USS Reykjavik, Kalandra System
As the hour approached, Trujillo directed a supportive gaze at ch’Valos from a distance of light-years via a private comms channel. “Are you certain you want me here for this?”
“I think I need to have you here, Captain,” he answered, his antennae giving away his agitation with their constant twitching, “because then at least I know someone watching understands the reason I even agreed to this charade.”
She nodded reluctantly. “I hate that Metruka’s making you eat crow in front of the Cardassians. I despise political theater.”
Surprisingly, ch’Valos smiled, “What is it with you pink-skins and your colourful metaphors? Why would anyone eat a carrion bird?”
“Why would anyone live on an ice-moon?” Trujillo retorted with a smirk.
“Don’t mock it until you try it.” His smile faded as his good humour ebbed away. “But, as the quote goes, ‘the hour is upon us’.”
Trujillo reached out, toggling her comms interface. “Setting my end to ‘discrete.’ Neither Metruka nor the Cardassians will know I’m on the line.”
“Thank you, Captain,” he replied somberly. “I truly appreciate this. I take it the ambassador is already down at the outpost?”
“Yes, cocooned in a squad of my security personnel. I don’t like taking chances.” Her expression darkened. “I wouldn’t put it past them to try and snatch Metruka, only he’s proving too valuable a resource for them as is.”
That elicited another all-too-brief smile from the Andorian, “I doubt the Cardassians are masochistic enough to endure Zakdorn arrogance and hubris any longer than we are.”
Trujillo’s reply was limited to a sardonic grunt of assent. She glanced at the chrono in the corner of her display and counted down. “Three… “two…” and then mouthed ‘one’ silently.
The last traces of humour disappeared completely from ch’Valos’s face. It became stoic and blank to rival even the most dedicated of Vulcan Masters, not betraying any emotion whatsoever.
The image shifted to a split-screen. One half now showed Ambassador Metruka seated next to Legate Sadar inside what appeared to be some manner of operations center, dominated by oval-shaped view-screens.
“Captain ch’Valos,” Metruka began. “Thank you for agreeing to take this meeting. I have been informed that you had something to say to the legate?”
“Yes, Ambassador,” ch’Valos replied stonily before his gaze shifted. “Legate, I offer my most sincere apologies for the unfortunate confrontation that occurred between our forces. It was the result of a misunderstanding. On both sides.”
The Andorian paused, just for a moment, and Trujillo saw the slight tensing in his jaw before he continued, “I realize that the Federation and the Cardassian Union are still strangers to one another, and I hope that this cultural exchange and others like it will help us avoid any future hostilities.”
Sadar offered only the barest hint of a nod as a reply at first. It wasn’t until Metruka politely coughed after a few moments of silence that the Cardassian began to speak, “I thank you for your words, Captain, and accept your apology on behalf of both my government and my people.”
A hint of a smile flickered across Sadar’s face, “Naturally, we too feel that this incident could have been avoided if we understood each other better. The commander of the patrol group has already been reprimanded for his actions and dealt with accordingly.”
Metruka shot a sidelong glance at his Cardassian counterpart to establish if the man was finished speaking. Deciding that he was, Metruka inclined his head towards the viewer. “Thank you for your time, Captain. It is appreciated.”
Ch’Valos offered one final nod before the screen returned to a single angle. Once it was confirmed the signal was terminated, only then did his face twist with anger and disgust, “That is what they call an apology?!”
“That’s what they call a forced apology with a phaser to your head, Captain,” Trujillo offered.
Her fellow starship captain scoffed loudly, “I suppose I should be thankful that Metruka didn’t make me beg for forgiveness.”
“He knows better,” Trujillo countered. “You wouldn’t do it, the Cardassians would take offence, I’d back your play, and the good ambassador would have a shooting war on his hands.”
Ch’Valos sighed, almost nostalgic, “You make it sound like such fun when you say it like that, Captain.” He frowned abruptly, “I wonder just what the legate has in mind when he says ‘dealt with accordingly’?”
“Hopefully he’s been dealt with in a Klingon-fashion and his body is mouldering at the bottom of a very deep pit.” She smiled and took a sip from a mug full of tea. “My crew tells me I have a dark side.”
Her words brought out another smile, “I’ve seen darker.” Ch’Valos shrugged, “But from what I’ve read about the Cardassians so far, I wager that instead, they’ll either give whoever was in charge of that so-called ‘patrol group’ either a commendation or a promotion.”
