Thanks for commenting. The way I see it is that Samson's an admiral, but he's still a man, and a father who loves his son. The war, and its terrible toll on so many families makes Samson even more cognizant of that love, and sometimes he puts logic on the shelf for his son. Here's another installment.
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Rojas Residence
Allensworth Colony
Though the large spread of food smelled wonderful, no one was hungry. Even the normally voracious Sennaar, a Nausicaan that had served with Pedro on the Carolina was merely picking at the food on his plate. Terrence had long since given up and went outside on the large veranda.
When Terrence and the crew he had ferried on the shuttlecraft Rising States had first arrived, he had been reluctant to see Pedro’s parents. Though he had known Benito and Luz for years, and they considered him a part of the family, his guilt and shame had been gnawing at him nonstop since Pedro’s death. How could he bring their body to them now? How could he look them in the eye and tell them he failed them?
He had spent several days after Chin’toka holed up in his office, writing and recording personal messages to send to all of the dead, thirty-six in all. He hated to admit it, but he couldn’t deny that the message he had composed for Pedro had been the toughest of all. Terrence had been silently relieved that Juanita had taken on the burden.
But that hadn’t saved him from having to face Pedro’s parents, and incurring their wrath. He had resigned himself to their condemnation, but their grief had transmuted into a fierce love and protectiveness that had enveloped everyone aboard the Rising States, even the prickly Lt. N’Saba, after Glover had landed it at the colony’s spaceport. The Rojas family had been waiting for them. And they had hovered over them, fussed over everyone ever since. Surprisingly N’Saba had taken it in stride.
But it had made Terrence feel worse. He wanted them to curse him, to blame him, to punish him for surviving, while their son had not. They did none of that, and Terrence didn’t know what to say, or how to act or react. So he had ghost walked through the last couple days, until the funeral. Seeing Pedro’s closed casket, hearing the eulogies, had been too much.
He had broken down and failed his friend again by being so overcome that he hadn’t been able to eulogize him. Dr. Cole had recommended that he leave early, and she had accompanied him back to the Rojas residence.
She sat with him now, her hand entwined in his, out on the porch. The house was packed with mourners, and more people kept coming to pay their respects, spilling out into the front and backyards.
Strange enough, most of the people were in a festive mood. It hadn’t taken Benito long to crank up some Salsa music, and the pall had been quickly replaced by a sense of celebration. Death wasn’t something Terrence celebrated, but he couldn’t be angry at the others for celebrating Pedro’s life. He knew that’s what his friend would’ve wanted.
“Terrence, there you are, I’ve been looking all over for you.” The captain looked up, not believing his eyes or ears.
“Pell,” he said, stunned. “What are you doing here?” The beautiful, auburn-haired Bajoran made her way through the crowd and walked up the steps. Pell Ojana was one of his oldest friends. Beside her was another familiar face. “Christina?”
Lt. Commander Christina Raeger, Deep Space Five’s former Communications Officer and a long on again/off again paramour of Pedro, looked exactly how Terrence felt. Her eyes were red and puffy, her blonde hair unruly as if it would’ve taken too much energy to style it. At first her blue eyes had a dull sheen, until she spied Rieta sitting beside him. Glover quickly removed his hand from hers. Christina and Jasmine were very close. “Where’s Jasmine?” She asked, a suspicious edge in her voice.
“She couldn’t make it,” Terrence tried not to sound defensive. “This is Dr. Cole, my Chief Medical Officer.”
Rieta stood up and extended her hand. Christina glared at it as it was diseased. “I’m going inside to see Juanita.”
“Okay,” Pell said. She turned to Dr. Cole and grasped the woman’s still outstretched hand. “Lt. Commander Pell Ojana, nice to meet you.”
“Same here,” Dr. Cole said. Glover stood up and they awkwardly embraced.
“Pell is one of my closest friends,” Terrence informed the doctor. “In fact, if it hadn’t been for her, I probably wouldn’t be captain of the Cuffe.”
“Is that so?” Cole asked, curious.
Pell made a face. “Not so. My recommendation to Captain Diaz had very little to do with your selection.” Glover knew that was true. He had been selected by Admiral Nechayev to spy on Captain Diaz because Command suspected her of belonging to the Brigade, a forerunner of the Maquis. Those suspicions had proven correct, though Terrence had failed to expose the woman’s treachery. That happened after Diaz retired and recommended that Terrence replace her. Still he liked to remind Pell of how much she meant to him.
“I see you two have a lot to catch up on, so I’ll leave you alone,” Dr. Cole replied. After she was gone, Pell leaned close to Terrence and whispered:
“What were you doing holding hands with her?”
“Oh that,” Terrence laughed, “It was nothing.”
“She’s not your wife,” Pell hissed.
“My wife’s not here,” Glover said coldly.
“I can see that,” Pell said.
“She’s not around at all anymore,” Terrence added.
“If you want to be around her, go to Earth,” Pell replied.
“We’re in the middle of a war, I have duties to my ship and crew,” Glover shot back.
“Resign,” Pell challenged. “What’s more important to you? The Cuffe or your marriage?”
“I’m not in the mood for this right now,” The captain said.
