THE LOST YEARS
by Soledad
PRELUDE: CROSSROADS
Disclaimer: see Introduction.
Rating: PG-13, for this chapter – just to be on the safe side.
Author's notes:
It's mentioned in the later Trek series that Venus is still undergoing terraforming. I changed that little detail, so that I could invent the homo iridiensis. The Mars-Earth problems are my doing, too, and yes, I wrote this way before Babylon 5. The name Malacandra for Mars is from C. S. Lewis' novel, chosen by Mars citizens consciously, to set themselves apart.
CHAPTER 7: DIPLOMATIC RELATIONSSarek, Ambassador of Vulcan on Earth, aside from having a seat in the Federation Council, was an impressive sight to behold. He was a tall man, as tall as Spock, his son, but had a heavier built, with considerably broader shoulders and more muscle. The official garment of his status looked more like the robes of the high priest of some oriental cult from Earth's past: a long, hooded dark brown robe, thickly embroidered with gold and adorned with multi-coloured jewels. Its heavy, vertical folds made the ambassador look even bigger, more powerful, almost intimidating.
Despite his silver hair and the well-known fact that he was a hundred and five years old, he looked almost youthful – maybe due to his chiselled, aristocratic features, maybe due to his dark eyes that seemed to notice everything and always on alert. His wife, a charming human lady, clad in a long, pale blue dress and wearing floating white veil that encircled her face and was thrown back over her shoulder, looked on his side as a lovely, fragile but undoubtedly wilting flower.
If Sarek was surprised to see his son in the dress uniform of the Colonial fleet, he didn't show it. Just as he found it below his dignity to ask who the beautiful young lady was – wearing a shoulder-free, dark blue evening dress, interwoven with silver, and a diamond headdress in the dark cloud of her long, wavy hair – who accompanied Spock, leaning lightly onto his arm. Amanda, however, didn't found such Vulcan reserve obligatory for herself, and as soon as Sarek walked away to greet the other guests, she asked her son straight out.
"Would you mind to introduce us to each other, Spock?"
"Certainly, Mother," Spock touched his palm to his mother's in Vulcan manner. "This is Miss Athena, communications expert aboard the Galactica and Commander Adama's daughter. My mother, Dr. Amanda Grayson."
"I'm honoured, Siress Amanda," Athena curtseyed deeply, following old Caprican tradition; as the member of a patrician family, she had been taught very thoroughly how to be a young lady of a good house. "Lieutenant Uhura mentioned that you are a linguist. Should you have some spare time, I'd love to discuss with you the questions concerning our shared area of expertise."
"Do you intend to start a civilian career?" Amanda asked. Athena made an uncertain gesture.
"I'm not sure, not yet. Of course, should we get the chance to lead a peaceful life, after all those years of war, I could imagine it, actually."
"Well, the negotiations will undoubtedly take time, which would give us the opportunity to organize a private meeting," Spock's mother answered in a friendly manner. "I wanted to ask Lieutenant Uhura's help concerning various extraterrestrian languages anyway. Maybe we could form a little workshop, the three of us."
"Mother," Spock reminded with a slight frown, "you should not over-extend yourself with work so soon. Dr. Corrigan said..."
"I now what he said," Amanda dismissed his concerns with a wink. "I should sit on my laurels all day and let the rest of the world spoil me. Could you spend your day like that?"
"Not really," Spock admitted. His mother shot him an amused look.
"Why do you think that I would be willing to do so, then?"
"That is not the same, Mother," Spock protested. "I am a Vulcan, and…"
"A half-Vulcan," his mother emphasized. "You are just as much my son as you are your father's. Even if this should make you uncomfortable."
"Please do not be absurd, Mother. It is documented that the Vulcan genome is dominant in my genetic makeup. I find your reaction rather illogical."
"Small wonder," Amanda commented dryly. "I'm just a human, after all."
Spock nodded. "Exactly. Which is the reason why you should admit that – even as a half-Vulcan – I have a much better stamina. Besides, I'm considerably younger, which means that I do not have to save my strength."
"Isn't it just lovely, to hear from my own son that I'm with one leg in my grave already?" Amanda commented sarcastically; then she took Athena's arm. "Join me, Miss Athena. We can talk before the dancing starts. Let's hope that in the meantime my son manages to set his Vulcan superiority complex aside and proves to be a more or less acceptable dancing partner."
