A Special Reception
Posted on 06 Oct 2021 @ 1:38pm by Commander Calliope Zahn & Admiral Zavareh Sepandiyar & Captain Corvus DeHavilland
Mission:
M2 - Sanctuary
Location: Planet Obsidian, Kalara, Seed Vault Reception Hall
Timeline: MD08 1600HRS
2652 words - 5.3 OF Standard Post Measure
Corvus had never really been the sort to believe in a higher power; to her the highest power they could all hope to learn something about was the power of scientific thought and exploration. But unlike others, she didn’t have an outward disdain for those that followed a faith based in the divine. The Vulcans would call such beliefs ‘illogical’, but she’d seen so many different cultures with so many different variants of divine faith that she had trouble simply writing it off as a human predilection. Nor could she simply refuse to accept something that was so clearly important to others. Of course, that didn’t make her meeting with the religious delegation any easier.
In point of fact, she’d never met a more polite, gentle and wholly stubborn group of people in all her life. They had come a long way and they weren’t about to take no for an answer on anything, nor were they going to take anything from Corvus that would delay their plans. They were seeing this through. With or without Starfleets help and without hers if they had to. She might not have been a religious scholar but she’d been around long enough to see that not helping them was going to come back to bite her on the ass.
That’s why she’d gone along with them. Why she’d let them requisition shuttlecraft and a few of her flight operations and security staff. I’m her mind she’d decided that it’d be better to cooperate and be aware of what they were doing than to let them disappear into the shadows. Of course. While she had optimism that they were here with good intentions, Starfleet Command was less so.
They were concerned that the religious delegation could undermine the diplomatic process. That they would not tow the line the Federation wanted done with the Kalaran’s and potentially make promises that the Federation wasn’t going to be able to keep. Or worse, make promises that the Federation wouldn’t, and keep them.
Leading that charge was one of Starfleet’s Diplomatic Officers, a woman who had been sent from clear across the quadrant to spearhead this effort. Starfleet wasn’t going to pull any punches here, which to Corvus seemed like a good thing. Yes, it might have been a tad adversarial between the two groups, but if the Kalarans were the ones benefiting from that, it was a win right? Stars knew this planet needed it. But that hadn’t stopped this woman from pulling out all the stops. She was stopping at nothing to make sure that it was the Diplomatic Corps that the Kalaran’s leaned into.
Just to showcase what she could do, and that the religious delegation couldn’t, she’d managed to put together a gala ball in near record time. But not something that was to be held on Obsidian Command or even on the 9th Fleet’s flagship still in orbit of the planet (the Alexander). No, she’d wisely chosen to have this particular gala on the planet, below the surface, somewhere she calculated the Kalaran’s would see as far more respectful than demanding they come out into space or out onto the surface. Somewhere a little more neutral.
The underground facility had originally been a cooled air pocket in the lava. The cavern had been used for nearly a thousand years to preserve seeds. When Starfleet had come to assist, they expanded on the cavern, drilling until a multi level facility had been precisely lasered out. Still, the seed vault retained much of the old decor and appearances. The lighting was in the style of old hanging lamps and wall sconces that once would have been maintained with oil and wicks, but these were actually run from the solar units and battery system that had long ago been installed.
A sizable reception chamber had been included, although its primary use had always been community dinners for the laborers, lectures and demonstrations, and a semi annual seed and cuttings swap. Along either side of the reception hall were grow lights and varieties of saplings. Trees on Obsidian were rare and highly protected, and those portions had been mindfully roped off to deter any damage to the tender young trees. To the Kalarans it was a marvelous structure, cool and safe and well ordered, even if to more opulent and modern tastes it might have seemed humble and utilitarian.
Food was a primary object of any celebration, but doubly so for the Kalarans. There were tables circling the room and set with seasonal fare in artistic presentations. The smells of roast meats and vegetables and the wafting scents of baked goods permeated.
Filing in, the local science and medical teams were arriving, many in dress whites but just as many in local attire. The women each wore a thin scarf or veil and made nothing of it. But there was hesitance with one of the scientists when she noticed the other Starfleet officers and diplomats who arrived uncovered. She began to press back her scarf and looked at a fellow officer as if to ask permission. He shook his head. "Soon." He promised earnestly.