“I know,” Pell relented slightly, “I just don’t want you just blaming Jasmine for whatever’s going on or not going on between you. You’re playing a role in it too.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Terrence said, his face flushing hot with anger. “But I’ve been trying…trying. I’ve been trying a lot lately, for a lot of things and not making headway on any damn thing.”
“Now’s not the time to wallow,” Pell admonished.
“Did you come here just to make me feel worse?” An exasperated Glover asked.
“No, I came because I thought you needed a friend,” the Bajoran answered, “But I’m not an enabler.”
“Message received,” Glover said. “Now, how are you?”
“Okay, all things considered,” Pell said, with a slight shrug. “Since we were in the neighborhood Captain Covey gave me a few days to travel out here to attend the funeral, but I didn’t see you there. The Chevalier is escorting the Alshain Exarch to Earth to formally sign a treaty of mutual defense.”
Terrence was stunned and excited by the news. “You mean they are finally getting off their hindquarters and joining the war?”
Pell gave a small, tight-lipped smile. “I wouldn’t have quite used that phraseology but yes: The Alshain Exarchate is joining the Federation Alliance.”
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Somewhere in Alshain space…
“I urge you Highness, please listen to reason,” Syndic Gedvin pleaded.
“This sounds more like treason to me!” Grand Duke Jarko O’Jinn roared at the supplicating priest, pounding the table with such fury that it brought on another coughing spell. The old duke could feel the leech worms writhing around in his chest. Soon they would consume enough of his lungs and heart to remove him from the Great Hunt.
It was too late for him, but was it too late for his people? He sat back, stroking his whitened chin. Lady Lerin rubbed his shoulders. He glanced up at his latest and youngest wife. He tried to ignore the dull, chalky glaze in her eyes, brought on by ketracel-white. He used it to numb the pain caused by the worms. But she consumed the narcotics for pleasure and escape, which disgusted him. But what could he do? He was an old man without an heir, an imperial without power because his birthing order had allowed his older brother Jasta to assume the throne. And now Jasta’s son Jedalla reigned.
Jedalla had despised, and rightly so, how the many of the Alshain nobility had fallen to ketracel-white addiction and become the pawns of Son’a drug merchants. The Son’a had snaked their way into the very corridors of power and sliced off a significant chunk of Alshain territory, and larger portion of his people’s more precious pride in the process. And he had stood by and let it happen, resigning himself, no, hiding under the excuse that because he had no real power that he was powerless to change things.
But Gedvin thought he did have power, or soon would have if he agreed to their insane plan, and succeeded Jedalla to the throne. “But what of Jang, Jedalla’s eldest?”
“I’m sure he can be reasoned with,” the ghostly Vorta finally spoke. Despite her pallid complexion, the woman held an icy beauty. “If not, then I’m sure we can arrange some other fate for him.” The conspirators had been wise to bring a Vorta to him to prove the Dominion backed this plan. Jedalla had spent the early years of his reign fighting against those who wanted to maintain the old ties to the Son’a Imperium that new Exarch had been determined to sever. The Vorta’s presence told him that what these conspirators offered was true. His people would never allow the Son’a such prominence again, especially after Jedalla had so thoroughly tarnished them.
“I don’t want my nephew harmed Keilan,” Jarko warned.
“He won’t be, if he accepts the new order,” Gedvin said. “How can he dispute the will of the gods?”
“Who says it isn’t the will of the gods, or Garrm, the greatest of our gods that we not war against the Dominion?” Jarko asked. “Garrm is the god of war, or have you forgotten?” He laughed at his own joke, and paid the price seconds later. This time he coughed up blood. Both Gedvin and Keilan pretended not to notice.
“You’ve seen the news vids of our recent victory in the Chin’toka system,” Keilan said, her blue eyes flashing with confidence. “With the Breen and now the Son’a in our Dominion, we are unstoppable. It is only a matter of time before the Federation Alliance falls. We’re asking that you don’t prolong the inevitable. If you sign a non-aggression pact with the Dominion, we will ensure your territorial boundaries and trouble you no further.”
“And what of the Son’a?” Jarko asked. “Surely your new partners are thirsty for revenge against us for what Jedalla did to them, expelling them and so forth?”
“I assure you that the Son’a want nothing more than Exarch Jedalla’s head on pike,” Keilan promised, “and once that occurs, they will have no designs on the Exarchate.”
“How can you be certain of that?” Jarko asked, with obvious disbelief. Vengeance was a constant of the universe. He couldn’t believe that the Son’a wouldn’t want revenge for the way Jedalla drove them from their perch.
“The Son’a are part of the Dominion now,” Keilan said. “They will obey or be dealt with.” The woman’s coldness frightened Jarko but he tried not to show it. He shivered regardless. The Dominion war machine was relentless and it had swept across the galaxy like a plague of locusts. He owed it to his people to avoid the plague as long as possible, until he could devise a plan to stop the Dominion. And the only way he could do that was if he was Exarch. For that to happen….
“Okay,” Jarko barked. “I will assist you.”
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Talk about making a deal with the devil. Here the Dominion is trying to bring both the Son’a and the Exarchate into their orbit, whilst fomenting a dynastic battle for the Alshain throne.
