Author's Note: Dear Readers,
I've decided to not finish Pandora's Jar, in its current form. Unfortunately it was big, but not too big to fail. I thought it had become a bloated mess, but there was enough good in it to salvage parts of it. So I've decided to break it apart and try to flesh out some of the subplots I had running in that story. First up is a reworking of the USS Monarch storyline. Some things will stay the same, but some will change. I want to thank Brother Benny for the use of his characters. Also, Galen for the use of the crew of the Nagasaki.
My apologies again for those of you who were reading Pandora's Jar. But hopefully you'll like the revised stories. I feel this way I can do real justice to all those storylines that were cropping up in Pandora's Jar.
"Shadow Puppets" takes place after the short story "Dark Deeds" in the vignette series "Movements in Light and Shadow".
******************************************************
DARK TERRITORY:
SHADOW PUPPETS
Vulcan
May 2376
Admiral Samson Glover gently kicked back the bed sheet so that the nocturnal wind could cool his sweat slickened skin. T’Prell shivered beside him and wrapped the blood green cover around her naked olive skin. She pursed her lips in annoyance and Samson smiled. “Still cold natured I see?”
“I was birthed and raised on a desert planet, you know?” T’Prell said, “This one.”
“A lovely one it is,” his grin grew larger, “But not as lovely as you.” His Vulcan lover arched a black eye brow.
“Oh please, Sam you were never good with come on lines,” T’Prell groaned.
“But yet, somehow, here we are,” the admiral chuckled.
“Yeah,” T’Prell said, joining in him in a laugh. “Who would’ve thought it?”
“I know, but you know how we are, off again, on again, a never ending cycle,” Glover surmised.
“I am glad we are on again, in spite of everything,” T’Prell replied. The wattage of the admiral’s grin dimmed.
“Let’s not argue on my last night here T’Prell,” his admonition sounded more like a plea.
“Samson, I’m sorry,” T’Prell paused as she turned around to face him, resting her upper body on a propped elbow. Her body tensed and Samson sighed. He knew her body language well to know that a fight was brewing. He girded himself for the fireworks. He propped himself on both elbows. Oblivious, T’Prell continued, “But you know how I feel about this mission, and you know I feel even worse not being a part of it.”
“You know I could get in trouble for telling you, it is classified,” Samson grumbled.
“No, it’s so black that it is totally off the books,” T’Prell frowned. “And you know what that means, if you get caught, you’re totally on your own.”
“I will endeavor not to get caught then,” the admiral chuckled but T’Prell didn’t get the joke.
“I’m serious Samson,” T’Prell pressed. “I’m a member of the V’Shar. I like cloak and dagger games as much as the next person, but even this goes beyond the pale for me. What Logan is proposing could start a war, and even worse, could tarnish the Federation’s reputation for transparency and democracy at the worst possible time. We’re still recovering from the Dominion War, there are billions of beings across the Alpha and Beta Quadrants who still feel lost, left behind, are still trying to make sense for it all. We need to be that beacon for them, we have to be that light.”
Samson grunted. “Now, who’s being the idealistic one?” T’Prell glared at him. “Listen T’Prell, I hate to say it, but the war did change us. It changed me. It turned my son into a hollowed shell and my daughter-in-law into an amputee. And I got off lucky. The Dominion wreaked so much destruction and devastation that I would be remiss in my duties if I ever allowed a threat of that scale to emerge again.”
“The Romulans suffered catastrophic losses too and they are dealing with incipient revolts from their subjects, they are not that threat, and neither are Federation citizens.”
Samson recoiled as if T’Prell had physically struck him. T’Prell didn’t relent. “Sam, I just can’t believe you signed off on continued blood screenings on all starbases and outposts. You were one of the main opponents of that tactic from the onset. I remembered how rankled you were when Conrad Haas instituted it over your head on Deep Space 5.”
