Dark Liaisons
By tremor3258
For the 'Dinner with the in-laws' prompt, ULC 26 on the official forum
Set sometime 'before' Temporal Reckoning but after Temporal Defense kicked into gear in-universe.
Admiral An'riel seh'Virinat had, out of loyalty to the Republic, served two master for years –being 'seconded' into Starfleet when the Republic logistic structure consisted of a few aging replenishment freighters. It had primarily been an information-sharing exchange; Starfleet finding it useful to have a warbird on certain, somewhat deniable missions. An'riel valued the training and expansion of ideas from a foreign culture – learning how to be a captain from a service with a long tradition had saved her and her crew's – her family – life many times.
Most of the Republic's rising stars had done time with either of the great powers before the Rihannsu had ascended again to glory. It'd been interesting, and other Federation-aligned captains had agreed, that the Federation had a weird, ironical trait – reducing entire species down to a trait. Vulcans were stiff, Tellarites argumentative, Klingons berserkers, Rihannsu tricky, and Reman as angry and resentful.
Most of them had some element of truth. The general agreement when Republic captains got together that it was some sort of social engineering, encouraging species to reduce differences in the Federation's vast, improbable collective. The downsides had been obvious during the Delta Expedition – quick assumptions from Admiral Janeway's fly-by had shaped initial diplomacy far too much.
But An'riel had never understood why the Remans had been described as a species with 'a chip on their shoulder'. After the inevitable consult with the Universal Translator's dictionaries, it still hadn't made sense. What her people had done to their neighbors was inexcusable, a debt the Republic would take centuries, given their mutual lifespans, to repay in social engineering. The Federation had encountered shock troops and resistance movements and characterized them as 'angry'.
An'riel personally and privately went with 'creepy' but in less emotional moments she would go with determined. Any species that could, in large number, bide their time and successfully find freedom after thousands of years of brutal oppression could do anything. It was her favorite stereotype: Federation stereotyping, and one she was determined the Republic not take up.
An'riel shook herself to the current task as she checked her dress uniform over for any imperfections. Remembering the infinite combination of viewpoints, and how to manipulate them – was the key to diplomacy, and she liked to go through her litany on the basics to keep it in mind before important endeavors. And Duty; to friendship and family, demanded she give her very best, but the work of ship had her behind.
Sure enough, her door chimed. "Come in – computer, drop lights to eight percent," she ordered. Sparrowhawk complied, plunging the quarters into near darkness and leaving it lit only by the nearby glory of Mol'Rihan, New Romulus, interspersed by the shadows of the surrounding dock's skeletal supports. The door opened, showing Veril, her chief engineer and friend's gargoyle Reman features. Like An'riel, she was also in the ostentatious full-dress uniform, and with all her medals on, and more beside. She was also carrying a set of light-enhancement goggles, suitable for the occasion, enameled and gilded.
"Oh, good, you're ready, I wasn't sure the dockyard supervisor would let you go," Veril said, looking around the room. "I barely managed to get away in time from the surveyor to get these ready," she continued, holding up the googles. An'riel took them gladly.
"Do not forget, the last time we were here, we signed off on a nearly impossible repair job and then skipped the system," An'riel said, as she fussed with the straps. Normally she wore her hair up, and the sizing on the goggles wasn't working with a more formal style. Their last ship, the temporarily commanded Paradox-class Lexington, had its warp coils blown out in a desperate running chase through the corridors of time. It'd been worth it, since they were still here, but the dockyard disagreed, given the massive difficulty of replacing the ship's coils with current technology.
"But Sparrowhawk only has a few scratches. The Na'kuhl may have tried but we patched her up right. She's chirping along just fine," Veril said, patting a bulkhead briefly, then her eyes widening as she caught herself in a reflective surface. "I don't think this is going to work – am I wearing enough?"
Veril gave an experimental twirl as An'riel finally got the goggles on and powered up. She looked like a constellation through the goggle's hardware, and An'riel nodded. She was wearing a tremendous set of jewelry, hand-crafted – standing for wealth, of a proper young lady going courting, along with a chest full of blood-earned glory. In terms of basic fitness for an engagement she was certainly ready.
"I think the Lethean one is upside down," An'riel said. "No – second row, when we rescued the Fury-born, not the Q'onos campaign ribbon."
