The Rules Of Hospitality
Posted on Sun Feb 27th, 2022 @ 9:10pm by Captain Benjamin Ingram Dr & The Narrator & Lieutenant Commander Mara Ricci & Lieutenant Commander Jillian Toomey & Lieutenant Commander Meilin Jiang & Major Tatiana Skobelova & Major Samuel Braddock & Lieutenant Commander Amie Cerys & Lieutenant T'Niam & Lu'kat & Stephen Spires
Mission:
S2:4: If Not Like A Mirror
Location: The Admirals Lounge, Canopus Station
Timeline: MD-1 13.45
"You must have so many questions for us," the Red Cap said. He stood at the front of the Carcosian delegation, the group framed by the meter-thick viewing gallery walls that looked out into the port of Canopus Station. Within that domed expanse, one of the sleek, shark-like Carcosian ships could be seen alongside one of its Starfleet cousins.
He raised his glass, the sparkling contents having travelled the slow way there from the Alpha Quadrant instead of being molecularly printed in a replicator.
"Here is to the United Federation of Planets and the Reciprocity of Carcosia being equally satisfied with the answers we gain," the Red Cap said. The collection of officers behind the Red Cap offered their glasses in salute.
Ingram returned the gestured, as did many others.
"Well, I can think of no better way to get to know each other than to mingle," the Red Cap said jovially, and turned to Admiral Schultz at his shoulder. "I don't suppose an order is necessary?"
"I do not think you will need to resort to that," the moustache wearing a Carcosian admiral chuckled and the two groups began to merge and mingle.
It seemed, at least to Mara, that she was the only introvert in the universe. What she really wanted to do was to curl up on her sofa in her most comfy pajamas with a good book and her dog. But of course she wasn’t allowed to do that. Not until everyone was occupied and she could sneak away, anyway. And what was with Champaign? It tasted like turpentine. Oh well, if she just kept holding this glass, maybe nobody would give her a new one.
At that moment, a passing servant saw Mara holding a glass of wine, untouched, and knew he was about to be flogged for displeasing a glass. At nearly the speed of a transporter, he arrived at her side and smoothly offered her a fresh glass of wine with one hand while surreptitiously removing the offending glass from her hand. "My apologiespleasedon'thavehimkillme," he bow/scrape/simpered before fleeing once more.
T'Niam observed the server's behaviour and glanced at Mara. "Curious. Have we any cultural data on the public nourishment habits of the Carcosians?"
Mara shrugged. “I have no idea,” she replied. “But at least this one isn’t champagne.” She took a sip and was pleased to find a normal, smooth white wine. “Much better,” she commented.
"I shall have to investigate further," T'Niam mused, turning her attention to the other interactions around them.
JT blinked as she watched the bizarre incident, then smiled politely without showing her teeth to the Carcosian and made her way over to the Red Cap. "Your honorific, I am Commander Toomey, and it would be my pleasure to indulge in verbal intercourse with you."
"I assure you the pleasure is all mine," the Red Cap said, leaning forward. "I'm more used to the officer class in this sorts of events acting like I'm the carrier of some vicious communicable disease. Having one so brazenly introduce herself to me is most unusual. Are all Starfleet Officers so brave and courageous, or are you some sort of hero of your people? A champion?"
"I can't speak for others, but my mother taught me that a closed mouth doesn't get fed," JT said, hoping it translated correctly. "Please, call me JT or Socket, if it pleases you to do either."
"It pleases me a great deal, JT," the Red Cap said, mulling the word over in his mouth like tasting vintage wine. "So much of Carcosian politics is formality and patterns of behaviour. But it has served us well in our isolation here among waters infested with villains and monsters. So, JT, what is that you Command here? Surely such a coragious soul should be Commander of a fine ship?"
"Aye," she said. "The Magnificent is her name, but I also command Operations aboard this station. Let us put formality and behavior aside - within expected norms, that is to say. Tell me what mighty ship you command, pray tell?"
