Twenty Would be Better
Posted on 13 Jan 2023 @ 2:47pm by Lieutenant Commander Maurice Rubens & Staff Warrant Officer Chadrin L'Orss
Mission:
M3 - Into the Deep
Location: Diplomats Offices, Environmental Ring, Executive Office Complex
Timeline: MD09, 0040 HRS
2786 words - 5.6 OF Standard Post Measure
In the darkness a single light tied to the bow of a shell was a pinprick in the inky darkness of the boating lake. He could imagine the one-person craft gliding through the water, the occupant pulling on the oars, pulling them out, plunging them in again. At least he assumed that’s what was happening: from his vantage point nine hundred feet above the ground of the Environmental Ring, he would never know and the light was barely moving. With the station on lockdown, Rice wondered who could’ve managed to get permission for a late-night row.
He sighed and put his head to the window that took up an entire wall of his new office. The Environmental Ring had entered its night phase a number of hours ago, Rice hadn’t noticed the time until checking with the computer; no clock hung on his office’s bare walls. At this moment only a small, flimsy desk occupied the space, a PADD with all the information they had on the Pyrryx abandoned to one side. Rice could feel a hint of an idea on how to open diplomatic channels with the species, but it was hovering just out of reach.
Even if he did come up with something, he'd have to take the idea to Zahn and suffer his insufferable smirks. At first impressions, Zahn appeared to be a small-minded thinker. The kind of person who, upon reaching a conclusion, never wavered in their conviction no matter what. It was the mark of an uncreative man.
Instead, Rice had turned his attention to his other concerns, such as what to put in this office.
Dark, polished wood wainscoting ringed three walls. The walls were a white wallpaper embossed with a tiny silvery wave pattern that ran in horizontal repeating rows from the top of the wainscotting to the ceiling.
The office was surprisingly large, even bigger than the one he had on Earth. He could imagine a large desk, a couch, and a six-seat round table easily fitting in the space, but the lonely desk was all it had. Even the walls were undecorated. Rice was happy to find it empty: diplomacy was a language spoken in many ways. Office décor was dialect. The right painting on the wall could smooth the rough edges of anger or declare, in no uncertain terms, a position that would not be abandoned. Moon had helped him with his last office. She’d understood; the language of the stage was not so different from the one he spoke.
The thought of her made him cringe. Despite the months since he’d last seen her, Rice missed her. Listening to her day had been a welcome diversion from his own and, after the day he’d had, Rice would’ve welcomed hearing about a deranged director hell bent on achieving their vision or whatever else was roiling the theater world.
Deciding that thinking about furniture and art might be too painful, Rice walked to his office door and looked down the corridor. Most the other offices along the hall were empty, as well the large room at its terminus that was filled with cubicles. He looked at the other door in his office, the one that led to the large conference room that he supposed was for staff meetings. A staff he currently didn’t have. Those he did have were inexperienced: a lieutenant, a handful of ensigns, and a few enlisted. The lieutenant been in Operations just a few years prior, but compared to the others Noah Khoroushi had great amounts of practice.
He’d made arrangements to go down to the planet in the morning to meet the Lieutenant – what time was it again? – and hoped he’d find someone far more capable than the officer’s file implied.
But he didn’t expect it. God, he missed his staff at the Department of the Exterior.
The little light on the lake blinked out. Rice assumed that the exercise was done and the rower was pulling their boat from the water, trudging to the nearby storage shed. He hadn’t yet been down there, but Rice had liked rowing on the Hudson. He remembered the shells in red, green, and blue hanging from racks from the wall, oars stacked nearby at attention awaiting the next person who needed them.
The thought of Earth gave him an idea. “Computer, what time is it in Paris?”
Specify planet.
“Earth. More specifically Europe,” he added quickly. Rice didn’t care what time it was in Paris, Texas.
The computer told him the time. He wondered whether Teltumbde was in her office yet.
“Computer, connect me with Menna Teltumbde, Department of the Exterior, Paris, Earth.”
Leaving the window, he moved to his desk and sat down. The blue and white seal of the Federation rotated slowly on the view screen attached to the desk. It took only a few lazy spins for Menna’s heart-shaped face to appear. Her lips curved into a mischievous smile, “You can’t have your job back. I like the view too much.”
“I suppose if you like metal towers, it’s not bad,” Rice said. “Half the reason I’m here is because I just couldn’t look at it anymore. I got the point where I understood why people thought it was hideous after it first went up. How are you, Menna? Settled in to the grind?”
