PUBLISHED ON Apr 27, 2022
Chapter 9: Winds of Change
AN: And once again, we are back. I apologize this newest chapter took almost two months for 12k words give or take. It's the usual story of life and work and finding time and energy, but still I apologize for those of you who continue to wait patiently for each update. This is another very talk and world building heavy chapter I'll admit, but it's also finally the first proper diplomatic contact between the Federation and the Koprulu powers in various capacities. I took things slow both in terms of writing and build up, as I didn't want to just rush into hard politics/immediate tours of the planet/the myriad other things we see in the shows. Getting to those points takes time, and I decided the soft politics needed to be shown first, at least in part, along with of course the starting exposure to a different set of cultures. I hope you all find this chapter worth the wait, and as always comments, critique and feedback are welcome.
Korhal, Imperial Palace, Landing Pad J-9
March 11, 2528, Koprulu Terran Calendar
1215 Local Time
Everything was ready, or at least as ready as it was going to be. Valerian made a mental checklist of everything in his head. The banquet was ready; he had his wife handling the press for now, even as the news drones swarmed around the landing pad, he had his guard of Raiders lined along the walkway to the pad in proper parade style, and he'd finally made time to shave, much to his wife's consternation. Now he just had to hope this first official diplomatic contact didn't completely fizzle out, or worse.
"Everything's ready, sir. We've even got several full squadrons of Raider veteran pilots in the air, and the palace QRF is on standby," came the voice of Matthew Horner from behind him, stepping to stand beside Valerian in a parade perfect rest of his own. He had to fight to restrain a sigh. As much as he always appreciated the Admiral's sense of caution and preparedness, just this once he believed it genuinely overkill, if not even potentially risking sending the wrong sort of message. He had to fight just to get the reception down to the marines now present.
"Yes, thank you, Admiral, but don't you think this is a bit much? They have one ship, and from all reports so far, I think assuming ill intent at this juncture is premature. I can appreciate caution, but this…" he gestured to a flight of vikings cruising nearby, "…is perhaps sending the wrong message. Especially when they have two of the new Hyperion-class command ships watching them, along with dozens of other vessels. You're treating this like it's Zagara visiting to borrow some more books all over again." He gave his friend and military leader a knowing smile, and Horner just gave a sigh of consternation in response.
"With all due respect, sir, I don't think we can afford to take chances here. Until we know for sure this isn't some sort of UED trick, I would say caution is warranted," Horner's face twisted into a stern frown, "especially given the visitor you had the other night. No offense, Valerian, but I wouldn't be so quick to trust a being that named itself with a single letter of the alphabet, or any intelligence it gave out. What makes you so sure it can be trusted?" Oddly, Valerian shrugged.
"I don't, but what reports we have from Brownrigg so far line up with what this Q told me, to enough of a degree that I am willing to entertain this meeting on Korhal itself. Coupled with Stetman's research into what that Xel'Naga device may have done, or at least allowed Q to do, treating it as nothing but a fabrication would have itself been an incorrect play. Besides, if this Picard and his crew are from another Earth, one separate from that of the UED, then we can breathe a sigh of relief at knowing that they won't be back to try and conquer Koprulu all over again." He gave Horner another sly smirk. "Oh by the way, there's a ruffle on your uniform."
With a barely restrained sound of annoyance, and knowing Valerian had almost certainly done that to try and change the topic with the delegation from the Enterprise soon to arrive, Horner rapidly tried to smooth out his clothing. "Any better?" Valerian gave him another look.
"Quite," that damn smirk didn't waver a bit. "Although you've put on a few pounds, and I remember when you used to be so svelte and smart in that uniform of yours." Horner gave him another frown, although there wasn't real bite to this one.
"And the only reason you're still as fit as you are is because you're married. That and I don't spend anywhere near as much time as I used to running around the quadrant. Turns out fighting multiple wars over different conflict zones really helps to burn away calories."
"So you're saying I should relieve you of your desk duties and send you back out there more often?" Horner rather emphatically waved a hand.
"God, no! Especially not with Mira Han still out there. I already have an entire spam filter dedicated just to her, and an incinerator for whatever gifts she tries to send me. If she learned I was in space again and away from the bulk of the navy, I wouldn't put it past her to try and track me down." The grimace on Horner's face spoke of existential dread, not that Valerian could blame him.
"Agreed, and it's perhaps just another sign we should be thankful for what we have…" His tone grew serious as a keening pitch could be heard, and something began to materialize on the landing pad, the news drones shifting to focus on the pad, cameras rolling and flashing. "Because it is all too possible for it to all be swept away in but a moment."
Horner's brow furrowed, and he had to restrain his veteran instincts, a hand having briefly moved to loosen his sidearm's holster. "It's almost like the Protoss," he muttered, which Valerian assented to with a nod as the materialization finished. There stood ten individuals, several of whom were human, or at least human-like. Others had clearly more alien features, and two were garbed in the same sort of red and black uniform Q had briefly worn that night. Most perplexing perhaps though was those clad in yellow were also wearing what was clearly a form of armor.
The sergeant-at-arms barked an order, and the marines responded in record time. They lifted their rifles, their stocks having been resting against the ground, and with pure and practiced finesse, snappily brought their rifles to rest against their shoulders in a perfect parade rest. Given the mixed looks the new arrivals were giving the display, along with their attention being further diverted by the drone swarm, it was difficult to gauge what they were thinking. The distraction gave Valerian and Horner time to process their arrival at the least.
"I thought the reports said these people didn't wear armor at Konnie," Horner whispered into Valerian's ear. His mind was already racing at the potential implications of this, and so far he didn't like any possibilities. On the one hand, he could appreciate someone wising up and issuing armor for their personnel, especially in a nebulous and even nervous or tenuous situation such as this. At the same time it seemed to represent a rather drastic shift compared to the reports, and he wasn't sure what to make of it.
Valerian simply drew his lips into a thin line for a moment. "Then perhaps the reports were wrong, or they've changed their thinking in the short time since then. Either way, it's a detail to note going forward, and we'll see how it influences things." Stepping forward, his face lit up in a genial smile, hand extended in greeting. "Captain Picard, welcome to Korhal. I am Emperor Valerian Mengsk of the Terran Dominion; with me is Grand Admiral Horner, head of the Dominion's armed forces." Horner simply nodded in greeting, and Valerian could already tell the man was assessing the security detail. He could do to at least be a bit more subtle about it.
Despite his prior distraction, the other man did not even need a moment to compose himself as he took and strongly shook Valerian's hand. "Indeed, it is our pleasure to meet you in turn; it has been a most anticipated meeting for both of us I am sure." With a gesture he turned, and began introducing those with him in turn. "This is Commander William Riker, Counselor Deanna Troi, and Lieutenant Commander Data, and Lieutenant Worf, head of ship security." Valerian shook their hands in turn, that genial smile never once slipping, even with Data and Worf. To Picard's own surprise, the foreign monarch seemed to nod in approval at them, and at the presence of a Bolian security officer among the detail.
