So some other power has learned how to drive a Borg ship--despite its lack of a centralized bridge or other components--and keep the adaptive capabilities of the Collective, yet their interaction suggests individuals. "The best of both worlds," I suppose. That could be very formidable, to say the least.
C'mon now, everyone knows that Donald Sandhurst is the equivalent of the Universe's favorite chew toy! Who said they were locals? Very formidable, indeed.
TFV - Operation Vanguard (Chapter 7 continued) Chapter 7 <cont'd> I caught sight of my reflection I caught it in the window I saw the darkness in my heart I saw the signs of my undoing They had been there from the start And the darkness still has work to do The knotted chord's untying They're heated and they're holy Oh they're sitting there on high So secure with everything they're buying Blood of Eden ~ Peter Gabriel Sandhurst heard the distant call of birds as he floated up towards consciousness from the cool depths of blissful oblivion. Even his persistent dreams of the great cube and the dark forest had not troubled him here, so deeply had he plunged into the abyss. When the hell did Taiee get songbirds? he wondered in the midst his calm detachment. Perhaps I’m not in Sickbay, he considered. He couldn’t really recall with any certainty what his last memory was. Borg? He thought he remembered something about the Borg, but as he performed a self-check of his body he felt utterly comfortable, lying atop a soft, body-conforming surface of some kind. He was in no pain. He felt no anxiety or fear. Certainly not what one would expect to feel if he’d just encountered the Collective. Maybe I finally took a vacation and I’m waking up in a Risan hotel suite? It was a wonderful thought, especially given what he’d been through recently… Wait… I’m in the Delta Quadrant… not too many luxury hotels out here… He cracked an eyelid and his eye immediately focused on a rather lovely vase holding an assortment of exotically beautiful flowers, none of which he recognized. The fragrance of the bouquet permeated the room, at least he assumed he was in a room. He opened both eyes experimentally, blinking for a moment against the white sunlight that spilled forth from the great bay window opposite his bed. The room he found himself in could well belong to a luxury hotel of some kind. Rounded doorways, gently curved ceilings and the large, irregularly shaped window gave the suite a strikingly unconventional appearance. Sandhurst experienced his first thrill of discomfort as he realized his environs were not something someone would encounter in a Federation-designed structure. They were too distinct, not bland enough for the decidedly inoffensive pan-species sensibilities of the UFP. A couch-like daybed and a knee-high table with elaborate pillowed seating areas were the only readily identifiable furnishings, but various pieces of what Sandhurst surmised to be artwork filled the suite. He sat up and found himself atop a low bed, dressed in a light tunic and pants, someone’s idea of sleepwear. He first approached the window, looking out from a great height above… Oh, hell, he murmured internally. Sandhurst stared openly at the great forest far below him. The coniferous trees were bathed in sunlight and created zones of swaying shadows in the sun-speckled grassland from whence they sprung. It’s the dark forest in daylight, he realized with wonder, inside the great cube. Memories of the stark terror on Europa’s bridge that gripped the crew upon the Borg’s arrival flooded back to him. He pressed a hand against the glass-analogue substance forming the window, gazing through it as his eyes searched to confirm his suspicions. Sandhurst could barely make out the opposite wall of the enormous interior space, perhaps a half a kilometer distant. It rose to meet the presumably holographic light-green sky overhead. Sandhurst turned back to look at the painstakingly decorated compartment. Not exactly the amenities I would have expected from a Borg vessel, he thought sardonically. Perhaps the Collective assimilated a particularly stylish species? For the next few minutes Sandhurst walked around the room, examining the furnishings and artwork, most notably a sculpture of two figures which at first he took to be locked in combat. Upon further inspection, he decided that it represented something else, an amorphous creature transmuting into a humanoid form, not unlike a Changeling. He had never possessed a refined taste in art, despite the best efforts of his artist father. And yet, Sandhurst found himself inexplicably drawn to the sculpture. It wasn’t particularly compelling, as its aesthetic and cultural significance were lost on him, but the piece nevertheless evoked something within him, radiating an aura of… he didn’t know quite what. Sandhurst was still studying the object when the door opened with a soft pneumatic sigh. A humanoid female wearing a gently flowing shift