The captain of the Rising Star raised the average temperature aboard his ship as a courtesy to the visitors, since they didn't have to save energy anymore. As a result, the ladies could afford to wear their most daring dresses, without freezing to death. And by the Lords of Kobol, did they ever wear them!
Uhura chose the robe she would have worn at home, during ceremonies, as it symbolized her status among her people. Actually, it wasn't really a robe at all, just a long piece of scarlet cloth, interwoven with gold, worn like the sari of an Indian woman. It left her left shoulder free, while its richly-embroidered end was thrown forward over her right shoulder. The golden bracelets worn on her naked upper arms were shaped like the serpents of wisdom, their ruby eyes glittering as if they were alive. She twisted her hair into a knot on the nape of her neck, decorating the hairdo with tiny golden bells. The large golden spirals in her ears cast trembling spots of light on her neck. On the middle finger of her left hand she wore a ring with a large oval design that half-covered the delicate bones of the hand. This ring – and the gold-and-ebony collier – would have revealed her high social and religious status to anyone who knew the customs of her people.
Of course, there was no one who would have been familiar with the complicated hierarchy of Munguroo's cult-pyramid. Not even members of other tribes were told about those things, not to mention strangers or even aliens. (Spock was the only exception, due to his decades-long friendship with Uhura, but the Vulcan was good at keeping secrets.) Still, everyone forgot to breathe when he entered the room, accompanied by Tigh in a dark blue dress uniform.
And that although the most various forms of feminine beauty were represented at the reception. There were richly-clad Deltans, who still looked incredibly naked due to their bald skulls and who were able to make dizzy everyone of the opposite gender (or of the same one, for that matter) with the simple release of their pheromones. There were Vulcans, clad with the elegant utility of their race, their chiselled features emphasised by the glittering white jewels in their jet-black hair. There were the slender and lizard-like limber Saurians, seen on Earth in the 20th centaury already, with their huge, round golden eyes and slanted pupils and metallic shining head scales. There were amphybic sirens from the planet Aqua, covered by pale blue scales from head to webbed toes, who only wear clothes as a courtesy to the sensitivities of other species, the whirling tentacles on their heads looking like wind-blown hair...
This was the first time that the representatives of the Colonial Fleet met such an exotic variety of intelligent, humanoid life. Tigh and Boomer were most surprised by the spontaneous mutations that had occurred on the early Terran colonies, though. They stared in utter bewilderment at Tillottama, the representative of the Venus colonies; she was more than six feet tall, her ebony skin covered by silky, silvery scales, and in the middle of her forehead a jewel-like implant pulsated in reddish light.
The ambassador of Iride endured their scrutiny rather good-naturedly.
"You're going to have more surprising encounters in the near future," she said in a surprisingly high-pitched and soft voice. "Just wait until you meet some methane breathers or shapeless creatures. Not to mention the shape-changers, like the Drelb."
"Or the various feline species," Uhura added with a smile. "And the three-armed and three-legged Edoans."
"I heard that the Enterprise actually does have some crewmembers from feline species," Tillottama remarked. "And how's Lieutenant Arex doing? I've hoped for a chance to hear him play his sessica again."
"He's doing well… as always, it seems," Uhura answered. "And my Caitian aide, M'ress is on duty right now. The Captain decided to send only humanoids onboard the colonial ships first. People will have a hard time to fight their xenophobia as it is."
"True enough," the ambassador of Iride nodded. "In their eyes I'd barely look as a human being myself. To be accurate, I'm not one, not any longer. The changes has become too profound already; the homo iridiensis has become a species of its own, unlike the peoples of the Mars."
"A fact we of Malacandra regret very much," Lieutenant Masters, who represented Engineering, as Scott had to return to the Enterprise, commented dryly. "We'd prefer the differences between us and the Terrans to be more obvious, aside from our endurance against cold temperatures and our non-violent culture."
"May I ask why?" Tigh was a little bewildered.
But Charlene Masters simply shook her head and gave no answer.
"Earth has not always been fair to her first colonies, Colonel," Uhura answered in her stead. "This was a debt that tore deep wounds and is hard to repay. Should you have the chance to talk to Ambassador Sarek, you might learn interesting things. Vulcan – and Centaurus, for that – used to have much better contacts to the Mars Colonies for a while than Terra."