"So the reports were true then," one of Valerian's eyebrows arched slightly. "It would seem your people have had encounters with aliens far closer to the human norm than those encountered in Koprulu. Personally, I find that highly fascinating on a scientific level. The closest we've found to ourselves here are the Protoss, and even then the differences are far more stark in comparison to even those of your crew here now, Captain. I must say, it's quite impressive that you've all managed to come together."
"Actually, your majesty," Valerian turned back to the lieutenant commander, this Data, "Despite resembling a humanoid, that is in fact simply a matter of aesthetic design on the part of my creator. I am in fact an android, and the first artificial being to both serve in Starfleet and qualify as a Federation citizen."
"Fascinating…" And at that the genial smile he'd been wearing had become something of a genuine grin. "The Dominion has had a long history of AI experimentation and development, there's even an entertainment AI or two in Dominion space that are quite famous, but I must say, nothing like you, Commander. I think even the Umojans would be eager to speak with you, and they're infamously ahead of us in their robotics and AI research." His grin turned down as another barrage of camera flashes lit up the landing pad.
"I'm sure we can talk about that and much more later, your majesty," Picard opined, looking at the drones in well-veiled consternation. "Although, perhaps we could do so in a more private setting. Are these drones really necessary?" At that Valerian sighed.
"They're not state units, captain. They belong to the press. Believe me, I'd be happier without them buzzing about as well, but this was a compromise with all the networks, large and small. It was either this, or we'd have a horde of reporters clogging the area, and the marines here wouldn't be in a parade formation, they'd be containing what would be a veritable riot. Ever since the fighting at Konnie ended, news and rumors have been spreading across known space, and the press, ever eager as always, has perhaps forgotten about modesty and restraint." He forced his smile back into place, knowing it wouldn't do to let the cameras see him frowning now.
Horner cleared his throat, and gestured to the palace complex, the marines falling into an escort formation as he did so. "If you and your people will follow us, captain, we have the banquet room almost ready, and the cooks have been working themselves like mad ever since you entered the system. Word of advice, avoid Margo's gumbo, unless you prefer your food hotter than the surface of the sun that is."
Picard already knew that Worf and Riker both would take that as a challenge.
Korhal, Imperial Palace, Antechamber
Stardate 40108.3
1230 Local Time
The interior of the palace so far struck Kershaw as odd. Certainly, he couldn't argue it wasn't pretty, it certainly was, and it had a Victorian flair to it that was at the least aesthetically pleasing. The antechamber itself was large, even by the standards of such construction, with a vaulted stained glass ceiling and a large, glittering chandelier. He supposed the size made some sense, given the armor the Terrans preferred, but this place was still massive, easily larger than anything like it he'd seen in life so far. 'You could park a row of those tanks they had at the colony in here, maybe more,' reading the after actions reports to catch up on what he'd missed had been interesting. 'Then again, maybe that's the point.'
He glanced around a bit more, taking in more of the gilded masonry. It was at least more interesting than the banal political chatter of the officers and Dominion emperor. A low whistle from Benson drew his attention, the other ensign wearing a grin of pure excitement.
"Now isn't this a pretty place?" His friend's American southern drawl was oddly more noticeable now the past week or so, maybe exposure to the Terrans had dragged it out of him. "I remember going to Versailles as a kid. Dad always loved the old European castles and palaces. The place was big, but even that seems small compared to all this." He gestured about, the grin looking almost childlike, contrasting the hand phaser on his hip along with the prototype armor adorning his body. "Although, there's less statues or such than you'd think for an emperor's palace. Plenty of plinths though."
Kershaw blinked and looked about, not having noticed that before. Benny was right, there were noticeably bare plinths meant for statues or busts, or even places that clearly had something removed from them. Certainly, in the seat of a monarch's power that could mean many things, even something as mundane as ongoing renovations necessitating things being moved, but the more he looked the more he doubted that was the case. The assorted gilding aside, the antechamber was shockingly bare.
There were clearly missing statues, places where large scale portraits had clearly once hung. They even passed a portrait that had clearly been damaged, and was that a giant claw mark across the torso of the man in the portrait? He tried to get a better look, but couldn't risk slipping out of formation. The last thing he needed was Lieutenant Worf or the captain or commander on him later for breaching protocol during a major diplomatic meeting.
The procession came to a stop further into the antechamber, this area more notably populated by various works of art, and other things, including a suit of armor similar to that of the marines around the room, almost enshrined at the bottom of the stairs ahead that led further into the palace. He also couldn't help but notice that none of the art was specifically of Valerian, although a large copy of Starry Night stood out among the paintings. He took that as a good sign, he hoped, that the man's ego wasn't larger than the local sun.
He paused with the rest of the Enterprise's security detachment, and the marines that had been flanking the group fanned out to the sides of the room. A table had been laid out with refreshments, likely a prelude to the banquet that had been mentioned prior. He couldn't even readily identify half of what was on the table, aside from what looked like assorted sweets. Tempting as it was, this had been the exact reason he and Benny had eaten before they arrived on the planet, even if it had been nothing but a pallet of ramen. It beat the replicators, and it wouldn't do for the security detail to take from that table.
The pause did allow him to look about more, especially once the security detail was given leave to fan out. Taking the opportunity, he and Benny sidled over to the armor. It was mostly gun metal black save for a few of the components visible beneath the plating, a rather grim and monstrous image of a skull painted across the orange helmet visor of the suit. The plinth it was on elevated the suit even more than its already impressive size would have allowed, a simple plaque adorning it. It read "Recreation of the CMC-400 suit worn by James Raynor during his tenure as commander of Raynor's Raiders. The actual suit can be found on the Hyperion, now a museum ship alongside its sister ship, the Bucephalus."
He found himself staring at the suit for longer than he intended. It was familiar somehow, but he couldn't place why, even if it was a recreation. What surprised him more though was the captain of all people coming to look over the suit, and almost seeming thoughtful about it. That was certainly…strange to put it lightly. Clearly his superior had something on his mind, and was clearly melancholic about it, but he knew better than to press the matter. He made a mental note of it though, and just hoped that the older man's head was clear. For all of his virtues, Picard could be stubbornly opinionated at times.
Focusing back on the plaque, he realized it'd been some time since he actually was aboard such a ship, and if the talks proceeded well, maybe the crew of the Enterprise would be allowed a bit more freedom to visit the planet. It was a common enough occurrence, but this whole situation was unique so perhaps that wouldn't happen for once. Still, for those ships to have been made into museums rather than decommissioned or at least traditionally mothballed must have spoken of an impressive history, perhaps one as impressive as that of any Enterprise. "Mike…" Benny whispered in his ear, and punctuated with a poke to the ribs.
He followed his friend's gaze, and the two found themselves before the painting they'd passed minutes before, alongside a rent and ruined door beside it, odd. The subject of the portrait was a somewhat older man, fifties or sixties perhaps if either of them had to guess, with dark almond skin and jet black hair. He wore a severe, unfriendly expression upon his face, dark eyes promising…something, something cruel but neither could explain why the painting radiated such a feeling. It had been clawed at some point, and the claws must have been massive, and he was realizing the door had similar damage judging by the remnants of it.