He was an olive skinned Bajoran and wore a simple linen tunic and sandals and had a sash printed with local symbols representing his given duties as a teacher and an advisor. The only thing that pointed to Starfleet on his person was the communicator still dutifully pinned to his shoulder.
"Captain Dehavilland," he said as he approached. Genuine joy reached The crow's feet around his eyes. "On behalf of the Starfleet science deployment to Obsidian, it is very good to make your acquaintance!" After a moment he realized she was unlikely to be able to decipher the portion of his sash that served as a name tag. "I am Rozz. Lt. Rozz Neswin."
“I know who you are, Lieutenant,” Corvus smiled patiently back, offering her hand in greeting. “It’s good to meet you in person,” she added, trying to look like she wasn’t looking at his ‘native’ attire with a bit of confusion. The Admiral had specifically said that the Starfleet personnel were to wear their Dress Whites, a uniform she was certain was universally despised no matter what rank you were. But here she was wearing it, wondering just what Rozz was thinking in not. She hadn’t seen the Admiral yet, but maybe it was best she gave him a wide berth once he arrived and saw for himself.
“Do you think there will be a good turnout for this?” she asked.
He clasped her hand enthusiastically. “Among some circles more than others. There were many factions that arose in Kalara when Starfleet resources largely pulled out of the system. Some of which reformed along strange lines. Those that still recognize the UFP are likely to be represented, at least."
As if on cue there was the sound of pipers and multiple youth entered playing flutes and stepping in a traditional pattern. Behind them came an entourage of young women, colorfully dressed and similarly in step. The parade continued with a show of six formal personal female guard in sage green vestments who demonstrated powerful defensive forms, each with a wooden ceremonial knife. Behind these was a pause as two women entered dressed in golden threads and embroidered veils. Drummer youth entered, joining the pipers, but increasing urgency and volume while adding a ceremonial foreboding to the song. The drummers preceded six more attendant gaurdsmen, bald-shaven men of stature garmented from the waist down who performed a display of power, the calls of their stances punctuating the song in time with the drumming. Ultimately, the head of the fanfare made his appearance, in oversized shining clothing with fine embroidering, his face gleaming with oil and his broad grin coloring his countenance. He clapped, and the entourage obediently dispersed and reassembled throughout the hall as smaller performance troupes, piping, drumming, and dancing with genuine happiness.
“I have brought the music and the entertainment!” He declared boisterously. “When we have all had our fill, the games will begin!” He hadn’t asked the actual plan. In his own estimation anyone throwing a party would be best served if he handled entertainment. He looked around for a wash basin and a shadow of consternation crossed his face. “Am I not to be properly received?”
Rozz coughed and said under his breath, “That is Councilman Jiran—”
“Right,” Corvus nodded, “We’ve met before,” she said, meeting the man’s gaze and offering as friendly a smile as she could muster. “It’s good to see you again, Councilman Jiran.”
“Yes! It will be a memorable evening!” He craned his neck. “Where is your Admiral Sepandiyar? I was told he would be in attendance also...”
Among all the clamor, new guests arrived, these in simple but clean linens. They each carried a wooden bowl and some also wielded a roughly hewn spoon. They didn't enter through the main door, but rather along some narrow, carved stairwells from the workers quarters above. They were varied in height and in age, mostly young adult males, but some elders and women. The women shuffled children with them or carried little ones. They seemed confused by the event and held back beside the groves of potted trees while trying to sort out what was happening in their social hall.
Meanwhile, four unassuming rust orange robed figures entered, trailing at a distance from the gaudy parade. Three walked flanking and behind their leader, a stoic, heavily bearded man with deep set eyes.
“That… is Councilman Kiban.” Rozz whispered carefully, being careful to turn away and not look at him directly. “He is known for upholding the law… indiscriminately. The humans have a saying, to let their god sort matters out in the afterlife. Kiban falls on such a side with his rulings. No one wishes to come before the court of Kiban under any circumstances. I wouldn’t have expected him to attend.”
“Have you given these explanations to the Diplomatic Corps?” Corvus asked, “Because I have a feeling they’re wading into this blind, just for the sake of being a step ahead of the religious delegation.”
Rozz shook his head in the negative. “I’ve been keeping my logs but they’ve just been sent to Fleet archives for all these months. I can try my best to help with what knowledge I have. Perhaps you can introduce me?”