"Thankfully, those times are gone now," Lieutenant Masters laid her hand upon Uhura's arm in a reconciliatory gesture. "And your people had never any fault in it, amuntu."
"Nevertheless, this is a collective debt of mankind," Uhura replied seriously, " and even the people who had not been in any position of power in those times have to carry part of this debt. But we should not discuss such depressing topics during a reception. We are here to have a good time, after all. For everything else, we'll have enough time later."
Commander Adama's angular cheekbones looked like the work of a particularly skilled sculptor. High age might have given the rest of his face a slightly grandfatherly look, but the bone structure was still that of a born aristocrat. His dark, penetrating eyes belied the jovial expression of his face; they could be as cold as ice. The warriors under his command feared him as much as they loved him, and the same was true for the civilians aboard every single ship of the Fleet. He was loved and highly respected, but not as other commanders would be. Due to the fact that it had been mostly by his virtue that at least a small percent of their people could escape utter destruction, he had become something like a religious icon. He was not comfortable with that, but didn't hesitate to use it to his – to the whole Fleet's – advantage against the Quorum of Twelve if necessary.
Sometimes he had to laugh at the ridiculous superstitions surrounding his person. He knew that some of the people aboard the Galactica whispered that if he got angry, his eyes glow in a cold, unholy fire that would force everyone into submission. He sometimes wished it would be true. It certainly would have made dealing with the Quorum of Twelve a lot easier.
Although he was tall and strong, he had none of the clumsiness muscular men sometimes displayed. His gestures were smooth and graceful, and there was an ease in his bearing – despite his slightly bowed stance, another result of his high age – that made even his adversaries comfortable in his company. Assuming, of course, that he was comfortable in their company.
He stood alone, distancing himself from his colleagues in the Quorum of Twelve. Their toasts, honouring the new, unusually powerful allies, rang false in his ears. Contemplating the millions of stars visible through the huge window of the Rising Star reminded him (as it should have reminded everyone with the slightest sense of true measure) of his own insignificance in this universe that most likely wasn't even his own. Measured by the eternity of the universe, even the historic event taking place right now – the possible end of their long odyssey, the possibility to find a new home for their much-suffered people – was small and insignificant.
Men fight wars, he thought tiredly. Then they cheer the coming of peace. But even while they are doing that, they always seem to seek out a new fight, just to keep the peace from becoming too comfortable. Will this infernal circle be ever broken? Will the Quorum learn from the mistakes of the past, stop their childish squabbling and finally learn to act with the responsibility that had been entrusted to them? As much as he wanted to believe it, he found he couldn't.
It seemed, however, that nobody aside from him was nurturing such pessimistic thoughts. Everyone else seemed to have a good time, Colonial fugitives chatting amiably with Federation diplomats or Starfleet officers. Perhaps they wouldn't even notice if he quietly left, returning to the Galactica, the only place where he was truly needed... where the true outcome of their long flight will finally be decided. Just as it had been decided in all the long yahrens of their search.
But as he began to drift towards the exit, a tall shadow was cast in his way. He looked up in surprise and recognized the approaching tall, imposing man as the Vulcan ambassador.
After the opening dance, Sarek of Vulcan had a few short and rather futile discussions with various members of the Quorum of Twelve. Thank his experienced eye and his decades-long experiences among humans, he understood quickly enough that the diplomats of the fugitives were among the worst ones of this particular bred of humanity: people, who – lacking true influence – held stubbornly to their formal powers. Siress Tinia seemed the most intelligent among them, but even she was almost as obstinate and narrow-minded as his male colleagues.
Having made his first – and not very encouraging – impressions, Sarek smoothly passed the members of the Quorum to his own colleagues who had originally been chosen to accompany him during the negotiations with the Tholians. He new that the unshakably calm Tillottama would be able to keep the situation under control while he talked to Commander Adama. Sarek expected better insights from the unyielding old warrior than from the whole Quorum together.
"Well, in truth, the Quorum of Twelve isn't completely made up of idiots," Adama laughed, after they had retreated to the office of the Rising Star's captain to have some privacy. "After all, I am a member of the Quorum myself, and as you might have realized by know, Siress Tinia can be quite reasonable."
"Indeed," Sarek admitted thoughtfully.