"This guy must have pissed off someone or something dangerous," Benny gestured up to the man's head, where a large singular hole was visible. Someone had shot the portrait dead center of the forehead. "Clawed and shot. What the hell did this guy do?" Kershaw's eyes fell to the small dedication plaque.
"Emperor Arcturus Mengsk, lest we forget the price of hubris and cruelty," he read slowly, digesting the words. The two turned to look at the Dominion emperor, conversing almost leisurely with the bridge officers before they both turned back to the portrait.
"I don't think I like what this could mean, Mike," Benny whispered, and the two could feel an odd tension building.
"Neither do I, Ben," his mind raced with possibilities. This portrait, the door, the missing statues and other works of art, it suddenly made a much grimmer sort of sense now. Valerian had removed depictions of his father, or perhaps grandfather; it was hard to say given the age of the man in the portrait, from all over the antechamber. Likely, the entire palace had been given similar treatment, and only a few testaments to whatever grizzly fate the man had suffered was left it seemed. 'And for a son to so utterly disown and condemn their father…'
"If it's any consolation, I can assure you, Arcturus got what he deserved," came a voice from behind, the two turning abruptly. Somehow, Admiral Horner had approached them without even making a sound. It seemed that even at flagstaff rank, officers never lost the ability to just seemingly materialize out of thin air. The dour expression he wore was not reassuring either. "I was on the Hyperion when it happened, but I saw the fighting leading up to the palace being breached. Commander Raynor told me the rest. Believe me when I say, that as much as some may think Arcturus should have stood trial for his crimes, he was too dangerous to leave alive, especially at the time. Just take the portrait for what it is, a reminder. Now, I suggest you two focus on something other than the legacy of a dead mass murderer."
Before either of them could muster a response, the admiral turned and easily reinserted himself to the conversation between the officers and the sitting emperor of the Dominion. That hadn't stopped his approach from drawing the attention of the captain, and the two suddenly realized they were still standing in front of the portrait as his gaze turned on it and them. That was all the motivation they needed to put as much space between it and themselves as possible, and instead busy themselves with something else, like examining the odd detailing of the room at large. For all the finery, it was otherwise very much a matter of function defining form.
From where they stood, the two took in as much of the room as possible. The spots barren of art, the damaged portrait hinting at fighting long past and the former emperor's end, even bits of the architecture that upon further inspection were clearly more than just decoration in the event of a firefight suddenly didn't contrast each other. If anything it made sense. The doors in the room, for all their decoration, were clearly heavily armored, there were multiple means of egress into the room, and he suspected it even had roof access somehow. He even began to suspect a nearby vent on the wall, it was massive.
'There is no reason for vent covers to be that large in even a room like this, it's a waste,' he thought to himself, glancing at the assembled Terran marines. 'Unless those aren't vent covers. Firing port covers on the other hand, that would make too much sense, wouldn't it?' The bunkers in the reports on Konnie had been huge, and given the size of the room, he quickly surmised it was likely there were similar constructions lining the room within the walls, all of them allowing for focused fire into the antechamber, fed by passages elsewhere in the palace at large.
In the end, he and Benny came to the same assessment, as much as this antechamber was filled with finery, and reminders of darker times and crimes that must never be repeated, it was all gilding over a very utilitarian frame. This wasn't a modern Versailles, meant to inspire awe by scale and the sheer display of wealth and imperial power held within it, as much as it held the façade of being that. The antechamber alone was almost certainly intended for one thing: Being an efficient killzone. It was one of the first internal points any invader would have to breach on the ground floor before getting into the greater palace complex, and Kershaw didn't doubt for a second that there were myriad traps in the structure at large.
'Well hot damn…' a slight grin creased his face. 'If this entire place is like this, we may have found the one group of people in the universe who are more hardcore about taking and holding a position than the Arcturians.' That grin faded as he looked about again, recalling what he'd seen and read about on Konnie, and the fact that there were likely dozens of traps or killing points in this room alone. 'Let's just hope we can keep them on friendly terms. I don't think the galaxy is ready for this level of peace time preparedness.' He glanced at the portrait of Arcturus one last time. 'On the other hand, maybe it'll be the kick in the pants the Borg should have been, and maybe they'll focus on the Cardies. It couldn't happen to a nicer bunch of people.'
Korhal, Imperial Palace, Primary Dining Room
Stardate 40108.4
1300 Local Time
The first thing that Picard noted about the doors to the dining room was how ornate they were. The craftsmanship that must have gone into them was staggering, with beautiful Victorian-style carvings and reliefs. Certainly it fit for the home of an emperor, but the doors could certainly have been considered a work of art in many respects, and the contrast between them and the people who lived in these halls couldn't be starker. In a structure where function very clearly defined form, where the guards wore suits of armor that dwarfed a normal man, they were a piece of genuine artistry. More and more he found these Terrans to be walking contradictions, and that the carvings on the door depicted scenes of peace and plenty only further underscored that fact.
'Art is one of the most key ways of understanding a culture, and yet they seem to enshrine these works in stone and steel,' his eyes roamed the doors even as they opened, the detailing was immaculate. He faintly noted the sound of conversations falling silent beyond them, and he briefly noted some of the various figures within. 'Given their past, from what we know so far, I suppose I cannot fault them for such active caution.'
Inside, the dining hall was no less palatial or massive. The table was massive and finely dressed with a regally decorated cyan tablecloth, the chairs were ornate, and the room was nicely decorated with an almost hybrid mix of Victorian and Baroque aesthetics. More than the antechamber, this room was clearly designed to impress guests of any sort, if not by opulence then by the quality of the craftsmanship on display, much like the doors preceding the room. The table even had on it the usual sort of decorations one found when fine dining was to occur, complete with the candle stands and lit candles. In a way, it reminded him distinctly of France, of eating dinners with his family before he joined Starfleet.
He couldn't help but feel a bit on edge about it, that the differences were clear and even stark was evident, but the room had an uncanny feeling. It was familiar enough to be recognizable, but just different enough to be strange. It was as if these people both remembered an Earth that was, one that predated an authoritarian regime and monstrous genocide, and yet had an incomplete picture of that heritage, one that bred new styles and mixes of old ones partly remembered. Even the clothing Valerian and Horner both wore, he realized, were possibly indicative of this. His throat tightened, in some ways that would have described his Earth and its many colonies as well, especially with the diaspora that followed the development of the warp drive.
"Hey, Scooter! About time you showed up, we're all starvin' here, and the cooks aren't lettin' anyone have so much as a bowl of soup without your sayin' so. Margo practically brained me when I tried to get so much as a whiff of that gumbo she was makin' too." This voice was quite jovial, and given how it seemed to have addressed Valerian, far less erudite than the room and its owner.
At the table sat a squat and clearly muscular man wearing a fancy suit that looked highly ill-suited to his frame even if it had been tailored for him. He was reclined in one of the chairs, his dress shoes were on the table, and he held a bottle of whiskey up in greeting in one meaty hand. He had a warm smile on his face, and notable flecks of black and grey hair in what was easily one of the most well-kept beards Picard had ever seen. Despite clear signs of age, the rest of his hair was an earthy brown, and the man clearly looked like one used to a life of hard work. If it hadn't been for his more human features, he wouldn't have blamed anyone for mistaking the man for a Tellarite based on his stature and build.