“That was a life time ago, millions of life times ago,” Samson said, a sour taste in his mouth. “As head of Starfleet Security, I thought it was the best thing to do. Not all the guns from the war have fallen silent, as evidenced by the Cardassian militants and even that Changeling that had infiltrated the Klingon Defense Force a few months ago.”
“Yes, the Changeling that helped save your son from some of those militants,” T’Prell nodded her head.
“One good Changeling,” Samson rolled his eyes. “Okay, two counting Odo. Am I supposed to think there aren’t some bad ones out there, smarting that they were defeated by a bunch of solids? I can’t take that risk, and I wouldn’t imperil anyone under my watch. But you don’t have to worry about that anymore, I’m not Security chief anymore.”
“You resigned to go on this insane mission,” T’Prell replied. “Subverting a plebiscite on Benzar? Using terroristic tactics? What happened to you?”
“What happened to you?” Samson shot up in bed, his eyes flashing, his nostrils flaring.
“You’ve done much worse, but I never judged you because I trusted that you knew the difference between right and wrong and if you felt extreme tactics were necessary, then they were.”
“Sam, I-,” T’Prell began.
“No,” he shook his head furiously. “No,” he said. He swiveled around and planted his feet on the hard, plasma rock floor. He hunched his shoulders and stared into the floor’s obsidian depths.
“Samson,” T’Prell said, more forcefully. She placed a hand on his shoulder. He thought about shrugging it off, but left it alone. “Sam, listen, I didn’t mean to accuse…”
“Save it T’Prell,” he gently eased her hand off him and stood up. He turned around to glance at her, “I’ve got some things I need to wrap up anyway. I know my way out.”
“No Sam,” T’Prell slid out of bed, leaving the sheet behind. Her nakedness, glimmering in the moonlight coming in from the room’s slanted windows, took his breath away, but he tried not to keep her from seeing it. He turned away. “Please Sam, let’s not end things on a sour note. Come back to bed,” she offered.
He sighed, his chest caving in, as his resistance weakened. He turned back to her and grabbed her arms. Samson pulled her close and kissed her with a passion he hadn’t felt in years, an abandon that he had never unleashed on her before. Pushing her away from him, the admiral said, “How about I take a rain check? It’ll give me more incentive to get back in one piece.”
*******************************************************************
USS Monarch
Observation Lounge
Merias III Battle Site Reclamation Project
(Former Benzite Defense Perimeter)
“It would be nice to know what the Romulans and Benzites are doing with all those derelicts they’re not atomizing on the spot,” Chief Engineer Sofia Petrov whispered, causing Captain Benjamin Walker to grimace. Not only was his white dress uniform too tight, his head was buzzing with an oncoming headache that wasn’t being alleviated by the sound and bustle of the reception. And now to top it off, Sofia was about to cause an intergalactic incident by pissing off their Romulan ‘guests’. He leaned down, and muttered sarcastically, “Not in front of the guests dear.” The raven-haired Albanian chuckled. The pointed ears of several of the Romulans in the contingent heading towards them twitched.
The captain knew the Romulans auditory abilities were on par with their Vulcan cousins. There was no way that they could’ve missed Petrov’s aside, but they ignored it all the same. The captain looked out the closet window, turning his back to everyone while he composed himself. He had been working extra hard lately, he was ragged, tired, on edge, and he was finding it harder to keep his temper in check. The war had left him questioning many things. He placed a hand on the frosty window and peered out at the graveyard surrounding them. Despite his hardships at least he was still breathing, he reminded himself.
Large pieces of shattered starships floated around them like an artificial asteroid field, corralled by mobile gravity pulse units and tractor beams from the Border Service, Benzite, and Romulan vessels traversing the jagged hulks, careful to avoid the pools of coolants and fuel spread across the expanse. The main mission of the Border Service was to recover the bodies of Starfleet crewmen, retrieving usable technology was a secondary concern.
Not so the Romulans, it seemed like they were more concerned with keeping Starfleet away from the tech on their warships, and also in acquiring the technology from the derelict Starfleet vessels. Though Starfleet’s Eleventh Fleet had fallen to the Dominion at Merias, the battle had been fierce. Many good Fleet crewmen had lost their lives and a lot of hardware had been left on the battlefield in the defense of the Benzites, though it seemed like to no avail.