She sighed. That sounded like the kind of thing they would do, given their zeal lately. They couldn’t bear to be shown up by the other delegation, but at the same time if they did this wholly wrong they could make the situation with the Kalarans exponentially worse.
“I can introduce you, but I’m not all that certain it’s going to help. It may require more… forceful methods.”
Lt Rozz looked taken aback. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“I mean not giving them the chance to turn down the information. By being that little birdie in their ear whether they like it or not.”
“Oh. Well.” He readjusted his posture. “I can be persistent if that’s what’s needed.”
“I think it may be what the Kalaran’s need,” Corvus replied quietly. She spotted a new face entering the room and quickly perked up. “Game face, Lieutenant. Here comes the Admiral.”
If there was one thing that he was sure that every Officer, Starfleet or Marine, could agree on it was that no one enjoyed wearing the dress whites. No one. Yet in all its years of existence, Starfleet had yet to create one that felt good. That didn’t make the wearer feel like a trussed up penguin made to do the electric slide.
To make matters worse, the moment Zavareh had entered the room he’d been beset by a young woman in Diplomatic purple. She was immediately at his side introducing herself and welcoming him to the party. Her name was Jixx - a Commander from the diplomatic outpost on SB-99 sent to be the face of the Diplomatic Corps. She was a Trill woman with short brown hair and an extremely kind demeanor, but in less than two minutes had managed to make him want to be five light years from her.
Caught in her web from the moment he’d entered, he stepped into the room and spotted a familiar face and moved that direction. Captain DeHavilland smiled politely to him as he approached and offered his hand, ignoring the Commander.
“Captain. Good to see you here,” Zavareh offered.
Corvus managed a polite smile to both the Admiral and his escort, who quickly threw herself into the mix.
“Rea Jixx,” she declared brightly, “I’m with the Diplomatic Corps. I’ve been eager to meet with you, Captain. Hopefully you’ll have a few minutes of time for me this evening. I have so many things to discuss,” she grinned brightly.
DeHavilland managed a practiced smile back but felt the chill of dislike run up her spine like an electric current. She so hated these smiley types with their fake enthusiasm and well oiled charm, like the snake oil salesmen of old.
“I’m sure we can find a moment,” she said. “This is Lieutenant Rozz. He’s part of the Science team based here on the planet,” she diverted, introducing her companion.
“Lt Rozz Neswin. I would be very glad to lend any help I can. It’s my pleasure to meet you, Commander Jixx, Admiral.” While honest, he suddenly seemed much more tense and, stroking his hand over his shirt, began to explain unprompted. “When we had to turn over the leadership of the agricultural project to the Kalarans, we maintained Starfleet presence by becoming advisors and maintenance technicians under the Kalaran project administrators. To keep peace with the Kalarans, we have accepted many of their cultural norms and expectations. On behalf of my entire team, I apologize for any offense to Starfleet protocol.”
“We-,” Jixx started, only to be cut off by the Admiral.
“It is Starfleet that should be apologizing, Lieutenant, for leaving you and your team unassisted here on the planet after the starbase entered the void,” he countered solemnly, “You and your team showcased the best that Starfleet has to offer. Do not apologize for that.”
“Thank you, Sir.” A glow of pride shone over the Bajoran’s face. He’d never hoped to be noticed, much less commended. Most days Rozz could only hope for his team’s safety and to maintain the mission to the Kalarans. He sensed some displeasure between the Admiral and the diplomat, and having already been pointed to her by Corvus, with some purpose he turned back to the diplomat. “Please, Commander Jixx, allow me to make some introductions for you. I know many of the local attendees.”
“Oh, well, the Adm-,” Jixx started.
But Admiral Sepandiyar wasn’t paying attention to her, he’d turned to Captain DeHavilland and was gesturing to a small group of people just entering the venue. “Let me introduce you to Master Chief Barmeadow, I don’t believe you two have ever met… in person,” Zavareh offered, leading the younger officer away from the conversation without a second word to Jixx.
She took the gut punch as well as could be managed for someone of her experience and instead turned a polite smile to Rozz. “So,” she cleared her throat, “Who is in attendance tonight?”
Taking a lay of the land, Rozz noticed a particular overdressed councilman making a bee-line for the Admiral. With a gentle leading hand on Jixx’s arm, Rozz plotted an intercept course. “Let me begin with Councilman Jiran...”