Most prominent about him though was his other arm, the suit sleeve stopping above the elbow. Below that was a large and metallic prosthetic, ending in a claw rather than a hand, the whole thing more a hunk of metal with some more obvious points of articulation than a proper replacement limb. Picard briefly looked to the others in his party, and they all seemed to be drawing the same conclusion and he couldn't help but wonder why someone would opt for such a brutish looking prosthetic, especially someone in the employ of a head of state.
"Swann!" Horner's agitated voice broke the silence, and the man was grimacing with annoyance. Swann seemed confused for a moment, even looking about as if he'd dropped something, before realizing that the issue was his feet being on top of the finely dressed table. With a sigh he dropped them and straightened his posture.
"It's good to see you as well, Mister Swann," Valerian hadn't missed a beat, and didn't seem nearly as perturbed as Horner if the slight smile on his face was any indicator. "We'll have the cooks bring everything out soon enough. For now, I think introductions are in order." With a gesture he welcomed the Federation delegation into the room. "First and foremost I suppose, Captain Jean-Luc Picard, this is the ever irreverent Rory Swann, head engineer of the Dominion armed forces." Swann lifted his bottle in greetings again and took a quick swig.
"Pleasure's all mine. I guess. I don't really do these formal function things too often unless Scooter there really pushes for it. Speakin' of which, word is you folks claim to be from Earth, a different one that is, and that's why he's breakin' out all the fancy decorations this time, that true?" Swann arched an eyebrow and his skepticism was clear to everyone else in the room.
"I assure you Mister Swann," Picard put every bit of honesty he could muster into his voice, "it is the truth and nothing but. The Earth my ship comes from is quite different to the one in your historical records. I swear on my honor as a Starfleet Captain that the Federation wants nothing but peaceful relations with your people." The other man simply grunted and looked to Horner.
"They been screened then and everythin', Chief? I know you've been damn near paranoid about this, but I can't say I blame ya. We sure they ain't walkin' bombs with some sort of Earth made super-virus or somethin'? After all, they're speakin' words that sound a bit too close to those used by the Kel-Morians, and I know firsthand," he clamped his claw, "where that leads." Horner's grimace deepened, the lines wearing deep into his face.
"Swann! We've taken all measures possible and-"
"I can assure you," Riker's face was partly red, clearly having taken offense at Swann's words, but his voice was even despite how stern he sounded, "the Federation would never stoop to such a level. Now I am truly sorry for you if your Earth or anyone else you've had to deal with would use such tactics, but I ask that you at least give us a chance, especially given the aid we rendered the colonists at Konnie." Swann held Riker in his gaze for a moment before shrugging with a grunt.
"Can't blame a guy for bein' too careful," he groused, chastised.
"You'll have to forgive Mister Swann, Captain," Valerian's tone was perfectly conciliatory. "He's a man that's slow to trust, and with good reason given his experiences."
Picard set his jaw and nodded. "Your Majesty, in my time as a Starfleet captain, I have seen and heard much, much worse than a man truthfully voicing his concerns, even if perhaps some tact would have been appreciated. I take no offense from Mister Swann's words, and being truthful with you in turn, I would have found it strange if none of your people voiced concern over our presence. First contact for any group is often a difficult time, rife with uncertainty. I have found that often the greatest progress can come from voicing the concerns such a moment brings." Valerian's smile in response seemed to almost alleviate the air of tension that had settled due to Swann's prior cynicism. The rest of the delegation filtered into the room with a gesture of welcome from the emperor, well dressed diplomats and generals and admirals watched and waited, but no one seemed quite willing to take the plunge as brazenly as Rory Swann had.
A clank of a glass on metal and declaration of "If you want somethin' done…" drew the party's attention. Without prompting from the emperor, one of the other occupants of the room approached with a notably confident swagger. For a woman clearly into her forties, she wore a sly smile and had sharp eyes on a somewhat plump face. One thing that set Picard off immediately was the sheer intensity in her eyes. The woman looked like she had already gauged him from across the room, and the confidence with which she thrust out her hand spoke of someone that feared little in life, even a captain from a planet these people supposedly dreaded. "Brigadier General Alabama Kowalski, it's a pleasure to finally meet you, Captain Picard."
For a moment, Riker appraised the woman, realized that her dress uniform was as tight on her as Swann's own suit was, and quickly surmised that she was almost certainly someone who took her physical fitness very seriously. While he could appreciate that, the assessment came too late for the captain. Picard returned the gesture, and despite being quite fit himself, it was hard not to notice the twitch of discomfort that flashed across his face.
"My pleasure, general," he was at least hiding the discomfort from his voice well, "May I also introduce Commander William Riker, my second in command."
"Ah…sorry, about that, captain," Kowalski's smile had shifted into a somewhat embarrassed grin as she released Picard's hand and more carefully shook Riker's own. Her grip had been vice-like, and Picard knew he would be feeling that particular ache later. "I spent fifteen years wrangling tanks, sometimes I forget my own strength." Riker and Picard couldn't help but share a look at that.
"I'm sorry, but did you say you spent fifteen years working with tanks?" Even to the usually adventurous Riker, Kowalski's claim sounded outlandish despite everything they'd seen up to this point. Her prior smile returned in full force.
"I did more than just working with them, commander. In the Dominion military, men and women are held to the same physical and psychological standards. You may find more women pilots or more often naval personnel, but a few of us make it into the ground pounders. I earned my way up to the rank of sergeant and command of my very own Crucio model siege tank," her face brightened at the thought of those wild days, and part of her clearly longed for that past still. Although they could not read her mind, they both recognized the look of a person longing for days of adventure and danger. It was a look Picard especially had seen on too many desk officers among Starfleet. The woman still thirsted for a time of living on the edge and never knowing what tomorrow would bring.
"Then I ended up in charge of an entire fortress during the End War because everyone above me either got themselves killed or wounded. I was the only one with my head on straight, and I managed to hold things together long enough for reinforcements to arrive. And that's how I found myself fast tracked into the officer corps. And dealing with copious amounts of paperwork." She shot Valerian a somewhat cross look with that last remark, and the emperor grinned slyly in response.
"I am a firm believer in talent being rewarded and that those with the best ability in their fields should rise to the top. Besides, I'd say you've done well in the role, General Kowalski. Unless you mean to say you've gotten rusty in recent times." Her bark of laughter echoed through the room.
"All due respect, sir? As if that would ever happen. Even with things being so peaceful, I occasionally need to remind the footsloggers that Bama the Hammer can still drop a shell within a few meters of their boots, and then a bit closer, all without so much as leaving even the tiniest blast mark on their precious paint jobs," there was a glow in her eyes as she turned back to Picard and Riker. "Not that you folks need to worry about that, but I'd be more than happy to give a demonstration later."
Riker arched an eyebrow, not necessarily against the idea given recent events, but some part of him said it wasn't the time for such talk. "Perhaps later Ma'am. Right now, I am getting hungry and something smells good over there in the kitchens." Kowalski turned her smile to him, a flicker of fire in her eyes.