in earth tones entered. Her dark hair was cut nearly stubble-short on the left side, while the right side extruded up in a feathered pattern evocative of nihilistic youth on a hundred different worlds. Her eyes were a bright green, shades lighter and more striking than any human bore through biology alone. Her skin tone was a light mocha, and aside from the unconventional hairstyle, Sandhurst found her quite beautiful. “Good morning, Donald,” she said in a foreign tongue that he nevertheless understood immediately. It wasn’t the delayed translation of a UT device, rather he apparently and unexpectedly spoke her language despite never having heard it before. “What is it you want from me?” he inquired brusquely in this new linguistic matrix. She cocked her head to one side, a graceful smile blossoming across her features. “That was to be my question to you, Zeischt.” He nearly recoiled from her use of the name that had plagued his dreams for many months. “What… who is Zeischt?” he barked more heatedly than he’d intended. “You are,” she replied calmly, apparently unfazed by his brief fit of pique. “It is your given name,” she paused, trying to articulate a complex thought, “or rather, it will be.” “Given by whom?” “Your Amon family,” she answered. “You are Amon,” he repeated numbly. Her smile widened. “Yes.” “Where is my ship? What have you done with my crew?” “We’ve done nothing with your ship,” she answered plainly. “Some of your crew were injured when our training cadre recovered you from your command center, but nothing that could not be easily healed. Since then, your ship has taken your ally in tow and is moving out of the system.” “Training cadre?” he probed. “Yes, our apprentice warrior-recruits,” she explained. "We thought recovering you while employing non-lethal force would be a challenging learning experience for them. Withholding the killing strike takes far more discipline in the heat of battle than delivering it.” “What do the Amon want with me?” he asked, his words taking on a hard edge in response to the revelation of his capture. “I don’t understand,” she said, her face assuming the appropriate expression of confusion. “It is you who called to us.” “No!” he practically yelled. He turned away from her, raising his hands and gesturing at his head. “You’ve been haunting me for months! Rattling around inside my head with vague portents and mysterious double-talk.” “My name is Nestrala, I am the High Soothsayer of our tribe,” she gestured towards the sitting area and moved to take a seat. “Because of my gifts, I am the one with who you’ve been in communication.” “How? Why?” He had so very many questions. She gestured again for him to sit and after a moment he reluctantly settled onto an ottoman-like structure that suddenly morphed into a chair around him. To his credit, he managed to keep from leaping to his feet, but only barely. “You are Amon,” Nestrala said simply. “No, I’m not,” he shot back heatedly. “Why do you keep saying that?” She leaned forward toward him, fixing her hauntingly green eyes to his own. “To become one of us is to have always been one of us.” “I’m not going to become one of you, so the point is moot,” Sandhurst retorted. “You will. If not, we could never have come into communion with one another as we have.” “So you’ll force me to join you?” He laughed without humor. “Why not? You already fly around in a Borg cube, why wouldn’t you assimilate people too?” She remained steadfastly serene in the face of his outrage. “That’s not how it works. You must join us of your own free will.” “And what could possibly compel me to do that?” Sandhurst asked derisively. Nestrala’s response was immediate, and was offered not as conjecture but as an accepted matter of fact. “When the dark lord that pursues you has hurt you so badly that you cannot suffer any further loss, you will come to us. When you are broken and bowed and he has taken every shred of your dignity, you’ll ask for the protection of your Amon brethren. When that day comes, we will be there for you, Zeischt.” Sandhurst sat transfixed. “How can you know about him?” he asked in a weak voice. “You told us about him through your dreams. You cried out to us in terror.” “It won’t come to that,” he said with conviction. “At some future point,” she countered, “it already has.” ***** First Officer's log, USS Europa, supplemental – “As the crew endeavors to repair our modest battle damage, we’ve taken Vexam in tow and are departing for the edge of the system to regroup. Shortly after our contact with the Borg cube and the abduction of Captain Sandhurst, the cube vanished into the same spatial rupture that it used to drop in on top of us. I still don’t know what to make of the attack that precipitated the captain’s kidnapping. The visual recorders show that our attackers had every advantage, and yet they demonstrated significant restraint in their actions, notably producing not a single fatality in their assault. That