"Alas, none. I am but a humble servant of Carcosia who has bestowed the title of the Red Cap for this mission to your station. Admiral Schultz?" The red Cap raised his glass, and the white dress uniform with its weapons-grade crease's carried the moustache over to them. "My friend, Commander Toomey, was asking about the ship I arrived on. Perhaps you would like to take up the narrative on that account?"
"Of course, Excellency," Schultz said with a nod, handing off his glass of wine to a low-ranking Carcoasian officer. He looked over at JT, and whilst the puffy moustache was distracting, the eyes had the cold glass quality of a man not unaccustomed to violence and the application of grand strategy. "His Excellency the Red Cap was carried here aboard the RCNS Kriegskind, a Type-19 fast battleship in the Forward Fleet. She is my flagship, and I am quite fond of her. NOt quite as fond as I was with my first love, RCNS Swiftsure. She was an orbital patrol ship in the Home Fleet, but as a young lieutenant, I was quite smitten with her. But as people in uniform know, we might find love in many, but our hearts belong to home and kin."
JT couldn't help but notice the impressive mustache that wore the uniform of the vocorder that spoke. "Have you ever had command of one such, Red Cap?" she asked.
"Alas and lack I cannot say," the Red Cap said. "As is tradition and custom, upon my appointment as the Red Cap my past is of no consequence to my current actions as dilomat of the Reciprocity. It helps to avoid favour and bias."
Tatiana was try to avoid any attention on herself. The champaign was not to her taste, but she drank it to be polite. She had nothing relevant to say and found small talk laborious. If someone wanted to tactics or strategy, well she could at least engage with that person. Otherwise, the only thing happening was the exchange of honeyed words.
As Tatiana was mulling over the party, she wasn't paying attention to her drink. She accidentally snorted her champaign through her nose. She let out a short but loud and violent cough as the golden liquid came out her nose and mouth. Her dress uniform had the telltale smash marks on it. Tatiana, however, tried to play it off as if nothing had happened.
"Major Skobelova?" A puggish, broad-shouldered man in a uniform cut in the same lines and fabric as the Carcosian navy officers. But along the seams of the sleeves and legs, a line of bright red was fixed, marking him out. He smiled, reached into his uniform jacket, and pulled out a simple metal flask. "Hauptman-Commander Klaus, I lead the detachment of Carcosian Marines attached to this diplomatic foray. Might I offer you a diplomatic overture in the form of a fine Crest single malt?"
"Yes, you may." Tatiana replied as she took a long swig out of the flask. Tatiana felt her head heat up as the strong alcohol had its effect. "That was good. Thank you Hauptman Commander."
Tatiana took another gulp before returning the flask. "I see you are in the marine branch? How did you get stuck with this assignment?"
"No doubt something truly rotten, or it is merely The Way remind me of how much of an FNG I was when I enlisted," Klaus said with a smile. He took a fortifying swig from the flask as well. "Don't get me wrong, a soft billet like this is a nice change of pace. Beats slogging it out with raiders and opportunists on the fringe world of the Reciprocity, or watching a Reka boarding party decide if continuing the fight is more important than eating one of their wounded.. And I might I ask the same of you Major?"
"Captain Ingram wanted all department heads here." Tatiana explained. "His personality can be a bit rough around the edges but one thing he does not do is discriminate. All of us are here to suffer equally."
Tatiana gave a passing waiter her empty glass. "So, Hauptman Commander, can you tell me more about the Reka? How do they fight? Are they methodical or will they press a faltering attack?"
"I think I will like you, Major. You ask the right questions for someone who has not faced a foe," Klaus said with an approving nod. "The Reka are not like us, in the sense of both of us belonging to professional militaries. They have no rank and file, no command class or officer cadre. A typical Reka boarding is a chaotic affair, their phase staff's allowing them to bypass most security measures by short-range point-to-point matter transmission. They are guided by their eldest Reka, but in the fight, they are almost a single organism moving and countering as a whole instead of as individual soldiers. This makes them very dangerous. They will close with an enemy, accepting grievous losses, but once they are in amongst your front line they are like acid eating away at the thing they touch. The only benefit to this crazed blood lust is the fact that Reka eats their wounded."