"I can't even pronounce half of those," Veril commented, fussing with it.
"A third of the name is telepathic and needs their brain structure to make sense," An'riel said, reaching over to help. Veril stood with eyes rolled patiently as An'riel fiddled. More quietly, she added, "I am sorry your father is not here, but Zden would be immensely proud of what you have become in the last few years."
"I still miss him," Veril acknowledged. "But from a mining brat on Crateris all the way to a fleet flagship. I'm not complaining." Veril showed a truly frightening amount of teeth briefly. "And we definitely built a nice pyre for him, in the end. He never could have imagined the Republic. I'm proud to stand with you."
"And we got Crateris back," An'riel said.
"And the Republic got it back," Veril echoed. "Me, related to a Senator? Dad would have a heart attack before we could explain what that meant."
"I can talk pretty fast," An'riel said playfully, and finished adjusting – there were a few other planetary and foreign awards mispresented she had discretely handled, but no need to hurt Veril's confidence. An Admiral had staff to foist work off to spend time studying dress primers. A chief engineer had no refuge when setting up a statement of condition.
Veril looked her up and down as she stood up. "Yeah, you're going to have to explain how that works some time. Okay, the goggles working?" she asked. An'riel nodded. Veril then double-took. "Oh, I forgot to say – Jieth sent an update in his last message, you're expected to go armed in the lower levels now."
An'riel slipped a holdout disruptor out of her side packet and set it down on her desk, and replaced it with a belt holster containing her well-worn plasma pistol. "I feel uncomfortable asking this, but –"
Veril assured her, "No, they're not expecting you to accidentally uncover a Tholian assault squadron in the salad. After the Iconian attacks, they've decided to keep it a thing, in the lower city and the hinterlands. We have a home now. We're going to keep it."
"As long as As long as we can fight the Elements for a chance, yes," An'riel said with conviction. "I am sorry, I would not think I had missed people going armed as a statement, but I only had an hour groundside."
"Jieth said the foreign and military quarters are less overt. D'Tan asked since he was worried visitors would think the Republic was going for another War of Unification while the Federation was weak," Veril said, rolling her eyes.
"That rumor again?" An'riel said in distaste. "Well, we are wasting time – there is only one person you have to prove yourself to this evening."
"Well, Jieth too – we've not met yet, not really" Veril said with worry as they headed to the nearest transporter room.
An'riel scoffed, "Four months of messages, linked by friends of both your families. If there are issues, it is not a bad first impression." She patted Veril's shoulder – carefully, to not dislodge anything. "I am very happy for you," she assured her engineer.
Veril nodded carefully as they walked into the transporter room, and she froze in mid-nod to the transporter rating. The whole bridge crew and a half-dozen of the older petty officers were there, grinning broadly, carrying additional small pieces of elaborate filigree and jewels. An'riel said nothing but beamed herself as she went to each, clasping their hands in one of the newly recovered Reman traditional send-offs.
Finally, they stepped to the pad, being saluted in the usual Republic style for an officer beaming ashore. As the beam-out started, An'riel did have to ask. "Tholian attack squad? Really? That is the pool?" They vanished from the room, leaving only the echoes of Veril's laughter.
The New Romulus Reman district was built in the shadows of the city's great waterfall. Even in midafternoon it was swaddled in shadow. Its color scheme had always struck An'riel as muted if highly varied with elements taken from a dozen Reman worlds. But under the goggles, the sculptures and reliefs sprang to brilliant life. She found herself nodding in appreciation as the transporter beam released her. She always admired a good composition.
Veril paid it no mind, as these were merely the usual mosaics. "The directions said Rhil's is this way," she said, pointing. The two set off through the dark streets.
"So, Veril, have you ever had 'homeworld' Acamarian?" An'riel asked to make conversation. Rhil's had been an early immigrant to Mol'Rihan, and was apparently highly rated.
"We had some of their ship-clans trade the replicator rations back home," Veril said, "So I assume…. Fresher? Maybe? It's exotic, non-Vulcan, and you don't need iron in your blood to eat it, that was what I asked when Jeith asked where to set it up." An'riel nodded at that.
Jieth's main job, after all was his uncle's economic advisor as part of the Crateris delegation. Veril had known him back on Crateris, albeit somewhat distantly given the state of technology through the corpse of the Empire. An'riel had made the initial contacts and then left them to work it out. So far, so good, but one of her policies was not to micromanage quality.