"That would probably be Margo's gumbo you smell. It's hotter than the lava on Char, but it's worth every bite. Still, if you want to discuss my offer, I'll be around for the whole thing should you get bored of the politics. I know what it's like to want to talk about things that don't make facing down a Protoss charge look preferable, and the Fifty-Second Shock Division will be happy to oblige." Even as she left to join some other officers who looked both astounded and horrified, both he and Picard were realizing this was going to be a long ceremony, especially if all of Valerian's notable staff were so…eccentric, even by the standards of the Enterprise and her crew.
The first thing the captain did after the encounter with Kowalski was see that the rest of the party dispersed as best as possible. They had a lot of ground to cover, diplomatically at least even before the first courses were served. That is how Swann found himself facing both Data and Troi, and wondering if this was perhaps what Tosh would call karma for earlier. He just stirred his bottle a bit, took a small swig, and decided to carry on as always.
"So let me get this straight," he reclined in his chair, eyebrow raised, "neither of you are human, right? The lieutenant commander there I can get, he don't quite look it, real uncanny valley sorta thing, no offense." Troi sighed calmly, but at least Data was nonplused as usual.
"I am not offended, Mister Swann. I am well aware that my appearance and mannerisms are off putting to some. Even among Starfleet, there are those who are unnerved interacting with an android such as myself," Swann's eyebrows briefly shot up at the blatant admission that the…person sitting across from him wasn't even alive in the traditional sense. "However, I am making great efforts to improve in this regard. It is my highest desire to not just understand humans or other organics, but to be one."
"Well," Swann set down his bottle and drummed his fingers on the table, "that sure wasn't the response I was expectin'. The wantin' to be human bit, never met a machine that thought somethin' like that. But hey, at least you're bein' honest with yourself, I guess, that sounds like more of a philosophical issue, and me? I'm all about practical solutions to things. Although, robotics was never my strong suit, that's Kachinsky's area and I couldn't drag him out of his workshop with a SCV, even for this. Guy's a wiz though; the Umojans keep trying to bribe him away from us."
"If it helps at all, Mister Swann, the Federation would have no interest in trying to coerce or otherwise bribe your colleague. Rather, we would prefer open and honest cooperation, and I must admit that both myself and Lieutenant-Commander La Forge are particularly fascinated by your drive systems. The information that Commodore Brownrigg's people provided us was sufficient for getting the Enterprise to Korhal, but we would both like to study the matter in more detail, if possible." Swann let out a rumbling sound that may have been a "hmm" to the two of them, it was hard to tell.
"I'll ask Scooter, he's got the final say in somethin' like that given the circumstances right now, but I wouldn't necessarily be against it. Rumor is your people's warp drives are totally different from ours. I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't intrigued," he shrugged and looked to Troi. "And what about you, Miss uh…I never caught your name, did I?"
Troi smirked gently and just dipped her head. "I'm Councilor Deanna Troi, and I'm a Betazoid, well, half-Betazoid to be more accurate. My father was human, but like most Betazoids I am empathic, with some slight telepathic abilities where other Betazoids are concerned."
The sudden confusion and concern flitting through Swann's mind hit her like a wave of heat. Another reminder that, apparently, psychics were commonplace enough among these Terrans that there was very real etiquette involving them. "Ah," her own embarrassment at his lapse was apparent even to Data, "I apologize. I forgot your people have expectations regarding psychic individuals. Although I'll admit, that's not been properly defined for us."
Swann just grumbled for a moment and ran his hand down his face. "Lady, the fact you can just read emotions is better than what I usually deal with." He leaned in; face becoming more severe and his voice dropping. "Besides, Scooter probably had you pegged as psychic at the very least the moment you touched down on Korhal. When I say the Chief was pullin' out all the tricks to make sure this went off without a hitch, I mean it." He took another swig of whiskey and his face brightened back up, even as she and Data shared a look of palpable concern. "Aside from that, just don't go readin' peoples' thoughts or worse without their permission, things like that. Still a lotta stigma about psychics, even if it is a bit better these days thanks to Scooter."
An awkward silence descended over the trio, Troi desperately trying to sort through Swann's words and the new concerns that arose from this. They already knew that one of the resident alien cultures, the Protoss, were apparently an all psychic species on a power level not seen anywhere else. Now they just had further confirmation that similar individuals were common enough among these Terrans that there were actual social reforms being pushed by the emperor regarding them. If there were social mores governing even empaths such as herself, what about a more psychically active species such as the Vulcans?
"Excuse me!" an excited voice cut through the tension that had settled, and the three turned to its source, which promptly caused Swann to take a very long drink from his bottle. A hand was outstretched to Data, belonging to a man in what looked like a lab outfit that had been dressed up for a social occasion. Its owner also had a beard that looked wild even compared to that of Commander Riker. "Egon Stetman, head researcher for Raynor's Raiders and the Dominion military. And might I add, it's a pleasure to meet you, Commander. I apologize for butting in, but I couldn't help but overhear your exchange with Swann."
Data unusually tenuously reached out his hand and shook that of Stetman. He knew he often struggled with the emotional and physical social cues organics so heavily relied upon, but even to him there was something about Stetman that just looked absolutely wild, even with the intellectual looking glasses on his face. "It is not an issue, Doctor Stetman. I was simply explaining to Mister Swann that-"
"You're an android!" Stetman sounded so gleeful it boarded on manic. Data looked to Troi for support, only to find her as confused and unsure as himself, and Swann's face was buried in his hand and claw. "I mean, an actual, intelligent, self-aware android! Nothing like that has ever been achieved by Terran scientists, not even the Umojans have developed something quite like you!"
"So I have been told," Data simply continued to shake Stetman's hand, unsure of when he should stop, or if it was feasible and safe for him to do so. The man looked almost like a stereotypical mad scientist in many respects. "Although I will admit I do find your enthusiasm somewhat," he paused, having to stop and think for a split moment as to what word best fit his current not-quite-emotional state, "disconcerting."
At that, Stetman's grin simply broadened, and he kept shaking Data's hand. "I do apologize for that, it's just so exciting! We've been trying to make breakthroughs in machine intelligence for the last two decades now. The most success we've had is improvements to our adjutants and what few robotic combat units we have! You're the closest anyone has seen to something made by human hands that can hold a candle to the Protoss Purifiers."
For the first time, Data was suffering what he suspected was a complete overload of information. He didn't even notice Swann offering Troi his bottle, nor her polite but somewhat strained refusal of it, and he barely noticed that Stetman was still shaking his hand. "If I may, Doctor Stetman, while I am sure those topics are fascinating, I do not think now is the most opportune time to discuss them or my own design. However, if you wish, perhaps once the diplomatic situation has normalized, I am sure we could ask our respective superiors to arrange such a meeting. As it is, I believe things are perhaps still somewhat tense."
