Ysrip is on the bridge, at the engineering station. At first, it was a relief to have him there, instead of Ahepkur and Ada sniping at one another. But he is studiously avoiding Tallasa's gaze, and Tallasa is studiously avoiding his, and one way or another, the social temperature on the bridge has dropped to the point where it makes Andoria look tropical. */*inaccurate---local environment within standard parameters*/* - oh, learn to appreciate metaphor, you Borg twit.
"Oh, for God's sake," I say, finally, "just ask her about it."
"Sir?" Ysrip turns his carefully blank face to me.
"If it's bothering you, wondering why Tallasa doesn't have a family name, just ask her about it. Clear the air. It's never bothered me, so I've never asked. I know it wasn't her fault, whatever it was, and I know I can trust her with my life and with whatever's left of my sanity -"
"Thank you, sir," says Tallasa.
"- but obviously it worries you, so just ask her."
"Of course," Tallasa's voice takes on a sharp tone, sharp enough to cut me, "I might not choose to answer."
Ysrip looks, uncertain, from me to her. His antennae are twitching like crazy. "I appreciate that the first officer is a member of Starfleet," he says, "so I have to assume that she is not guilty of any moral turpitude -"
"Oh, hell," I say, "you shouldn't assume that, I'm a member of Starfleet."
"To be fair, sir," says Tallasa, with her I am going to be fair even if it kills me face on, "moral turpitude is not your problem."
"Right. Right. I know what my problems are. Could make you a list, if we've got enough paper."
"It is a matter of - tradition," says Ysrip. "I was brought up, I suppose, to believe that those without a clan are - are outcast, faithless, not to be trusted."
"So was I," says Tallasa, in a voice cold as liquid helium.
"I realize it is an unreasonable prejudice on my part," says Ysrip, "and - and I ask your pardon for it, Commander Tallasa." He really does look bothered. There may be hope for him yet.
"Tylha Shohl didn't seem anything like as worried, when she met you," I say to Tallasa.
"Vice Admiral Shohl did not have a traditional Andorian upbringing," says Tallasa. "I did. Mr. Ysrip did, too. I don't blame you for your feelings," she says to Ysrip.
*/*species 4464 cultural influences lead to interpersonal friction---subsume both entities into collective---direct neural communication resolves all personal differences*/* - oh, that isn't true, Two of Twelve. We're in direct neural communication, and I hate your Borg guts.
"Antietta III," Tallasa continues, "was supposed to be a colony world, and a shipload of hopeful colonists, mostly Andorian, set out to make new lives there. There was no such planet. They found themselves, instead, taken by the Orion Syndicate. Some of them survived and found their way to freedom. They had been duped and sold into slavery by an Andorian bond-group... which now has no name. This group had speculated, wildly and illegally, and had arranged this deal with the Syndicate to recoup their losses. When it came to light... those who were my mothers took their own lives in shame; he who was my chan-father died fighting the law officers who came to arrest him; he who was my thaan-father - chose to live on, if you can call it living, in ignominy and shame. My sister and I had no idea of our parents' crimes... but we bore their name, and we lost it when it was taken from them."
"But -" says Ysrip. "Surely, for the innocent - there is recourse, there are routes to - to adoption, say, by another clan -"
"No," says Tallasa, vehemently, her face twisted with emotion. "We swore, Jhemyl and I - we swore, we would never take honour as, as charity. We would redeem ourselves, make our own honour. That's why we joined Starfleet. Both of us."
"I... see," Ysrip says, slowly. "You have... chosen a difficult course, Commander Tallasa. But I have to respect you for it." He frowns. "I'm sure I've heard of the Antietta scandal... I thought it was longer ago than -"
"Oh, that's my fault," I say. "Tallasa is about twenty-four years older than she looks. Time warps. She was with me on the Merlin, when we got flipped into the future by the Stygmalian Rift. Third time, for me... I'm close on two hundred years older than I look. Well, on a good day." Then I add, "Thank you, Tallasa."
"You're welcome, sir," Tallasa says grimly.
There is, otherwise, still a silence on the bridge. I'm hoping it's a slightly less awkward silence, though.
In any case, it's broken by the comms ensign saying, "Incoming transmission, sir."
---
It's never a dull moment, clearly, in this patrol sector. We're detached from Sixth Fleet, for the time being, and operating independently in the margins of Centauri sector space - close enough to the Romulans to be worrying. If you worry about Romulans. Of course, I do worry about Romulans. What did they do to get a separate species number from the Vulcans?
Right now, though, I've got a lot more pressing reasons to worry about Romulans than that. I stare pensively at the dots on my screen, trying to sort them out into some sort of coherent shape.
"Well," I say aloud, "if you're determined to blow a warp coil, this is clearly the right time to do it."
*/*inaccurate---mechanical failures are always to be avoided where possible*/*
Yes, well, quite. Leave it to the Borg to state the bloomin' obvious. "What have we got here, anyway?" I ask.
"Vulcan science vessel VSS Linshal, down with a warp engine defect... but our hail is from Commander Utia aboard the RRW Red Talon, and the third ship is a Romulan Imperial, the IRW Makret," Tallasa reports. "It looks like the Imperial ship has come to the aid of the Vulcan, and the Republic vessel is... objecting."
"Just like us and the Lyrane Star and the Callasthae," I say. "What is it about Vulcans and damaged warp drives this week anyway?"
"I doubt, statistically, that there are any more distress calls than usual," says Saval. "However, they are... obtruding rather more on our attention."
"The Republic commander is hailing again," says the comms ensign.
"OK, let's have 'em. On screen."