They soon reached the restaurant – not done in the usual reliefs, the Acamarian style went towards bold clan totems. Tribalism hadn't ever quite gone out of style in the Vulcanoid species, but the Acamarians literally carried it to an art form.
Veril, in spite of her protests, started to speed up as they got closer to the restaurant. She opened the doors, and An'riel followed, at the maximum speed gravitas allowed. She paused briefly in the entrance. The relatively well-lit exterior took a moment for even the goggles to adjust, showing the expected fanged horrors. An'riel swallowed as gently as she could, and went to find her monster mash.
'Homeworld' cuisine, from what An'riel could tell, mainly seemed to be spiced grilled meat. The smell of it wafted through the restaurant, with waiters bringing skewers table to table, and some sort of central salad bar. They were led to a back room, set off with screens.
An'riel had a brief moment to pat Veril's shoulder before they were visible from within. Five Remans, three male, and two female were waiting within, most of them older, but the youngest done up to match Veril. At Veril's gasp of astonishment, An'riel stepped forward to not lose momentum.
"I am Fleet Admiral seh'Virinat, introducing Veril of Crateris," An'riel said, with a flourish of the dress uniform's cape. She studied the faces. Jieth was the one with jaw dropped open – his grandmother Aiel and his uncle Tishkent, the Senator, along with his wife Mirta. The fifth was unexpected – more Veril's contemporary in age, male. No one she recognized, though there seemed a brief flash on his face.
"Senator Tishkent, also of Crateris – introducing Jieth of the Republic," the Senator said in deep tones. Apparently also a man with a sense for ceremony. "And, for myself," he finished with a smile. "It is good to see you in person, Veril."
Jieth stepped forward eagerly. Veril, smiling, stepped forward.
"Wait!' said the man, An'riel couldn't identify. "All the effort, and she chooses this Rihannsu? Who consigned so many of our kin to slavery of mind and body? You know, don't you? I can taste your fear."
"Mida!" Jieth barked, standing up. Veril grabbed An'riel's arm, which was already at her holster. She flushed, the old worry of someone anticipating her still, even someone as close as Veril. But the thought of someone in her mind.
"I had the right to come see," Mida said stiffly. Veril turned to look at An'riel, and a bit of borrowed Starfleet MACO hand-code, concealed by the Reman's torso – indicated she should advance.
"And introducing?" Veril said, overly sweetly.
"Mida – a long-time friend," Jieth said, looking weary. "He saved my life twice in the years before Taris's reforms. And three more times after that. I could not forbear him coming to such a happy time."
Time had been bought for the pounding in her ears to diminish and An'riel's brain to kick in. Firstly, telekinesis didn't run in this Reman family, An'riel decided. That look would have been deadly. There was something off here still. "But surely, those same bonds tie you to Veril, then, Mida. She joined my crew at Crateris – we fought the Tal Shiar, and the Elachi."
"Yes, even Rihannsu mount rear weaponry," Mida said, agreeably. "What few had access to a shuttle, while the rest cowered in caves, from drones and hunter squads. The silent killers, and their laughing masters in the Tal Shiar. Oh, sure, pat yourself on the back while most of the Reman were in their place, underground, in the dark. But when D'tan's home was threatened, there you were."
Veril signaled briefly. She saw the trap as well, but An'riel doubted she could see why either. "The Republic is not the Empire, the Navy is beholden to the Senate and the people," An'riel said equitably. "We were a scrabbling few at Crateris – even bringing back knowledge that people were being abducted was a victory against the Elachi."
"I was there as we brought more ships on-line and started to be able to build ships to defend all our people," Veril said. "All those efforts everyone made to keep improving in the dark times, the subspace connections even as everything fell apart. We're so much better than we would be as a client state. And we're not clients to anyone including each other." Jieth nodded approvingly, to Veril's faint blush.
"Well said, daughter-in-law," Tishkent said.
"You can't!" Mida said.
"Mida!" Jieth said, "You've been holding this meeting up for months. This is the reason you want my son not to end with someone who's fought with Obisek and both ends of the galaxy?"