He took another sip from his flask and then offered it back to her.
"Shrike battlesuits are purpose-built for combating Reka. Magnetic rail fired rams in the greaves project a tungsten spike past the wrist in a killing blow, and instead of a and energy weapon in the underarm mount it sports a sharpnel gun with a modest three hundred round solid magazine wafer," he explained. "It is lighter than the Fenris model, lacking the brute strength and fire power, but it level the playing field. Aginst Reka."
"The Reka are both fascinating and terrifying." Tatiana took another gulp from the flask. Before handing it back to Klaus, she shook the bottle. "I've seemed to have finished off your malt." She apologized in a sheepish voice. "Perhaps we can go to the bar where I can replenish your drink?" Tatiana asked.
"You know the way, I will follow your lead Major," Klaus chuckled.
Tatiana made her way to the bar. "A bottle of Scotch whiskey, please. And two glasses" The bartender fetched a bottle and two glasses. "Thank you." She told the bartender as she paid for the bottle.
"My Russian ancestors are probably spinning in their graves because I don't like vodka. I need something a bit smoother." Tatiana explained as she offered Klaus a glass.
"I've only ever known Crest single malts, so it'll be interesting to know how they compare to a whisky that can be called a scotch," Klaus said as he accepted the glass from her. "I assume that you were not raised by savages that would demand we back this down our throats in a single pull?"
Tatiana let out a giggle. "I was raised on a backwater colony. You either drank synthehol or low grade moonshine that tasted like turpentine. The only way to get it down was to chug it."
"Then allow me to demonstrate. First of all notice the lack of additives, no water, or a mixing agent. It is the purest form of the drink. And now the bouquet, the nose if you will," Klaus said, making a show of swilling the scotch around the glass before holding it under his nose. "Hum...vanilla...yes I think oranges as well. Now, if this was a burgeon from Crest we would be discussing the fine notes of tar and wood smoke. It is not something I find useful in drinking. In cleaning my service pistol? Ideal."
"You got all that from sniffing the glass?I just worry if it can go down smooth." Tatiana was a bit surprised by Klaus' detailed report. She then took a sip of the liquid. "Are you a connoisseur?"
"My family owns one of Crests finest distilleries. It's been in our family since The Landing some two hundred years ago," Klaus said with a grin, sipping from his own glass. "It is expected that one day I will muster out of the Reciprocities service and take up my rightful place in my family's work. The drink I adore, as any true sone of Crest should. But the work...give me a shovel and a bayonet, and I am a happy soul."
He smiled at the thought.
"We should not drink heavily tonight. Tomrrow will be a busy day, and I think a clear head would serve you well for the demonstrations we have planned," Klaus grinned.
Standing apart from the others, once again wondering why her duty seemed to consist of social gatherings of late, Meilin's petite frame was statuesque like a stone in a brook. Foot traffic diverted around her. The passive resistance to attending the function was utter perfection. That is, until she felt a familiar presence. Her head darted to one side in attempts of getting a second glance at the conspicuously tall server who had just passed by her. Dressed like all the others, Meilin only got a good look at the back of his head before he darted into the wait staff area.
"Stephen Spires," she muttered with contempt.
"Where?" was the infrasonic growl of Ingram's inquiry.
Meilin nodded toward the way the servers had left the room. "Wait staff."
Mara had seen him, too. “I have an idea,” she replied as she approached the two. “It might even get him out of our hair for good, if it works.”
Ingram thought for a moment, before bringing his drink up to his lips.
"No disintegration," he said before taking a sip.
Mara had a wit quick enough to manage to looks disappointed. “Plan B, then,” she said with mock regret. “Feed him false information.”
"Anonymous false information," Ingram corrected.
"Of course," agreed Mara. Spires would accept anything she had to say right now anyway. "Anything in particular we should 'accidentally' let slip?"
"I think the Xilosian's are having some sort of carnival, De'luna put something about it on my schedule," Ingram said with a wave of his hand.
“I’m not sure if that’s something that would interest Spires,” mused Mara. “Not sensational enough. Or did you mean he could get fake news there?”