Swann grunted in agreement, and the three of them quickly realized the intensity of the glare with which he had fixed Egon. The scientist chuckled nervously. "Perhaps you're right. I think my enthusiasm got ahead of me again. Sorry about that. I'll be sure to talk to your captain as soon as I can. It has been such an honor to meet you, commander." With a grimace, Stetman put as much distance between himself and the table as possible, and the trio soon lost sight of the eccentric man. Data sat back down, a look of near-genuine annoyance on his face.
"That was, I believe," he started, and once again had to stop to find the words, "I believe that was what would be described as 'uncomfortable.' I did not particularly care for that interaction, even though I do not believe there was any malice intended on Doctor Stetman's behalf."
Troi cocked her head and gave her friend a soft smile. "Still, you handled it very well given the circumstances, Data. I've seen people with far more experience in matters such as this handle people like the doctor with far less grace." Swann simply laughed in return.
"No offense, but the commander here handled that with the patience of a saint as far as I'm concerned," he took another drink from his bottle, smiling as he did so. "I've put up with Stetman for over two decades now and let me tell you, he's always been like this. Back when we were fightin' old Arcturus, I had to make some very strict rules about him and his science projects on the Hyperion. Namely, that if anythin' he did endangered the ship, he and whatever caused the problem got a one way trip out the airlock."
At the concerned looks from the two, he just shrugged. "Look, you had to be there. I don't deny that he's smart, but he's also an idiot, and as you saw he's prone to bein' overexcited. Also back durin' the war he kinda went crazy. What he should have added to his greetin' was 'Egon Stetman, mad scientist and former Terrazine addict.' Only reason his eyes ain't glowin' and he's not readin' the minds of everyone here is the detox Scooter had him put through, along with the suppressor implant. Now granted, that wasn't all Stetman's fault, but…" he rolled his shoulders. "There's a reason that Scooter has his access to AI research strictly regulated and monitored, and that reason's name is Gary. That and all the robo-Zerg we had to break just to get him off that freakin' planet."
Troi leaned back in her seat and found herself wondering if this would finally be the mission that drove her to be like her mother. This was something that any reasonable Betazoid woman feared, let alone when their mother was Lwaxana Troi. Data simply considered Swann's words for a long moment, the conversations around them falling dull upon his audio receptors. Finally, he decided there was a course of action that he suspected would be intellectually stimulating, scientifically fruitful, and would spare him a session with Egon Stetman.
"I think then, Mister Swann," his voice was unusually resolute, "that I would prefer to speak with your colleague Mister Kachinsky first and foremost."
Swann's grin simply grew, and he raised his bottle. "Those are the smartest words I've heard all day, commander, and I'll gladly drink to that." As Swann knocked back another swig of his bottle, Troi's eyes traced up his prosthetic, she was certain there was a story behind that, and a change of topic was warranted following Stetman's exit. Perhaps she could also glean some other useful information from this. She was hardly a spy, but anything that helped them to better understand the local cultures and politics could be crucial.
"Actually Mister Swann, I have been wondering, if you do not mind me asking that is, about your prosthetic," and truthfully she was curious about it, perhaps in a bile fascination sort of way given how crude it seemed. Swann lowered his bottle and shrugged.
"Well, if you want to know why I keep it, memories mostly, that and to scare any slackers into getting back to work," he chuckled and clamped his claw for emphasis, "but…well, if you want to know what really happened, it all started back on Meinhoff…"
So far, Picard realized, this event had not been that vastly different from the many other diplomatic dinners and similar events he had attended throughout his career. Certainly the differences were glaring and impossible to ignore, but it seemed even across universes and such wildly different cultures, dinner parties such as this followed a similar beat. Unfortunately, and much to his displeasure, that included the droll elements as well.
He was finding that he had no idea what the military officer in front of him was truly talking about, aside from it being some minor conflict likely related to anti-piracy operations with the last standard Terran year. So he simply employed the age old tactic of agreeing with what the man said and giving vague answers and general questions in return. So far it had worked, now he just needed someone to come and rescue him, and hope that this, he believed the man was a commodore, didn't think to ask him about his own combat experiences. Those were not something he was eager to recount any time soon. The irony that this man had also rescued him from the attentions of Doctor Egon Stetman and his apparent newly formed obsession with Data was not lost on him either.
"Excuse me, commodore," a man just shy of Picard's age approached from his right, his nearly pure white diplomatic uniform standing in stark contrast to the darker tones of the Dominion functionaries around him. It almost looked befitting of a Federation diplomat. "I would like to have a word with the good captain, if you don't mind." He wore a genial enough smile, but to a man as seasoned as the Enterprise's captain, he could tell when it was but a polite mask.
The commodore hesitated for a moment, before deciding that discretion was the better part of valor. "Uh…yes, by all means, Ambassador Dalton." The man scurried off, clearly not wanting to clash with the foreign representative. Dalton turned to Picard, his smile a bit more real now.
"Well, with that out of the way," he extended his hand, which Picard shook respectfully, "Ambassador Miles Dalton, representing the Umojan Protectorate and its peoples. I apologize for perhaps being abrupt, Captain Picard, but you looked like you needed some assistance." Picard allowed himself a slight smile in return.
"Think nothing of it, ambassador. I wasn't sure I could take another story about hunting pirates or whatever it was the commodore was rambling about."
"Ah yes…typical for most military types in my experience, but the Dominion has it in spades," he chuckled lightly, with a slight roll of the eyes. "Regardless, I hope they've not too much to color your perception of humanity in Koprulu. We're not all like that, although I suppose there are just some things that are universal in any given type of organization."
"On the contrary, ambassador, so far I have found the bulk of Valerian's more notable staff to be quite…" it took him a moment to find a properly polite word, "…eclectic, but hardly offensive to whatever one may call 'Federation sensibilities,' especially given what I know of your sector's recent history. I'd be a hypocrite if I frowned upon that. You'll find plenty of eccentric sorts aboard my own ship," he gave his own roll of the eyes and a sigh. Some days, being the captain of the Enterprise did have its draw backs that weren't explicitly related to some new threat or anomaly. Sometimes the crew was just as much of a Gordian Knot.
Dalton chuckled again, and took a small sip of brandy. "Given what little I have heard of your Starfleet, I am not surprised by this in the slightest. It takes a certain type of person to not just sign onto any sort of exploratory service, but one as far ranged and vast in scope as your people's. But I digress, captain," his tone became more serious, "I do not know what it is that Valerian has promised you, but let me be the first to say that Umoja is not looking for new enemies. It is true we have one of the most powerful militaries in the sector by dint of our technology, but that has been for ensuring the preservation of our liberties and nothing else." Picard inclined an eyebrow; this was not the turn he had been expecting in this conversation.
"And I am glad to hear that, Ambassador Dalton. The Federation would much rather reach out to your people in friendship and seek mutual benefit. As I have been told or otherwise read, your people were something of a beacon among many tyrants." Truth be told, Picard had some doubts about that. For all the Umojans, as he had read from the information they had, seemed to posture about being a light of liberty in a formerly dark sector, no society escaped such militarization unscathed and without consequences. Even if this Dalton was a true patriot of his people, it wouldn't surprise Picard at all if the Umojans had plenty of skeletons of their own.