fact gives me some hope that Captain Sandhurst might be recovered alive from their clutches as soon as we can discover who and where they are.” Repairs continue aboard both our ships, and for the time being the En-Il-Que have continued to give us a wide berth, though they’ve finally sent a relief force to rescue those of their ships we’d previously disabled. I’m scheduled for a conference with Admiral Jellico in a few moments to discuss our circumstances, and what if anything can be done to locate and retrieve our captain.” ***** Jellico inclined his head towards his display terminal. “Morning, Commander.” T’Ser returned the gesture. “It is that, sir.” “In light of recent events, and owing to the fact that we have no idea as to the whereabouts of Captain Sandhurst, I’ve come to a difficult decision.” T’Ser remained mute, awaiting the admiral’s verdict. “I’m detaching Europa for a period of one week to chase down any leads as to Sandhurst’s whereabouts, but given the critical nature of our mission, that’s all the longer I can spare you. In the meantime, it’s vitally important that the chain-of-command be preserved in order to shore up the confidence and operational effectiveness of your personnel. For that reason, I am granting you the field commission of captain, effective immediately.” T’Ser held up a hand. “Sir, that really isn’t nec—“ “The decision’s been made, Captain T’Ser, and as we haven’t worked together for long I’m going to excuse your failure to realize that I’m not given to repeating myself. A crew needs a captain, and you’re it. Who’s your first choice for Europa’s XO billet?” “Lt. Commander Pell, Admiral,” T’Ser said reflexively, still processing her superior’s neutronium-girded rebuke. “Good, I’ll make that official.” Jellico’s expression softened slightly. “Make no mistake, Captain, I haven’t given up hope on our finding Sandhurst. Heaven knows the man’s bucked the odds before, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he does so again. Nevertheless, this taskforce’s mission is too important to be sidelined by the abduction or death of any one officer. Are we clear?” “As crystal, Admiral,” she replied promptly. “Good to hear,” he answered. “What’s the status of our new Romulan friends?” “Vexam’s repairs continue, and we estimate we’ll have her warp-capable again in a little over seventy-two hours.” “Any indications that Vexam’s commander has any interest in a cooperative effort out here to our mutual benefit?” “I haven’t broached that subject just yet, sir,” T’Ser responded. “I will when the appropriate moment presents itself.” “Understood. Carry on and keep me apprised of any significant developments. Your week’s grace to look for Sandhurst will begin when you’ve cleared Vexam and she’s underway on her own power. Good hunting, Captain. Galaxy, out.” T’Ser released a long sigh she’d been holding back for minutes as the comms-link terminated. Captain, she thought dazedly. Gods, I’d give anything to be able to talk to Joseph Akinola right now in realtime, he’d have all kinds of advice for me. After a minute’s consideration, T’Ser realized that the years spent under Akinola’s tutelage were just as good as being able to bend the man’s ear in the here and now. He taught me how to command, she said to herself. Now it’s time to put it to use. ***** They moved through the great ship, walking along broad boulevards which had once formed arterials of Borg conduit and housed hundreds of thousands of drones. Now he would have been hard pressed to believe he was aboard a Borg vessel, if he had not already known the truth. The interior had been opened up into cavernous spaces that were resplendent with bone white bulkheads decorated with mimetic murals and grand tapestries. Everywhere he looked Sandhurst saw trees, flowers, sculpture gardens, and galleries containing all manner of artistic expression. Sandhurst couldn’t hide his surprise at the transformation from a cybernetic house of horrors into a beacon of light and life. “It’s beautiful here,” he admitted, “which strikes me as strange, as others have described the Amon as death eaters.” “We are, in a sense,” Nestrala confessed. “We create life and beauty from death.” He glanced at her, his skepticism evident. “You’re sure that’s not something you tell less developed species to keep them in line?” Nestrala’s smile was patient and only a touch condescending. “The Amon hold no territory, Donald. We fight no wars to acquire or defend worlds or resources. We have no need keep others ‘in line’ as you say.” Sandhurst nearly asked about the Habertaem and their Amon-controlled weapons systems, but kept his peace for fear of repercussions against that already horrifically scarred people. “So, what constitutes creating life from death?” he asked instead as they stepped into a wide translucent travel tube through which other Amon rose or descended on invisible energies. “Sentient lifeforms shed an energy field at the moment of