Chapter 15

Sat at the command console in Ops, North rubbed his temples as he reviewed the situation.

Captain Thorpe was on a console monitor, speaking from Sal's office in the Commercial Building. Evidently, Guardsman Threv, having been assigned to patrol the building, had stunned an Orion shoplifter. This had enraged the other refugees present, who had formed an angry mob, chasing Threv to Sal's Diner, where one of his bondmates worked. Threv, and everyone else in Sal's, was now bunkered in the diner while the majority of the mob hammered at the gates, demanding brutal justice on the young Andorian. Several Orions had also begun trashing other areas of the Mall in some sort of disorganised protest.

Both Starfleet and MACO personnel were attempting to intervene, but they were in the minority. Thorpe had called Ops to report in and request reinforcements.

"This is already a political quagmire," said North. "Brute force isn't going to make it better in the long run." He pointed to the officer at the security console. "Liaise with Colonel Kostopoulos. Tell both her people and ours to focus on evacuating the Commercial Building as quickly and safely as possible, then secure it from the outside. Take no offensive action against the Orions unless unavoidable."

"I understand the greater implications, sir," said Thorpe on the monitor, with a muted din in the background, "but we can't just let them run amok either."

"We need to pacify the situation without causing further damage to Orion-Human relations, Captain," said North.

"All due respect, Commodore, but they're not exactly in a talking mood down here."

"Vyla could get through to them," said another voice. North looked up to see Ambassador Mamao'lani approaching him. For once, North was actually glad to see the ambassador, so much so that he didn't even question how the other man knew of the current situation.

"Vyla?" Thorpe seemed incredulous, shaking his head. "She might have helped to liberate them, but now that they're literally not in the same boat anymore, she may not be able to encourage any loyalty from the others."

North now shook his head, suspecting that he and Mamao'lani had come to the same conclusion. "The Ambassador is right. Vyla has more influence than anyone thinks. Even her."

Thorpe frowned in confusion. "Standby, Captain," North said to him. "And keep those people safe. I'll update you when I can." He closed the channel and marched over to the comm officer.

"Contact Commander Patel in the Orion ship. Tell her to have Vyla sent directly to the Commercial Building. Update Vyla en route."

With his orders acknowledged, he turned to Mamao'lani, and tried to suppress an involuntary grin. "Mister Ambassador, you're with me. We might need your negotiation skills as well."

"Always happy to help, Commodore," said Mamao'lani, his grin unsuppressed despite the serious air.

North couldn't fault him though. Neither of them had been quite themselves lately, and he was beginning to think he knew the reason why.

Loxius busied himself by scrolling through the Emerald Eye's comm logs. Sat at the communications console on the ship's control deck, he had been relatively undisturbed, enjoying the solitude while the other base personnel and Orion refugees analysed systems in other areas.

As usual though, his peace didn't last long. Chief Patel had now joined him to study the engineering station, having had to let the refugees' unofficial leader, Vyla, return to the surface for some reason. Thankfully, Patel was dedicated to her work, unlike most frustratingly unprofessional Humans, and didn't engage in the dreadful act of "small talk," leaving Loxius to carry out his duty in silence.

Because of his linguistic skills, he had been asked to help decipher the Orion ship's computers and communiqués. Kolari - the language of most Orions - happened to be in his repertoire due to the Romulan Star Empire's history of bloody skirmishes with the stubbornly territorial Syndicate. He saw no reason to reveal the source of his knowledge, of course.

Patel, inevitably, broke the fragile quiet. "Lieutenant Sylor, you're a Vulcan, right?"

For an instant, Loxius worried that she was questioning his cover, but he had enough experience with Humans by now that he knew they often liked to frame questions this way.

"Indeed," he said, turning in his chair to face her.

Patel also turned in her chair on the other side of the curved room. She appeared awkward, as if reluctant to speak more, another Human conversational quirk. "I have a question that needs a… disciplined mind to answer."

Loxius kept his pale features stoic, trying not to blow his cover by sighing in exasperation. "I will endeavour to answer your query to the best of my ability, Commander."

She nodded. "Is… Is prejudice ever logical?"

He wasn't prepared for such a weighted enquiry, and his eyebrow rose while he contemplated his response - both his own and Sylor's. What most species called "prejudice" was simply the Romulan creed. They inherently knew that they were superior to other races, who were only there to be conquered or exploited. To maintain his façade, however, he'd have to give a much more Vulcan-like answer.

He recalled some words he'd heard spoken by a controversial instructor on this very subject at the Imperial War College years ago, before said instructor had mysteriously disappeared.

"Prejudice, at its root, is actually a necessary component of logic," he said.

Patel frowned at this. "How so?"

"Evolution is not possible without prejudice - literally 'pre-judgement.' For example…" He picked up the stylus from his padd and held it up. "What is this?"

"A stylus," Patel said, humouring him.

"How do you know that?" he said. "I have not told you it is a stylus, nor have you seen me use it for any function. Yet you compared it to styluses you have seen before, judged it to have similar characteristics, and deduced its purpose."

He put the stylus down again. "It is the same with any object you encounter. You compare it with prior experiences, and apply what you know to the present, unless contradictory evidence is supplied. It is how our ancestors surmised which foods to eat, or that rubbing two sticks together made fire. As instinct, we judge every situation immediately."

Patel smirked. "Okay, so maybe I've pre-judged prejudice there, but what about when it's applied to people?"

Loxius was beginning to suspect Patel's enquiry had something to do with the Orion refugees. "Again, we apply pre-existing knowledge to individuals in order to deduce their mental state or predict their actions, but I suspect that you are referring to racial prejudices."

"Is is that obvious?" Patel asked with a wince.

"Only because of my prior experience," he replied, maintaining a stoic face despite his smug joke. "And, while experience is a logical application to the judgement of individuals, it is conversely illogical when applied to larger entities, such as entire races. It is the result of a primitive fear of unknown groups, but it inevitably depreciates over time. First, we fear other tribes, then we overcome this fear and tribes become towns. Towns become cities, become countries, become planets, theoretically until racial prejudice is no longer an obstacle."

This was the sentiment, almost word for word, that he suspected had gotten his college instructor "disappeared." Such a dissection of the Romulan approach to other races was dangerous and unpatriotic, but it was a philosophy befitting his Vulcan cover.

Patel also seemed sated with this, silently contemplating the words, and Loxius was about to return to his console when an alert sounded, demanding his attention anyway.

He consulted the readout. Patel appeared at his side. "What is it?" she asked.

"There's an incoming message," he said, his surprise concealed. "On a Syndicate channel. Text only."

"Syndicate?" Patel repeated, her surprise not so concealed. "Put it up."

Loxius knew well that Patel could not read Kolari script, as did she, but he followed her order and displayed the message on his screen.

"What does it say?" she asked, predictably.

"'Coordinates received'..." he read aloud. "'Three interceptors in area redirected to your location.'"

Alarmed, Loxius looked up at Patel. She was already opening her communicator.