“Captain Walker,” the lead Romulan, a tall, silvered patrician-featured man strode forward, stopping with military precision just in front of the captain. Medals gleamed from the sash stretched across his chest. He stuck out his hand in a most humanlike manner. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last. Your record during the Dominion conflict was quite exemplary.”
Walker was a bit taken aback. He had never been complimented by a Romulan before. He cleared his throat, trying to recover. “I…umm…thank you….”
“Commander Volok, Patrin Volok,” he smiled. Walker dipped his head respectfully.
“Commander Volok, I can assure you that the pleasure is all ours.”
“Of course,” Volok replied. “Though I can imagine that this type of, how do you say, ‘grunt work,’ is out of the ordinary for a Sovereign-class vessel?”
Walker’s abashment quickly abated. His eyes narrowed slightly. Though it wasn’t blatant, the captain knew a dig when he heard one. “No one in Starfleet is above the tasks of bringing our compatriots home.” He said, more frostily than he had intended. But how else could he respond.
Monarch, in addition to other Sovereign-class vessels had spent less time on the front lines during the war. They had been used as part of a larger Starfleet and Federation strategy to project power and Walker had been forced to spend more time chatting up potential new Federation members and keeping skittish ones in the fold than joining in the fight. It was a sore spot for him, especially when a medal-bedecked Romulan bastard poked it. To add to Walker’s consternation, this farker Volok probably had actually earned all those medals on his chest.
“Of course, I didn’t mean to imply,” Volok began, but Walker ignored him. He stepped around the still speaking commander and addressed the sole Benzite among the group. The blue skinned, hairless alien nodded curtly in greeting.
“The Border Service ships assigned to the clean up are doing excellent work,” Site Director Malmak replied, an accusation hidden behind his tone. To the captain, he knew the Benzite was saying, ‘Why didn’t the 11th do as good a job keeping Benzar out of Dominion clutches?’ Though Walker didn’t want to believe it, he knew that many Benzites had become extremely friendly with the Romulans after the Imperial Navy liberated the Benzar System from the Dominion. Still affected by the afterglow, those Benzites hadn’t realized that the Romulans were not liberators but occupiers.
Before he could respond, he felt a subtle, but firm tug on his sleeve. He knew it was Sofia. And he knew that she could see him about to speak his mind. Which was something he knew would not be wise. And it would likely undue all the hard work that Ambassador Shanthi was doing back on Benzar. The Monarch had dropped the diplomat off before heading off the join the cleanup efforts at the reclamation site.
Walker removed the sting from his voice and worked his facial muscles into the hint of a smile. “We only wish to help get Benzar back on her feet. This battle site remains both an environmental and safety hazard, and a detriment to restoring the Benzite economy.”
“Of course we could get the job done more expeditiously if we had the help of our Corps of Engineers,” Petrov couldn’t help but throw a jab. Walker didn’t know whether to reprimand or kiss the woman. The Romulans had impressed upon the Benzites the need to limit the number of ships in the volatile Merias sector, and had convinced them that the Imperial Navy could do the lion’s share of the reclamation.
Ambassador Shanthi had already proved his salt by convincing the skeptical Benzites to allow at least two Border Service ships to assist the Romulans while Monarch was transporting him to the Benzar system.
“That eager to learn our military secrets,” blurted a short, whipcord thin Romulan subcommander. Volok frowned, the down turned corners of his mouth almost reaching his chin. Seeing his displeasure the subordinate stepped back.
“I see by the responses of our subordinates, and our own perhaps, that we still have the peace left to win, even if the war is over,” Volok said. Walker gritted his teeth. He knew that with the Romulans war was never over. They could even turn peace into a weapon. “Would you not agree Captain Walker?”
