge. You can’t expect a Klingon to surrender and you can’t expect a human to be rational and you can't expect the Senate to have no secrets and you can’t expect a proper t’Veras to ever let her guard down. That’s right, Ahnar – you are Veras, you are never off duty.
Well – all right, I told you I would try to think of things like you do, and I will try, I will. I suppose someone thinks I am a decent diplomat, to send me here. Maybe they do not hate me. Maybe they honestly think I can be of assistance to the cause. Nevertheless, I’d like to see them be polite all day, like I am required to be. It’s impossible. I’ve already beat up a superior officer in an honor duel, and it hasn’t even been two weeks. On top of that, you never know what to think with these aliens. Reading their facial expressions is like reading ancient Breen drunk on kali-fal when you’ve been awake for three days.
Maybe I just need to give it a little time.
Speaking of decent kali-fal, I hear there’s a ship in the Flotilla whose cargo bays have been converted to distilleries. I hear that it’s absolutely delicious. Goes down your throat like a plasma burn. That’s all you get. Never say I do not love you.
I am glad to hear that the Tholians have pulled back towards the mountains. They are wretched and deserve every Republican boot to the face that they get. Keep your rifle ready and never forget why we do this, brother. It will be our time soon enough.
4 Likes
(I know, I know... I write a lot... but in the early stages of working out a new character, I find that diaries and logs are really good way for me to figure out motivations and reactions to other characters and allows me to bounce more fun stuff back to you guys earlier on in the process! And since I'm writing them, I might as well post them, right? If it's all too much or annoying at all, let me know! It's certainly quite meta as she'd never say any of this out loud... yet. )
---
(A personal entry log recorded to Aurelia’s battered old Republic PADD, in Rhallan casual-dialect.)
The more I think about the Borg attacks in the Pariah system, the more I’m… bothered. Is this on DNA lock? Okay, good.
Oh, this mission. So many things seemed to be simply assumed about the whole fool affair – that the Borg machinery was truly dead in space, that there was no Queen involved, that there would not be heavy combat with tactical drones, that noncombatants like Rellir t'Lhaihtrha could be taken along without proper assault support, even if this was truly a matter of mnhei’sahe for her and Foster.
Oh, Foster’s idea was not a bad one at all. We are sorely missing information that a liberated drone that had worked in the Pariah-centric unimatrix could have possibly provided, or a proper download from the cube's core. However, any first-year uhlan in the arian’ov would tell you that low expectations cause high casualties. We know enough about the Borg to know that we must avoid going to war with them on a whim, and I can’t help but think the rescue force could have done quite a few things to be more prepared. And so they came back with team members possibly assimilated and a number of injuries and no useful information at all, besides the presence of a proto-queen – which only tells us that the Borg are planning to escalate in Pariah. Which I could have told you blind, bound and hung upside-down without any intel at all. This is extremely frustrating.
This would not have happened on a ship of the Empire-that-was.
(She takes a drink of what looks like coffee; a mug had been sitting away from the screen the entire time.)
Ah, but that world is gone. All we are now is who we are becoming. Ah, fvadt, it doesn’t matter anyway – the whole lot of it is being pushed into the Pariah sun, and we’ll have to start over. And I still must be careful about what I say, as I am still gaining the trust and respect of these people. Why am I here again? Oh, yes, Command wants me here. For some reason, the Elements only know.
Okay, a few more comments before I return to keeping the official log – a few small matters that I personally should watch. First, it looks like Rellir’s grandfather, Commander S’Tev, may apply to be stationed with Task Force Argo, if only to keep an eye on her relationship with Foster. I do not envy her. I am not entirely sure how easily the commander would take to work with an alien task force. It would certainly not be as smooth a transition as it looks like it has been for Subcommander T’Varros and the crew of the D’Ishae – but then, as far as I can tell, the subcommander and his crew have most always operated outside of the Empire’s purview, giving them a – different perspective than my own. Allows them to tolerate that Aster woman, I suppose.
In another matter, I’d originally taken Ensign Kermit for an innocent of sorts, that kind of Starfleet veruul we were used to hearing about in school -- but during our short holodeck adventure last weekend, he lied quite glibly to a fellow officer to gain access to a restricted area, and he did not think, for one second, despite our short acquaintance, that I would mind. How absolutely fascinating.
All right. I should get back to the reports now.
(She finishes the coffee and puts the mug out of range of the camera and reaches forward to press a few buttons; the log ends.)
---
(A personal entry log recorded to Aurelia’s battered old Republic PADD, in Rhallan casual-dialect.)
The more I think about the Borg attacks in the Pariah system, the more I’m… bothered. Is this on DNA lock? Okay, good.
Oh, this mission. So many things seemed to be simply assumed about the whole fool affair – that the Borg machinery was truly dead in space, that there was no Queen involved, that there would not be heavy combat with tactical drones, that noncombatants like Rellir t'Lhaihtrha could be taken along without proper assault support, even if this was truly a matter of mnhei’sahe for her and Foster.
Oh, Foster’s idea was not a bad one at all. We are sorely missing information that a liberated drone that had worked in the Pariah-centric unimatrix could have possibly provided, or a proper download from the cube's core. However, any first-year uhlan in the arian’ov would tell you that low expectations cause high casualties. We know enough about the Borg to know that we must avoid going to war with them on a whim, and I can’t help but think the rescue force could have done quite a few things to be more prepared. And so they came back with team members possibly assimilated and a number of injuries and no useful information at all, besides the presence of a proto-queen – which only tells us that the Borg are planning to escalate in Pariah. Which I could have told you blind, bound and hung upside-down without any intel at all. This is extremely frustrating.
This would not have happened on a ship of the Empire-that-was.
(She takes a drink of what looks like coffee; a mug had been sitting away from the screen the entire time.)
Ah, but that world is gone. All we are now is who we are becoming. Ah, fvadt, it doesn’t matter anyway – the whole lot of it is being pushed into the Pariah sun, and we’ll have to start over. And I still must be careful about what I say, as I am still gaining the trust and respect of these people. Why am I here again? Oh, yes, Command wants me here. For some reason, the Elements only know.
Okay, a few more comments before I return to keeping the official log – a few small matters that I personally should watch. First, it looks like Rellir’s grandfather, Commander S’Tev, may apply to be stationed with Task Force Argo, if only to keep an eye on her relationship with Foster. I do not envy her. I am not entirely sure how easily the commander would take to work with an alien task force. It would certainly not be as smooth a transition as it looks like it has been for Subcommander T’Varros and the crew of the D’Ishae – but then, as far as I can tell, the subcommander and his crew have most always operated outside of the Empire’s purview, giving them a – different perspective than my own. Allows them to tolerate that Aster woman, I suppose.
In another matter, I’d originally taken Ensign Kermit for an innocent of sorts, that kind of Starfleet veruul we were used to hearing about in school -- but during our short holodeck adventure last weekend, he lied quite glibly to a fellow officer to gain access to a restricted area, and he did not think, for one second, despite our short acquaintance, that I would mind. How absolutely fascinating.
All right. I should get back to the reports now.
(She finishes the coffee and puts the mug out of range of the camera and reaches forward to press a few buttons; the log ends.)
6 Likes
(Aurelia is drinking kali-fal; the blue liquid in the shaped glass is obvious. Her words are casual Rhallan dialect, as is usual for these DNA-locked entries.)
The Foster thing is finished. He should know now not to cross me.
... I conned two new rifles off a random hevam hhakh at the Embassy bar tonight. I'm glad I haven't lost my touch. Checked into him, he's some trader, not very important, but -- turns out he does do some work for Task Force Argo now and again, so he could be useful.
I'm excited about the new rifles -- not that I can actually fire them, they'll be stuck up in a storeroom somewhere. Fvadt Starfleet.
(She takes another drink.)
Anyway. Did a little digging on some people. Seafort -- oh, he's just as crazy as he looks, and you can expect that out of him. Buchanan too, but in a completely different matter, you have to make him buy in, but it's possible. And T'varros --
(She takes another pull of her ale.)
I should know better than to check into the old databases. Fvadt. I really have to get some sleep.
(She reaches forward and switches off the log.)
The Foster thing is finished. He should know now not to cross me.
... I conned two new rifles off a random hevam hhakh at the Embassy bar tonight. I'm glad I haven't lost my touch. Checked into him, he's some trader, not very important, but -- turns out he does do some work for Task Force Argo now and again, so he could be useful.
I'm excited about the new rifles -- not that I can actually fire them, they'll be stuck up in a storeroom somewhere. Fvadt Starfleet.
(She takes another drink.)
Anyway. Did a little digging on some people. Seafort -- oh, he's just as crazy as he looks, and you can expect that out of him. Buchanan too, but in a completely different matter, you have to make him buy in, but it's possible. And T'varros --
(She takes another pull of her ale.)