death that gradually disperses into the background radiation of the universe. Our creators discovered that this energy can be captured, harnessed and used to enhance longevity and physical prowess, eradicate disease, and even accelerate a species’ evolution should they choose.” “Your creators?” His eyes drifted across level after level of parks, residential areas, markets and other signs of a bustling, energetic society as they traveled upwards in the tube. “Yes,” she said. “We are an artificially engineered people, created to serve the whims of our masters many eons ago. The Amon were sent out into the universe to collect life-essence that was stored and eventually employed by our masters to transform them from their amorphous corporeal bodies into a pure energy state. When they suddenly ‘sublimed’ they took an entire star system and billions of Amon with them. The remaining tribes were left without guidance or purpose, fated to wander the stars for eternity searching for some higher purpose.” Sandhurst filed that fact away as he pressed for more information about the mythical energy that supposedly fueled their civilization. “So, you’re telling me that your species uses the souls of sentient dead to power your vessels?” “Of course not, Donald. We shunt energy from an interstitial field barrier between dimensions to power our craft. Limitless energy for the machines that we employ, that nonetheless pales in comparison to the life-essence that underpins all aspects of our society.” The stepped out of the travel tube and into a large hydroponics bay where Amon tended to a wide variety of plants and were harvesting various fruit and vegetable-analogues. “How can you subsist on a form of energy that no species I know of has ever even detected?” he asked pointedly. “The peoples of this part of your galaxy are far too primitive to have developed the requisite technology necessary to detect the energy, let alone capture it.” Nestrala said with a hint of amusement in her voice. “The other species we’ve encountered who possess such technology have stringent moral reservations against utilizing the energy in any capacity, usually due to residual primitive superstitions.” “You mean they have religious or moral objections to using what might well be the departed souls of their own dead as an energy source?” The scorn in Sandhurst’s tone was unmistakable. “The energy fields ultimately dissipate into nothingness,” Nestrala pointed out, apparently immune to Sandhurst’s evident disapproval. “What benefit is to be gained by allowing that resource to go to waste?” “You might feel differently if it were the souls of your own people, Nestrala.” She turned to face him, all earnestness. “The life-essence of our own dead are captured just the same, and infused into our works of art and our weaponry. Each of the deshouri battle staffs used by our warriors who boarded your ship contain the life-energy of one of our fallen warriors. It creates a spiritual and psychic bond between weapon and wielder, allowing both to react to threats more quickly than any one individual might.” Sandhurst thought that he must have looked as shocked as he felt, for Nestrala’s reaction was one of concern. “I understand that this is a great deal for you to absorb all at once. Give yourself time to grasp the truth in what I say. We have nothing to hide, and no question is forbidden.” He nodded slowly, his mind racing with the implications of what he’d learned. “You said your people use the energy to sustain yourselves. How, exactly?” She reached into a nearby harvesting bin to withdraw a brown-hued fruit of some kind. “The energy is infused into the food and drink that we consume, and so nourishes our spiritual selves as the food does our physical bodies.” Ah, he said to himself as his mind grappled with the predatory nature of that transaction. Death eaters, indeed. *****
Re: TFV - Operation Vanguard (Chapter 7 continued) Heh...I see my comment about Death Eaters just worked its way into canon. These guys really seem like wolves in sheep's clothing. Like another version of Treklit's Caeliar, gone really, really bad. (Of course, I don't think these guys are really like the Caeliar--just the paradise-like aesthetics.) I'd hate to see what would happen if the Amon found that planet from "Emanations." (The Voyager episode.) I would also question the idea that the energy they have found is actually the soul. Now that, I suspect, is something they use to keep their subjects in line. I would be willing to bet that while they are getting biological energy, they are claiming they're getting more--essentially ending the afterlives of people--to frighten people, but that actually doing what they say they're doing is in fact beyond their capabilities. Just my personal thought. I must also say...in some weird way, Jellico's high estimation of Sandhurst warms my heart. It's nice to see someone in the Admiralty really recognize what he's worth.