"Begging your pardon, but is the intention to thwart Spires or to spite him?" Meilin asked. "If the former, then it is best to play to his nature and allow nature to take its course. But, if the latter, then simply have him thrown out."
"You take all the fun out of spite," Mara replied with a small grin. "All right, let's hear your idea of thwarting him."
"Fake news will have a delayed effect," Meilin said. "It will not remove him from the proceedings. Something else is required for an immediate effect."
At that, she cupped her friend's face and pressed her lips into a long, stolen kiss. Meilin kept her eyes closed, forcibly ignoring the reactions of anyone around them. This purely tactical move was undoubtedly going to be misinterpreted by anyone witnessing it. In fact, Meilin was counting on it.
Mara was understandably stunned, but- whether because she was clever or because she simply knew her friend that well- she realized what Meilin was doing and was able to keep herself from pulling away. She also attempted to ignore everyone else, though she was far more self-conscious than her friend and found it much more difficult.
"Holy shit, I knew it," came a coarse whisper from across the room. It was soon followed by the grating sound of shattered glass.
Meilin opened her eyes and looked toward the commotion. A familiar gangly man in a wait staff uniform stood over a pile of sticky shards that had once been a tray of champagne flutes. The shocking sight had clearly tripped him up. Right on his heels was an angry Rigelian manager who began pressing the man out of the lounge with promises of never working in hospitality again. On his way out, his cover blown, Stephen Spires locked eyes with Meilin long enough for her to meet his angry glare with a sweet smile and friendly wave.
Biting her lips to keep from laughing, Mara very pointedly did not look at Spires as he was tossed out of the lounge. “That was perfect,” she told her friend, barely suppressing the giggle that rose to her throat. “Now to really send it home.” She carefully schooled her features into an expression of annoyance. “Wish me luck,” she said as she turned towards the door. “Actually, the expression is break a leg when it comes to a performance. But you know what I mean.”
"What is she doing?" Meilin pondered aloud.
"Providing entertainment for a small bipedal monkey with a press pass," Ingram said over his drink. "And if anything proving that Engineers the star over are far to practical for their own good."
Meilin smirked at Ingram's disquiet. "He's taller than you, sir. Perhaps Mara merely responds to men of stature."
"Really? How materially-minded of you Commander," Ingram glowered.
"This is the Tao," she replied as if by rote.
Amie hated large gatherings. Though she dealt with them all the time, it didn't mean she liked the close quarters. She wouldn't call herself claustrophobic, but at times she got a bit hot under the collar at things like this. However, she put on a brave face, but mostly just sipped her drink. She had a lot on her mind with her own missions she had to deal with, but she would never turn down drinking, even if sometimes it did end badly on her end if she had too much. Her eyes likely looked like she was a lightyear away though.
"Excuse me?".
Two Carcosian officer's had approached Amie, their uniforms highlighted in black along the seams in stark contrast to the white. One was a man, young but confident in his training and bearing. The other was a woman, hair a vibrant red and pulled back into a tight knot. She had her arm hooked through the elbow of her escort, and for that reason along her eyes being clouded and white made sense.
The man, smiled at Amie.
"Excuse me once more, I have been requested to locate a Major Samuel Braddock of your Starfighter Corp?" he said. "My commanding officer, Hauptman-Valkir Katatrina, wishes to pass along her greetings to him personally."
Glancing over at the Carcosians who approached her, Amie finished her sip of drink and gave them a small smile in return. "Major Braddock?" Amie glanced around a bit, looking for Braddock. Spotting him, she used her non-drink filled hand and pointed towards where he was at. "It appears the Major is over in that group."
Lu'kat stood in the corner near the large windows looking out into the stars. As he had expected, no effort had been made for the resident Cardassian to make further acquaintance with the Carcosians. He mentally added it the growing list of complaints he sent to the Station's commander on a weekly basis.
He kept to himself, pretending to enjoy his drink, which was plain water. Keeping a close eye on the one called Red Cap, he positioned himself so that the Carcosian delegate would cross paths with him eventually. When he did, Lu'kat made his introductions once more, and offered him a bottle of Kanar. "If you like this, I can have a few crates brought to your vessel from my personal collection."