“I can eventually settle into this madness? It’s like I’m drinking from a firehose. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to get ahead when all I’m doing is sitting in meetings from morning to night.”
“It could be worse,” Rice said. “My predecessor was dead. I couldn’t even ask any questions. As an added bonus Starfleet Security had kindly classifying all of his files from the Threat Assessment Council. That really made things easy. So, can I help? Answer any questions?”
“Are you worried about me? That’s the reason for the – what time is it there? Oh!” Menna said, finding the time on her clock. “Early. Or is late for you? I didn’t expect you to be burning the midnight oil already. You’ve been there what, a few days?”
“A day. It’s been exciting.”
“Anything I should know about?”
Rice paused. Technically, Menna’s clearance outstripped nearly everyone on this station and she should be in the loop about the Pyrrx. On the other hand, he’d been specifically ordered not to divulge any information. Which was right? He opted for caution, realizing that he didn’t know who could be eavesdropping on this conversation. If the station was attacked, Menna would find out soon enough. If it wasn’t, then he give this question serious thought.
“Can we define ‘should?’”
“Oh – my – heavens. You’re already sounding like their director of Starfleet Security. She’ll be asking you to join her staff.”
“I see your love of Starfleet doesn’t extend to the Commodore. I told you it wouldn’t. I don’t miss her in the slightest,” Rice said. “Talking about Starfleet officers, it’s the reason I called. I’ve got a barebones staff here. I need some help. You know any good ones?”
Menna grinned, finding the obvious humor in the question. She had been a skilled ambassador-at-large for nearly a decade. Starfleet had ferried her from one hotspot to another. Rice had been surprised when she accepted the role as the undersecretary for Diplomatic Security; she normally eschewed Department of Exterior security protection on assignments opting for small contingents of Starfleet diplomats and security officers to assist and protect her. He never understood it.
“I have to say your career move shocked me. You of all people joining Starfleet!”
“I was already in Starfleet. I just reattached myself.”
“I know! It’s hilarious. Your feelings about the Fleet are soooo strong.” She laughed, a deep, full-body experience that only subsided after a full minute. Wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, “Oh. My. Heavens. Okay, yes, I’ll send a list of people I think might be compatible with you. Have you already requested Chadrin L’Orss?”
“She’s still in Starfleet?” Rice asked, aghast. “No! I lined up that job –”
Menna shrugged, “She turned it down.”
“But after what I did to her? Her next assignment probably was a garbage scow. Why would she punish herself like that?”
“You should really keep in better touch, because I think you’ll find she’s doing quite well. But I guess it’s to be expected. You have a terrible time remembering Starfleet personnel. I bet you don’t even remember her commanding officer’s name.”
“Uh.” Rice tapped his chin. “Something like ‘D’Angelo?’”
Menna shook her head and chuckled. “You can remember every Cardassian and Romulan you’ve ever passed in a hallway, but with Starfleet it’s like in one ear and out the other. His name was Mackal. Scott Mackal.” She began to laugh again. “I just realized he outranks you now! You best make yourself scarce. There must be dozens of senior officers who will want to put you in your place.”
Dozens? That many? Rice tried to picture faces of people he’d worked with from the Fleet, but few details manifested. Even the soup admiral was hazy. “Anyway, if you could send me those names.”
“Yes, I will. Shoot. I’ve got to get to a meeting on embassy staffing on Epsio III,” Menna’s face fell noticeably. “Try getting Chadrin. She’s even better than you remember.” With a wave, she disappeared.
Rice asked the computer to pull up Chadrin’s personnel file and began reading. She’d only been in Starfleet a year when he first met her on Vvalti. Clearly talented, he’d worried that he’d upended her career before it even began by pulling a stunt that made her commanding officer look a fool. Not just look it, Rice mused, reveal the fact for all to see. Apparently, however, she’d vaulted to bigger and better things in Starfleet.
“Computer, I’d like to send a message to Chadrin L’Orss on the USS Chant de Nuit.” He cleared his throat, “Warrant Officer L’Orss, you may remember me…”
“I’m here, Sir. Where’s Commander Mackal?” Chadrin had found the Deputy Head of Mission waiting for her outside the conference room where the negotiations were occurring. The building on Vvalti was new and only a temporary home for the Romulan Free State’s diplomats. It looked it: plain, undecorated gray walls and floor gave the building the overall appearance of the interior of a large concrete shed.
Maurice Rubens was alone, but his message had clearly stated that Mackal had wanted her to join them immediately. The request had surprised her: Mackal hadn’t said four words to her the entire three months she’d been there. Quickly, she’d thrown on her uniform, affixed her petty officer 3rd class pip insignia to her purple collar, and sprinted to the Council Building from the Federation Mission house several blocks away.