I should know better than to check into the old databases. Fvadt. I really have to get some sleep.
(She reaches forward and switches off the log.)
7 Likes
(This entry looks a little more like a formal log; she's seated at a desk, in uniform, and speaking in formal Rihan.)
Last night, the station counselor took me for a tour of the Project Listen, the holographic counseling program Starfleet is developing on Deep Space 13. It was a fascinating experience, even if it was not exactly what I was expecting.
This program highlights a major difference between my people and those of the Federation. What Counselor Sedai saw in Project Listen was a method to help the emotionally wounded gain further access to much-needed mental health services. What I saw was – a method of passive intelligence extraction, a trust process with a number of excellent and completely useful tactical applications that Starfleet is either ignoring completely or purposefully discounting.
It is only because of the relative innocence of officers like Counselor Sedai and the trust they place in their superior officers that this kind of technique could work, of course; on an Imperial ship, the ruse would be entirely too clear. But in the Federation?
It makes me wonder how far up you really have to go in the Starfleet command structure before things start unraveling and reality sets in, because it has to at some point. It always does. How incredible a control tactic this is – this whole and utter belief in the essential goodness of the Federation that so many Starfleet officers have! When I was growing up, we believed in the strength of the Empire, the rightness of the Empire, but everyone knows from the cradle that politics is politics and that the way of D’era is not always kind -- it is even so in the Republic. Serve always, commit fully, but trust? How can you trust with so much at stake?
This expectation of benevolence, this full trust Sedai has in her superiors – it is so alien. And so, so dangerous.
Last night, the station counselor took me for a tour of the Project Listen, the holographic counseling program Starfleet is developing on Deep Space 13. It was a fascinating experience, even if it was not exactly what I was expecting.
This program highlights a major difference between my people and those of the Federation. What Counselor Sedai saw in Project Listen was a method to help the emotionally wounded gain further access to much-needed mental health services. What I saw was – a method of passive intelligence extraction, a trust process with a number of excellent and completely useful tactical applications that Starfleet is either ignoring completely or purposefully discounting.
It is only because of the relative innocence of officers like Counselor Sedai and the trust they place in their superior officers that this kind of technique could work, of course; on an Imperial ship, the ruse would be entirely too clear. But in the Federation?
It makes me wonder how far up you really have to go in the Starfleet command structure before things start unraveling and reality sets in, because it has to at some point. It always does. How incredible a control tactic this is – this whole and utter belief in the essential goodness of the Federation that so many Starfleet officers have! When I was growing up, we believed in the strength of the Empire, the rightness of the Empire, but everyone knows from the cradle that politics is politics and that the way of D’era is not always kind -- it is even so in the Republic. Serve always, commit fully, but trust? How can you trust with so much at stake?
This expectation of benevolence, this full trust Sedai has in her superiors – it is so alien. And so, so dangerous.
5 Likes
(Aurelia is seated at her desk, her hair down for once, dressed casually. The dialect, however, is anything but casual, as is her posture.)
I went too far, but then again, that’s always been my weak point. I get results, but I go too far. This is exactly why I wasn’t put on the shuttle after Akarat or promoted at Rhiln. As soon as the subcommander shifted the conversation away from my line of inquiry, I should have taken that for the confirmation it essentially was, let him keep face, and stayed with the plan. But I let it get personal, like the greenest uhlan veruul. Fvadt.
Well. Done is done. It would have been nice to have the subcommander as an ally – a friend – but people like me don’t get that kind of luxury, do we? Not even in this brave new world.
What bothers me most about Davin T'Varros is his willful, insistent amnesia. We are the living memory of Rihan. We do not forget the cataclysm and we will never forgive what was done. We are only able to build something beautiful and new because we remember.
T’Varros is lost because he chooses to forget. His pain masters him, not the other way around. That much is obvious to me. It explains a lot of his behavior. Explains why he's out here with the Federation and the klivam rather than in more crucial operations closer to the Imperial border. It's sad, really, because he is quite a talented commander. When your loyalties are based on what you are not more than what you are...
At any rate, I think watchful waiting is the thing to do in this situation. I have time. I have more than enough time. Things turn as they should. I can, and must, assume nothing. Computer, end recording; DNA lock and throw it in deep.
I went too far, but then again, that’s always been my weak point. I get results, but I go too far. This is exactly why I wasn’t put on the shuttle after Akarat or promoted at Rhiln. As soon as the subcommander shifted the conversation away from my line of inquiry, I should have taken that for the confirmation it essentially was, let him keep face, and stayed with the plan. But I let it get personal, like the greenest uhlan veruul. Fvadt.
Well. Done is done. It would have been nice to have the subcommander as an ally – a friend – but people like me don’t get that kind of luxury, do we? Not even in this brave new world.
What bothers me most about Davin T'Varros is his willful, insistent amnesia. We are the living memory of Rihan. We do not forget the cataclysm and we will never forgive what was done. We are only able to build something beautiful and new because we remember.
T’Varros is lost because he chooses to forget. His pain masters him, not the other way around. That much is obvious to me. It explains a lot of his behavior. Explains why he's out here with the Federation and the klivam rather than in more crucial operations closer to the Imperial border. It's sad, really, because he is quite a talented commander. When your loyalties are based on what you are not more than what you are...
At any rate, I think watchful waiting is the thing to do in this situation. I have time. I have more than enough time. Things turn as they should. I can, and must, assume nothing. Computer, end recording; DNA lock and throw it in deep.
6 Likes
(Aurelia speaks in the formal dialect, wearing her black training clothes, looking quite serious.)
Rellir I-Ra'tleihfi t'Lhaihtrha.
Ha! To think I would have quailed at that name, years ago, half-blood or not! And now it is holodecks and kindness and kali-fal between us.
Let her think I am grateful for the information she has given me; let her think I will simply pass it on to Command on mol'Rihan and claim the credit for myself, like so many do. Let her think I am always simply the proconsul's naïve sehlat, if it suits her. She is the daughter of a senator, the heir of a House – and yet she has not learned to watch her silence as well as her speech?
Maybe she has been on the station too long, maybe the love of her hevam causes her to forget what she truly is.
Either way, there are a number of possible worrying implications surrounding our little chat in the Embassy bar. Something is wrong.
The first possibility: That her exalted name and civilian status simply allows her access to resources that my name and rank do not. I could theorize that she is already acting as my asset – which would be perhaps the dumbest thing I have ever said, but every idea must be considered.
The second, and most probable prospect: That there is a security threat aboard the station. She intimated that she'd overheard something in the Embassy bar, thus implicating one of the diplomats. But Starfleet officers frequent that bar as well, as do traders like that hhakh McCarthy, so it really could be anyone. I suppose the next step would be to review the station personnel logs to look for telling details – and to bring this to the attention of station personnel and my superiors at Command.
But no, not yet. If this is true, I cannot give up the high ground in the fight that is to come. Logs first.
This brings us to the third possibility. That she has minded her silence well. Perhaps she is lying about Vaebn, knowing that telling me such a thing will set me on a path from which I am barred by mnhei'sahe from abandoning. That she is the threat herself, and that this is just the beginning of a trap closing around me, and that no distance from Rator will turn the Empire's eyes from the restitution they demand.
I can't have one fvadt ally, now, can I? Of course not.
Agh. This is all giving me a headache. But it is a headache that will keep me alive, at least.
Rellir I-Ra'tleihfi t'Lhaihtrha.
Ha! To think I would have quailed at that name, years ago, half-blood or not! And now it is holodecks and kindness and kali-fal between us.
Let her think I am grateful for the information she has given me; let her think I will simply pass it on to Command on mol'Rihan and claim the credit for myself, like so many do. Let her think I am always simply the proconsul's naïve sehlat, if it suits her. She is the daughter of a senator, the heir of a House – and yet she has not learned to watch her silence as well as her speech?
Maybe she has been on the station too long, maybe the love of her hevam causes her to forget what she truly is.
Either way, there are a number of possible worrying implications surrounding our little chat in the Embassy bar. Something is wrong.
The first possibility: That her exalted name and civilian status simply allows her access to resources that my name and rank do not. I could theorize that she is already acting as my asset – which would be perhaps the dumbest thing I have ever said, but every idea must be considered.
The second, and most probable prospect: That there is a security threat aboard the station. She intimated that she'd overheard something in the Embassy bar, thus implicating one of the diplomats. But Starfleet officers frequent that bar as well, as do traders like that hhakh McCarthy, so it really could be anyone. I suppose the next step would be to review the station personnel logs to look for telling details – and to bring this to the attention of station personnel and my superiors at Command.
But no, not yet. If this is true, I cannot give up the high ground in the fight that is to come. Logs first.