Eww, this is taken necro-cannibalism to a whole new level. These guys are turning their dead into food. I guess that's the ultimate recycling job. “At some future point,” she countered, “it already has.”. Loved this statement. That's enough to make your head slowly eat itself. Really like what you've done with the Amon. They are nothing like what I expected after what we've learned from the Habertaem. Also kudos to the creepy way you've tied this in with Sandhurst's dreams and even the evil Baron. By the way, totally disagree with Jellico giving T'Ser a field commission. I think it sends the wrong message to the crew and implies that Sandhurst is already lost. The man's only been missing for a few hours. This promotion has a psychological impact on everyone involved. If they acknowledge, as they seem to do, that Sandhurst will be recovered, you'll have to retract the field promotion which never looks good. Least you can do is wait until you declare Sandhurst MIA before making changes to the command structure. Meanwhile T'Ser could continue in temporary command at her current rank as the acting captain.
I've managaed to catch up with the tale just now. Well, some rather unexpected turns of events. So, the Amon are actually cultured people. The way they describe what they do sounds harmless and benevolent but of course we know that they actually kill people for it. It's a great idea to have this bright, vibrant and cultured civilisation have this huge stain underneath. I'm looking forward to how this will continue.
Your sensible real-life objections aside, in the Trekiverse, we have precedent for this--Picard's abduction by the Borg. I also hate to be morbid here, but odds are there's going to be a ship in this task force that will lose their captain, and T'Ser may need to be shuttled over to said ship quick.
Yeah, Riker's field promotion was on my mind as well when reading this but it occurred to me that that scenario was different. Picard had been abducted and assimilated by the Borg, and that was before anyone knew that this could be reversed. Sandhurst on the other hand has been taken by a race-even though resembling the Borg in some fashion-that clearly went out of their way to avoid casualties. Your second argument may be more relevant in this scenario.
Wow, this tale took even more of a left turn than I was expecting ... and I like that ... a lot. Very interesting who the real life inhabitants of Sandhurst's dream turned out to be, and I love the concept that it was HE who was somehow calling out to them. The Amon foretelling of Sandhurst's future is both chilling and intriguing. I can't help wondering if, by knowing the future, he will in some way be empowered to avoid it (I doubt it, but it's an interesting possibility.) As always, you've hooked me, and I'm very much looking forward to learning more about
...I guess I misread about that ship being a cube. I'm a big fan of Babylon 5. Big story archs that have hints throughout of what is really going on. The Amon's statement about Sandhurst and the Baron seems like something on that level. I like.
TFV - Operation Vanguard (Chapter 7 continued) Chapter 7 <cont'd> The Amon warriors moved with flawless practiced coordination as they struck, parried, and struck again at one another with their deshouri battle staffs. Over two hundred of them filled the cavernous hold as Nestrala and Sandhurst observed from a viewing platform high above. “I’ve been meaning to ask, Nestrala. How did your people come into possession of this vessel?” She bobbed her head in a nod towards the wheeling, clashing figures below as they sparred with lightening speed and focused energy. “Our tribe was growing in numbers when we entered your galaxy, and it was decided that a single large ship would serve our needs better than a flotilla of smaller craft. We discovered the Borg shortly after our arrival, when they were on an expansionist campaign through the far galactic arm of what your people call the ‘Delta Quadrant.’” “Let me guess, you found it derelict, the result of some great cataclysm?” Sandhurst posited, recalling reports from the far-flung starship Voyager about a war between the Collective and some mysterious trans-dimensional aggressor. Nestrala’s reply was spoken matter-of-factly with no hint of bravado, but it chilled Sandhurst nonetheless. “We fell upon