"She is a very smart woman," Adama added as an afterthought. "Arians usually are. Sometimes she is even willing to listen to others, what isn't necessarily characteristic for most members of the Quorum. When the negotiations start in earnest, you'll be able to count on her. And on me, of course."
"That is at least a step into the right direction," Sarek said. "The most important thing is that your ships get as far from the rift as possible. My son estimates that the rift will not even begin to close any earlier than ten standard days. That is a long enough time for these Cylons to reach it and cross it, if they are determined enough to find you at any costs."
"Trust me – they are," Adama replied grimly. "How long will it take, according to Commander Spock's calculations, until the rift closes completely? He mentioned lately that he couldn't give any exact date for it."
"That is correct," Sarek nodded, "but he has, at least, calculated the probabilities. According to his theory, based on the current rate with which the anomaly is tightening, the rift needs at least 22.4,3 standard days to shut down completely. Unless, of course, one should try to seal it artificially, with antimatter. But that would be a very risky maneuver."
"Why?"
"As far as we know, it has never been tried before. Should the experiment backfire, we could create a new rift, many times the size of the current one. And since we have no idea where such an anomaly actually leads – into another galactic quadrant, into another galaxy or into an entirely different universe – the consequences could be beyond our comprehension."
"Which means, it'll be safer to allow the rift to close on its own," Adama finished logically.
The Vulcan nodded. "Correct."
"That could mean a battle with the Cylons, though," the old commander warned. Sarek folded his hands and pressed the tips of his index fingers against each other and to his lips.
"We are aware of that, commander. However, the Federation is very much capable of protecting its own territory. We already have four heavily armed ships here, and Captain Kirk has asked for reinforcements. The laser cannons of the Cylons should not be a real danger for Constitution-class ships. And their weapons can doubtlessly level out the Cylons' advantage in numbers."
"I'd be more careful with my optimism," Adama shook his head. "Cylon base stars are the purest killing machines. And Cylon hunters are incredibly fast and maneuverable. They could very well endanger big ships."
"I am not an expert when it comes to tactical decisions," Sarek admitted, "but that is what we have Starfleet with its experienced starship commanders. Captain Suvuk of the Intrepid has analysed your data about the Cylons and is working with the experts aboard the Divine Wind to develop a tactical plan as we speak."
"With all due respect," Adama said, "I'm afraid that won't be enough. These people have never fought Cylons."
"But they have fought Klingons, or the pirates of Orion," Sarek replied. "Nevertheless, should you wish to work with them on the plan, you are most welcome to do so. All you have to do is to contact Captain Braga from the Divine Wind. He is a man open for good advice, as humans say."
"Even if said advice comes from the fugitive commander of a beaten fleet?" Adama asked pessimistically.
Sarek raised a perfect Vulcan eyebrow.
"Surak – the one who taught our people the path of peace – said that a victory through violence is no victory at all," he replied. "Therefore, I cannot understand why your military defeat should make you unfit to offer advice, based on your personal experience with the enemy."
Colonel Tigh rarely used his influence for personal advantages. To be correct, this was the first such time ever. His threatening manner – especially because it had never been shown earlier – intimidated the manager of the Rising Star's elite restaurant so much, that he opened for the colonel and her lovely guest the private separee usually reserved for the Quorum members... well, after some weak protests. When the reception – and the hubbub that came with it – reached its peak, Tigh navigated Uhura over to this private room, without stirring any attention.
Uhura looked around in amazement.
"Where are we?" she asked. "And why have you brought me here?"
"This is a private room," the colonel replied, "and I have no hidden agenda, Siress Uhura. All I want is to enjoy your company without interruptions, so I… well, persuaded the manager of this establishment to open this suite for us."
"You should not have make such expenses," Uhura shook her head tolerantly, although she was a little flattered. "This looks... luxurious, I'd say. No doubt, so will be the price."
Tigh shrugged.
"This is the best we can currently offer," he said. "Back on the homeworld, there had been wondrous places we could have visited – many of them were a lot more amazing than this is. And even this is limited to a few chosen people in the entire Fleet. But this is the first time since the destruction of our colonies that I can go out with a beautiful woman, so I thought I can afford to spend some of the money I never use anyway." He leaned closer, with a conspiratory expression: "I happen to know that you get here the best ambrosa of the whole Fleet."
Uhura smiled. "Sounds promising. But I'd like to set something straight first – are we having a date?"