“Perhaps,” Trujillo allowed. “But you gave them a bloody nose and taught them some respect for Starfleet. That’s something.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Something about his manner shifted slightly. Like his shields had gone up. “There’s a lot more going on here then you are aware of.”
She set down her mug and gave him a curious look. “Oh?”
Before ch’Valos could utter a word of a reply, Trujillo’s communicator chirped for attention, “Bridge to Captain.”
She tapped the combadge. “Go ahead.”
“
Captain, Admiral Langford is holding for you. We’ve also received a private encrypted message for Ambassador Metruka.”
Trujillo remained silent. Instead, she looked back at the screen. Saw the glint of dark humour in the eyes of the Gettysburg’s commanding officer, “I think you’re about to be enlightened, Captain. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
* * *
USS Gettysburg, Merak System
The Officers Lounge, at the rear of the Gettysburg's saucer, was just a couple of decks below the bridge. It was one of the few places onboard, outside his quarters, that Jameson felt he could cut loose from the daily rigors of his career. Here, there was little formality, as officers from all sections and divisions could mingle and talk freely. A place to go and take some time to let go of the stresses of your day in a comfortable air of relaxation.
But this time, as he stepped through the doors, with Patricia Paris following behind, Jameson instantly felt that the atmosphere in the large compartment was anything but relaxed. The reason for that was the figurative dark and angry cloud that hung over the Gettysburg's commanding officer.
The Andorian stood at the large viewports that looked out onto the aft of the Constellation-class starship, seemingly just staring out past the dorsal nacelle struts. The only illumination present was being provided by the stars themselves as ch'Valos had chosen to stand in the dark.
Since delivering his 'apology' the previous day, Captain ch'Valos had been distant from the crew, more so than usual for him. Jameson could understand why - he had, essentially, been forced to prostrate himself in front of the Cardassians. It had been demeaning, made even more so by the barely-there acknowledgement and response offered by the Cardassian commander in return before giving he had offered his own so-called regrets.
Then, after an "eyes-only" transmission from K-21 had come in early this morning, the captain of the Gettysburg had sequestered himself in his quarters. Barely responding to Jameson's queries to his status when he didn't report in for his watch on the bridge. Instead, he seemed determined to leave the ship in the care of his X.O.
If it wasn't for Dr. Tarrin requesting a meeting of the Gettysburg's three senior-most officers, Jameson had a feeling that ch'Valos would have stayed in his cabin. The fiercely-prideful Andorian had been embarrassed in front of his crew, and though each and every member of the ship's complement understood why it had to be so, it was clear it hadn't sat well with ch'Valos in the slightest. "Captain..?"
Ch'Valos's gruff and irritated, no-nonsense tone soon ended Jameson's momentary hesitation at entering the Lounge and disturbing his commanding officer, "Are you two going to come in? Or will you just stand there all day?"
Choosing to ignore the amused smile he saw Paris sporting out of the corner of his eye, Jameson stood a little straighter and made his way in and down to the lower section of the Lounge. "Where's our guest?"
"On their way," ch'Valos answered, eyes still staring straight ahead. "They should be here within the next few minutes."
Originally, when Dr. Tarrin had called up from Sickbay with a request from his Bajoran patient to meet and talk with them, Jameson had set aside one of the smaller conference rooms. But the Betazoid C.M.O. had suggested the Officers Lounge as an alternate venue, to create a more convivial atmosphere for the young woman.
Although he had agreed before informing the captain and Paris, Jameson was a little concerned with Tarrin's growing attachment to the Bajoran. He understood it was normal for doctors and patients to form bonds, but as Executive Officer, he needed to keep in mind possible security concerns. No matter how much he sympathized with the woman's plight and wanted to get to the bottom of the intel she had brought them, he had to try to keep an unbiased opinion.
I've still got the scars of the last time I let myself forget that...
Paris brought them over each a glass of still mineral water, and the three of them stood in tense, pregnant silence for a moment. After taking a small sip, ch'Valos finally turned to face them. It surprised Jameson to see how tired his commanding officer looked, "When this is all over," he sighed, offering a wry smile, "what say you to finding the nearest M-class planet and taking some well-deserved shore leave?"
Jameson allowed himself a small grin of his own, as Paris raised her own glass in a toast, "Cheers to that, Captain." They brought their glasses together with a gentle clink, as Paris continued, "Although maybe Commander Jameson and I should pick the planet since not everyone appreciated the snowy plateau you decided on last time..?"
Ch'Valos offered a grin, a rare sight indeed, before responding, "You pink-skins, no respect for the beauty and clarity offered by frozen tundra."