This brings us to the third possibility. That she has minded her silence well. Perhaps she is lying about Vaebn, knowing that telling me such a thing will set me on a path from which I am barred by mnhei'sahe from abandoning. That she is the threat herself, and that this is just the beginning of a trap closing around me, and that no distance from Rator will turn the Empire's eyes from the restitution they demand.
I can't have one fvadt ally, now, can I? Of course not.
Agh. This is all giving me a headache. But it is a headache that will keep me alive, at least.
4 Likes
(Aurelia is dressed in her Republic uniform this time, addressing a message to her brother on mol'Rihan.)
Y’hhau, Ahnar.
So you did not believe me when I told you during our last visit that the aliens seem to want to give me weapons. Well, here, let me show you: this is the dathe'anofv-sen the Andorian captain bought for me on mol’Rihan, to replace the one Mother left all those years ago. This is the Imperial dagger given to me by the Terran, Seafort. And these are pictures of the three rifles given to me by the human trader, currently in armory storage because Starfleet will not let me have them on the station as is right and proper, fvadt them.
I am mostly well – keeping as busy as possible. It would be easy to go soft on this station, to be seduced by the backhanded, unreal friendliness of these Starfleet officers, but a number of experiences this week remind me that I cannot afford to be lax. And then there is the overwhelming, creeping sensation that I have been put here to be forgotten now that all of the intelligence I brought over from the Irix is either used or obsolete. Especially when damaged people like Drakonis get promoted, and given new ships. I understand where she’s coming from, but certainly Command can see that she needs something more than a better warbird! And perhaps not. They have been acting like blind sehlat lately, haven't they?
Agh. Ahnar, I do not understand. My skills are still more than adequate – and there is no doubt of my loyalty. Maybe you can take a listen for me, next time you’re in the halls of Command? You know Centurion Velaar; her station is right outside the Admiral’s, she’s bound to know something interesting. Get her something nice. Take her out. Don’t you dare whine – I’ll even pay. I’ll never get anything out of her – she’s one of those know-it-all, always-been-colonials. But you? You might.
But the galaxy is an interesting place. Something wonderful did happen, and while I cannot share it with you, it did inspire some hope in me that all will be well.
All must be well.
Please take care of yourself. I expect you will be promoted soon, from what I hear tell about your work. I would like to be there to see that. I would like to talk more, but work is ever-present. Y’hhau, brother.
(Aurelia turns off and sends the message, and then opens up a particularly-sourced file on one officer Vaebn, opening up windows, intending to cross-reference Vaebn’s background, recent doings and associates with people who have, of late, been registered as working on, arriving at or doing business with DS13.)
All right, let’s see what you want from the task force…
Y’hhau, Ahnar.
So you did not believe me when I told you during our last visit that the aliens seem to want to give me weapons. Well, here, let me show you: this is the dathe'anofv-sen the Andorian captain bought for me on mol’Rihan, to replace the one Mother left all those years ago. This is the Imperial dagger given to me by the Terran, Seafort. And these are pictures of the three rifles given to me by the human trader, currently in armory storage because Starfleet will not let me have them on the station as is right and proper, fvadt them.
I am mostly well – keeping as busy as possible. It would be easy to go soft on this station, to be seduced by the backhanded, unreal friendliness of these Starfleet officers, but a number of experiences this week remind me that I cannot afford to be lax. And then there is the overwhelming, creeping sensation that I have been put here to be forgotten now that all of the intelligence I brought over from the Irix is either used or obsolete. Especially when damaged people like Drakonis get promoted, and given new ships. I understand where she’s coming from, but certainly Command can see that she needs something more than a better warbird! And perhaps not. They have been acting like blind sehlat lately, haven't they?
Agh. Ahnar, I do not understand. My skills are still more than adequate – and there is no doubt of my loyalty. Maybe you can take a listen for me, next time you’re in the halls of Command? You know Centurion Velaar; her station is right outside the Admiral’s, she’s bound to know something interesting. Get her something nice. Take her out. Don’t you dare whine – I’ll even pay. I’ll never get anything out of her – she’s one of those know-it-all, always-been-colonials. But you? You might.
But the galaxy is an interesting place. Something wonderful did happen, and while I cannot share it with you, it did inspire some hope in me that all will be well.
All must be well.
Please take care of yourself. I expect you will be promoted soon, from what I hear tell about your work. I would like to be there to see that. I would like to talk more, but work is ever-present. Y’hhau, brother.
(Aurelia turns off and sends the message, and then opens up a particularly-sourced file on one officer Vaebn, opening up windows, intending to cross-reference Vaebn’s background, recent doings and associates with people who have, of late, been registered as working on, arriving at or doing business with DS13.)
All right, let’s see what you want from the task force…
5 Likes
(Aurelia is in her Republic uniform, her hair up, her grammar completely proper. The first letter is addressed to Chef Rellir's private terminal on her shuttle.)
Jolan tru, Rellir. I owe you restitution.
On the way back to my quarters last night I had a chance to talk with Captain Buchanan – about the world, about the way it is and the way we would like it to be, and about how those two things are so generally discordant. And it made me think of some things the Starfleet ambassador said while she was here – like I said earlier, I really do wish you could have met her. I truly believe it would have been a productive visit for you. At any rate, during the tour we chatted about training rihannsu diplomats in techniques that are new to them, and about how difficult it is to break through the generations of mistrust and fear, and about how hard it is for those diplomats to look beyond the veil of what once was to what is now.
Walking away from your shuttle tonight, talking to Captain Buchanan, looking at my actions – ah, it doesn’t matter that I’m waking up on a Federation station, or that I believe in the words of the Proconsul, or what I have given up. There is a part of me that is always going to wake up Imperial, expecting darkness around every corner. There will always be that remnant of what once was, I think...
But that is no excuse for what I thought, what I said. I have done you wrong -- and I apologize.
I will attempt to do better in the future.
I do hope things can remain pleasant between us.
(The second is addressed, as usual, to Ahnar i-Rhallan tr'Veras at the Vastam Peaks base on mol'Rihan.)
Y’hhau, Ahnar.
Out of the two of us, you were always the smart one.
Things are not going exceedingly well for me here. I made an exploratory inquiry about a transfer back to mol’Rihan, and was told by Command in no uncertain terms that unless Starfleet made the request for my removal from the station due to unacceptable behavior, that I would be expected to see my projects here through until their completion, and also that I was not to petition Starfleet for said transfer. Those projects means the colony, of course, and at least one more issue where someone is absolutely relying on my presence here in particular – and, yes, I cannot let them down, but…
I say you were the smart one, because you realized early on what was going to happen to us. You tried to make me see it, too. You were the stronger one. All I could see was the party line, when you remembered Mother and Father, and realized years before me that there was so much more to the universe than what they told us at phi'lasasam. I did not think I regretted much until I came to Deep Space 13, and I saw how other people live and thrive. They thrive here, Ahnar, and they do so in trust and hope, even though they have seen their share of confusion and sadness. Fvadt Federation.
So, no, I will not be returning soon for anything longer than a short visit. I thought I was put here to be pastured, to be shelved, but that is untrue. I am here to learn, as well as do some very important things for a mutually beneficial project -- and I am slowly coming to realize that in order to be useful to the future of our people, I need to learn some very basic things that our allies take for granted. Things you knew when you were only sixteen, still a child, and I had eyes only for vengeance for what had been done to the homeworld.
I do not want you to respond to this letter. You will gloat, I know, and I cannot bear it. Please gloat in private.
Instead, tell me about your girlfriend. I am attempting to approve of your choice, even though she is, what, twenty years younger than you? Agh, humans.
Be well. I do miss you.
Jolan tru, Rellir. I owe you restitution.
On the way back to my quarters last night I had a chance to talk with Captain Buchanan – about the world, about the way it is and the way we would like it to be, and about how those two things are so generally discordant. And it made me think of some things the Starfleet ambassador said while she was here – like I said earlier, I really do wish you could have met her. I truly believe it would have been a productive visit for you. At any rate, during the tour we chatted about training rihannsu diplomats in techniques that are new to them, and about how difficult it is to break through the generations of mistrust and fear, and about how hard it is for those diplomats to look beyond the veil of what once was to what is now.
Walking away from your shuttle tonight, talking to Captain Buchanan, looking at my actions – ah, it doesn’t matter that I’m waking up on a Federation station, or that I believe in the words of the Proconsul, or what I have given up. There is a part of me that is always going to wake up Imperial, expecting darkness around every corner. There will always be that remnant of what once was, I think...
But that is no excuse for what I thought, what I said. I have done you wrong -- and I apologize.
I will attempt to do better in the future.
I do hope things can remain pleasant between us.
(The second is addressed, as usual, to Ahnar i-Rhallan tr'Veras at the Vastam Peaks base on mol'Rihan.)
Y’hhau, Ahnar.
Out of the two of us, you were always the smart one.
