Polite Talk
Posted on 20 Jan 2025 @ 12:21pm by Commander Calliope Zahn & Admiral Zavareh Sepandiyar
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: OC, Engineering Conference
Timeline: MD 27 ~1130Hrs (just before opening ceremonies)
1292 words - 2.6 OF Standard Post Measure
Ernesh stood back a little from the goings on at the opening of the Engineering Conference. The big Grazerite with the objectively ugly muzzle was fully engrossed in trying to capture some poetic turn of phrase in words. Ambassador Gordon Stillwell wandered up beside his old friend, looking over the arriving visitors finding seats or standing room in the main hall of the station’s venue. It was an interesting structure, this Conference center situated in the Executive office complex, the overall building a hexagonal star shaped floor plan, surrounding the station’s central pillar of lift shafts in the center of the Environmental Deck. It formed many unique angled views of the adjacent rays of the structure and out over the surrounding grounds where thousands of trees dotted a rolling landscape and people could be wandering around by the hundreds and not fill any of the open spaces appreciably… One could imagine that the light in the distance was atmospheric and not at all an emission plate over a hull structure.
It was impressive. Its own little world. Gordon turned back to the persons nearer at hand. Engineers and scientists by trade, for the most part. This wasn’t really a venue he was specifically needed in and he knew he would not have been missed had he declined it, having less to offer in this technical context than even the little he was actually able to offer to the actual Diplomatic matter which had brought him to the station in the first place. Yet he was still on mission, strained though the effort may have become. Rubens, brash and young as the diplomatic officer was, had insisted that he could handle Admiral Harshman and somehow leverage the situation with the Romulan refugee family in favor of desired outcomes. For Stillwell’s role, Rubens had suggested only the gaining of the favor of one particular individual…
Gordon traced him with his eyes presently. The admiral was short. He had a very reserved posture, and what could be heard of the few words Sepandiyar spoke in polite greeting towards others, were spoken in a very husked out kind of voice. Behind the admiral two young men were milling. They may have been a bit taller, but it was clear who their father was. Gordon remembered the times he’d been ordered to attend functions with his parents and sympathized. They didn’t know that these days would open doors and begin introductions they couldn’t yet understand the future implications of. All they knew were that functions always required uncomfortable clothing and long periods of standing around.
Gordon knew something of Zavarah Sepandiyar’s reputation. A reputation that had given Stillwell pause in deciding to involve Sepandiyar in putting his name to any order in the matter which would potentially involve future Romulan and Federation cooperation. Sepandiyar was, afterall, little loved among the Romulans. But no matter who signed the interim provision, it would be a footnote in the end if the matter could go to a full vote. All Gordon needed was to convince Sepandiyar to put his proverbial foot in the proverbial door until they could fit a certain O class planet through.
Sepandiyar was already more than aware of the Korix situation though, Gordon knew. The Admiral had been on hand during the testimonies and the statements and questioning of the Korinn delegates. It was simply not his place to move Fleet resources into the unaffiliated region without orders to do so. He’d sent a reconnaissance mission, and he’d gotten back his intel. What he was thinking beyond that, Gordon had little idea. But maybe spending more time in Sepandiyar’s company would open that book to the Ambassador. Maybe nothing at all would come of his trying but, as Rubens had so cruelly highlighted, Gordon was losing more contacts than he was gaining; it wouldn’t hurt to make a new one, at the very least.
The Grazerite being completely absorbed in trying to decide if he should mend or further strain a broken metaphor he had in mind about quasars and root cellars (the one had a steady beat to it and the other kept beets cool), he hardly noticed as his cohort left his side once again and approached the knot of notable figures gathering to the side of the speaking platform.
“Admiral,” Gordon said, extending a hand in greeting. “Gordon Stillwell.” He gave his name, not presuming that he’d be recognizable to many any longer, or that the Admiral would have committed his name to memory from the Diplomatic exchanges with the Korinn.
“Good day,” the Admiral replied flatly with a shake of the man’s hand.
“The turn out is good?” Gordon posed the statement as a question, uncertain if the main conference hall that was filling up and becoming a muffled buzz of sound around them represented the expected attendance or not.
“It appears to be more popular than I believe Captain DeHavilland anticipated,” the Admiral nodded with something akin to irritation. On the one hand he was glad to see that this station was back to life and hosting things like this. On the other, well, he didn’t really prefer crowds and people in general. Something like this invited both.
“You’ve a special interest in Engineering disciplines?” Gordon inquired. In their last meeting, Lieutenant Commander Rubens had stated that Sepandiyar had been an Engineering officer best approached with data and charts, but Gordon had his doubts about taking anything Loose Canon Rubens gave him without verification anymore. Brilliant as the diplomat was, he could be sloppy or undermining and Gordon wasn’t sure how to tell which at any given time.
“No,” he replied brusquely then, realizing he was expected to continue this small talk, obliged begrudgingly. “I was trained as an Operations officer,” he clarified, lest anyone dare confuse him for an Engineer.
“Ah, Operations. Engineering adjacent. Well, everything adjacent, in actuality.” Gordon chuckled, knowing there wasn’t an operation or mission that wasn’t being driven or staffed or supported by operations officers. “The fleet’s workhorse department. Somehow the greatest number of personnel, and yet simultaneously least appreciated. Although it’s been my experience with leading Operations Officers that they prefer it that way, all the work and none of the fanfare.”
The Admiral simply gave him a polite nod in reply.
“Are you going to be giving any of the welcoming statements, or just standing by to evoke the air of Starfleet Officialdom today?”
“No. This is not about me, or Obsidian Command,” he replied clearly. While he knew plenty of men in similar positions to him that would be happy to speak in front of the assembled masses here for nothing more than to hear their own voice, he was not one of those men. He was content to participate just as if he were any other patron here, since taking the feed in his stateroom wasn’t an option.
“I see you haven’t come alone,” Gordon said, indicating the young men milling along the front; two teens, clearly identical twins, had circled a few times and settled into a couple of nearby chairs.
“Hmph,” he grunted, glancing over himself to make sure they were behaving. “We will see. Keeping them awake may prove more difficult than keeping them here.”
“Neither are budding engineers then?” Gordon said with gentle bemusement, loud enough that he was sure the twins could hear. The young, he knew, were forever tired of expectations and forecasts of their futures. He gave them a wink. “Maybe something in the demonstration hall will pique their interest later. You never can tell what may suddenly spark inspiration...”
