An Introduction on Choppy Waters
Posted on 20 Sep 2023 @ 7:44pm by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery & Admiral Zavareh Sepandiyar & Captain Corvus DeHavilland & Commander Calliope Zahn & Lieutenant Commander Sikan & Lieutenant Commander Limmi Ovim & Lieutenant Commander Maurice Rubens & Lieutenant Louke Haille & Command Master Chief Tāne HaiRoa & Lieutenant Noah Khoroushi
Edited on on 02 Oct 2023 @ 5:36am
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: Obsidian Command, Conference Hall
Timeline: M4 D2 Afternoon
2705 words - 5.4 OF Standard Post Measure
Rice stood at the door, ready to greet the delegates as they came in. The morning had come too soon, but he felt prepared for this even on just a couple hours of sleep.
He looked over to the conference room’s table. Rice had had it buffed until it shown like a mirror, reflecting the bundle of different sized globe-shaped lights strung from the ceiling. Although the table had been replicated, it was a well done job. The long table was a deep red stained wood, grains arching out in soothing patterns that one couldn’t help but trace with their eyes. It was a round table, which would put everyone on even footing, large enough to hold all of the delegates and then some.
Placed at the head of the table was a large tank of water, the size of a giant aquarium. Water, so clean and clear it looked like glass, sat still inside its confines. Lights had been positioned above making it seem almost dancing with light. Rice had spent more time with operations ensuring the dimensions were just so. Commander Zahn had given him the idea with her mention of how elegant the Korinn had looked in the water and how awkward she’d felt in scuba gear. He’d known, too, about the tank De Havilland had provided their guests though it was too big to wheel in and not the correct look.
It already had a number of people sitting in the high-back chairs. Admiral Sepandiyar and Captain De Havilland sitting at the conference room table, both perusing the agenda. He had insisted that instead of greeting everyone, they should be already seated. They may be on their respective commands, but when Harshman entered the room, she’d be the officer in charge. This conference would be her domain and even Sepandiyar, who outranked her everywhere else, would have to follow the orders of Starfleet’s Director of the Diplomatic Corps. So, Rice wanted them in positions of power early and that meant seated at the table.
The other senior officers - Lieutenant Louke Haille, Lieutenant Commander Sikan, Lieutenant Commander Limmi Ovim - sat in a sea of gold uniforms on the other side of it. Rice sighed. He could build them up through subtle gestures, but to what end? He didn’t know any of them well enough to count for their political support if things got dicey.
Louke ran his hand over the formal uniform jacket, imagining wrinkles which he knew were not there, for all the suit had been tucked away in storage for more time than he could count; his past assignments had not lent to ceremony of any noticeable level, and a good standard uniform was as good as any on a general day.
A little further to the side were the support staff, some of his diplomatic staff, including Lieutenant Noah Khoroushi, preparing PADDs to be distributed. In the few days they’d had together, Rice had managed to overcome some of the rocky start he’d had with them, but this would test them in unforeseen ways. He craved to have someone with a deep well of experience that he could lean on, but Chadrin L’Orss was still two or three days out. Other diplomatic officers had been trickling in over the last few days, but none of them with the skills for this kind of work.
A security officer came through the doors and gave Rice a simple nod. The delegates had arrived. He straightened his uniform and stood tall.
He’d expected Admiral Harshman to be the first through the door and she didn’t disappoint: she was followed closely by her staff T’Sheng and someone Rice assumed was Lieutenant Commander Van Der Laar.
“Lieutenant Commander Rubens. Odd seeing you in that uniform.”
Harshman tone’s suggested that she didn’t particularly think he deserved the uniform, but Rice just smiled back. “As it is to be wearing it, Admiral. But it was time for me to come home. Commander T’Sheng, we have of course been corresponding back and forth about the conference, but it’s good to put a face with the name.”
“Likewise, Commander Rubens,” T’Sheng said. Her voice was neutral, but she couldn’t help observing Rubens, whose profile she had consulted so minutely. She had to admit, he was talented, and excelled at presenting himself as a perfectly nice officer. She would have to remain alert, and catch his manipulations as soon as they appeared. “I look forward to communicating more with you.”
“And Commander Van Der Laar, I look forward to getting to know you.”