Things are not going exceedingly well for me here. I made an exploratory inquiry about a transfer back to mol’Rihan, and was told by Command in no uncertain terms that unless Starfleet made the request for my removal from the station due to unacceptable behavior, that I would be expected to see my projects here through until their completion, and also that I was not to petition Starfleet for said transfer. Those projects means the colony, of course, and at least one more issue where someone is absolutely relying on my presence here in particular – and, yes, I cannot let them down, but…
I say you were the smart one, because you realized early on what was going to happen to us. You tried to make me see it, too. You were the stronger one. All I could see was the party line, when you remembered Mother and Father, and realized years before me that there was so much more to the universe than what they told us at phi'lasasam. I did not think I regretted much until I came to Deep Space 13, and I saw how other people live and thrive. They thrive here, Ahnar, and they do so in trust and hope, even though they have seen their share of confusion and sadness. Fvadt Federation.
So, no, I will not be returning soon for anything longer than a short visit. I thought I was put here to be pastured, to be shelved, but that is untrue. I am here to learn, as well as do some very important things for a mutually beneficial project -- and I am slowly coming to realize that in order to be useful to the future of our people, I need to learn some very basic things that our allies take for granted. Things you knew when you were only sixteen, still a child, and I had eyes only for vengeance for what had been done to the homeworld.
I do not want you to respond to this letter. You will gloat, I know, and I cannot bear it. Please gloat in private.
Instead, tell me about your girlfriend. I am attempting to approve of your choice, even though she is, what, twenty years younger than you? Agh, humans.
Be well. I do miss you.
4 Likes
(She sits in her Republic uniform, turning over a glinting medal over and over in her fingers.)
Personal log. Record.
Command gave me the Sotarek Citation. The Sotarek!
There is nothing I have done on Deep Space 13 that would cause me to deserve this, unless you consider biting my tongue so hard it bleeds a citation-worthy event. We did good work on the Keterix, but nothing out of the ordinary. I can only surmise that this is, most likely, the first official comment regarding what was done on the Irix, rather than a note about my ability to glad-hand the notables aboard a Starfleet space station.
They also gave the citation to Mandukar, as well, and if that isn’t a political statement, I no longer know what is. As usual, Command is saying fifteen different things by awarding these medals, the least of which is that we are doing a good job. However: it is still good to know that my efforts towards the advancement of the Republic, as small as they are, are appreciated.
I’m leaving tomorrow morning on a transport to mol’Rihan, where I will spend a week visiting my brother and taking part in a security rotation in the Vastam Peaks. While I’m in the city, though, I’m going to look into that one particular matter. I also have some shopping to do, as I’ve promised to bring back a few things for my colleagues stationside, including something for Captain Buchanan’s daughter.
Ah, speaking of Buchanan. I would like to say that I won when he and I sparred the other day. I should have achieved victory, after all. Genetics makes me quicker, faster, and stronger. But he was able to gain control of the engagement and the environment itself, and in so doing negated all of my advantages.
I would be remiss in my work if I do not attempt to learn something new from every interaction I have on board Deep Space 13. The loss to Buchanan was humiliating to my pride, but it was also a textbook example of a tactic I see more from rihannsu than from humans. I am not sure what I expected, but it was not that. The Federation officers continue to surprise me with their breadth of knowledge and experience, and although they can be extremely narrow-minded about some things, they are not so idiot-headed as we were taught to expect.
I suppose you could call my interactions with Buchanan a -- friendship of sorts, as much as a human can be friendly with a rihanha. We have spoken deeply about his family, about command, and his ship, and his beliefs, in a way I have not been able to talk with others on the station. He has shared kali-fal with me. I look forward to his return from his tour in the Sphere so we can speak again. It is very strange.
Five years ago, if you told me I’d consider a human a friend, you’d have a disruptor to your head faster than a frightened sehlat.
Let's see. Regarding work, we have put an end – for now – to the Borg threat in the Pariah System, leaving me to get back to more boring matters like monitoring known pirate frequencies and checking cargo manifests. I was able to go aboard the transwarp conduit structure, which was incredibly interesting, and killing Borg is always quite a lark, as long as we don’t have to deal with tactical heavies. What is left, now, is to decode and translate the data dump we received from the Borg computers, which should be interesting work.
There’s also the matter of the micro-transporter thefts, and I’m sorry to say that I’ve made far less progress than I hoped – some early leads did not pan out. That’s the work for you, although I hate looking less than perfect in front of RunningBear and the others... even though looking less than perfect is a picnic compared to the punishments I would have gotten on the Irix for my failures. However, I do have a few leads, some of which I’ll be able to examine during my trip.
I can hear the Feds now at Swifty's – all of them, telling me to “take an actual vacation.”
Obviously, they still have no clue about what it means to be rihannsu, despite my efforts to educate them.
I am due for my shift. Computer, encode and store deep.
Personal log. Record.
Command gave me the Sotarek Citation. The Sotarek!
There is nothing I have done on Deep Space 13 that would cause me to deserve this, unless you consider biting my tongue so hard it bleeds a citation-worthy event. We did good work on the Keterix, but nothing out of the ordinary. I can only surmise that this is, most likely, the first official comment regarding what was done on the Irix, rather than a note about my ability to glad-hand the notables aboard a Starfleet space station.
They also gave the citation to Mandukar, as well, and if that isn’t a political statement, I no longer know what is. As usual, Command is saying fifteen different things by awarding these medals, the least of which is that we are doing a good job. However: it is still good to know that my efforts towards the advancement of the Republic, as small as they are, are appreciated.
I’m leaving tomorrow morning on a transport to mol’Rihan, where I will spend a week visiting my brother and taking part in a security rotation in the Vastam Peaks. While I’m in the city, though, I’m going to look into that one particular matter. I also have some shopping to do, as I’ve promised to bring back a few things for my colleagues stationside, including something for Captain Buchanan’s daughter.
Ah, speaking of Buchanan. I would like to say that I won when he and I sparred the other day. I should have achieved victory, after all. Genetics makes me quicker, faster, and stronger. But he was able to gain control of the engagement and the environment itself, and in so doing negated all of my advantages.
I would be remiss in my work if I do not attempt to learn something new from every interaction I have on board Deep Space 13. The loss to Buchanan was humiliating to my pride, but it was also a textbook example of a tactic I see more from rihannsu than from humans. I am not sure what I expected, but it was not that. The Federation officers continue to surprise me with their breadth of knowledge and experience, and although they can be extremely narrow-minded about some things, they are not so idiot-headed as we were taught to expect.
I suppose you could call my interactions with Buchanan a -- friendship of sorts, as much as a human can be friendly with a rihanha. We have spoken deeply about his family, about command, and his ship, and his beliefs, in a way I have not been able to talk with others on the station. He has shared kali-fal with me. I look forward to his return from his tour in the Sphere so we can speak again. It is very strange.
Five years ago, if you told me I’d consider a human a friend, you’d have a disruptor to your head faster than a frightened sehlat.
Let's see. Regarding work, we have put an end – for now – to the Borg threat in the Pariah System, leaving me to get back to more boring matters like monitoring known pirate frequencies and checking cargo manifests. I was able to go aboard the transwarp conduit structure, which was incredibly interesting, and killing Borg is always quite a lark, as long as we don’t have to deal with tactical heavies. What is left, now, is to decode and translate the data dump we received from the Borg computers, which should be interesting work.
There’s also the matter of the micro-transporter thefts, and I’m sorry to say that I’ve made far less progress than I hoped – some early leads did not pan out. That’s the work for you, although I hate looking less than perfect in front of RunningBear and the others... even though looking less than perfect is a picnic compared to the punishments I would have gotten on the Irix for my failures. However, I do have a few leads, some of which I’ll be able to examine during my trip.
I can hear the Feds now at Swifty's – all of them, telling me to “take an actual vacation.”
Obviously, they still have no clue about what it means to be rihannsu, despite my efforts to educate them.
I am due for my shift. Computer, encode and store deep.
6 Likes
Logged a day and a half ago, before the incident in the Starlight Cantina. Located in the usual thrice-coded personal log.
"Someday, I am simply going to punch Buchanan in the face and be done with it. This time, he beat me at a terrible game called ‘chess,’ where one immobile and fairly unarmed king can apparently take down an entire wing of fortified artillery. Now, some aspects of this game are quite interesting and entertaining – the need to think ahead, to plan your moves and run the tree of possibilities, in particular, appeals to me – but I think it could be made a lot more apropos to current situations if the pieces you used actually had realistic attributes.
But I am moving off-topic.