"When it crushed our families down to this, yes! Mirta, you must agree! I saw the drones – where was the Republic's bold Fleet Admiral there, hero of the Iconian War, in these years of strife? And she missed the grand defensive actions then – her history is based on picking and choosing. You must see it! Please, Jieth!" Mida said. "This is no leader anyone for you should pick."
Senator Tashkent stepped back slightly, and then Mirta spoke, clearly startling Mida. "Veril, Admiral – please come with me to the refresher. There clearly are items to settle, husband." Tashkent nodded briefly, and Mirta held up a finger, stifling another protest from Mida before gathering An'riel and Veril.
The three ducked into a very tastefully appointed refresher station. Mitra, face like granite, turned and bowed. "First, I need to apologize. You look absolutely lovely, Veril. I didn't get the chance to say it. And we're proud you have some powerful and capable allies." An'riel matched Mirta's bow.
The Reman stared, and An'riel could feel it briefly in her head. "My, so many masks," she commented. "You are welcome to them - how can I judge, when Mida held such a passion inside for so long? But then, he does have some talent, more than most - though not enough for full control." She sniffed. "He'd have made one of those 'glorious' commandoes in the bad old days, I'm sure, dead as part of the 'debt' our race owed yours."
Veril and An'riel glanced at each other uneasily, but Mirta laughed. "Ah, I'm sorry. Probing for weakness is a bad old habit from the mines. You are young, Admiral. Though everyone is compared to me these days. The Empire's crimes are not yours, personally, and the Senator, and I, and most of Crateris feel we owe you and your crew, and the Republic, thanks for your efforts against the Elachi. Though less of Crateris than I thought."
"This never came up before?" An'riel asked. Mirta nodded. "Such fierceness for an old pain."
"I would not have expected it, and would have set up for him to be unavailable if I did now," Mirta said. "My husband is a fine orator, so perhaps some convincing can be done."
"In five minutes?" Veril said doubtfully.
"I'm sorry. This is beside the point. Veril is interested in Jieth, and needs to actually meet," An'riel said. "Mida's issues are an issue, but." She patted Veril on the shoulder, though carefully, not to dislodge anything.
"You are correct, the children need to see if there is happiness," Mirta said. "But you have your obligations to the Navy. We cannot wait – Jieth in good conscience can't send his best friend away; and if he feels he must challenge your credentials that is within the bounds of friendship. Though far outside good taste. I'm not sure how we could find how to solve this, and distract him to see if you are compatible with my son, Veril."
That made An'riel smile. "A showy distraction to gather intelligence? Watch and see us work, Lady Mirta," she said. Veril frowned, and An'riel said. "It was a challenge to our fitness, no? And he is not perfectly trained."
"I should probably protest, but that's Tovan's job," Veril said. "I'll just save time and get some doctors on stand-by."
"He is my son's friend," Mirta said, "If you two are planning to 'disappear' him, perhaps I should leave."
"Oh," An'riel said, "Nothing so permanent, but I will need your help." An'riel quickly explained, pulling out a tricorder to cover some of the citations, leading to a dark grin spreading on Mirta's face.
"You know this carries a strong element of danger, with his emotions," Mirta warned at the end. "You'll do this for the child? The Republic has few successful admirals who are also living ones."
"Yes," An'riel said, and stopped surprised. Rarely did her life feel that honest.
"So many masks," Mirta repeated, "But only an absolute fool doubts how mnhei'sahe cuts through them. We will try your plan."
Several minutes later, they returned, An'riel leading before Mirta and Veril. It didn't look like any crockery had been broken, apparently by dint of some effort. Tashkent was firmly seated between Mida and Jieth, and from the way the two were poised, it was only his will that kept them there. Some warmth spread through An'riel's heart at seeing the look of hideous delight on Jieth's face when he saw Veril, though it was countered by Mida's positively toxic expression.
"Mida of Crateris – I challenge your assumption," An'riel said. Mida blinked. "I challenge you here to the Fires of Will, that forges so none of the People can break. I will show my ability to introduce Veril."
"What, you've mindspeak too?" Mida said. "Are you an evil Vulcan?"
"Haven't heard that one in a bit," Veril mused. An'riel signaled for silence, stepping to prevent Mida from making eye contact with her engineer. Attention needed to be focused on her.
"There are those in the Federation who paint that broad a brush," An'riel said, "But no. I was not fortunate enough to I am not fortunate enough to be gifted with extrasensory perception. But may in the Forge did not, either. And they emerged purified."