Walker glanced at the eagerly awaiting Malmak. The Benzite was gazing at him, no doubt ready to report his response back to his superiors on Benzar. Being childish would do nothing to advance the Federation’s cause. So, Walker did the proper thing, the professional thing, the grown up thing. “Of course,” he replied evenly. “We intend to win the peace, and win we will,” he said, adding emphasis to the word win each time. He wanted Volok to know he, and by association Starfleet, weren’t soft. He also wanted to Malmak to know that the Federation remained steadfast, despite some of the setbacks caused by the war.
At that moment a waiter carrying a tray of drinks walked by and Malmak waved them over. The eager Bolian bounced happily over to them, and the group emptied the tray. Holding aloft his glass, filled with a violet-colored spirit, Malmak said, “To winning the peace.”
The rest of the group held their glasses up as well. A round of clinking began, with Walker and Volok clinking their glasses last. They eyed each other over their sparkling beverages, sizing each other up. For just a second, Volok let his smooth façade drop, and Walker saw the visage of a cold, pitiless killer who would stop at nothing to achieve his goals. To that, the captain smiled. He had stared down killers before and was still standing. Volok wouldn’t be any different. “How about we toast to all the crews working out in the Battle Site,” he proposed, and Malmak nodded heartily. “Let’s put politics and things beyond our pay grade behind us and salute the true heroes of this mission.”
“Here, here,” Malmak said, with more emotion than Walker thought possible.
“I concur,” Volok said coolly, still eyeing Walker, but the captain no longer cared.
After a few more minutes of small talk, the group of Romulans moved on, and Walker made his way to the exit.
Leza can handle it from here, he thought, glancing over to the far left corner of the spacious conference room. The tall, angular featured Trill stood out, almost taller than anyone else in the room. Well at least Walker could just make out the brown mop of his first officer’s head. Astar was a natural at this stuff, he told himself, easing his conscience as he sought to leave the party early. He had a lot of work to catch up on and the spirits hadn’t helped the headache that had been blossoming in his head for hours now. But he was just seconds away from the door, and a quick nap, and a chance to refresh.
A light, but firm grip stopped him. Walker sighed inwardly, but kept his expression neutral when he turned around. “Is everything…”, he began.
“You know damn well everything isn’t all right,” Chief Petrov hissed. She was leaning close to him; too close. “You’re just going to let that Romulan veruul insult me like that?”
“You were out of line,” Walker shrugged, “as was his subcommander. I couldn’t fault Volok’s logic on that at least.”
Sofia pulled even closer to him, and the captain began to feel uncomfortable. “Wrong species,” Petrov joked. “The Romulans are the illogical ones remember? But who gives a frinx, what I am more concerned about is what happened between us last night. How logical was that?”
Walker recoiled as if Petrov’s touch had become white hot, and in a figurative sense it had. His stoniness began to crumble and his expression grew sharp. “We discussed that already,” he snapped. “It’s not going to happen again.”
“That’s what you said the last time,” Petrov smiled. She flicked an errant lock of her hair. “But you came back, and you will again.”
“I don’t have time for this right now,” Walker backed away, his legs rubbery. He hated how his weakness had led to this. Oblivious, the chief engineer pressed on.
“Make the time,” Petrov cooed. She leaned close to him again, pressing against him. Walker fought the urge to push her away, afraid such a sudden movement would attract attention. Instead he sidled around her. “I’m not going away Benjamin,” she said. “Unless….” She left the offer hanging.
“Unless what?” He asked, his headache forgotten.
“Let’s talk…in private.”
“No…I don’t think that would be best.”
Petrov sighed, “In your ready room then.”
“Once again,” Walker decided to stand his ground. “I just don’t think that would be wise Sofia.”
“Do you want your wife and children to find out about us?” The question cut through him like a knife. He staggered back, grabbing the edge of a table laden with food and beverages to steady himself.
“You wouldn’t,” he muttered.
“Of course not,” Petrov smiled, but there was no humor in it. “If you do what I say.”