Buchanan's behavior remains a mystery. He seems to glory in finding ways to beat me in logic and sport alike, although I am not sure if he enjoys beating me, the person, or if it is rather my race against which he enjoys winning. One is acceptable; the other is not. We can have such well-balanced talks about history, about family – but when it comes to competition, he’s just as bloodthirsty as anyone. Of course he is; he is a soldier and commander. And telling me that I belong, over and over again, that I would not choose to go somewhere else than Deep Space 13 -- but what does he know? Of course I would not choose to go anywhere else as long as my commanders say I should be here. One home is dust and the other is still held by Tal Shiar murderers. Mol'Rihan is beautiful, but it is not my world. Where else can I go, but in the service of the Republic? Where else would I go?
And then I think: Ah, he's got me again. I am playing his game, I am wrapped up in his psychological questions, this word-warfare. He has won. Again.
Fvadt! Perhaps I am just feeling negative against Buchanan right now because I am not used to being beaten or out-thought. It is not his fault that we are playing a game on a court that is unfamiliar to me, but it is mine that I am as yet unprepared. I am the one who is always right. I have always been the one that knew the score to the game – on rihannsu ships where the game is played in a very certain way, not in the Federation where everything is upside-down and sideways-long from what used to be true. Talking with my immediate commander on mol’Rihan last week clarified quite a few things for me, and I am grateful for that. I am losing here because I am not used to losing. If I do not fail, how do I know how to handle failure? I have to shift the way I think and learn a new set of rules. Buchanan’s games are the Federation’s games, the domain of an alien way of thinking. And there are less pleasant ways of learning how to think like the aliens do.
So he and I will continue to play chess, and to talk, and I will make a very good attempt to bite my tongue and examine each situation like an analyst should. And when I win – and I will win – I will enjoy it very much. I might even gloat like he does. Childish, I know, but if I am going to learn how humans think, I might as well go all the way."
"Someday, I am simply going to punch Buchanan in the face and be done with it. This time, he beat me at a terrible game called ‘chess,’ where one immobile and fairly unarmed king can apparently take down an entire wing of fortified artillery. Now, some aspects of this game are quite interesting and entertaining – the need to think ahead, to plan your moves and run the tree of possibilities, in particular, appeals to me – but I think it could be made a lot more apropos to current situations if the pieces you used actually had realistic attributes.
But I am moving off-topic.
Buchanan's behavior remains a mystery. He seems to glory in finding ways to beat me in logic and sport alike, although I am not sure if he enjoys beating me, the person, or if it is rather my race against which he enjoys winning. One is acceptable; the other is not. We can have such well-balanced talks about history, about family – but when it comes to competition, he’s just as bloodthirsty as anyone. Of course he is; he is a soldier and commander. And telling me that I belong, over and over again, that I would not choose to go somewhere else than Deep Space 13 -- but what does he know? Of course I would not choose to go anywhere else as long as my commanders say I should be here. One home is dust and the other is still held by Tal Shiar murderers. Mol'Rihan is beautiful, but it is not my world. Where else can I go, but in the service of the Republic? Where else would I go?
And then I think: Ah, he's got me again. I am playing his game, I am wrapped up in his psychological questions, this word-warfare. He has won. Again.
Fvadt! Perhaps I am just feeling negative against Buchanan right now because I am not used to being beaten or out-thought. It is not his fault that we are playing a game on a court that is unfamiliar to me, but it is mine that I am as yet unprepared. I am the one who is always right. I have always been the one that knew the score to the game – on rihannsu ships where the game is played in a very certain way, not in the Federation where everything is upside-down and sideways-long from what used to be true. Talking with my immediate commander on mol’Rihan last week clarified quite a few things for me, and I am grateful for that. I am losing here because I am not used to losing. If I do not fail, how do I know how to handle failure? I have to shift the way I think and learn a new set of rules. Buchanan’s games are the Federation’s games, the domain of an alien way of thinking. And there are less pleasant ways of learning how to think like the aliens do.
So he and I will continue to play chess, and to talk, and I will make a very good attempt to bite my tongue and examine each situation like an analyst should. And when I win – and I will win – I will enjoy it very much. I might even gloat like he does. Childish, I know, but if I am going to learn how humans think, I might as well go all the way."
5 Likes
(This message is just sitting around in Aurelia's thrice-coded outbox, addressed to no-one. In it, she's stunningly angry and completely calm all at the same time... Nethali Aster's perfect platonic ideal of arrogance.)
"Apparently, this is what we are worth, daehlen: a death, a resurrection, and the attention of the susse-thrai herself. We are worth whatever horrors were visited on that poor human bastard in Sickbay; worth whatever fell, black things she did to the subcommander. I do not know. I am the last person he will want to see. Ah -- the calculus, then. One life destroyed, one life tortured from death to life, and one damaged, simply because the cannibals want my blood for their kali-fal. Your blood. Well. They cannot have it. And now the bastards have laid down their price for the satisfaction of mnhei’sahe: three lives. One life destroyed, one life tortured beyond any recognition, and one damaged. I am sure it counts if all three lives belong to D’Kera Mandukar. An Imperial execution! They will want to holocast it from the Praetor's hall when I am done with them!
I am not weak. And I will get proper restitution for that poor bastard Asran, and the human Blackwood who was not allowed to rest, and Davin whether he likes it or not, for mother and father, Delen, the community we had… Cassos and Keras and Ecurai.
And then I will go after the rest of them. You will help me, daehlen.
The Republic has no intention of calling me back despite all of what I said, not yet, so it will be my face that greets you upon your return and not some stranger’s. Not that you will be able to hear this until you board the transport, as I cannot even send it until then, so – hopefully I will be able to tell you more, and bring you news that is better. And, for ajoi, watch yourself. If they knew about me on Deep Space 13, they know about you there."
"Apparently, this is what we are worth, daehlen: a death, a resurrection, and the attention of the susse-thrai herself. We are worth whatever horrors were visited on that poor human bastard in Sickbay; worth whatever fell, black things she did to the subcommander. I do not know. I am the last person he will want to see. Ah -- the calculus, then. One life destroyed, one life tortured from death to life, and one damaged, simply because the cannibals want my blood for their kali-fal. Your blood. Well. They cannot have it. And now the bastards have laid down their price for the satisfaction of mnhei’sahe: three lives. One life destroyed, one life tortured beyond any recognition, and one damaged. I am sure it counts if all three lives belong to D’Kera Mandukar. An Imperial execution! They will want to holocast it from the Praetor's hall when I am done with them!
I am not weak. And I will get proper restitution for that poor bastard Asran, and the human Blackwood who was not allowed to rest, and Davin whether he likes it or not, for mother and father, Delen, the community we had… Cassos and Keras and Ecurai.
And then I will go after the rest of them. You will help me, daehlen.
The Republic has no intention of calling me back despite all of what I said, not yet, so it will be my face that greets you upon your return and not some stranger’s. Not that you will be able to hear this until you board the transport, as I cannot even send it until then, so – hopefully I will be able to tell you more, and bring you news that is better. And, for ajoi, watch yourself. If they knew about me on Deep Space 13, they know about you there."
5 Likes
Sitting with her hair down, her clothes civilian and black. Halfway through a letter to her brother on mol'Rihan.
- - -
I miss home.
Not Ralatak. I should, but -- no. No, I miss home -- the ships, the Empire. It was a terrible world, but it was mine. I was useful, Ahnar. I was good at my job. I was praised. I made things happen, I was valued. You can't understand, but maybe you will, someday.
Sometimes, I wish I had never awakened.
- - -
She reaches for a ribbon on the desk, and starts binding up her hair.
- - -
I miss home.
Not Ralatak. I should, but -- no. No, I miss home -- the ships, the Empire. It was a terrible world, but it was mine. I was useful, Ahnar. I was good at my job. I was praised. I made things happen, I was valued. You can't understand, but maybe you will, someday.
Sometimes, I wish I had never awakened.
- - -
She reaches for a ribbon on the desk, and starts binding up her hair.
4 Likes
(Aurelia is in her quarters, on the line with someone from Mol'Rihan Command -- most likely her immediate superior, although the familiarity of her speech puts that in question. At any rate, that side of the conversation is not heard.)
... No, sir. I do understand, but ...
That's the issue here -- why Command would see fit to send a political officer here, of all people, knowing what they know about how I would react to that, knowing how I ...
Yes, of course I pulled his file. I'm not incompetent. The whole fvadt thing is redacted. When I inquired why, he informed me that a lot of his records were lost with ch'Rihan, and that's the oldest line in the book, sir, and I believe it just about as much as I believe that the Tal Shiar has our best interests at heart.
... No, sir. Of course not, sir. I was out of line, sir. ...
I would absolutely say it has an impact on our operational capacity with the Task Force. You cannot ask us to stand in the light and then send a fvadt political officer with no real authority to pontificate in our general direction and threaten and cajole. Think of the message you send to riov Morton and khre'riov Ashworth! If there is a problem with me, if there is a problem with the D'Ishae, why cannot it be handled outright as true servants of the Republic? You cannot say you trust me, you cannot say you trust the crew of the D'Ishae, and then have a man with a file shorter than my pinky finger to start meddling in our affairs! If you are concerned about D'Kera Mandukar and what she wants, than tr'Dahn is not the right way to show it. Why is he here? What's his goal? If he doesn't have his own agenda, why doesn't he have teeth in the game, a clear order from Command? If anything, we need someone to help the Subcommander work through ...