It was good to see ch'Valos lightening up even just a little, so much so that Jameson was sorry to watch his grin fade away in seconds as the Lounge doors opened once again. This time, it was to admit Dr. Tarrin and Lieutenant Yeoh as they accompanied the young Bajoran woman.
Even ensconced within an anti-grav wheelchair guided by Tarrin, it was clear to all that the woman was still feeling the effects of Cardassian 'hospitality'. She was rail-thin, pale and exhausted looking - not even the deep and dreamless sleep of suspended animation had been able to offer her adequate rest.
As the two of them gently led her to the lower deck, ch'Valos indicated for them all to take seats. Paris, naturally, declined, instead choosing to maintain a standing position between her captain and Jameson himself. After fetching a glass of water for her, Yeoh took a seat next to the Bajoran, while Tarrin kept a vigil behind his patient.
After a moment, ch'Valos cleared his throat, "So, Doctor," he started, "What exactly are we all here to talk about?"
* * *
During the course of the following hour, ch'Valos felt a confusing assortment of conflicting emotions as he listened to what their Bajoran guest had to say. The most prevalent was the early stirrings of great respect and awe for the young woman in front of him.
The Bajoran, who had finally had the chance to introduce herself to them as Yerrin Hana, sat securely in her hoverchair with an unmistakable aura of strength and pride. Even after all she had endured, she still maintained her core essence, despite the fact her physical abilities had waned.
In many ways, she reminded the Andorian of himself, when he too had gone through an all-too-similar experience. Back in the early days of his career, in the heady days of the late 22nd century, when the Klingons nipped at the Federation's heels and Romulans were the insidious bane of the Beta Quadrant. A lifetime ago...
But lurking beneath his admiration, stalking him like a Tiberian bat, was a cold sliver of shame and guilt. Because of what he knew he would soon be forced to tell her. Something that went against everything he believed and thought both Starfleet and the Federation stood for.
"I was in that place for 18 months," she continued, "and every day was a struggle to keep it from destroying my
pagh."
Pagh? Shooting a curious look at his communications chief, ch'Valos saw she was already checking her PADD. When she finally met his gaze, she looked rather confused, "Uh, the closest translation I have is, uh... 'energy meridian'?" She shrugged, "I'm sorry, sir."
Jameson abruptly leaned forward in his chair. Apparently his interest was piqued. "In other words, a soul, Lieutenant," he supplied with an amused grin, as the young junior officer blushed with embarrassment.
Hana nodded in agreement, brushing away some errant hair from her ear, revealing the small external UT node hooked around her ear. Although she could speak and understand Federation Standard, by wearing the node, it helped ease any major language issues. "Yes, it's our spiritual life-force, what makes us who we are, which carries on after our bodies die."
She went silent, absently playing with a necklace of some kind, on which was a small circular charm. "There were days that I truly believed that death would be the only release my
pagh would have." Surprisingly, she smiled with a warmth ch'Valos recognized all too well, in the faces of each of his bond-mates every time he called home, reflecting back how full his own heart was. The tender glow of love. "But Zach kept me going. He kept all of us going."
"Zach?" Paris asked with a hushed, respectful tone, "You mean Lieutenant Zachary Starke?"
There was a human expression that ch'Valos had learned during his time on Earth at the Academy: 'the penny drops', meaning that moment of clarity with an epiphany struck. This was one such moment as the pieces fell into place.
From the look of it, everyone else around had also just figured it out. "Your husband is Lieutenant Starke."
Hana offered a small nod as a reply, her bottom lip quivering slightly, eyes bright with tears, fighting against her grief as she continued, "He never used his rank. The Cardassians beat us if we tried to hold onto our previous lives, always referring to each of us by ident numbers. But to me, he was Zach."
"What about the rest of the crew of the Starship Selene?" While he should commend Paris for her focus on the main topic, the romantic in him almost made ch'Valos rebuke his Second Officer with a sharp glare. Likewise, he saw the disapproval in Jameson's dark look towards the oblivious (or more than likely, unfazed) security chief.
Hana shook her head again. Her despondent look said it all before she confirmed it with words, "I'm sorry. By the time I got there, there was only a handful left from your ship. Zack was the one in charge, the other four always looked to him for orders."
Only five left from a crew of 25. Disappointment gripped ch'Valos's heart in an icy hold. It's been ten years since the Selene was declared lost. To want to believe that the entire crew was still alive? Naive and foolish, I admit, but is it so wrong to hold onto hope?