********************************************************************
I've decided to not finish Pandora's Jar, in its current form. Unfortunately it was big, but not too big to fail. I thought it had become a bloated mess, but there was enough good in it to salvage parts of it. So I've decided to break it apart and try to flesh out some of the subplots I had running in that story. First up is a reworking of the USS Monarch storyline. Some things will stay the same, but some will change. I want to thank Brother Benny for the use of his characters. Also, Galen for the use of the crew of the Nagasaki.
My apologies again for those of you who were reading Pandora's Jar. But hopefully you'll like the revised stories. I feel this way I can do real justice to all those storylines that were cropping up in Pandora's Jar.
"Shadow Puppets" takes place after the short story "Dark Deeds" in the vignette series "Movements in Light and Shadow".
******************************************************
DARK TERRITORY:
SHADOW PUPPETS
Vulcan
May 2376
Admiral Samson Glover gently kicked back the bed sheet so that the nocturnal wind could cool his sweat slickened skin. T’Prell shivered beside him and wrapped the blood green cover around her naked olive skin. She pursed her lips in annoyance and Samson smiled. “Still cold natured I see?”
“I was birthed and raised on a desert planet, you know?” T’Prell said, “This one.”
“A lovely one it is,” his grin grew larger, “But not as lovely as you.” His Vulcan lover arched a black eye brow.
“Oh please, Sam you were never good with come on lines,” T’Prell groaned.
“But yet, somehow, here we are,” the admiral chuckled.
“Yeah,” T’Prell said, joining in him in a laugh. “Who would’ve thought it?”
“I know, but you know how we are, off again, on again, a never ending cycle,” Glover surmised.
“I am glad we are on again, in spite of everything,” T’Prell replied. The wattage of the admiral’s grin dimmed.
“Let’s not argue on my last night here T’Prell,” his admonition sounded more like a plea.
“Samson, I’m sorry,” T’Prell paused as she turned around to face him, resting her upper body on a propped elbow. Her body tensed and Samson sighed. He knew her body language well to know that a fight was brewing. He girded himself for the fireworks. He propped himself on both elbows. Oblivious, T’Prell continued, “But you know how I feel about this mission, and you know I feel even worse not being a part of it.”
“You know I could get in trouble for telling you, it is classified,” Samson grumbled.
“No, it’s so black that it is totally off the books,” T’Prell frowned. “And you know what that means, if you get caught, you’re totally on your own.”
“I will endeavor not to get caught then,” the admiral chuckled but T’Prell didn’t get the joke.
“I’m serious Samson,” T’Prell pressed. “I’m a member of the V’Shar. I like cloak and dagger games as much as the next person, but even this goes beyond the pale for me. What Logan is proposing could start a war, and even worse, could tarnish the Federation’s reputation for transparency and democracy at the worst possible time. We’re still recovering from the Dominion War, there are billions of beings across the Alpha and Beta Quadrants who still feel lost, left behind, are still trying to make sense for it all. We need to be that beacon for them, we have to be that light.”
Samson grunted. “Now, who’s being the idealistic one?” T’Prell glared at him. “Listen T’Prell, I hate to say it, but the war did change us. It changed me. It turned my son into a hollowed shell and my daughter-in-law into an amputee. And I got off lucky. The Dominion wreaked so much destruction and devastation that I would be remiss in my duties if I ever allowed a threat of that scale to emerge again.”
“The Romulans suffered catastrophic losses too and they are dealing with incipient revolts from their subjects, they are not that threat, and neither are Federation citizens.”
Samson recoiled as if T’Prell had physically struck him. T’Prell didn’t relent. “Sam, I just can’t believe you signed off on continued blood screenings on all starbases and outposts. You were one of the main opponents of that tactic from the onset. I remembered how rankled you were when Conrad Haas instituted it over your head on Deep Space 5.”
“That was a life time ago, millions of life times ago,” Samson said, a sour taste in his mouth. “As head of Starfleet Security, I thought it was the best thing to do. Not all the guns from the war have fallen silent, as evidenced by the Cardassian militants and even that Changeling that had infiltrated the Klingon Defense Force a few months ago.”