Yes, sir, I am quite done. I am sorry, sir. But I would like to see the officer's file. His real file.
(Silence, for a while, as the person on the other end talks.)
I understand.
I would like to ... get back to work. The colony and the pirates and the Delta Quadrant. I'm done with the children on the D'Ishae and this political officer ... We have work to do. That is what I would like to do, sir.
... Of course I don't plan on handling D'Kera Mandukar on my own, sir. Don't need a Vulcan to see that's completely against any kind of sentient logic.
Yes, sir. Talk to you next week.
Shaoi kon.
... No, sir. I do understand, but ...
That's the issue here -- why Command would see fit to send a political officer here, of all people, knowing what they know about how I would react to that, knowing how I ...
Yes, of course I pulled his file. I'm not incompetent. The whole fvadt thing is redacted. When I inquired why, he informed me that a lot of his records were lost with ch'Rihan, and that's the oldest line in the book, sir, and I believe it just about as much as I believe that the Tal Shiar has our best interests at heart.
... No, sir. Of course not, sir. I was out of line, sir. ...
I would absolutely say it has an impact on our operational capacity with the Task Force. You cannot ask us to stand in the light and then send a fvadt political officer with no real authority to pontificate in our general direction and threaten and cajole. Think of the message you send to riov Morton and khre'riov Ashworth! If there is a problem with me, if there is a problem with the D'Ishae, why cannot it be handled outright as true servants of the Republic? You cannot say you trust me, you cannot say you trust the crew of the D'Ishae, and then have a man with a file shorter than my pinky finger to start meddling in our affairs! If you are concerned about D'Kera Mandukar and what she wants, than tr'Dahn is not the right way to show it. Why is he here? What's his goal? If he doesn't have his own agenda, why doesn't he have teeth in the game, a clear order from Command? If anything, we need someone to help the Subcommander work through ...
Yes, sir, I am quite done. I am sorry, sir. But I would like to see the officer's file. His real file.
(Silence, for a while, as the person on the other end talks.)
I understand.
I would like to ... get back to work. The colony and the pirates and the Delta Quadrant. I'm done with the children on the D'Ishae and this political officer ... We have work to do. That is what I would like to do, sir.
... Of course I don't plan on handling D'Kera Mandukar on my own, sir. Don't need a Vulcan to see that's completely against any kind of sentient logic.
Yes, sir. Talk to you next week.
Shaoi kon.
8 Likes
(This is part of the Holiday Exchange.)
There is a box at Aurelia's door.
It sits in the hallway, being soundly ignored by the Federation officers walking by. It is the most common of boxes, with her name clearly displayed and the sender's name absolutely obfuscated. Her first reaction, of course, is to immediately vaporize the thing, but all of her guns are stored in the station armory six levels away. Her second thought is to take it down to the cargo bay and let the MACOs use it for target practice, or to the science lab for a spectral analysis to ensure the thing isn't going to blow up in her face -- but just as she's locked her quarters door and started to make her way down out of the habitat ring, she remembers the holiday exchange.
Somewhere, she imagines that Jack Buchanan is laughing at her, and she thinks: Target practice for the MACOs. And they thought service on a Federation station might make me less paranoid. Aurelia! Just do what Kermit would do, and open the fvadt box like a ordinary person!
She pauses in the hallway, feeling foolish, and then about-faces straight back to her cabin. Placing the box on her desk, she uses a utility knife to flip open the top and peer inside.
“... sashes? Don't they know I'm not high enough rank to --,” she says, reaching in. It's fabric – specifically, Tholian silk, and an expensive varietal at that. She drags out a piece of fabric, unfolding it and holding it up to the light to check it out. It takes a moment for her to figure out what she's looking at – after all, there isn't a lot of room for very expensive, extremely risque pieces of underwear in the life of a barracks-bound Imperial tactical analyst. And it's not just one – there are easily a half-dozen pieces in there and -- oh, Ajoi --
She makes a small sound in the back of her throat and flushes a bright, fantastically embarrassed green; seconds later the underwear is balled up, cast back in the box, shoved into the back of her footlocker and covered with pretty much everything she can possibly find. Then, it's over to her desk, where she's bringing up whatever cargo manifests she has access too and attempting to find which ship the thing came in on and who signed for it.
It doesn't matter, she thinks, a few seconds later, and she cancels out the search. This has Nethali Aster written all over it.
No need to ever mention this to anyone. Ever.
There is a box at Aurelia's door.
It sits in the hallway, being soundly ignored by the Federation officers walking by. It is the most common of boxes, with her name clearly displayed and the sender's name absolutely obfuscated. Her first reaction, of course, is to immediately vaporize the thing, but all of her guns are stored in the station armory six levels away. Her second thought is to take it down to the cargo bay and let the MACOs use it for target practice, or to the science lab for a spectral analysis to ensure the thing isn't going to blow up in her face -- but just as she's locked her quarters door and started to make her way down out of the habitat ring, she remembers the holiday exchange.
Somewhere, she imagines that Jack Buchanan is laughing at her, and she thinks: Target practice for the MACOs. And they thought service on a Federation station might make me less paranoid. Aurelia! Just do what Kermit would do, and open the fvadt box like a ordinary person!
She pauses in the hallway, feeling foolish, and then about-faces straight back to her cabin. Placing the box on her desk, she uses a utility knife to flip open the top and peer inside.
“... sashes? Don't they know I'm not high enough rank to --,” she says, reaching in. It's fabric – specifically, Tholian silk, and an expensive varietal at that. She drags out a piece of fabric, unfolding it and holding it up to the light to check it out. It takes a moment for her to figure out what she's looking at – after all, there isn't a lot of room for very expensive, extremely risque pieces of underwear in the life of a barracks-bound Imperial tactical analyst. And it's not just one – there are easily a half-dozen pieces in there and -- oh, Ajoi --
She makes a small sound in the back of her throat and flushes a bright, fantastically embarrassed green; seconds later the underwear is balled up, cast back in the box, shoved into the back of her footlocker and covered with pretty much everything she can possibly find. Then, it's over to her desk, where she's bringing up whatever cargo manifests she has access too and attempting to find which ship the thing came in on and who signed for it.
It doesn't matter, she thinks, a few seconds later, and she cancels out the search. This has Nethali Aster written all over it.
No need to ever mention this to anyone. Ever.
10 Likes
(I've been trying to think of how our super paranoid Aurelia would collate the rumors she's heard over the last two weeks with the experiences she's had in that time. It's a wall'o'text, so it's under a cut. Sometimes the word fairy just clutches me by the throat and makes me do things...)
Spoiler: Under here!Show
Aurelia is in her black coat, drinking coffee, PADDs spread out over her desk. Behind her, a holoemitter is displaying star charts centered around New Romulus. The entry is marked private, and recorded in Rihan.
This has been a very eventful week, with many implications for ongoing operational readiness.
I was finally able to board D’Ishae and observe the situation up close. I found an uneasy atmosphere, and while I am loath to think that tr’Dahn is right... well. I have heard rumors that Mandukar cares more for his singularity core than his crew, rumors of inappropriate relationships, and, most concerning, rumors that the humans onboard are plotting to take over the ship. On top of that, it seems that Mandukar has done very little to staunch these developing issues. He may be distracted; he may be unable... or he may refuse to.
Let me stop here for a moment. Obviously, rumors are generally and patently false, especially the most malicious, but most that endure have roots in some passing truth, even if it is distorted and bent in the telling. That is why they can be such an effective weapon. For example, although tr’Dahn and I are not at all involved, the quiet conversations we’ve had at the bar may lead an onlooker to think differently. Afterwards, any staunch denial on my part looks like guilt. I am forced to make a decision to seek restitution. I, or someone else, is ruined, and the rumormonger wins. What an old story! So, if there is a rumor that the humans onboard are planning to take over the ship, we must consider these three options:
One, that they are actually planning to take over the ship. This is my business, as it affects Task Force operational readiness.
Two, that they are not planning to take over the ship, but they’re planning something -- perhaps, ah, a prank war or something. This is not my business, and, in fact, I'd desire to stay as far away from this as possible.
Three, that the humans onboard are just stupid and do not see anything past their own species and thus do not understand the loyalty politics aboard a rihannsu vessel.
I need to address Aster at this point in the discussion.
I am highly tempted to apologize to her – not because I feel I am at fault, but to bring me back to a tactical advantage. I am not in a tenable position, and with the premature birth of her child, any other move would be seen by others as monstrous. I am many things, but I am not a monster. I am glad she lived and I am glad she and McCarthy look ready to put their differences behind for their child.
