Moving Along
Posted on 10 Nov 2022 @ 7:27pm by Lieutenant Commander Limmi Ovim
Edited on on 10 Nov 2022 @ 7:30pm
Mission:
M3 - Into the Deep
Location: Deep Space 4
Timeline: MD01 - 2230 hrs
1097 words - 2.2 OF Standard Post Measure
“How did the conference go?” inquired Limmi, having sensed Hatsue Tsudzuri’s approach well before spotting her slender silhouette through the holographic projection of Sector 230 hovering above the circular situation table. The ring of consoles framing it suggested a cruciality furthered by Limmi’s proximity. The multitude of operations hosted within a starbase made it so that sometimes, the ranking officer in any given room was just that. In this case however she was the Gamma shift lead and thus t anyone presently involved in operating the station.
The other woman’s fury all but divulged the answer to her question, but Limmi refrained from acting on it straightaway out of knowing she disliked it. “Respectfully, I want to be angry with the universe for a moment!” Hatsue chastised of a prior attempt, justifying her perspective with an old Japanese proverb Limmi was certain didn’t exist. It nonetheless made her friend’s underlying point, that anger in and of itself could be cathartic.
“I had an epiphany on the way back,” Hatsue answered calmly, belying the intensity Limmi felt from her mere seconds ago. The tactical lead trained an expectant gaze onto her, and the placidity of station ops up to this point incited visible intrigue in some of the crew.
“We should gift the Protectorate to the Klingons.”
Limmi quietly regarded Hatsue for a moment, resisting the urge to intuit an explanation from her. Her perceptions weighed by others' eagerness for one, the Betazoid spoke, “Assuming we could, we would because—”
“They haven't learned anything!" snipped Hatsue, storming up to Limmi with the brio she’d initially expected. “As I’m sure you've already figured, the conference was a joke. Promising start, but it bogged down into yet another dredging of grievances spanning the last millennia, with Delegation A conditioning wiping the slate with Delegation B clean on them agreeing to terms that make their coming a waste.”
“And you think a few decades under Klingon rule would give them the necessary perspective for them to let bygones be,” Limmi mulled aloud, amusement lightening her voice. She had to admit, that was well-considered.
“It worked for the Kriosians! Besides, the Klingons are getting their existential itch again. An expedition for new territory and resources would curb the ambitious rabble-rousers that weaponize our relations.” Hatsue then snapped her fingers in realization of another angle. “You’d also get more flexibility in securing the transit corridor!”
Limmi smiled faintly and shook her head. “Nice try. But if any part of you is seriously considering proposing that, don’t look for my backing.”
“Why not?” queried the diplomat skeptically.
“I prefer our current situation,” Limmi countered simply, focus returned to the situation table. "It’s not totally quiet out there, but it's close enough that the Klingons would be at our throats out of the very boredom you’re trying to circumvent. Then again, their administration of the Protectorate might incite unrest that keeps them busy.”
“At least it wouldn’t be my problem anymore,” grumbled Hatsue, folding her arms across her chest with the sulkiness of a child denied candy.
“What happened to seeing the Protectorate as a parallel to Japan?” Limmi chuckled.
“I realized my ancestors wizened up a hell of a lot sooner.”
“Are you sure about that?” said Limmi through a smirk.
“What matters here is that they saw and responded to the danger of staying divided as other peoples unified and expanded." Hatsue's tone had hardened out of reluctant acknowledgement of something Limmi occasionally teased her for: that the early Japanese nation wasn't immune to teething issues modern perspectives considered absurd. "Don't let their democratic pretense and spacefaring technology fool you, the Protectorate is still in the Dark Ages. The big picture for its members is getting their pound of skin.”
“They don't know any better," offered Limmi. "Only recently have they had contrast to a way of life they've lived for centuries." Her senses registered Hatsue's gradual shift from facetiousness to earnest despite maintaining the same outward energy, and her subsequent reply struck the telepath as her most resolute commitment to it.
“We've spent the last thirty years providing that, but they still rally behind leaders who cash in on the past. Some houses are just too run down to rebuild, and I think this is one of them. What unifies these people other than having been conquered by the Thallonians anyway? Is that even a good foundation to build on?”
“Will you opine that in your report?”
“I don’t know,” Hatsue sighed, her frustration somewhat abated. “I’m not sure. I do know that I’m not writing it today. I should probably talk to my fellows at the very least.”
“Wise,” Limmi bade, looking over to her. “Care to hone your thoughts over dinner?” She was curious about the particulars of what had transpired.
“Where? I can't do public today. For the rest of the week even.”
“My quarters. I’ll cook.”
"Did you invite someone else?" Hatsue asked of the door chime that'd interrupted her.
"No." The development also surprised Limmi, though her reaction was subdued by her ascertaining the cause. She projected her senses just beyond the doors, where she felt a familiar, collected presence in wait. Cross-legged atop her large chaise longue, she proclaimed, "Come in."
The doors opened, revealing Deep Space 4's commanding officer. Out of uniform, Captain Berman Gotch was a largely unassuming man. His most distinct feature was his tousled, vaguely swept-back gray hair, hardly apt to sell him as one of Starfleet's most influential figures in the region.
"Captain Gotch," breathed Hatsue, motioning to lower her plate into her lap.
"As you were, Ms. Tsudzuri," he implored reflexively despite her being a civilian. "Apologies for intruding, but I need to discuss something with Commander Ovim."
"Is everything okay on the Protectorate front?"
Gotch eyed the diplomat quizzically. "Why wouldn't it be?" he riposted.
"No idea," Hatsue rattled, inciting a knowing smirk from Limmi. "Best I could do to explain why the station commander is making a house call to the tactical officer at this hour." She then shoved a fork-full of salmon tartare into her mouth, intent on precluding further interaction from her.
Limmi would foil that effort. Captain Gotch was one of the more challenging-to-read Humans she knew, but she caught onto some of his musings and traced them to their source.
"So about my new assignment. . ." she began, straightening her posture slightly.
Hatsue choked.