Tigh nodded. "If you don't mind. I've got a lot to catch up in the romantic department."
Uhura nested into the colourful silk pillows on the couch and folded her legs under herself with cat-like grace. At least she thought the pillows had silk cases… they certainly felt like silk.
"I like it romantic," she said with a delighted laugh. "And I have to admit that you impress me, with going such great lengths for my sake."
Tigh absent-mindedly folded his cape and laid it over the back of a chair. Then he sat down next to her.
"If I managed to impress you, then the invention has paid out already," he answered, taking her hand and kissing her palm as he always did when they were alone. "May I call the waiter now?"
"It's your ship," Uhura replied.
"In a sense," Tigh corrected and rang the bell."
A fragile, elderly waiter – with a wrinkled face and very dark-skin – entered and presented two bottles without asking. Both bottles looked rather old, and one of them had a strange, angular golden seal.
"I heard you wished something special for tonight, Colonel," the old man bowed with surprising ease. He offered the open bottle first and poured some of its contains in two tall, slender silver chalices. "This is the best vintage we still have. But this," he placed the gold-sealed bottle in front of Tigh, "is unique."
"Why, it certainly is!" Tigh checked the golden seal and whistled. "This is from the Old Cellars of Libra! How did you manage to get it?"
"My father used to be the Cellar Master there, Colonel," the old man said. "When our homeworld was destroyed, I was visiting my home and could escape on a freighter. Only two bottles remained from the Old Cellars. This is one of those. I'll keep the other one, and if we ever find a new home, I'll open it and empty it myself."
"But why are you offering this to me?" Tigh asked, a little surprised. "You could have people bargain for it and probably earn your own ship."
The old man shook his head. "This bottle is too precious to have drunken fools bargain for it. But you, Colonel, you and your warriors, have protected the rest of our people during the long years of flight. You made our survival, as a folk and as individuals, possible in the first place. This is my gift to you, a sign of our gratitude. May it give you and the Siress joy."
With that, he bowed again and left noiselessly. Tigh shook his head in amazement, unable to say anything.
"You know, Siress Uhura," he finally said, "there were times when I thought the civilians had no idea what it cost us to protect their lives. Those were hard times, without any relief. And I don't believe the future will be easy, either, not even with the help of your Federation. To build a new home will take a long time and demand much hard work… if we ever manage it."
"Are you thinking of giving up your career as a military officer?" Uhura asked. Tigh thought about if for a moment.
"I don't believe I could continue the same way," he then answered. "I've carried the burden of responsibility too long, without being allowed to take part of the important decisions."
"That's the fate of all First Officers," Uhura smiled. "That's why they get promoted to starship captains, after the proper amount of time."
"Usually, they do," Tigh agreed. "But our Fleet doesn't exist anymore, and I don't believe it would be re-built during my lifetime."
"What are you planning to do with your life, then?"
"Honestly? I don't know. Not yet, anyway. I'm a warrior, Siress Uhura; I've fought the Cylons all my life… lately from the Bridge, where one is the most helpless. I have no idea how to live in peace… without fear, without bearing the suffocating responsibility for the survival of a whole culture."
For a moment, he remained silent and glared at his chalice, his dark, handsome face hopeless and exhausted. Uhura touched his hand compassionately.
"It is never easy to begin everything anew," she said quietly. "When my partner and our little daughter died, I had to leave them behind on a planet where I used to serve. It was fifteen years ago; I never had the chance to return there. Sometimes a phase of our life ends with the same finality as a door closes, and we have to simply go on. It's a similar experience that awaits you now."
"And I have no idea how to deal with it," Tigh admitted with a sigh.
"A new start like this demands much patience," Uhura said. "And the readiness to learn new things."
"Oh, I am willing to learn," the colonel replied. "But I am also very tired. And probably not young enough anymore to start living a normal life now."
"Don't be ridiculous!" Uhura chided him. "Yes, it's going to be hard, but you have the strength to deal with it. Or are you afraid to leave this steel coffin that's barely able to creep along between to stars anyway?"
"This steel coffin is our last hope and our only home," Tigh said slowly. Uhura smiled.
"Not anymore."
Tigh nodded. "I know that. Theoretically, at least. But it's not easy to imagine. It's never easy to give up what one knows, even if it meant endless years of loneliness."
"Have you been alone all these years?"
