Chapter 22

"You know, there could be a story in all this," said Sherene, before taking another mouthful of something called cereal.

It was the morning after his eventful first day at Starbase 1, and Threv was having breakfast with Sherene and Chalmos in one of the accommodation section's civilian dining areas.

He gave his shen bondmate a smile. "You would have the Andorian exclusive. The exclusive, actually. I don't think there are any other reporters on the base."

"I better get started then," said Sherene. "Before someone beats me to it."

Chalmos was eagerly wolfing down his own meal - he usually ate quickly in order to return to his work, but hadn't done so lately due to lack of anything to keep him occupied. Threv felt glad to see him return to old habits. He looked up from his bowl.

"What else did you learn about these 'dragons'?" he asked Threv.

"Not much," Threv answered. "The Human ambassador is going to be talking more with them. They seem to be centuries old."

Chalmos shook his head in wonder, his antennae pointing forward excitedly. "I'd love to learn more about their culture. A long-lived, non-humanoid society… Now that's interesting."

"What do they call this stuff again?" asked Sherene after she took a sip from her drink.

"Grapefruit juice," said Threv with a grin.

Azhri joined them at that moment and touched Threv's shoulder. "I spoke to that woman in the diner you mentioned," she said. "And she's letting me work in the kitchen!"

Threv and the others jointly congratulated her.

"It's going to be difficult to learn how to cook Terran food," said Azhri, "but I like a challenge."

"Good thing you're bonded to us then," said Sherene. Everyone laughed at the harmless joke.

Even Threv found his smile and laughter genuine. His problems weren't completely behind him, and not even Azhri knew the full extent of them, but he felt he was on the right path.

He remembered Commodore North's words in the cavern yesterday. Threv had been terrified again, but when the Commodore had said how surviving certain death was a sign to forge forward, seek new opportunities, and make a better life for yourself and others, it had relaxed him somewhat. Perhaps he did have a purpose worth living for, and he just had to find it.

The darkness was still within him, but today Threv felt a little brighter.

In his small quarters, Loxius looked at the subspace transceiver unit in his hands. It was compact and nondescript, but he had still kept it hidden for the duration of his undercover assignment, in order to avoid questions.

Recently, he had taken a perverse satisfaction from concealing the unit in a replica of Surak's Kir'Shara, the likes of which many Vulcans kept in their homes since the reformation. The miniature obelisk was an ancient artefact containing the words of the "philosopher" who had forced Loxius' people to leave their homeworld millennia ago. Hence why Loxius had found it a fitting hiding place for a tool he was using against the Vulcans.

He checked the small encoded display screen on the unit. No received signals since he last checked yesterday after arriving. The same as every day for the past year. It was still his duty to remain vigilant, however, for any signs of contact from his superiors in the Imperial Fleet.

Although recently his duty had become less clear in his mind.

What the Commodore had said to the creatures yesterday had stuck with Loxius. Despite their weak and ineffectual methods, the Humans had prevailed against the Empire. Could their talent for fostering alliances be the reason? Even when Loxius had honourably offered his life - as had the Andorian, confessing to his dereliction at last - North had refused. At the time, Loxius saw it as another failing, but now he was not so sure.

After all, while Loxius would have advocated for destroying the creatures, by talking with them instead, the Humans now had an army of destructive beasts on their side. And, by denying his and the Andorian's sacrifices, and refusing to put the MACOs at additional risk, their numbers had remained strong.

Perhaps the Humans warranted further observation before Loxius returned home. His superiors would be most impressed if he reported back with valuable information on the enemy that had so brutally defeated them.

Loxius returned the transceiver unit to its hiding place and resolved himself to remain undercover for another while longer.

Patel cringed as she heard the unmistakable gruff voice of Supervisor Grum booming through the Control Room. She had know it was only a matter of time before he showed up; she couldn't put off her mea culpa forever.

"Out of my way," Grum demanded of an engineer at one of the wall consoles. "And get me the latest power grid diagnostics."

Patel stood looming over the diminutive Tellarite, her arms folded. "Supervisor. I trust you've recovered from your ordeal yesterday?"

Grum glanced sideways up at her and grunted. "Hmph. It will take more than that to keep me from my work. You Humans seem to have a knack for getting everybody else into trouble." He busied himself checking a power readout.

Patel nodded, giving a tight smile. "I, uh… owe you an apology."

Grum now stopped checking readouts and looked up at her, tilting his head back. "Oh?"

Patel took a deep breath. "Yes. The changes to the power grid you insisted on… it helped us out during the first attack yesterday." She tried to make her smile more natural. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

Grum simply grunted again and turned back to the console. Patel was about to return to her work, content with having performed her due penance, when Grum spoke.

"Do you know why we Tellarites are so disagreeable?"

Patel turned back to him and shrugged. "None of you get much sleep?"

Grum ignored her barb. "To us, all viewpoints are equal. There is no 'correct' opinion. If you want yours to stand out, you have to fight for it. To speak to someone with niceties means that you don't think their opinion is worthy."

Patel considered this. While perhaps not the most civil system, she couldn't deny there was a logic to it. She now understood why Grum had been so aggressively adamant about his specifications; he genuinely believed they were better, and time had proven him correct.

"I suppose that makes sense," she said, not giving the Supervisor the satisfaction of a full agreement. "Maybe you guys aren't so bad after all."

Grum snorted. "There's no need to be insulting, Commander."

"So there I am, staring into the eyes of a dragon like a knight in shining armour, watching as he's getting ready to breathe fire all over Ops, when suddenly - whoosh! He's gone!"

Thorpe was sitting in a booth in Sal's Diner in the commercial building, across from Captain Murdoch. The freighter captain was a little worse for wear after enjoying his shore leave too much yesterday, but he had offered to buy Thorpe breakfast as an apology for the difficulties he had caused (and, possibly, to lessen the bite of the report sent to the ECA).

"Jeez-o," said Murdoch, having listened, enraptured, to Thorpe's telling of the previous day's battle. "That's when those other beasties showed up?"

Thorpe nodded, but Murdoch characterising the lifeforms as bestial made him uneasy. "Well, they're a sentient race, but yeah."

Murdoch shook his head in amazement. "Cannae believe I missed it all."

Thorpe chuckled. "You were passed out the whole time?"

"Aye. Woke up in that bunker of yours, my crew was telling me what had happened. I thought they were having me on until I saw the be- the, uh, lifeforms out on the compound later."

Thorpe smiled. "It's a strange new world."

"That it is," Murdoch said. He stood but signalled for Thorpe to remain seated. "Finish yer breakfast, I'll go settle up, then I've got to go see if that decontamination's finished."

Thorpe thanked Murdoch again and bade the captain safe travels before returning to his bacon and eggs.

Now that he had a "war story" of his own, Thorpe did not quite feel as fulfilled as he thought he would. He remembered what North had told him in the Hangar; that when his time came he might not find it to be all he imagined.

He kept picturing Gamus' dead body and wondering if there could have been another way.

"Looks like telling that story was more fun than living it," said a voice.

Thorpe looked up to see a golden-tinted woman in a 1950s American waitress outfit standing over him. As his gaze travelled up her curves, he discovered that she was likely Draylaxian, if the rumours about females of that species were true, and he noticed a nametag that read "Sal".

He grinned at her. "Maybe I need a new story." He just couldn't help throwing himself into distractions to avoid his feelings.

Sal grinned back at him.