"So thoughtful," the Red Cap said. He handed the bottle to an aide, a man of narrow sharp cheekbones and a humourless line of a mouth. "You must be one of the Cardassians. Captian Ingram said there was a delegation of them aboard the station. Not part of this United Federation of Planets are you?"
"More like a delegation of one, I have to admit", Lu'kat answered. "I represent the interests of the Cardassian Union, which is, indeed, not a part of the Federation, but it has put high stakes in the success of this joint mission between our two peoples. This includes setting up diplomatic and trade relations with the native inhabitants of the Messier 4 cluster. Interestingly, though, it has come to my attention that Carcosia's ancestors originate from the Alfa Quadrant as well, did they not?"
"We do. During Earth Romulan War two centuries ago our forebearers saw the end of not only humanity, but of Andoria, Trill and Vulcan. Together they conspired to, if not win victory outright, then cheat the victors of utter conquest. As you can imagine such thinking was tantamount to treason, to run and press vital resources away from a war effort?" the Red Cap clucked his lips. "The righteousness of their actions and deeds is for historians to debate, sufficed to say they succeeded. And we have enjoyed prosperity, and a great deal of technical advancement. This station is the most advanced structure this Federation can build yes? And yet, compared to one of our frigates at your docks, it is a water clock that tell's the right time twice a day."
"Ah, yes, the sins of our fathers, indeed." Lu'kat mused. Then: "it is true that the technological advancement of the various civilisations here in Messier 4 has progressed more than was...expected... Still, Canopus Station has been able to hold its own for the time being, thanks to all of our combined efforts. That is why I have always advocated for strong trade and diplomatic ties to be forged with the peoples here since a strong business partner is always preferable towards maintaining peace. Cardassia has a lot of resources and raw materials to offer, for example...
"Please, Mr Lu'kat. There is a rhythm to these things. First the aria, then the opera. First the seduction, then the foreplay. It is clear that you are not the larger player in this group, you are by yourself surrounded by Starfleet and their Federation. That tells me they had the will to take this mission, but that your Union held a unique place from which to barter," the Red Cap held up a hand. "This is not a bad thing. Gile and cunning are quite becoming in political allies. And this is merely the opening courting rituals, the awkward first steps. Yes?"
Lu'kat's expression remained unfazed. "Perhaps, though a courting ritual also requires some measure of confidence, does it not? A sense of willingness and forwardness to make overtures and seduce the courtee. And with confidence I would like to advise you the following. You could make alliances and trade deals with Captain Ingram and his Federation only. Or, you could leverage them against the Cardassian Union, encouraging both parties into a position of healthy competition to increase Carcosia's benefits."
"That suggests that the Reciprocity of Carcosia sees a benefit to cross galactic trade. After all we are doing quite for ourselves. Meanwhile your civilisations still warm themselves around the antimatter fire: barbarians to our cultured civilisation," te Red Cap mused. "I wouldn't want your Cardassian Union seeing any agreements between us as charity."
Inwardly, Lu'kat found his exchange with the Carcosian representative to be increasingly complicated, and in the back of his mind (which due to his Cardassian upbringing was more susceptible to skepticism and mistrust) alarm bells started sounding. For if Carcosia was indeed doing quite well for themselves, what need would they have for Cardassia or Starfleet indeed? Perhaps this was all an elaborate ruse to gain intel on Canopus station and its inner workings? A recon mission ahead of a show of force or manipulation?
Outwardly the Cardassian remained cordial and replied: "You may rest assured that I am fully aware of how any agreement might be interpreted by my people back home, and it is always at the forefront of my considerations" he said. "Though your concern is appreciated," he added as an afterthought. "Naturally, any agreement between our peoples would carry some form mutual benefit, otherwise what would be the point?"
Lu'kat tipped his glass to Red Cap. "It was a pleasure meeting you and your people," Lu'kat said with a measure of genuineness. "I leave it up to you and your superiors to consider my offer, you know where to find me should you choose to do something with it."