“Likewise, Commander,” Oly nodded to the greeting, tamping down a slight flare of interest as he followed the interaction. Harshman was apparently aware of the station’s Diplomatic chief, though clearly did not approve. Could be a disconnect between the two, which put the Commander on a more even footing for Oly’s purposes here, or it could be just another extension of Harshman approving of no one and this was just her way of greeting a lesser cohort. A quick glance at T’Sheng tilted the balance a bit towards the former and he let it rest at that as he moved to his seat.
“Admiral Sepandiyar is already seated. I’ll go and join him,” Harshman said, sweeping off with her staff in tow.
Rice turned back to the door to find Gordon Lockheart-Stillwell standing there with a pleasant look, his friend Ernesh, who Rice knew only by reputation, and Honor Ncube, who he knew very well, stood behind the pair with a bemused smile on her face. “Ambassador, a pleasure seeing you again. When I talked with Dae-Jung yesterday, he said to say ‘hello.’ Next time you're in Oxford, he wanted to make sure you’d stop by and see him.”
Gordon looked him up and down; it had been nigh on twenty years since he had first encountered Dae-Jung’s protege working in the Cardassian Embassy. Times had changed, re-forming the younger aide into this somehow pleasantly seasoned confident man who greeted him now. He’d returned to his Starfleet service and Gordon didn’t think the color quite suited him. But maybe he was just judging on the warnings he’d been given. “You can tell him I’ll wear my best tweed. Have you met Ernesh-Ibrin?”
“Only by reputation…for quoting poetry badly,” Rice jested as he shook the Grazite’s hand, “And for work on several peace conferences. I’ve studied some of your treaties and shamelessly borrowed language.”
Ernesh took the smaller hand, enveloped in the massive, leathery palm. “It would be inauthentic of me to claim originality over that which I have also gathered from the minds of the ages across the stellar fields. The poor beg, the common borrow, but the greatest among us make away like bandits in the night.”
“I couldn’t have said it better.” Rice looked over Ernesh’s shoulder. “Honor, it’s good to see you again. Everything wrap up nicely on Asanti?”
“Not wrapped, but getting there. You and I have a lot to talk about, I think,” Honor told him.
He winked back and asked the Exterior’s contingent to make their way to the conference table.
Gordon found a seat and nodded to the new faces. Ernesh, while looking up at the planet-like baubles, sat down and audibly strained a chair.
When the others had settled, Rice caught the security officer’s eye and gave him a single nod. The language of diplomacy was far more complex than any in the known universe. It changed with who was present. Their overall personalities, cultures, even just how lunch sat in their stomachs altered the meaning of movements, words, and looks. It was more temperamental than the weather, more fluid than water.
He'd spent last night preparing this next part and the morning speaking with the Korinn about it. Not as graceful as he would've liked, but it would get the job started.
“May I present Uanika, Voice of the Irix, Representative of Tck’cos, the Grand Crest of the Irix, the Great School of Korix,” Rice announced loudly, and then he turned and bowed his head. The bow would confuse the Korinn, but it was a message to the others: these may be new people to us, but we should treat them as equals.
Uanika, followed T’orpeo a few steps behind, came through the doorway and gave Commander a short wave of her hand in acknowledgement of his introduction. Their walk to the conference table wasn’t smooth, but once their were helped up the steps and slipped into the water, nearly everything about them changed. They were no longer lumbering and awkward. Their chains, freshly polished, blossomed into halos that shimmered in the light. The Federation delegates untrained eyes wouldn’t be able to pick out how the chains ranked them, but there was a majesty to the look. Both Korinn settled into a reclined position, almost as if they were sitting on invisible chairs.
“Very good,” Harshman started to rise from her seat, intent on taking over the proceedings, but Rice, who’d now taken his spot at the table remained standing and he held a hand, an apologetic look sweeping across his face.
“My apologies, Sir. I know our agenda calls for us to get right down to business. However, I’d like to hear from the Voice about the history of the Korinn and the Pyrryx. We’ve all read the reports, but now that they are here we can ask more detailed questions. I think that would be valuable, wouldn’t you agree, Admiral? Of course, you can overrule me. I’m only here to assist.”
Harshman’s face colored. She glanced slightly at Sepandiyar from the corner of her eye. This might be her show, but he still was the senior officer and she’d always found it wise not to be brash in their presence. “Of course,” she finally choked out. “A good idea.”
Rice nodded to Uanika and sat down. Embarrassing an admiral was almost always ill-advised, but he assumed he might need to.