"Yes, Siress Uhura. My wife died on Libra when the Cylons came, as you know, and although regulations have been loosened – we had to survive, after all – I always found it against my principles to have… affairs with the women serving under me. Granted, it was not always easy. But when you stepped out of that golden column of light aboard the Galactica… I knew at once that the waiting was worth it."
Uhura swallowed hard to keep her control. She had expected some sort of declaration from Tigh – the signs were there all the time – but guessing it and hearing it were two very different things. She couldn't deny her own attraction; she felt the heat rising in her face, and once again was thankful for her dark complexion that saved her from blushing. Nevertheless, he knew that the man who never turned those gorgeous eyes from her face could feel her answering passion, so she decided to be straightforward.
"Strangely enough, I had a similar feeling when we met during the first meeting," she said. "I, too have lived alone for years, and I got used to it after a while. But I have always hoped that this will change one day. You must know that in our tribe it's the woman who makes the choice. I think I was right to wait with that choice until now."
"Does it mean… yes?" Tigh asked, a little uncertainly.
"This means maybe," Uhura corrected. "It's not my way to become intimate so quickly. Besides, that would still mean nothing in the long run."
"I know," Tigh nodded. "The burning of fire is one thing… the responsibility for a stable relationship is a different one. But we should not refuse either." He turned Uhura's hand upside again and kissed her palm once more. "I admit freely that I want you. I want you so much that it hurts. I haven't had such strong feelings for a woman for… for longer than I can remember. Please, don't reject me."
Uhura caressed his lips with her thumb in a slow, gentle gesture, and Tigh's pupils dilated from her touch.
"I have learned to listen to my body," she murmured, "and I know that right now I need you as much as you need me. Very well… you can have me. But not now, not here. This is a hotel room, no matter how luxurious it is… I want it to be somewhere that is home. In a sense, at least."
"You name the time and the place," Tigh replied simply. "I've waited for you so long… sometimes I almost think I've waited for you all my life. A few days will make no difference."
"You won't regret to have waited some more," Uhura promised. "My people have some rituals that need to be performed at the beginning of a relationship. It's an ancient custom, but I never heard anyone complain about it," she added with a smile. "But it doesn't mean that you need to keep your distance until then."
"I'd be hard-pressed to do that," Tigh slid his hands in a caressing manner up to her shoulders; then he leaned over for a kiss.
Uhura didn't resist. She returned the kiss, massaging Tigh's tense neck muscles gently but firmly. Tigh relaxed under her fingers and opened his mouth under hers, surrendering control to her and simply enjoying being kissed and caressed.
"You are delightfully compliant," Uhura declared after a while and smiled. "We're going to have a lot of fun together."
Tigh grinned and burrowed himself into her warm embrace in an almost child-like manner. "I certainly hope so. A relationship without fun is not worth beginning in the first place. Although it might be a little strange for me, getting used to have fun again."
"Oh, I can promise you a whole lot of fun," Uhura laughed. "After we've celebrated the ritual aboard the Enterprise personal imagination can have free roam."
"That sounds nice," Tigh shifted positions, so that he could bury his face in Uhura's neck. "I think I'll be able to come up with a few… imaginative things if allowed to do so."
His warm breath tickled Uhura's skin, and she shivered involuntarily.
"I certainly won't hinder you," she replied, entwining her fingers with Tigh's thick hair. "By the mothers… it's so good to feel you…"
"I happen to share the sentiment," Tigh murmured, hugging her tightly, and Uhura leaned against him with misty eyes. She was almost scared by her strong reaction – never had she met a man, since Oulu's death, who would induce such strong reactions by her. The fire of the khemmer burned hot and bright in her heart, in her whole being. Yes, they were perform the mesq once they returned to the Enterprise, and then she would love as she had not loved for many, many years…
"Wait," she said, gathering the shards of her control and pushing away Tigh's head gently. "Not now, please. This is neither the right place, nor the right time."
"Forgive me," Tigh, too, regained his control with considerable difficulty. "I got carried away a little. It won't happen again. Shall I call the waiter now? We are supposed to have a romantic dinner tonight."
Uhura nodded, once again calm and controlled.
"Yes, please," she said, her voice steady again. "That would be very nice."
Tigh rang the bell, and they had a very romantic dinner, while protocol ruled in the other rooms of the Rising Star.
TBC