Tashkent nodded. "Ah, yes – that is one of our old customs, from the deep darkness. You really believe in this girl," he rumbled.
"What?" Mida asked.
"You're getting your shot, lad," Tashkent said wearily, and finally stood, patting Jieth on the shoulder. "Best enjoy it." Wordlessly, An'riel held her holster over to Mirta.
"I have no time to wait, if I am to return to the Navy," An'riel reminded the both of them. "Come with me outside, and see my mettle." She stood by the door with a sweep of the cape, opening up the room. Tashkent nodded, eyes like live wires, and Mida stood, slightly bewildered. Mitra went to stand by him, giving an abridged explanation, and leading him by the arm. After a moment, he also handed over his weapon.
An'riel held the door open, until the two left, following. Veril mouthed a quick thanks as she, her hopeful father-in-law, and prospective intended were left alone. That would be worth a lot. Mirta had apparently hit the dueling rules. The look Mida gave her she'd last seen on a hungry guard targ over the Klingon border.
A small park, studded with columns emitting a soft blue light, was nearby enough Mida deemed it acceptable. Mirta sat them both down at a table. "This is an old method," she said. "You will continue until both of you cannot continue, or choose to stop. Only the mind, and the will is allowed."
An'riel calmly folded her hands in her laps and stared into Mida's eyes, smirking slightly. "Has it started yet? I thought I felt something, perhaps," she asked.
Mida roared.
"I'd say so," Mirta said dryly, and outside sound was lost to the pounding in her ears.
She felt a lashing at her mind, images, soaked in pain, was how she described it later. The first, the classic Eagle of the Star Empire, worlds in its talons, but the whole thing burning in thalaron radiation, a jade bird of death. There was a common nightmare. She laughed, and felt the Phoenix of the Republic burst through, lit by the Azure Nebula to a much more serene color.
"That's a dead fear," she heard herself saying, from a long way away. "I murdered it. Obisek and D'Tan murdered it. Everyone murdered it."
The Eagle twisted, Borg circuitry spreading across it, with what sounded like Sela's laughter in the background, struggling to press against her, into her mind. She could feel the heartbeat in her ears. That was an old fear, but some knowledge of the Tal Shiar's methodology had been allowed to leak, to ensure no one sought to recreate them during the Iconian War.
Someone read my service record, she though as hard as she could, and she felt the cold, alien lines, imaged on top of a Warbird, as Simurgh appeared, shooting cannons at the Borg image, the Dyson Warbird her reflexive thought still of a reliable weapon, tearing at the ghostly death-bird.
"More personal," she heard an old woman whisper in her mind. That called other allies to mind, especially Veril, as she normally was, drab work uniform, usually singed from some conduit pushed beyond its normal load by exotic technology. Tovan, of course, eternally reliable. Satra, often opinionated privately, and Jalel, the alien from the Federation, with all its possibilities and dangers.
Normally, her bridge officers, her family, carried around enough firepower to vaporize a small mountain, as they were sensible people. Rarely did it explode – and what contact she had with the outside world exploded into fire – surrounding her, a sheer rage that manifested as heat. Endless, without words, and little symbology her brain could assign.
Such passion could not sustain, but there was a deep well behind it, and she was not breathing –could not breath between waves. There was no such thing as breath. She remained though – pain was another old enemy. She had withstood it – must withstood it, again and again.
She was not sure how much time had passed, before ice cut across it, Mirta's voice. "That is it? Oh – so simple. Medicine could solve heirs if that was it. I'm so sorry. That was never in his consideration."
The pain slowed down, An'riel hoped it was fluttering – whatever emotions were on the other side, only what was sent was coming through. She worked to seize the opportunity – instead of simply thinking resist – she thought of Veril as she just saw her, glowing in the darkness.
The flames started to take form again, the hawk – and she shifted the image to Jieth as she just saw him, concentrating as hard as she could. The flames suddenly broke around her, and suddenly her body reported in again. Mainly, that she really needed to blink, her palms burned, and she had a tremendous headache.
She cleared the gum from her eyes, and saw Mida across the table, mouth working silently. Cautiously, An'riel looked down, finding the table splashed with viridian, vivid even in the soft light – she'd left furrows in the wood on the table, nails splintered. That wasn't going to be fun to fix – stimulating hair or nail beds to keep an untouched image always left her mouth feeling like she'd been chewing salt.
