Elessedil doesn't send a reply. He just looks down, casually, at the coordinates set, and tries to passively sense motives about the visitors.
If Elessedil were to try to sense Arkos' motives as he took a sip from his brandy, he would sense nothing ulterior about the man- he practically wore his emotions on his sleeve. As much as Arkos was trying to maintain a look of aloof professionalism, it was clear that he was in a less-than-celebratory mood.
Elessedil looks past Arkos, and calls for the bartender with a tap on the table. Tulaberry wine, please.
The bartender acknowledges the request, and begins serving a glass of the Gamma Quadrant alcohol. Elessedil takes the drink, and shifts along the side of the table, attempting, nonchalantly, to detect another wire.
Alyosha nodded politely at the Pentaxian's toast, though of course he had no glass with which to reciprocate.
"I'm glad to know your officer made it back fairly safely. The shock may set in over time, though." Alyosha knew what he was talking about; he'd sensed it in traumatized crew members before--including the five from the attack in the mess hall. He wasn't sure, however, if I'sH'd recognized that--or perhaps found the acknowledgment of such difficulties to be shameful. "Hopefully he'll seek support if he needs it."
"Yurass..." Having learned his English from an American scientist, he couldn't help hearing the one name broken into two very distinct, very descriptive components. "I'm not surprised. He actually threatened to impound the Chin'toka for 'parking' illegally in his planet's orbit, until he figured out that his tiny orbiters wouldn't stand a chance. I honestly worried he'd try to use our away team as collateral, until I warned him of just how large Starfleet really was. In vague terms, of course, but I made it clear what would happen if he tried to detain any of my people. I can't help but think he wanted something. That he intended to extort something much more significant from your crewmember, and from you, when you came looking. Thank God that apparently the Mu'Naii understanding of subspace communications is limited thus far, or else they could've deactivated that distress beacon.
"I can only pray that the Mu'Naii won't get any encouragement to participate further in galactic affairs," he said. "I don't mean to sound spiteful...but they found warp drive way before they were ready for it. Granted, humanity could've gone the same way, but as sad as it is, at least our Third World War forced us to take a long, hard look at ourselves." It always felt a bit odd, speaking of human heritage as though it were something he too owned--but he could at least take solace in the fact that culturally-speaking, it was true. "I would worry about a new Orion Syndicate if the Mu'Naii were to spread into space; they seem so ready to try to take ownership of other beings, even if there isn't a contract or a slave collar."
I'sH'd nodded, his expression grim.
"I knew a militia recruit many years ago who was fortunate enough to survive an attack by a d'v'ash't'ya -- a transphasic predator of my homeworld-- who rejected any counseling, and eventually had to be discharged on medical grounds. Ensign Mitchell seems a sensible boy, and I've seen him socializing in the crew lounge with a good circle of friends. I'm sure they will all give him any support he may need," He replied before chuckling. "I can see Yurass trying just such a thing. Ambassador S'rR's arranged for them to receive food and medical supplies as compensation for the Ensign's presence, I just hope they are suitably distributed among the needy. I would not worry too much about the Mu'Naii trying to cut themselves a piece of the Orion Syndicate's activity, I think the Empress will make Yurass see the error of his ways."
Draining his glass, I'sH'd rose.
"If you'll excuse me, I have to return to the Valkyrie, as Ambassador S'rR's must attend a diomatic function on Khitomer, and the time for our departure approaches. It has been a pleasure to meet you, Alexei Ivanovich, I hope the winds will bring us together at another time."
Last edited by marcusdkane; 05-30-2013 at 07:50 AM.
An unpleasant current of energy rippled across his skin, thankfully invisible to others, but he counted himself fortunate that he hadn't been touching anybody when it happened, or they might well have felt it. He was sure I'sH'd hadn't missed his unease, though.
Even the thought of a mindless creature at all similar to his own species attacking people was a chilling thought for him. As he had many times before, he wondered if Devidia II had been like that once, with life existing in both phases, one phase feeding on the other. It had to be a stifling life to live, where even indoors some beast might phase in and strike with no warning.
At least when I'm at home, he thought, I have the "common" courtesy not to scare the crap out of my family by phasing in too close. That family included both his foster parents and the other scientists who had helped to raise him--but he treated them as a "family" nonetheless.
I'sH'd seemed to understand more than Alyosha had suspected, though, when it came to Ensign Mitchell, and to the young man attacked on Pentaxia. "That's good to know," he replied.
It was also quite clear I'sH'd understood exactly what it was like to deal with Yur-Pain-in-the-Ass. "Somehow I doubt equitable distribution is what Yurass has in mind. Then again, forcing social change on a species--or a nation--tends to go very badly, to say the least." And with centuries of distance between himself and the end of that particular social experiment...at least, if he counted the time for which he'd actually been awake, and not the time he'd spent underground in stasis...all but the most radical nutcases at home were pretty blunt about that point. "Still, I imagine it would be good for Yurass to know his behavior doesn't play well in the interstellar arena."
As for the last--Alyosha allowed himself a small laugh, and stood. "I should be on my way as well. The Chin'toka has been assigned to the Khitomer conference, too. They must figure the Klingons wouldn't expect an escort to have a science officer commanding it. Someone who can conduct surveillance on the way in."
Captain Murphy entered the bar. The short yet solidly built man kept his head nearly shaved to cover up the fact that his hairline was receding. The absence of hair made him look slightly older than his 47 years. Since his ship had been taken from him, he had all the time in the world to rub elbows with the rest of Star Fleet's elite. Actually, his ship had not been taken from him. After almost 25 years of service, the USS Olympus was being retired. Murphy had spent the last 6 years as captain of that ship.
Now, he was cooling his heels close to earth as the finishing touches were being placed on his new ship. The USS New Orleans would be be launched from the San Francisco Fleet Yards (in reality, an orbital drydock near earth) and docked at Starbase 1 in a few short days.
The new command meant a lot to Murphy. Not only was Starfleet entrusting one of its newest and most advanced starships to him, but they were giving him command of a starship named after his hometown.
That made him smile. New Orleans was sometimes called an ancient relic. Even in the 25th Century, one could stroll through the French Quarter and hear strains of 20th Century Jazz music. Murphy loved his hometown. He hoped he would do the old city, and the new starship, justice.
The captain bypassed the conversation going on nearby and took a seat at the bar. "I'll have a glass of Chateau Picard," Murphy said. "Your best vintage, please."
Admiral Ravenheart quietly walked into the Captain's Table, quietly observing the gathered Captain's, his Vulcan like features barely moving in reaction.
He quietly approached the group and cleared his throat, adjusting his jacket then saying in a slightly raised voice
He quietly sits on a stool at the bar and waits for a response.
Captain Goodwin, knowing the honor of being amongst some of the greatest ship's Captains and personnel in recent history, adjust his uniform once more before entering. Casually walking to the bar he notices that, despite a few loud patrons here and there, the gathering is truly a testament to the positive effects a common goal...and bowls of flakes, can have on inter-species relations.
Sitting in a corner by himself, a short Ferengi in a custom-tailored Science blue Starfleet uniform quietly observes the other patrons in the bar. He's been sitting there for three hours.
His eyes dart to the entrance whenever someone walks in, but otherwise he sips a thick brown beverage while studying a PADD on the table. He has an annoyed look on his face.
"This is ridiculous," he mutters under his breath.
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