them and took it by force.” There was a prolonged silence between them, broken only by the battle-drill cadence called out by the hundreds of dueling figures below. “You’re not from here… this galaxy, I mean?” Sandhurst asked finally. “No,” she said in a voice weighted with the burden of protracted memory. “The tribes of the Amon have traveled the stars of three different galaxies since our makers departed, and that was nearly twenty millennia ago.” “How did you get past the galactic barrier?” he asked, astonished at the revelation. She smiled coyly. “Some answers must wait until you’ve come into the fold without reservation, Donald.” “You said there were no questions that could not be asked,” Sandhurst prodded. “I did indeed say that,” she confirmed. “However, I never promised that every question would be answered to your satisfaction.” “Fair point,” he conceded with a chuckle. Sandhurst looked over at her. “Strange that beings from a whole other galaxy evolved the humanoid form that dominates the Milky Way. The Preservers must have seeded further than we imagined.” Nestrala’s smile widened. “We adopted this form after coming to your galaxy. It seemed prudent, given the abundance of life-supporting worlds this body-type is adapted to.” Sandhurst ’s eyes widened fractionally. “You can change your form?” “Not easily,” she clarified, “but yes, the life-essence allows us to adapt our bodies to new environments and circumstances over time.” Sandhurst blew out a long breath. “Who knew the souls of the dead could be put to such uses?” Nestrala shot him an irritated glance. “You keep saying that, Donald. I never implied that we feed on the ‘souls’ of the dead. Those are your words. We make no claims as to the nature of the life-essence, or its possible implications to the countless religions worshipped throughout the universe.” “It sounds to me as though you don’t fully understand the very thing you’ve built your society around.” “We know all that we need to,” she replied coolly. “It is rare, it is valuable, and it is only emitted by creatures possessing self-awareness. The life-energy of ‘lower’ species is of no value to us, and cannot be used for our purposes.” “You kill for it then, in order to harvest this energy?” he inquired in a tone brimming with disapproval. “We have done so in the distant past, but only under the most extreme circumstances where we faced starvation otherwise.” Nestrala’s expression took on a far away cast, as if she were watching ancient tragedies replayed upon a screen in her mind. “Long ago we decided the only ethical way in which to obtain the life-essence was to harvest it from worlds where conflict was endemic. We found planets embroiled in great wars where we could reap the energy with our collector satellites while remaining hidden. “But, all conflicts end eventually, and we were forced to eek out a desperate existence struggling from one war zone to the next, constantly in danger of starvation. Then…” Nestrala said with a welcoming breath, “then we stumbled upon the Great Exodus, the flight of dozens of species from the Delta Quadrant. It proved our salvation. Most of the species in the exodus had become warlike if they were not so already, and they regularly struck innocent worlds in their path to strip them of essential resources. All the while we quietly absorbed the lives they shed in the process, both their own as well as those of their victims.” “We follow in chaos’ wake,” Sandhurst whispered quietly, reciting the words from his recurring dreams. “Just so, Zeischt,” Nestrala replied as if repeating a prayer by rote. “It is our way.” *****
These conversations are proving most enlightening. I wonder if Voyager has found any evidence of this "trans-dimensional aggressor" and what happened when they investigated? That seems like a story worth telling, tangentially part of the TFV banner.
So we learn a little more about the Amon. But not quite everything. I can imagine how frustrated Sandhurst must be getting. One thing I don't believe we have learned yet is if they have their own agenda, besides 'feeding' on the souls of the dearly departed. I know, know, not their words.
I was being vague, because Sandhurst is recalling snippets of reports that he was only paying partial attention to... but he's referring to the Borg conflict with Species 8472 from Fluidic Space.