But all of the problems between the two of us spring exclusively from the fact that she is just as paranoid and Imperial-minded as I am, and terrified to boot. Obviously, she was never an Imperial, but the similarities are striking. Like me, she is always at war. Her natural instinct to protect the people she cares for to the exclusion of all else will make her an excellent mother, but it makes her a poor officer of the Republic in our work towards transparency and a brighter future. When it comes down to it, she probably cannot give her loyalty in that fashion, after her fractured life. So the object of her loyalty is fixed on an person, or a representative: Mandukar. This also explains part of her anger towards me: I am a representative of the things she sees as not Mandukar. On top of that, I was kind of mean to her. So.
Her paranoia against the Republic is overt and all-consuming, and completely wrong; if there were to be a witch hunt, if Command had it in for Davin, he would have been long gone. Instead, he has been supported, given the Sotarek, given command, given leniency. And still she believes they are after his life.
She is insane with it. You cannot argue with insanity, and that’s what I was trying to do. So. New rules.
I can tell you what it is like to see villainy and betrayal in the people you once trusted. That is my story. On my very life, I have been there. I understand that. But there's one thing that's different here, and it is that the Republic is not the enemy.
Which brings me to the final issue…
I am embarrassed as to how I reacted to the Trellium poisoning in the warehouse on mol'Rihan. I lost my control and became the person I was before I met Kirina. I was the person I was just a decade ago. The monster. But, ah, I remember where I was clearly: directly next to the subcommander, near the nurse, both of whom had hypos and who could have treated me easily. My shotgun was stowed; my disruptor as well. I trafficked in threats, in subterfuge. The Federation nurse was never in any immediate danger.
And yet, Lieutenant Kermit shot me. Low stun. Dropped, not hurt. Still --
How much Federation nobility is really inside Kermit's heart? I pressed him on it later, and he made it clear we are not friends. Fine; I am not friends with Counselor Sedai or Doctor Lindresko, and yet both of them know that I can be counted on in the thick of things as an ally. That is because we work for the Federation and the Republic first. It matters. Kermit's words, and the shot, made it clear that he does not consider me an ally. His first loyalties then became very clear, and he even said it out loud. Aster, Callahan, Kermit, Mandukar: this is his state, this is his flag. No one in, no one out. Such loyalty! Admirable, beautiful, and absolutely dangerous.
It is the kind of loyalty I held to Kirina, and we all know what happened next.
So you see why I am troubled. I do not wish to bring a lie to the attention of Command, in case I am as paranoid as poor, addled Aster thinks I am. Perhaps they are just good friends. Perhaps…
Perhaps the best thing to do would be to disengage and let tr’Dahn handle it. It’s his job, anyway. He’s smart – he’ll have figured out just as much as I have in time, and I will be able to keep myself far away from whatever crap is rolling down the hill next. But my job is to protect the Task Force…
(She absently rubs the shoulder where Kermit hit her with the phaser bolt.)
I'm getting too damned old for this.
This has been a very eventful week, with many implications for ongoing operational readiness.
I was finally able to board D’Ishae and observe the situation up close. I found an uneasy atmosphere, and while I am loath to think that tr’Dahn is right... well. I have heard rumors that Mandukar cares more for his singularity core than his crew, rumors of inappropriate relationships, and, most concerning, rumors that the humans onboard are plotting to take over the ship. On top of that, it seems that Mandukar has done very little to staunch these developing issues. He may be distracted; he may be unable... or he may refuse to.
Let me stop here for a moment. Obviously, rumors are generally and patently false, especially the most malicious, but most that endure have roots in some passing truth, even if it is distorted and bent in the telling. That is why they can be such an effective weapon. For example, although tr’Dahn and I are not at all involved, the quiet conversations we’ve had at the bar may lead an onlooker to think differently. Afterwards, any staunch denial on my part looks like guilt. I am forced to make a decision to seek restitution. I, or someone else, is ruined, and the rumormonger wins. What an old story! So, if there is a rumor that the humans onboard are planning to take over the ship, we must consider these three options:
One, that they are actually planning to take over the ship. This is my business, as it affects Task Force operational readiness.
Two, that they are not planning to take over the ship, but they’re planning something -- perhaps, ah, a prank war or something. This is not my business, and, in fact, I'd desire to stay as far away from this as possible.
Three, that the humans onboard are just stupid and do not see anything past their own species and thus do not understand the loyalty politics aboard a rihannsu vessel.
I need to address Aster at this point in the discussion.
I am highly tempted to apologize to her – not because I feel I am at fault, but to bring me back to a tactical advantage. I am not in a tenable position, and with the premature birth of her child, any other move would be seen by others as monstrous. I am many things, but I am not a monster. I am glad she lived and I am glad she and McCarthy look ready to put their differences behind for their child.
But all of the problems between the two of us spring exclusively from the fact that she is just as paranoid and Imperial-minded as I am, and terrified to boot. Obviously, she was never an Imperial, but the similarities are striking. Like me, she is always at war. Her natural instinct to protect the people she cares for to the exclusion of all else will make her an excellent mother, but it makes her a poor officer of the Republic in our work towards transparency and a brighter future. When it comes down to it, she probably cannot give her loyalty in that fashion, after her fractured life. So the object of her loyalty is fixed on an person, or a representative: Mandukar. This also explains part of her anger towards me: I am a representative of the things she sees as not Mandukar. On top of that, I was kind of mean to her. So.
Her paranoia against the Republic is overt and all-consuming, and completely wrong; if there were to be a witch hunt, if Command had it in for Davin, he would have been long gone. Instead, he has been supported, given the Sotarek, given command, given leniency. And still she believes they are after his life.
She is insane with it. You cannot argue with insanity, and that’s what I was trying to do. So. New rules.
I can tell you what it is like to see villainy and betrayal in the people you once trusted. That is my story. On my very life, I have been there. I understand that. But there's one thing that's different here, and it is that the Republic is not the enemy.
Which brings me to the final issue…
I am embarrassed as to how I reacted to the Trellium poisoning in the warehouse on mol'Rihan. I lost my control and became the person I was before I met Kirina. I was the person I was just a decade ago. The monster. But, ah, I remember where I was clearly: directly next to the subcommander, near the nurse, both of whom had hypos and who could have treated me easily. My shotgun was stowed; my disruptor as well. I trafficked in threats, in subterfuge. The Federation nurse was never in any immediate danger.
And yet, Lieutenant Kermit shot me. Low stun. Dropped, not hurt. Still --
How much Federation nobility is really inside Kermit's heart? I pressed him on it later, and he made it clear we are not friends. Fine; I am not friends with Counselor Sedai or Doctor Lindresko, and yet both of them know that I can be counted on in the thick of things as an ally. That is because we work for the Federation and the Republic first. It matters. Kermit's words, and the shot, made it clear that he does not consider me an ally. His first loyalties then became very clear, and he even said it out loud. Aster, Callahan, Kermit, Mandukar: this is his state, this is his flag. No one in, no one out. Such loyalty! Admirable, beautiful, and absolutely dangerous.
It is the kind of loyalty I held to Kirina, and we all know what happened next.
So you see why I am troubled. I do not wish to bring a lie to the attention of Command, in case I am as paranoid as poor, addled Aster thinks I am. Perhaps they are just good friends. Perhaps…
Perhaps the best thing to do would be to disengage and let tr’Dahn handle it. It’s his job, anyway. He’s smart – he’ll have figured out just as much as I have in time, and I will be able to keep myself far away from whatever crap is rolling down the hill next. But my job is to protect the Task Force…
(She absently rubs the shoulder where Kermit hit her with the phaser bolt.)
I'm getting too damned old for this.
10 Likes
noooo, word fairy, stop
(Last night. She looks impeccable. Black jacket, perfect hair, straight back. Everything except for the tired, green-veined eyes. She is extremely, extremely relieved.)
Objective accomplished. I was wrong, and the lieutenant was right. Hnaev. Ah, it does not matter, she will live. She will live, and that is what matters. The living, it is all that ever really matters, in the end.
Observations about Kermit continue to be correct. His flag, his state: his friends. If he truly harnessed his capabilities he'd be formidable. Other observations. I ... really have to continue watching Buchanan. He's as paranoid as a tlaru and almost as smart as one of us. Notices the slightest change in my behavior... is that trained, or natural? Would be good to know.
(She breaks out into laughter.)
I like Commander Yores. I really do... but the man needs an intervention. If this were seven years ago, I'd have this station by the throat. But, no... agh. Protect the Task Force. All right, daeftan. Intervention can wait until later, after he's forgotten all about a holodeck and a busted-up lieutenant and that poor bastard Asran Eskos. A week or two... then I'll take him out on a few rihannsu scenarios. See how he does.