“Yes, the Changeling that helped save your son from some of those militants,” T’Prell nodded her head.
“One good Changeling,” Samson rolled his eyes. “Okay, two counting Odo. Am I supposed to think there aren’t some bad ones out there, smarting that they were defeated by a bunch of solids? I can’t take that risk, and I wouldn’t imperil anyone under my watch. But you don’t have to worry about that anymore, I’m not Security chief anymore.”
“You resigned to go on this insane mission,” T’Prell replied. “Subverting a plebiscite on Benzar? Using terroristic tactics? What happened to you?”
“What happened to you?” Samson shot up in bed, his eyes flashing, his nostrils flaring.
“You’ve done much worse, but I never judged you because I trusted that you knew the difference between right and wrong and if you felt extreme tactics were necessary, then they were.”
“Sam, I-,” T’Prell began.
“No,” he shook his head furiously. “No,” he said. He swiveled around and planted his feet on the hard, plasma rock floor. He hunched his shoulders and stared into the floor’s obsidian depths.
“Samson,” T’Prell said, more forcefully. She placed a hand on his shoulder. He thought about shrugging it off, but left it alone. “Sam, listen, I didn’t mean to accuse…”
“Save it T’Prell,” he gently eased her hand off him and stood up. He turned around to glance at her, “I’ve got some things I need to wrap up anyway. I know my way out.”
“No Sam,” T’Prell slid out of bed, leaving the sheet behind. Her nakedness, glimmering in the moonlight coming in from the room’s slanted windows, took his breath away, but he tried not to keep her from seeing it. He turned away. “Please Sam, let’s not end things on a sour note. Come back to bed,” she offered.
He sighed, his chest caving in, as his resistance weakened. He turned back to her and grabbed her arms. Samson pulled her close and kissed her with a passion he hadn’t felt in years, an abandon that he had never unleashed on her before. Pushing her away from him, the admiral said, “How about I take a rain check? It’ll give me more incentive to get back in one piece.”
*******************************************************************
USS Monarch
Observation Lounge
Merias III Battle Site Reclamation Project
(Former Benzite Defense Perimeter)
“It would be nice to know what the Romulans and Benzites are doing with all those derelicts they’re not atomizing on the spot,” Chief Engineer Sofia Petrov whispered, causing Captain Benjamin Walker to grimace. Not only was his white dress uniform too tight, his head was buzzing with an oncoming headache that wasn’t being alleviated by the sound and bustle of the reception. And now to top it off, Sofia was about to cause an intergalactic incident by pissing off their Romulan ‘guests’. He leaned down, and muttered sarcastically, “Not in front of the guests dear.” The raven-haired Albanian chuckled. The pointed ears of several of the Romulans in the contingent heading towards them twitched.
The captain knew the Romulans auditory abilities were on par with their Vulcan cousins. There was no way that they could’ve missed Petrov’s aside, but they ignored it all the same. The captain looked out the closet window, turning his back to everyone while he composed himself. He had been working extra hard lately, he was ragged, tired, on edge, and he was finding it harder to keep his temper in check. The war had left him questioning many things. He placed a hand on the frosty window and peered out at the graveyard surrounding them. Despite his hardships at least he was still breathing, he reminded himself.
Large pieces of shattered starships floated around them like an artificial asteroid field, corralled by mobile gravity pulse units and tractor beams from the Border Service, Benzite, and Romulan vessels traversing the jagged hulks, careful to avoid the pools of coolants and fuel spread across the expanse. The main mission of the Border Service was to recover the bodies of Starfleet crewmen, retrieving usable technology was a secondary concern.
Not so the Romulans, it seemed like they were more concerned with keeping Starfleet away from the tech on their warships, and also in acquiring the technology from the derelict Starfleet vessels. Though Starfleet’s Eleventh Fleet had fallen to the Dominion at Merias, the battle had been fierce. Many good Fleet crewmen had lost their lives and a lot of hardware had been left on the battlefield in the defense of the Benzites, though it seemed like to no avail.