"Indeed, I hope you enjoy the party," the Red Cap said with a cordial bow of his head.
JT excused herself as the Cardassian diplodunk came up to start schmoozing with Red Cap, which was just as well. She didn't think he'd reveal anything, which is why she had had some passive nanites put in the replicators in the area the Caroasian envoy was staying.
Sam walked into the Admiral's lounge, clad in his dress blues, with all of his regalia shining in the light and a white service cover in his free hand. Passing a respectful nod to those present. He had been on a mandatory shift as the Aerospace Duty Officer, coordinating roving patrols from the Operations Center with the detached carriers and their Air Wings. Taking a seat at the sparsely populated bar, he motioned for a drink. "Two fingers of the oldest whiskey you have. Leave the ice."
"Excuse me? Major Braddock?" a young voice said from his right. It was a young Carcosian officer, the same one who had been escorting around a woman with startling red hair. "Are you the same Major Braddock who is the commander of the Canopus air wing?"
"Flight Officer Pieter," the woman said. The sharp tones of the voice, once dressed in the slightest buzz of static from a comm set, were unmistakable "I heard his voice as he ordered, it is him. You may leave us now."
"Yes, Hauptman-Valkir. I will await you," he said. He gently unhooked his arm from hers, and stepped away. As he did so the waiter got Samuel his drink, poured from a bottle instead of atomical sequenced from a replicator. Deanston single-malt virgin cask, a 2331 bottle. The ice accompanied the drink, but resided in a separate glass.
Sam was sipping the whiskey and savoring the smooth taste and smoky finish of the whiskey. Turning to the voice, it was gone as soon as he had heard it along with a sharp rebuke delivered by an exceedingly familiar voice. He could also feel almost a dozen sets of eyes on him and it was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as if he had touched a live capacitor. Turning around, he looked around for the source of the voice, leaving his cover on the bar. "Maybe it's too early for the alcohol to hit yet but I recognize that voice," he said in a low voice.
"As I recognize yours, Eagle," the red-headed woman said with a smile that was coy enough to not bare teeth. She raised a hand, curiously not looking directly at Sam. "I assure you, this time I approach without subterfuge or guile. I wanted to get the measure of you in person."
"I hope your intel report said that I was taller in person, Hauptman-Valkir" Sam chuckled, using the title he had heard someone else use and surreptitiously noting the lack of eye contact and the almost wolfish smile in his head- this woman was predator, of that there was no doubt This was a game now- everything was being measured, from the size of his shoes to the way he liked his drinks. "Can I offer you a drink? I hear the Xilosian tequila here is particularly excellent," he said.
"As I have never had it, I will say I am intrigued enough to try it myself," she said. "Also Hauptman-Valkir is my rank, I am not sure of the equivalent in your structure. I am in command of the battle group air wing, a total of forty fliers and four hundred strike craft."
The bartender brought over the Xilosian tequila, the bottle a drab and uninspired thing from the replicator whereas the fluid within was a genuine distilled spirit. As it flowed into the tumblers it flickered with colours, settling into a dull violet glow that was nearly invisible to the eye.
"Katrina Voss," she said as the glasses were pushed out towards them. Her fingers traced along the counter top until they tapped against the glass.
"A pleasure, Katrina. I'm Major Sam Braddock, but around here people mostly know me as the 'CAG'. Stands for 'Commander, Air Group', so we might be identical in rank." He noticed her tantalizing hand and fought the urge to run his fingers along it. Reaching for the glass, he raised it. "To diplomacy and those who enforce it."
"If you are going to raise a toast, could you show me where your glass is?" Voss asked, raising her free hand in offer. "I would not want to spill this drink with a near miss."
The embarrassment hit Sam like a freight train- Katrina was blind. His face turned crimson as he collected himself. "Well- May I?" he asked, extending his own hand to brush Katrina's.
"You may," she grinned. "You must forgive me. To be a flier in the Reciprocity of Carcosia is to be known to all to have certain... drawbacks. You are new, and our ways must be awful and frightening to you."