“Don’t call me, ‘Sir,’” Rice told her. “And Commander Mackal isn’t here. I asked for our counterparts to change the time of the session today. He’ll probably get here in a few hours and, by then, I hope we’ll be done.”
Chadrin opened her mouth and then closed it. Took a breath and opened it again, but shut it once more.
“Out with it, Petty Officer.”
“Sir, you lied to me?”
Rice shrugged, “Call it a diplomatic maneuver. You’re smart and observant, so you have noticed the Romulans are expecting lies and obfuscation. Bullshit is the language of diplomacy around here. If we don’t speak the franca lingua of Vvalti, then misunderstandings will run rampant and we won’t get anywhere. Mackal struggles with this concept. So do all the other Starfleet people you serve with, but I watched you in the last session. You get what I was trying to do. If Mackal had shut up and stopped correcting me, we’d be finished already.”
“I’m R’ongovian, it’s…you know, normal.”
“Yup and your species extreme empathy is very valuable to me right now. You’ll be my Starfleet partner moving forward.”
Her blue strips faded considerably as the blood rushed away from her skin. “I just go here…I’ve never…Sir!”
“Don’t call me, ‘Sir,’” Rice said. “And you’ll be fine. I looked you up. Your parents have a reputation in the diplomatic corps, so I’m sure you they rubbed off on you. Just remember what we’re after in there.”
In her panic, Chadrin’s mind went completely blank. She couldn’t remember what the conversation was about the last time. “What are we after?”
“We want more Federation scientists to join the study of the Artifact. They need more of our scientists, but just don’t want to admit it. We need to allow them to save face.”
“And how do I do that?” Chadrin asked weakly.
“Remember how I said that if we tell them the truth, they won’t believe us?”
“Yes.”
“That’s how. Let’s go!” Rice pushed open the large door and entered the conference room, holding the door for her.
Chadrin stood outside a moment longer fighting the urge to run in the opposite direction. Taking a deep breath and hoping that Rice knew what he was doing, she stepped through the threshold. Mackal had wanted at least two diplomatic corpsman taking notes at all time, but the others in the Starfleet contingent all had more seniority and experience, so she’d only been in the room once just a few days ago. The sparse room had surprised her then and she found herself taken aback a second time. It was a cold, echoing room that lacked any decoration on the walls. Its only furniture was a long table with ten chairs, five on either side. Normally, there’d be five Romulans and five Federation representatives. The Romulans chairs were full, but Rice was the only other Federation negotiator in the room.
The Romulans stared at her with a warmth that matched the room. She shrank back toward the wall to let Rice lead the way, but he cleared his voice and waited behind her. Was he expecting her to sit down first? Unsure of what to do, she walked over to an empty chair at the end of the line and sat down. Rice quickly followed suit, sitting down in the chair to her immediate right.
“Thank you for changing the time,” he said, “Commander Mackal won’t be joining us today, but I have brought Petty Officer Third Class Chadrin L’Orss. She took notes last time and will be listening in to this conversation again. Now, I don’t mean to jump in right away, but there’s been some changes on our side. We’ve been asking for ten positions aboard the Artifact…hmm? Yes, Miss L’Orss?”
Chadrin hadn’t made a sound and was completely confused when Rice leaned closer to her. The Romulans were staring at her intently and Rice looked like he wanted her to whisper a secret in his ear. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she murmured, keeping her voice low so the Romulans wouldn’t hear.
“Indeed,” Rice said aloud and nodded as if that’s what he expected her to say. “My apologies, Ms. L’Orss for the confusion.” He cleared his voice. “Yes. So, we’ll be asking for forty new science positions.”
The Romulans glanced at one another and then fixed their eyes on Chadrin once more. Their eyes suggested that the knew what was going on and that she couldn’t hide it from them. And in that moment, the R’ongovian understood what Rice was doing.
“We can’t give you forty new positions,” the lead Romulan negotiator said, “But we may be able to give you two.”
“Two?” Rice looked at Chadrin.
“Deputy Rubens, which of you is in charge? We would rather deal with the person of higher rank,” the Romulan said.
“I’m in charge,” Rice responded with a sharp glare. He looked back to Chadrin. “So, two?”
Summoning a sense of entitlement and superiority, she shrugged noncommittedly. “Twenty would be better.”
“I agree,” he said. A smile creased his lips. “Twenty would be better.”