“Captain Walker,” the lead Romulan, a tall, silvered patrician-featured man strode forward, stopping with military precision just in front of the captain. Medals gleamed from the sash stretched across his chest. He stuck out his hand in a most humanlike manner. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last. Your record during the Dominion conflict was quite exemplary.”
Walker was a bit taken aback. He had never been complimented by a Romulan before. He cleared his throat, trying to recover. “I…umm…thank you….”
“Commander Volok, Patrin Volok,” he smiled. Walker dipped his head respectfully.
“Commander Volok, I can assure you that the pleasure is all ours.”
“Of course,” Volok replied. “Though I can imagine that this type of, how do you say, ‘grunt work,’ is out of the ordinary for a Sovereign-class vessel?”
Walker’s abashment quickly abated. His eyes narrowed slightly. Though it wasn’t blatant, the captain knew a dig when he heard one. “No one in Starfleet is above the tasks of bringing our compatriots home.” He said, more frostily than he had intended. But how else could he respond.
Monarch, in addition to other Sovereign-class vessels had spent less time on the front lines during the war. They had been used as part of a larger Starfleet and Federation strategy to project power and Walker had been forced to spend more time chatting up potential new Federation members and keeping skittish ones in the fold than joining in the fight. It was a sore spot for him, especially when a medal-bedecked Romulan bastard poked it. To add to Walker’s consternation, this farker Volok probably had actually earned all those medals on his chest.
“Of course, I didn’t mean to imply,” Volok began, but Walker ignored him. He stepped around the still speaking commander and addressed the sole Benzite among the group. The blue skinned, hairless alien nodded curtly in greeting.
“The Border Service ships assigned to the clean up are doing excellent work,” Site Director Malmak replied, an accusation hidden behind his tone. To the captain, he knew the Benzite was saying, ‘Why didn’t the 11th do as good a job keeping Benzar out of Dominion clutches?’ Though Walker didn’t want to believe it, he knew that many Benzites had become extremely friendly with the Romulans after the Imperial Navy liberated the Benzar System from the Dominion. Still affected by the afterglow, those Benzites hadn’t realized that the Romulans were not liberators but occupiers.
Before he could respond, he felt a subtle, but firm tug on his sleeve. He knew it was Sofia. And he knew that she could see him about to speak his mind. Which was something he knew would not be wise. And it would likely undue all the hard work that Ambassador Shanthi was doing back on Benzar. The Monarch had dropped the diplomat off before heading off the join the cleanup efforts at the reclamation site.
Walker removed the sting from his voice and worked his facial muscles into the hint of a smile. “We only wish to help get Benzar back on her feet. This battle site remains both an environmental and safety hazard, and a detriment to restoring the Benzite economy.”
“Of course we could get the job done more expeditiously if we had the help of our Corps of Engineers,” Petrov couldn’t help but throw a jab. Walker didn’t know whether to reprimand or kiss the woman. The Romulans had impressed upon the Benzites the need to limit the number of ships in the volatile Merias sector, and had convinced them that the Imperial Navy could do the lion’s share of the reclamation.
Ambassador Shanthi had already proved his salt by convincing the skeptical Benzites to allow at least two Border Service ships to assist the Romulans while Monarch was transporting him to the Benzar system.
“That eager to learn our military secrets,” blurted a short, whipcord thin Romulan subcommander. Volok frowned, the down turned corners of his mouth almost reaching his chin. Seeing his displeasure the subordinate stepped back.
“I see by the responses of our subordinates, and our own perhaps, that we still have the peace left to win, even if the war is over,” Volok said. Walker gritted his teeth. He knew that with the Romulans war was never over. They could even turn peace into a weapon. “Would you not agree Captain Walker?”