"Excuse me, are you Captain Toomey?"
A pair of red collared Starfleet captains walked up to her. One was a Bolian, squat in the shoulders but they were the sort you could have jacked a shuttle upon if push came to shove. The other was a wintery haired Bajoran woman, her hair pulled back into a bun that seemed to be trying to condense into the sixth phase of matter,
"On second thought, do you know an assistant Operations officer? About this high big feet, ears for days?" the Bolian asked, lowering their glass to his lower rib to gesture the height. "Gets angry when you try to book an appointment and then call, repeatedly, to make sure its on the books?"
"No," JT said. "I'm not Captain Toomey, nor do I know one," she answered honestly, her rank only that of a Lieutenant Commander. "However, they may be related to me without my knowledge. What do you need to make an appointment with Operations for, if I may ask?" She smiled at the thought of her assistant creating fuckery for others. He was effective.
"Oh just wanted to get the measure of this Captian Toomey, face to face. After all it's not every day a pair of battle cruiser captains get shown true metal by a ship a fraction of their tonnage," the Bolian said with a grin before extending a hand. "Captian Raglin of the Harrington."
"Bonnin, of the Victory," the woman said. "We'd heard you'd taken a side ways transfer from fleet to station administration and wanted to make sure you were not totally in league with your senses."
"In which case, that would be me," JT said with a smirk. "Lieutenant Commander Jillian Toomey, at your service, and I had absolutely nothing to lose." She took the offered hand and gave it a shake. "It showed well of you to not destroy me and mine and you have my thanks for that. As for being in league with my senses? I have those, but I'm also in league with the devil."
"Like any good captain should. A day ahead of the devil, and in the shadow of good grace," Bonnin said with a not of her head. "As for your ship I've never seen the like of it. And if the Commodore was tasking two Century class battlecruisers to swoop in to take you into custody you must have been riding quite the rocket."
"And see that's where the rumour mill starts. Top secret Starfleet weapons program, a crew of Synthetics, Mirror Universe types, temporal echos, nanomachine meta swarms: I think at the moment the leading theory in the pool is your a Section 31 deep cover agent who needed Grissom to overreact to sell your cover story," Raglin grinned.
JT gave a slight smirk. "No, no, no, no, and no," she said. "We're none of those and myself and Grissom have an understanding. As for sending in your ships, I really think he jumped the phaser. Yeah, my ship is Magnificent, but hardly a match for two Century class ships."
"Like a good game of cards you don't play the game, you play the gamer: a ship is a tool, but you can break a window with a brick as easily as with a phase resonator," Bonnin nodded with approval. "You stood your ground and used what you had to best advantage. Yes on paper my Victory and this bores Harrington had you dead to rites. But you had the balls to stand there with your back to a wall and calmly make a choice many fleet captains would have balked at."
"So like we said when we sidled up to you, we wanted to make sure a promising captain hadn't lost her marbles and decided to fly a desk," Raglin said gravely. "To many career officers in the ranks who want to impress people with a title and rank, and not be actually good at their job."
"He speaks from a depth of knowledge that is staggering," Bonnin confided in JT via a stage whisper.
If they only knew JT's spotted, shady, sideways past and the circumstances of her and her crew, and the possibility that she was now a nanite copy courtesy of Portia, she was sure they'd jump sideways. Outwardly, she smiled. "Operations is what I did before I got command of my ship," she said. Forced command of a bunch of ... she kept her smile glued on firmly. "I've had enough excitement, but if the need arises, the Magnificent will fly again and I'll be at the conn."
"Well then," Raglin said and jostled his drink. "To being Magnificent again."
Mara returned to the party a few minutes after she had left, looking defeated. She found Ingram and Meilin almost exactly where she'd left them. "I couldn't do it," she confessed. "Stupid conscience."
"'He who knows that enough is enough will always have enough'," Meilin said. "Lao Tzu. Stephen Spires shall perish by his own devices; offering him more is wanton evil that is best avoided."
Ingram made no comment. He didn't know about it being evil, but it was entertainment to be savoured nonetheless.