"You would be correct in that statement, captain," Dalton nodded, his smile growing slightly with pride. "I will admit, there was a time that Umoja was not quite the military power it is now. We thought our national militia would be enough to stave off Arcturus as it had the Confederacy. We were wrong in that, and it took the UED invasion to give us a chance to regain our independence and rebuild. But today, the Protectorate and its many members and colonies are a role model for any aspiring world or power that seeks to avoid the mistakes of the past. Our technology is second only to the Protoss, and nowhere will you find greater freedom and safety in the whole of Terran space."
He gave Valerian a sidelong glance. "And…as much as it pains my pride to admit it, over two decades since he took the throne, and Valerian has done more to champion Umojan ideals than some of our own people. The free elections and reforms that are sweeping Dominion space are a sign of this alone. Their senate may still be relatively new; having been formed within the last few years, but it's practically a textbook example of the ideals any true democracy or republic holds dear in action. When I was a younger man, I never thought I would see it, and despite continued skepticism, he's been nothing but a friend to the Protectorate. I dare say both our peoples have benefited from his administration."
Well, that was certainly telling. Picard thought he was beginning to get a bead on Valerian as a person, and now he was finding a need to shift his assessment. At first he had perhaps just marked Valerian as a highly intelligent, charismatic ruler who had usurped his father in a time of crisis and installed a more stable regime. Now he wondered if there were perhaps more noble ideals truly guiding the foreign monarch. To have a senate made to perhaps placate the masses was a common enough tactic, but for it to be sincere was another thing entirely.
Before he could probe further though, one of the many rooms to the door opened, another group arriving, and drawing Dalton's attention as well. Surprisingly though, among them were two figures he readily recognized. One was Commodore Brownrigg in a full dress uniform with his various ribbons and medals detailing his accolades as a military leader. Next to him though was someone he had not been expecting. It was none other than Grigsby, wearing a suit that looked far, far too fancy for a frontier scavenger, and one the man himself was clearly uncomfortable wearing. It was almost certainly loaned to him, but it didn't stop the man from picking at the collar.
Seeing Brownrigg finally arrive, Valerian broke off from another group of officers to formally greet both men, which Brownrigg returned with a surprisingly crisp salute compared to when he had first spoken with Picard. "Apologies for being late, sir," the commodore sounded a bit put upon, "but it took a great deal of work to convince Mister Grigsby that a suit of old CMC-200 powered armor was not appropriate diplomatic attire."
Grigsby put on a wry if nervous grin. "What can I say, it's my best suit, and it worked when I first ran into this bunch at the debris field," he casually gestured to Picard, who did not fail to note the look of well concealed if partial annoyance on Ambassador Dalton's face. Clearly, he did not think the scavenger belonged at this function, and truth be told, Picard was wondering why Grigsby was here himself. Much to his further surprise, Valerian gave a polite chuckle at the quip, even as he shook the man's hand.
"And I am sure you made quite the first impression, Mister Grigsby. It takes very real courage to step into the unknown as you did, let alone to risk yourself and your ship as at Konnie. You are to be commended for your bravery." It struck Picard just how out of his element Grigsby was, the man clearly trying not to grimace. "And in accordance with that," Valerian continued, "I will have your bravery properly rewarded once these initial talks are over, starting with having your ship repaired and upgraded at the navy's primary facilities in Sky Shield. I'll have one of my people discuss with you other means of remuneration later as well."
Picard's eyebrows shot up alongside those of Dalton, Grigsby looked like he was trying not to have a heart attack, and Brownrigg looked thoroughly unsurprised. "Well," Dalton whispered, "I suppose the stories about Valerian's generosity are true. What he's promising is probably a pittance in the overall budget of the Dominion, but it's a shrewd political play in and of itself. Assuming the scavenger doesn't die of shock." Picard had to agree with that assessment, especially as Grigsby floundered for a response.
Valerian simply chuckled again. "Thank nothing of it, Mister Grigsby. I detest letting bravery go unrecognized and unrewarded, especially with so much at stake. You've done the sector a service, at risk to your life and livelihood. Unless, you would prefer a medal that is."
As Grigsby stumbled out a proper answer to the sitting monarch of the Dominion, Picard couldn't help but feel for the poor man. Someone next to him laughed softly. "Let me guess, Valerian is doing his whole 'the people's emperor' thing again, isn't he?" It was a woman's voice, but softer and more subdued than Kowalski. She was in her forties as well, perhaps a year or two younger compared to the brigadier general, her outfit somewhat similar in coloration to that of Dalton, and wearing a pair of glasses, her hair tied in a neat bun.
Dalton's eyebrows shot higher as he turned towards the woman, the man almost blanching. "Captain Picard, it's a pleasure to meet you," she said, extending her hand, "Ariel Hanson, President of the Republic of Haven."
"Madame President, a pleasure," he greeted, but it didn't escape him that Dalton was still clearly surprised. It did not escape Hanson's notice either, going by her coy smile.
"Surprised to see me, Dalton? Did Umoja's famous intelligence operatives perhaps fail to keep you informed for once? If so, I'm surprised, usually you seem to know things before even Valerian does half the time." Clearly, there was some history between them at play. Dalton did a decent impression of a goldfish before finally finding his voice.
"I will admit Madame President, a bit. I wasn't aware you were on Korhal. Last I checked, the Republic did not have a permanent ambassadorial presence here. Perhaps you could…" he waved his free hand a bit, clearly trying to salvage some dignity, "…enlighten the good captain and I as to what you are doing here."
"Certainly," her smile somehow only grew coyer at seeing Dalton on the back foot, "I was here on official business for the express purpose of negotiating the Republic establishing a permanent embassy on Korhal. Next I would have visited Umoja for the same reason, but then word of what happened at Konnie reached us here. I decided to adopt a policy of wait and see until I had more information." Dalton bobbed his head a bit, clearly the man was not used to being out of the loop, and Picard got the feeling that with Hanson it was almost personal.
"That's entirely reasonable. I suppose I will have to forward word of this to my superiors," he clutched his drink tightly, "In fact, I believe I may want to discuss this matter with the emperor himself. It would make sense to coordinate this effort between our respective governments to ensure as smooth a process as possible. If you'll excuse me." With that the man made to put as much distance between himself and Hanson as possible, or so it seemed to Picard. A small chuckle from the woman only further piqued his interest.
"And that's a point for me," she said quietly before sighing. "I'm sorry you had to see that, captain, but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with him. Dalton and I have clashed many times before, and unlike him I'm not a political animal by nature. Before I was President of Haven and the worlds that joined up with it following the Second Great War, I was a scientist and doctor." He simply nodded gently.
"Then allow me to be the first to say I think you handled that well enough. It's been some time since I saw a diplomat sent scampering off like that. Although, if you don't mind me saying, that did seem somewhat personal. You and the ambassador have clashed before?" Hanson sighed again and shook her head in mild consternation, a brief flash of anger crossing her features.