Walker glanced at the eagerly awaiting Malmak. The Benzite was gazing at him, no doubt ready to report his response back to his superiors on Benzar. Being childish would do nothing to advance the Federation’s cause. So, Walker did the proper thing, the professional thing, the grown up thing. “Of course,” he replied evenly. “We intend to win the peace, and win we will,” he said, adding emphasis to the word win each time. He wanted Volok to know he, and by association Starfleet, weren’t soft. He also wanted to Malmak to know that the Federation remained steadfast, despite some of the setbacks caused by the war.
At that moment a waiter carrying a tray of drinks walked by and Malmak waved them over. The eager Bolian bounced happily over to them, and the group emptied the tray. Holding aloft his glass, filled with a violet-colored spirit, Malmak said, “To winning the peace.”
The rest of the group held their glasses up as well. A round of clinking began, with Walker and Volok clinking their glasses last. They eyed each other over their sparkling beverages, sizing each other up. For just a second, Volok let his smooth façade drop, and Walker saw the visage of a cold, pitiless killer who would stop at nothing to achieve his goals. To that, the captain smiled. He had stared down killers before and was still standing. Volok wouldn’t be any different. “How about we toast to all the crews working out in the Battle Site,” he proposed, and Malmak nodded heartily. “Let’s put politics and things beyond our pay grade behind us and salute the true heroes of this mission.”
“Here, here,” Malmak said, with more emotion than Walker thought possible.
“I concur,” Volok said coolly, still eyeing Walker, but the captain no longer cared.
After a few more minutes of small talk, the group of Romulans moved on, and Walker made his way to the exit.
Leza can handle it from here, he thought, glancing over to the far left corner of the spacious conference room. The tall, angular featured Trill stood out, almost taller than anyone else in the room. Well at least Walker could just make out the brown mop of his first officer’s head. Astar was a natural at this stuff, he told himself, easing his conscience as he sought to leave the party early. He had a lot of work to catch up on and the spirits hadn’t helped the headache that had been blossoming in his head for hours now. But he was just seconds away from the door, and a quick nap, and a chance to refresh.
A light, but firm grip stopped him. Walker sighed inwardly, but kept his expression neutral when he turned around. “Is everything…”, he began.
“You know damn well everything isn’t all right,” Chief Petrov hissed. She was leaning close to him; too close. “You’re just going to let that Romulan veruul insult me like that?”
“You were out of line,” Walker shrugged, “as was his subcommander. I couldn’t fault Volok’s logic on that at least.”
Sofia pulled even closer to him, and the captain began to feel uncomfortable. “Wrong species,” Petrov joked. “The Romulans are the illogical ones remember? But who gives a frinx, what I am more concerned about is what happened between us last night. How logical was that?”
Walker recoiled as if Petrov’s touch had become white hot, and in a figurative sense it had. His stoniness began to crumble and his expression grew sharp. “We discussed that already,” he snapped. “It’s not going to happen again.”
“That’s what you said the last time,” Petrov smiled. She flicked an errant lock of her hair. “But you came back, and you will again.”
“I don’t have time for this right now,” Walker backed away, his legs rubbery. He hated how his weakness had led to this. Oblivious, the chief engineer pressed on.
“Make the time,” Petrov cooed. She leaned close to him again, pressing against him. Walker fought the urge to push her away, afraid such a sudden movement would attract attention. Instead he sidled around her. “I’m not going away Benjamin,” she said. “Unless….” She left the offer hanging.
“Unless what?” He asked, his headache forgotten.
“Let’s talk…in private.”
“No…I don’t think that would be best.”
Petrov sighed, “In your ready room then.”
“Once again,” Walker decided to stand his ground. “I just don’t think that would be wise Sofia.”
“Do you want your wife and children to find out about us?” The question cut through him like a knife. He staggered back, grabbing the edge of a table laden with food and beverages to steady himself.
“You wouldn’t,” he muttered.
“Of course not,” Petrov smiled, but there was no humor in it. “If you do what I say.”
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Captain Walker goes from the frying pan into the fire. An awful assignment with dicey political ramifications, now complicated by an illicit affair with one of his senior staff.