T’Sheng rose an eyebrow. So this was the card that Rubens had chosen to play. He might have informed them beforehand that he proposed to put the two refugees on a ‘platform’ so to speak, so that they could better lecture the assistance on their civilisation and their ordeal. The move was inelegant, but such sentimentalism could very well work on this assembly.
The Voice of the Irix began her tale with a history of her planet. She described the Great Spawning Sanctuaries (she went into great detail about the chambers of Tiss’Kot, the birthplace of their civilization). During their talks over the last day, he’d gone on and on about how the Federation took great stock in preserving people because their cultures and knowledge brought a new truth to the galaxy. He never told her to talk about this, but he may as well have written the speech for her.
Then her story took a dark turn: the coming of the Pyrryx, the enslavement of the Korinn, the collapse of the schools, and the split between the Irix and the Z’ala. She described sending the ship into space, the sacrifice of its sole crew member all in an attempt to find help. The story wound toward its end while she related the coming of the Sunrise crew, abandoned on the island, but always ready to help the enslaved Irix. Finally, she spoke of her hope that a power such as the Federation would not turn them away in their desperation.
“This is an extraordinary account, well worth listening to,” T’Sheng ventured, rather aggravated by how the ‘Voice of the Irix’ viewed the ‘powerful Federation’. “Great, unforgivable, crimes have been committed against the Korix and their planet. This cannot be disputed. What sort of reparation will take place, and how far the generous hand of the Federation can extend, is what we will need to review. Carefully.”
“Voice of the Irix… I am Ambassador Gordon Stillwell.” He said calmly and slowly. His hands were folded on the table and his head tilted in thoughtful, listening posture, even while he spoke. “I agree, your telling is compelling. In order to consider the situation of your planet and our potential part in your future, we must begin with understanding your request and frame our discussion from that petition. If you could have something of the Federation’s support, what would you wish it to look like?”
“I’ve never breathed these waters, Ambassador. Everyday we see theory and dreams become reality. So, I ask if you were us, captive on your own world, watching it die from the occupiers, what would you want?” Uanika replied.
Gordon leaned forward a little, indicating he was gathering a thought to reply, but clearly taking his time to form it while considering. Physically, the Korin were larger than many of the more common humanoid federation species, and seal-like, making them feel more alien than most. Even accounting for the way in which they were selecting simple words in hopes of clear translations from the universal translator, to Gordon Uanika seemed young, and by extension probably naive about what they were likely to face in these discussions. So it seemed shrewd that she turned the question back to him. After all, if you could have someone else state your offer for you, it would be difficult for them to walk it back again. Gordon suspected that Commander Rubens had prepared the delegates for the question and coached them to turn it around. He could see Admiral Harshman’s hand forming a fist on the table and knew he had to behave just as shrewdly. “If it were my world,” he said carefully but honestly, “I would request protectorate status, in the hope of soliciting the defense of the more established state. Are the Irix of Korix requesting Protectorate status from the Federation?”
Harshman cut in before Uanika could answer. “Ambassador, I think we should take a step back. Protectorate status can be granted by Starfleet on a temporary basis, but the full Federation Council would need to vote on the matter. Before I can make a recommendation to them, I’d need my staff to look at the law and precedent.”
“Drema IV would be a good place to start,” Rice said.
She looked over at him. Goddamn that man, was he smirking? “Thank you for your suggestion, Lieutenant Commander. But I think we should look at all the options available to us in regards to Korix. It’s been a long journey for many of us. We should break until tomorrow. That will give us a chance to get to know our esteemed guests in a less formal environment. I thank you, Voice, for sharing your story with us.”
A protectorate... T’Sheng thought to herself. What an ugly concept. It was just as well that Admiral Harshman had intervened. The Vulcan woman took a few notes. Protectorates sometimes have little control over their foreign policy or even their internal and domestic affairs. So there would be ample opportunities then, to advise the Voice of Irix against such an ‘easy’ solution.
Uanika waved her hands in affirmation. The motion was lost on Harshman, who sat waiting for some other response, before finally deciding to carry on. “Admiral Sepandiyar, with your permission?”
Having spent the introductory session primarily in thought and observation of the various parties in the assembly, Sepandiyar gave them all leave, adjourning until the next scheduled discussion.
Calliope looked on as the room became a new kind of sea, and an outgoing tide of bodies was streaming towards the exits and generating a low murmur. The stage was clearing. Thinking that they hadn’t gotten very far with anything, she looked up at the glossy hanging spheres and watched everyone from the distorted overhead reflection while reminding herself that there would be many more such discussions.