TFV - Operation Vanguard (Chapter 7 continued) Chapter 7 <cont'd> The fourth pip on her collar made T’Ser feel terribly self-conscious, as if she was sporting a visible brand that announced her betrayal of Captain Sandhurst to all she encountered. Shortly after pinning the rank ensign to her uniform, she’d beat a hasty exit to beam aboard Vexam and confer with Sub-Commander Chalois. She found the red-headed Romulan woman in a radiation-hardened exo-suit, having just inspected the repairs to the warbird’s damaged nacelle and wing structure. Chalois moved into an antechamber and began to unfasten the cumbersome protective garment. “Are congratulations in order?” she asked, eyeing T’Ser’s collar. T’Ser colored visibly, blushing a dark green. “No more so than for you, Sub-Commander,” she replied. “My captain’s abduction has prompted my superiors to shuffle me into his place, before his seat is even cold.” The Romulan nodded approvingly as she hung the exo-suit on a hook and started to don her duty uniform. “Is that not the proper way of things? I thought Starfleet’s chain-of-command worked along roughly the same principals as our own.” “We have not yet explored the possibility of rescuing him,” T’Ser amended. Chalois gave the Vulcan a curious look. “Your loyalty to your former captain is commendable, but he was taken by an unknown species operating a Borg vessel that departed through a spatial fissure. He could quite literally be almost anywhere by now, if he yet lives.” “He’s not my ‘former’ captain,” T’Ser objected heatedly. “Like it or not, want it or not, you are the captain now, cousin.” T’Ser quirked an eyebrow. “So we’re cousins now?” “Tell me, T’Ser,” Chalois asked seriously as she pulled on a boot. “Whom are you closer to in both temperament and physiology… Vulcan or Romulan?” T’Ser treated the question as rhetorical, pressing forward. “I could use your help in locating Captain Sandhurst.” The Sub-Commander frowned. “I am grateful for your assistance in our time of need, Captain, but my orders do not include searching for kidnapped Federation officers.” “And our orders did not include rescuing Romulan warbirds from attack at great risk to ourselves,” T’Ser shot back. “You owe Sandhurst your life.” “You seek to shame me by playing on my sympathies?" Chalois asked angrily. “Though I am grateful to still draw breath, your captain made the wrong decision in recklessly charging to our rescue. I would not have made that mistake.” “Nor would I,” T’Ser countered. “I argued against it for just that reason. I knew that were our positions reversed, no Romulan would dare raise a finger to assist Starfleet, our alliance be damned!” Chalois stepped forward, face-to-face with T’Ser. “You dare impugn the honor of the Star Navy? It was your people who waited months before telling your own allies of the approaching danger from the Delta Quadrant!” “And it has been my people who have sacrificed two starships and over five-hundred lives to try and stop the Kothlis’Ka armada that draws ever closer to Romulan space!” T’Ser thundered back. It was only then that her sensitive Vulcan ears alerted her to the presence of others nearby, whose heartbeats and breathing had increased in tempo markedly. She caught the looming shadows of what could only be Reman shock troops just outside the doorway to the antechamber. “You’re right,” Chalois said slowly, visibly calming herself as she took a purposeful step back. “Your people have made sacrifices in defense of my own, both during the war and more recently.” Her eyes dropped. “I regret my words.” It took T’Ser a moment to realize the import of what Chalois had done. The admission in and of itself was almost unheard of, but to have been offered in earshot of her subordinates was almost beyond the pale. “Let us work together, then,” T’Ser pressed. “These nomadic fleets pose a danger to the whole quadrant. Both our peoples are still exhausted from the war. Imagine the kind of disruption and destruction they could cause, that they’re already starting to cause!” Chalois met the other woman’s gaze with an uncertain expression. They both had been forced to fill the shoes of their commanding officers, and both bore that burden along with the knowledge of the enormous costs that a failure of their mission could bring. “I will consider your words, Captain,” she said. *****
Well at least Chalois is open to the possibility of cooperating. The Amon are sounding more and more like a potencial threat. Or at the very least, have their own agenda.
While I may not have agreed with Jellico's call to give T'Ser a field promotion, I do like the story-telling implications and the sudden parallels between her and her Romulan colleague. I love the way you write Chalois, proving that even among Romulans there can be moderate and sympathetic voices who can be humbled by deeds of compassion.
I thought that was very interesting to see T'Ser paired off with a Romulan. Both for T'Ser--I imagine she was bullied with the "Romulan" moniker growing up--and for Chalois, who is seeing something very different in a Vulcan that she probably believed was dead. (Out of curiosity, how do you pronounce Chalois' name? I keep thinking it's supposed to have a French accent, but I know that can't be right... )