He could the sorrow and anguish he felt at the fate of their absent brethren reflected in the sombre expressions of his senior staff. About what the Selene crew would have endured while in captivity. Forced to work themselves to death, maybe something worse, if the stories our intelligence contacts passed on are even half-true...
Ch'Valos wanted to rage at the indignity of their comrades' situation, an intolerable situation he remembered far too vividly from his own career. All he wanted at that moment was to slam his fists into the faces of every Cardassian he could find in the sector. I don't even care if it proved that oily Zakdorn correct. It would be worth it.
But he knew he wouldn't. That he couldn't.
Using the exercises he'd learned from the Vulcan Master who had mentored him through his time at university on Weytahn, he acknowledged his anger and outrage, letting the fire blaze within his heart for several long seconds before taking back control and willing the flames to burn out.
As he came back to himself, he focused on Hana as she spoke up again, having allowed the Gettysburg officers a few silent moments to process her news, "But there are still a good few dozen or so that are being held at the camp. People who are just as much victims of the Cardassian tyrants as my people or your officers."
"People depending on you for rescue."
And there it is... With a grimace, ch'Valos remembered another apt human phrase, ‘the other boot has dropped.’ What is it with humans and their aphorisms about objects falling? He quickly dismissed the errant thought, as Hana continued, "They won't take kindly to our escape, so if we don't move fast, they'll kill all the other prisoners."
Ch'Valos schooled his features before meeting Hana's expectant and eager gaze. "Miss Hana," he started, hating how cold and emotionless he sounded, "I can only sympathize with what you and the others must have endured. As does Starfleet Command."
He imagined he could almost hear the Bajoran's heart breaking as he continued, "But I must inform you that it has been decided by my superiors that any kind of rescue operation would not be the best ideas at the current time."
It wasn't just Hana who stared at him with dumbfounded shock. The stunned and perplexed expressions of the majority of his senior officers present made it very clear that they could not believe what their commanding officer was saying.
What surprised ch'Valos the most was that of all of them, it was Jameson who seemed to take the most offence to it. Surely the so-called 'Mediator of Mordan IV', who secured the release of hostages through negotiation and diplomacy, would support and understand Starfleet's decision?
A decision that ch'Valos himself abhorred and was immensely disappointed in.
"Y-- you mean, you're not going to rescue Zach?" Hana's voice quivered with anger and confusion as she glared at him with daggers in her eyes, "You're just going to leave him and the other there to die in that place?!"
"Of course not," he replied, doing his best to not rise to her bait, to keep his own anger in check. "Starfleet Command will pursue the diplomatic channels we already currently have open with the Central Command of the Union."
Hana practically exploded with apoplectic rage, "They won't listen to that! They don't care about diplomacy and talking! All they care about is their precious and all-mighty Union and how anyone they encounter can be put to service for the great and glorious State!"
She looked to each and every one of the Gettysburg officers sat and stood around her, "Surely you understand that? They'll kill all of them! We have to do something now! How can you all just ignore this..?"
Once again, ch'Valos found himself caught off-guard by Jameson choosing to be silent about it. Instead, it was Paris who met her challenge, "We're just one ship, we can't--"
Hana didn't give her a chance to finish, "One ship that is more sophisticated than anything I've ever seen compared to the Cardassians. That is part of a great armada that has stood against threats and aliens I could never dream of!"
She looked up at Tarrin, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried one final pleading, "Doctor? Surely, you can't go along with this?"
It was clear that the Betazoid was torn over what to say, what to do. He looked to his commanding officer, conflicted and confused, before finally responding, "I'm sorry, Hana, but Starfleet Command must have good reason to believe this is the best way to act."
Hana sat there in stunned silence for several tense seconds. Finally, she looked down at her lap, tears falling onto her clasped hands. When she spoke, her voice was cold as space itself, "Zack was the one who helped put the escape plan together. He knew that once word got back to your vaunted Starfleet Command, that you wouldn't rest until everyone was free."
"I can't believe how wrong he was. About all of it."
She finally wiped away her angry tears, sitting up straighter as she gave Tarrin only the briefest of glances, "Get me out of here. Take me back to my room."
Ch'Valos offered a slight nod of dismissal to his C.M.O., allowing him to manoeuvre the hoverchair out of the Officers' Lounge with all due haste. Her departure did nothing to dispel the atmosphere of outrage and confusion that continued to linger. He saw it in the eyes of his remaining officers as they looked to him, to one another, for some kind of understanding as to how they had suddenly become 'the bad guys'.
He just wished he could give them the answer that they craved...
[Part 1 to be concluded very soon..!]