"You really had the arrogance to think your pain was unique?" Mirta asked of Mida, sounding very, very old. Briefly, something flickered in An'riel's vision, a world, instantly recognizable, now ash, a people's home. Mida, said nothing exhausted.
"Is he all right?" An'riel croaked. Mida's eyes flickered briefly, close to surprise. She kept her palms on the table herself, not risking standing.
"In the long run, yes," Mitra said, dispassionately. "Getting this off his chest will probably help, and we can construct some plausible lie for my son." She patted Mida's shoulder. "He did, after all, save his life several times. And his skill is worth developing. Being able to sustain a mind-link digging that deeply for over forty-five minutes shows some real potential." She stopped patting the young man's shoulder – and he slid over, exhausted.
The two women stared. "Ah," Mitra said, "Still impressive. I would judge this the victory for you then, Admiral. And well-earned. I look forward our families joined through your daughter and my grandson. She is a very fine young woman."
"She was before I knew her," An'riel insisted, and then coughed. From how her throat had been feeling, there'd probably been screaming. "She would have been fine as a freighter engineer, instead of me dragging her across all the quadrant's insanity."
"Yes, engineer skills are easy to display without adversity," Mitra conceded, "But we do not choose who the Forge chooses for fuel, Admiral. Now, come, Mida, we will make something of you that stands without Jieth" she said, voice snapping. Mida shot upright – An'riel doubted his nervous system was quite under his control at the moment. "I will tell your daughter of your location. I would recommend some bedrest, however – and as Mida shows, you can stand, but would choose not to."
In a whirl, the two headed into the shadows, leaving An'riel with her headache in the dim light. She looked around, considering. Perhaps I should have tried harder for the Tholian strike team, she reflected.
A few days later, An'riel was still in sickbay on Sparrowhawk as her neurotransmitter levels were monitored. Sure enough, the regenerators had left her mouth tasting of iron. Satra was finally letting her deal with the various dispatches and meetings proximity to New Romulus Command inevitably entailed, though it seemed a Reman Senator had helped keep the flow to a manageable level while she'd been stuck to light work. In retaliation, she'd taken Satra's office as her temporary workstation, which usually kept her convalescence times to a minimum.
A viewscreen gave the view outside – the big command warbird was getting ready to leave the gantry for her finishing touches. Soon enough, they'd be out back in the Beyond, the brave talons of the Phoenix, against the inevitable dark.
The door on the office chimed, before opening – she'd not left it locked. Veril and Tovan came in, briefly saluting, meaning this was business.
"No issues with the resupply, Admiral," Tovan said. "And those shuttle specialists have settled into the rotation nicely."
"I do remember how well they handled those shuttles back at Crateris," An'riel said., grinning briefly at "I am glad to get experience personnel – Being able to let Centurion T'lim take that position on the Cutlass open with a clear conscience was a gift from the Elements, especially since she deserved the chance to pick her section leaders."
"Tishkent," Tovan corrected, holding up a hand. "How many fingers?"
"Three – and very funny," An'riel said drily. "Any engineering issues with the resupply?"
"No, we didn't need that much," Veril said, "We restocked our parts – added a few more graviton emitters to the loadout the way we have been going through them."
"Any geoscientists joining?" Tovan teased. Veril blushed ruddily.
"We just got our engineer back," An'riel said, "Subcommander, please do not break her." She had in fact noticed from the transporter logs how narrowly Veril was returning before being overdue this leave cycle….
Tovan held his hands up, conceding. "Understood, Admiral." He still grinned.
Tovan this pleased with himself usually meant… "Oh, you took the long shot in the pool?" An'riel asked. Veril groaned, and collapsed into a chair.
"Oh yes," Tovan said, "Everyone laughed when I picked Reman psychic attack. 'Tovan, that's way too obvious!' they all said. She'd see it coming!"
"Well, I did not, quite," An'riel said, letting herself wince, briefly. Veril groaned again. "Oh, take heart – Veril. There is always the wedding – what possible bigger gem can be presented to a betrothed than a Tholian?"
Author's note:
That's it for this one – the challenge prompt as in-law was a little interesting. Not too much romance on the captains, but An'riel's been managing Veril's social calendar for a while. :)