The Red Talon's commander is a female Reman */*species 3784*/*, all bony skull and dramatic eyeshadow; her face looks sour, and not just naturally sour - something is really annoying her. "Veronika Grau, commanding the USS Falcon, call me Ronnie, everyone does. What's up?"
"We received a distress call from the Linshal just over twenty hours ago," the Reman replies. "When we arrived, this - vessel - was already in attendance. They will not respond to our hails, and we have every reason to fear their bad intentions."
"Well, I can see your point - sort of. But what are they doing? What are you doing, come to that?"
"The Vulcan commander, Dr. T'Met, says that the Romulans are engaged in repair operations. We can hardly open fire on them in those circumstances. But they have to be up to something -"
"OK," I say. "You've talked to the Vulcans? And they say there's nothing wrong?"
"And there was no solid evidence that Dr. T'Met was speaking under compulsion. But she must have been," Utia spits. "I can conceive no other reason why anyone would trust these - these -"
"Romulans?" It must be a hard life, being a Romulan. Here they are, going about selflessly doing good, and all they seem to get in return is questions about their ulterior motives. What have they ever done to make people so suspicious of them? Besides the merciless warfare, the sneak attacks, and the alliances with some of the most evil powers in the galaxy, that is? Maybe you answered your own question there, Ronnie.
"OK," I say, "maybe we'll try hailing them, see if they'll talk to us. Maybe we'll try hailing the Vulcans, too, and see if we can spot any disruptors pointed at their heads. Mind you... this wouldn't be the first time we've run into Roms with orders to help ships in distress. Someone over on the Imperial side seems to be trying a PR exercise."
"PR?" Utia looks lost.
"Public relations. You know, trust the Tal Shiar, they are all sweetness and light really, that sort of thing. Don't believe it? No, neither do I, really. Face-ache." The comms ensign looks up. "See if you can get some response from either of the other ships."
It doesn't take long before two more faces are up on my screen. The Vulcan captain is a quiet, sleek, self-satisfied looking type, the sort of scientist who's doing pretty well in academia on the whole. "We are no longer in need of assistance," she tells me. "Our warp coils were damaged by a sudden surge in the gravitational anomaly we were surveying. Subcommander D'Kalius, however, has been able to fabricate replacement components, and his engineers are fitting them and carrying out final tests as we speak. We expect to be under way again within eight hours."
"The HBW Makret is under orders to render assistance where necessary," says D'Kalius. If T'Met looks like a Vulcan stereotype, D'Kalius is a Romulan one, thin face, burning eyes under craggy brows, the works. "We did not choose to respond to the aggression of the so-called Republic -"
"Whoa, whoa," I say, "back up a bit. What's an HBW? Sounds like some sort of novelty pencil to me. Your transponder code gives you as IRW Makret. Did someone graffiti your hull or something?"
"Under orders from our high command," D'Kalius says, "we are now a warbird of the Hegemony of Bresar navy. The transponders will be amended to reflect this as soon as is practicable."
"The what?" Of course, I knew the Romulan Empire was splintering and faction-fighting, but this is a new one on me. */*no referents found in local storage---connection to main data archives not available---reconnect---priority---recon
"The Porruma star system," D'Kalius says, "has announced its affiliation to the Hegemony of Bresar, a political unit of the planet Vulcan."
"OK," I say, "now you're just getting me even more confused. And I start off most days confused, so I don't like it when people confuse me more. Vulcan? What's Vulcan got to do with it?"
"The Hegemony of Bresar was a unifying authority on Vulcan," D'Kalius says, "and our commander has decided that, for formal purposes, it is to be revived. At the moment, Vulcan is of course only its symbolic capital." His dark eyes smoulder. "At the moment."
"Uh, T'Met, do you know anything about this?" I'm feeling increasingly lost. I glance at Saval, but he looks lost too.
"Subcommander D'Kalius has explained some of his reasoning," says T'Met. "His commanding officer is, apparently, keen to effect some rapprochement between the Vulcan and Romulan peoples. To this end, she has taken advantage of a recent archaeological discovery - which sounds fascinating, and I am determined to learn more - to proclaim the revival of the Hegemony of Bresar." She does the Vulcan eyebrow thing. "It is, at least, an intriguing development. And if the Hegemony's ships and officers are all as helpful as Subcommander D'Kalius, it may prove a positive one."
"Not too helpful with the Republic, though," I say to D'Kalius.
"We do not acknowledge the legitimacy of the purported Romulan Republic."
"Might be an idea to acknowledge their hails, though. At least in time to stop them shooting at you. Incidentally, what's going to stop the Tal Shiar doing the same, when they see you flying with this HBW tag on?"
D'Kalius leans forward so that his face fills half my screen. "Let them try," he hisses. "So-called Republic, or Tal Shiar... let them just try to shoot at us." And, with that, he cuts the channel.
"Well," I say, a bit blank. "The Hegemony of Bresar certainly knows a good dramatic exit line when it sees one."
T'Met looks unimpressed. "These factions come and go within the Romulan body politic. I agree, it seems unwise of them to announce the movement so... brazenly."
I nod. "They can call themselves the Hegemony of Bresar if they like... they can be a Hamlet pencil, 2B or not 2B... but the Tal Shiar will have a lot of names for them, and they'll all have a subtext of 'fire at will'. If I were you, Dr. T'Met, I'd get my warp drive repaired, thank them nicely, and warp off in the general direction of away, before the shooting starts." I sigh. "I'll talk to the Reman commander, I think I can promise it won't start right here and now."
But it's going to start. Sometime soon, it's going to start.
*/*emergence of new factions provokes conflict and resistance to change---
counterproductive internecine conflicts reduce efficiency and weaken governance and control structures*/*
It's never a good sign when Two of Twelve agrees with me.
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