"The Umojans are historically and almost infamously isolationist, captain. I still don't know what political wizardry Valerian worked to get them to open up like they have in recent years. The fact their forces are now patrolling the sector more actively alongside the Dominion and even minor powers like the Republic is something of a miracle. Dalton is…" her lips twitched in a smirk, "…many things, including an obstacle I've butted heads with plenty of times. I almost said an 'Old Guard' at first, but he's not old enough for that really.
He's just a staunch advocate for Umojan isolationism. He thinks the Protectorate is putting itself too far out there as it is. This doesn't stop him from getting in my way in other regards. I've spent large parts of my entire first term as president trying to better relations with both the Dominion and the Protectorate, focused primarily on mutual scientific endeavors to help benefit the sector at large. Valerian has been receptive to these ideas and he and I were intending to have a more in-depth meeting on the matter until recently. Dalton tried to intercede in that as well, all the while also stonewalling my efforts with the Protectorate. He's right when he says that the Umojans are the most advanced of the Terran powers, but they're paranoid about losing that edge, even in the medical field, which is what I had been hoping to make the focus of any research agreements."
As much as he understood her motivations, Picard had to restrain himself from letting a growing sense of consternation show. Matters such as this were why he tried to stay out of politics wherever possible, even among the Federation, jockeying such as this between individual members was just an accepted political fact. It was half the reason the Federation Council existed, to arbitrate such matters. The fact that Dalton had been blocking endeavors related to medical science severely dropped his opinion of the man. He vaguely heard the door behind him opening again, and although he wanted to continue the line of conversation with Hanson, the look of trepidation that suddenly consumed her face drew his concern and led him to follow her gaze.
As he did so, he noticed how deathly quiet the room had become.
Standing the door was some sort of …thing, he assumed it was a Zerg given it had some morphological similarities to the one named Ripmaw at Konnie, but it was clearly a different sort of creature despite having a serpentine lower half of its own. The upper half was distinctly humanoid though, with a pair of arms ending in four fingers, her creature's hands clasped above its waist. Its figure was oddly female despite lacking in any identifiable sexual characteristics, and the face was perhaps the most disconcerting element of it all. Despite lacking a nose or even nostrils, as well as its "hair" being a trio of prehensile, flexible tendrils end in what seemed to be pincers for aiding in manipulation, it was all to humanoid. The sclera of its eyes was white like those of many humanoids, with a deep almond brown surrounding the pupil, and even the lips looked feminine. Hanson's trepidation was, to him, entirely understandable.
Around the room, he noticed that Kowalski and Horner had both stiffened and were casting furious glares towards Valarian. Around them lesser officers reached sidearms that were not there. The marines around the room, along with the members of his ship's security, all tensed as well, and even Worf looked discomforted. Dalton was grimacing, the man seemingly having expected this at some point while still not being truly prepared for it. Grigsby was transfixed and seemingly horrified, rooted in place. Brownrigg held a stern frown that betrayed a sense of disgust held in check by his years of experience. Swann scowled as well, his claw letting out a resounding clang as it clamped shut.
Data had partly interposed himself between the thing and Troi, something astoundingly close to genuine shock and concern writ across his artificial features. Troi seemed to be trying to shield herself from something unseen to those lacking psionic abilities. To her, the sudden tension in the room was blinding, almost painful, and the arrival of the Zerg must have been like staring at a sea of stars to her empathic abilities. Riker simply clenched his jaw and made as if to stand his ground.
The only one that seemed to be totally composed was Valerian, who seemed to be taking a detached interest in the reactions of those around him. It dawned on Picard that, just maybe, Valerian had planned this, to an extent, perhaps not even telling his right hand about it. That he had allowed all the other representatives and functionaries of his military and what other powers could attend this meeting to arrive first, and then allowed this creature entrance into the room, was perhaps further proof of this. The question lingered though, why? And what role did such a plan and creature serve?
The being observed the room in turn, seemingly keenly aware of the sudden tension at its entrance, but more and more it was becoming apparent that not only were some of those in the room fixated on the creature, but him as well as others soon followed its gaze. He felt his jaw clench involuntarily, teeth grinding. He knew something of the Zerg thanks to the first contact package provided by Brownrigg, of their strange hive mind nature within their Swarm, of the individuals designated broodmothers within it, the monstrous leaders of the lesser organisms. It still confounded him as to how a hive mind could seek peaceful relations with species consisting of individuals, and yet perhaps its presence was proof of that. This was not a broodmother, but it was a Zerg, and yet it was not observing the room in quite a predatory way, nor was it readily taking hostile action.
The creature slithered into the room and towards him and Hanson, and he had to fight the instinct to put himself between it and her, even as it stopped a respectful distance away from them. It appraised him, much closer now, and he sternly, confidently, even defiantly met its gaze. If the thing thought it could humble him by presence alone, he sincerely hoped to disappoint it.
Then, to his surprise, the creature made a bow of sorts. "Captain Picard…" its voice was melodic, disturbingly female, "…I am Sylddurn, emissary of the Swarm. I extend greetings from the Overqueen and the Swarm at large to the many peoples of your Federation. The Overqueen sends her regrets that she was not able to attend this first meeting personally, but other matters have required her attention for the time being. As I understand it, this is a formal dinner, a means of 'breaking the ice' to use a Terran idiom. I understand that it is not a time of serious diplomatic discussion, but when these humanoid formalities are over, I would like it to be known that I am eager to speak with you and your people. The Swarm is curious about its newest neighbors, and the second new arrivals from outside of the sector in such a short a time, who also wishes for peaceful coexistence."
"Second new arrivals? Who was the first?" Riker demanded, perhaps a bit more brusquely than Picard would have liked. The thing, this Sylddurn, turned to him with a genial smile that was not as disarming as the creature may have hoped it to be.
"A young broodmother named Lunash encountered an enterprising group of prospectors on a barren world she and her brood were preparing so that the Swarm may heal it and give it life once again. Despite her inexperience and mutual fears and distrust, she managed to negotiate the basis for the Swarm's first true trade agreement. We expect great things as soon as the Overqueen and the master of the prospectors approve the finer details. They called themselves the Ferengi."
Riker's jaw dropped; the room silent once again for a moment before he rallied himself. "The Ferengi!? The Ferengi made first contact with the-with your people?" Sylddurn nodded respectfully.
"Quite. And if they hold to their word, there are already those in the Swarm that are looking forward to a fruitful new relationship, one that goes beyond military cooperation and simple politicking, a true novelty to the Swarm," she turned back to Picard. "The Overqueen hopes for the same from your people in turn."
With a heavy sigh, Riker turned to his captain, a weary look upon his face. "Never a dull moment is there, sir?"
AN: And if any of you made it this far after 12k words of all...this politics and cultural clashing and such...thank you for sticking with me through this sporadic update schedule and whatever else comes. Sincerely, thank you. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get some rest.
Edit: In my haste and fatigue, I forgot to credit my beta readers. This will not stand.
Special thanks to Follower38, knolden, Kisame12794, TripleMRed and Myuu for beta reading this chapter, being patient as saints with my progress, the occasional flimsy idea, helping catch all the little errors I missed, and just generally everything that goes with being a beta reader. Without them, this chapter wouldn't have happened, and the story wouldn't be what it is.