I have got to get some sleep. End recording, store deep.
(She hits the recording and it goes black.)
(Last night. She looks impeccable. Black jacket, perfect hair, straight back. Everything except for the tired, green-veined eyes. She is extremely, extremely relieved.)
Objective accomplished. I was wrong, and the lieutenant was right. Hnaev. Ah, it does not matter, she will live. She will live, and that is what matters. The living, it is all that ever really matters, in the end.
Observations about Kermit continue to be correct. His flag, his state: his friends. If he truly harnessed his capabilities he'd be formidable. Other observations. I ... really have to continue watching Buchanan. He's as paranoid as a tlaru and almost as smart as one of us. Notices the slightest change in my behavior... is that trained, or natural? Would be good to know.
(She breaks out into laughter.)
I like Commander Yores. I really do... but the man needs an intervention. If this were seven years ago, I'd have this station by the throat. But, no... agh. Protect the Task Force. All right, daeftan. Intervention can wait until later, after he's forgotten all about a holodeck and a busted-up lieutenant and that poor bastard Asran Eskos. A week or two... then I'll take him out on a few rihannsu scenarios. See how he does.
I have got to get some sleep. End recording, store deep.
(She hits the recording and it goes black.)
6 Likes
(She is sitting in front of the star charts from the Coalition meeting last night, with PADDs still strewn across her desk.)
Last night was completely unexpected. I knew there would be some excitement when we were called to Psi Velorum to answer a distress call against an Elachi attack, but how many other Republic rihanh can say they were able to make a positive first contact with another species before they reached the rank of commander?
And, yes, the aliens. The Coalition, which implies some sort of multi-spectrum, multi-system government. Interestingly, I would estimate that there was only one person on the bridge of the Extravia that was over thirty standard years old, and that she occupied the executive officer’s spot -- or at least some sort of place of honor, from the way the crew was reacting to her while Commander Harris was speaking with us. Second: they did not seem to worry when they were told just how far they were from home. Perhaps it is cultural. Perhaps it is something else. Perhaps I will get the chance to ask.
At any rate, the political part is out of my hands for a little while. Since they were discovered in Republic space by Task Force Argo, there will no doubt be a very polite tug-of-war between Republic Command and the Federation over the alien data relating to the Jouret gateway, so I may have to manage some tense interpersonal moments here. It is no matter – I apologized to Nethali fvadt Aster and restored perceived mnhei’sahe days ago, even though she could care less. I can do anything now. Anything.
Why is it always Nethali Aster?
I do not understand how this works. Why has she not been cashiered? Why does she have the run of the place? For that matter, why has her behavior not been noticed or commented on by Starfleet, when everything I do is watched? Is it because she is human while my own blood is green? I thought for certain when she walked into what was still a sensitive First Contact negotiation and flirted with the alien commander – after we’d all noticed his care towards his female counterpart – that Captain Tanis would have her thrown out. But nothing! Nothing! She could have ruined the entire negotiation for both Starfleet and the Republic, and Starfleet did not care! We do not know these aliens. We do not know what they value. We do know we want their research on Iconian technology, and we do know we're not going to get it by sleeping with them.
Why is Mandukar all right with her walking around basically pissing on everything her uniform represents? She must have something on him. She must.
I need to talk to Aev. I obviously can’t police his personal friendships, but if he wants a career in Republic intelligence he’s not going to get very far being a confidante of the likes of her. Plus, the more she worms her way into his loyalties, the less I can trust him.
And I have spent too much time today thinking about Aster. I spend too much time in general thinking about Aster. Something has to be done.
(She does a three-layer encode on the log and dumps it to deep storage.)
Last night was completely unexpected. I knew there would be some excitement when we were called to Psi Velorum to answer a distress call against an Elachi attack, but how many other Republic rihanh can say they were able to make a positive first contact with another species before they reached the rank of commander?
And, yes, the aliens. The Coalition, which implies some sort of multi-spectrum, multi-system government. Interestingly, I would estimate that there was only one person on the bridge of the Extravia that was over thirty standard years old, and that she occupied the executive officer’s spot -- or at least some sort of place of honor, from the way the crew was reacting to her while Commander Harris was speaking with us. Second: they did not seem to worry when they were told just how far they were from home. Perhaps it is cultural. Perhaps it is something else. Perhaps I will get the chance to ask.
At any rate, the political part is out of my hands for a little while. Since they were discovered in Republic space by Task Force Argo, there will no doubt be a very polite tug-of-war between Republic Command and the Federation over the alien data relating to the Jouret gateway, so I may have to manage some tense interpersonal moments here. It is no matter – I apologized to Nethali fvadt Aster and restored perceived mnhei’sahe days ago, even though she could care less. I can do anything now. Anything.
Why is it always Nethali Aster?
I do not understand how this works. Why has she not been cashiered? Why does she have the run of the place? For that matter, why has her behavior not been noticed or commented on by Starfleet, when everything I do is watched? Is it because she is human while my own blood is green? I thought for certain when she walked into what was still a sensitive First Contact negotiation and flirted with the alien commander – after we’d all noticed his care towards his female counterpart – that Captain Tanis would have her thrown out. But nothing! Nothing! She could have ruined the entire negotiation for both Starfleet and the Republic, and Starfleet did not care! We do not know these aliens. We do not know what they value. We do know we want their research on Iconian technology, and we do know we're not going to get it by sleeping with them.
Why is Mandukar all right with her walking around basically pissing on everything her uniform represents? She must have something on him. She must.
I need to talk to Aev. I obviously can’t police his personal friendships, but if he wants a career in Republic intelligence he’s not going to get very far being a confidante of the likes of her. Plus, the more she worms her way into his loyalties, the less I can trust him.
And I have spent too much time today thinking about Aster. I spend too much time in general thinking about Aster. Something has to be done.
(She does a three-layer encode on the log and dumps it to deep storage.)
8 Likes
(The small stationside quarters is in slight disarray; Aurelia is packing her few things. She is talking with her brother on mol'Rihan through subspace; Ahnar's part of the conversation goes unheard.)
"… I know it is hard for you to see it that way, Ahnar. It’s hard for nearly everyone to see it that way, which is exactly why they did it.
Let me put it this way. Remember when we were children, and we took that awful trip to the Apnex Sea? Mother and Father wanted to go to the museum, the boring one you hated, and we got into all that trouble and caused that scene? Remember how they hired the babysitter the next day so they could have one fvadt day of peace?
You didn’t know that?
Yes, that’s why they hired the babysitter. It wasn’t a reward for us, silly. And, there, we thought we were getting away with murder…
… Exactly. To everyone else, it looks like I received a reward for bringing a war criminal to justice. It looks like they should be lauded, running that operation. Right? Just like us thinking we were so awesome, getting out of going to that museum. But it’s not a reward. They’re chaining me up. I'm very effective... and now I'll have to be effective in a very certain way. I’ll have lives to look after, now, and people that will watch my every move. My. Every. Move. The life of a warbird commander, even a small one like the Anarhai… Ahnar, there’s so much to do. Reports, maintenance, discipline, tactics, diplomacy, responsibility… by giving me command, they are taking away my ability to ever pull a stunt like that again.
Oh, yes. Yes. You’re right, I could just take the warbird and do what I like. But the crew… all those lives.
… you know why I won’t. You know why I can’t. Not again. And Command knows it too.
(Cold laughter.)
Yes. Yes, they’re bastards. And that is why the Republic will prevail."
"… I know it is hard for you to see it that way, Ahnar. It’s hard for nearly everyone to see it that way, which is exactly why they did it.
Let me put it this way. Remember when we were children, and we took that awful trip to the Apnex Sea? Mother and Father wanted to go to the museum, the boring one you hated, and we got into all that trouble and caused that scene? Remember how they hired the babysitter the next day so they could have one fvadt day of peace?
You didn’t know that?
Yes, that’s why they hired the babysitter. It wasn’t a reward for us, silly. And, there, we thought we were getting away with murder…
… Exactly. To everyone else, it looks like I received a reward for bringing a war criminal to justice. It looks like they should be lauded, running that operation. Right? Just like us thinking we were so awesome, getting out of going to that museum. But it’s not a reward. They’re chaining me up. I'm very effective... and now I'll have to be effective in a very certain way. I’ll have lives to look after, now, and people that will watch my every move. My. Every. Move. The life of a warbird commander, even a small one like the Anarhai… Ahnar, there’s so much to do. Reports, maintenance, discipline, tactics, diplomacy, responsibility… by giving me command, they are taking away my ability to ever pull a stunt like that again.
Oh, yes. Yes. You’re right, I could just take the warbird and do what I like. But the crew… all those lives.
… you know why I won’t. You know why I can’t. Not again. And Command knows it too.
(Cold laughter.)
Yes. Yes, they’re bastards. And that is why the Republic will prevail."
10 Likes