A/N: This is a loving tribute to the dearly departed Bob Morrisey, Gregory Itzin and David Birney, who played Strom, Captain Sopek and Senator Letant, respectively. Thank you so much to Fameanon for returning to help me write this. We hope you enjoy.
"Old things need not be therefore true, O brother men, nor yet the new; Ah! still awhile the old thought retain, And yet consider it again!" -Arthur Hugh Clough
An elder Romulan sat at the end of the table cradling his blood wine, the young Klingon woman knew him only as Letant – whatever that was – and whatever it was did not impress her. Romulans let their elderly rot, like this one, and die with no honor crying in their beds like cowards. She shot the last of her drink; he was not influential enough to pay any mind to, let alone seduce to gain favor. Instead, she slammed her mug down, sneered at the man and left him alone to his own thoughts.
Just as the female officer left, Letant let go of a breath he did not know he was holding. He'd been in diplomacy long enough to know when he was being sized up. Back when he was a younger man, that woman would have pursued him for his power, influence, and perhaps even his body. He lifted his wine and sipped it with a scowl. Not that she had any chance with more physical consolations, at least with him, he couldn't stand Klingons and that peaty way they smelled – especially after a vigorous sexual encounter.
Letant pursed his lips; he knew she did not see in him any value at all, not even enough value to threaten. He would have been insulted, if he didn't already feel like was at least three decades past his usefulness. Damn his brilliant mind! He had outlived all his enemies and foiled every plot against him. What was left for him now was this smelly, vile, Klingon ambassadorial ship, named something about the honored dead. He audibly groaned.
They had picked him up on Romulus two days ago to take him to a cultural exchange conference, a conference that he had declined upon the first invitation, but when Martok himself had said that favors would be owed, his greedy (and curious) heart overrode his aging and uninterested body. One last ride, Letant promised himself, and then he would retire comfortably near some body of water, with a spry young woman on his knee as he drank the finest ales his people made, not the filthy vinegar he held in his hand now.
Lifting the cup to his fine lips, he paused as he felt them drop out of warp. That would be the Vulcans they were picking up. Two other "old timers": a former captain turned admiral, and a doctor on whom information was scant, other than he was often found in the best of the best cultural exchanges. Letant suspected both men were squeaky clean, and as thoroughly boring as he had become. But at least terminal boredom was something he had only just acquired, he thought with a humorless chuckle.
The sound of the shuttle bay blast doors opening filled the halls with the longest and loudest metal scraping metal sounds he had ever heard. He wanted to cover his ears with his hands but feared being perceived as weak by any passing Klingon. At his age, any sign of weakness – in any form – could be the end of him. While he was growing fond of being no more, he would be eternally angry if that end came from some subservient Klingon on a giant rust bucket of a ship.
He felt his resolve not to cover his ears wavering just as the noise stopped. Shaking his head, he stood, tossed his glass of bloodwine back into the barrel, smoothed his uniform, and made his way to the shuttle bay. Klingons had a ritual for everything, though they'd never admit it, but they were as fussy about those things as Vulcans. Letant guessed they would have a ceremony on the bridge with the addition of their two Vulcan delegates. They would go on about dying and honor, and mention something of getting to their mission safe and sound. But before all that, he would go to introduce himself to the Vulcans. Then perhaps he would retire to his comfortless bed for the rest of the voyage. Martok was going to owe him big for this.
…
Strom sighed to himself as he adjusted his formal robes and straightened his back as best he could. Arthritis had caught up to him in his sunset years, and he was quite aware of a dull throbbing pain in his joints, though he suppressed it and kept his visage impassive.
He noted that he was far more fortunate than some of his kin. His mind had not faltered with age, and though he lived a simple life alone in the city of Ra'al, he was still able to serve his people through endeavors like this one. It was only logical to put his people before himself, no matter the pain or slight slowness in his steps. They were a small price to pay for an excuse to be away from home for a while, to be of use, to be around others and not wallow in the silence of his home. Others might find the silence peaceful, but he found it cloying.
He waited patiently for the shuttle to appear over the horizon, and walked steadily towards it as it descended onto the landing pad. It had been several years since he had seen Sopek, though their passing conversation at the last inter-species exchange conference had seen the admiral walking without a cane. It was well known throughout his circle that Sopek now walked with assistance from a stabilizer, and his legs were deteriorating faster than anticipated.
With a slight creak, the shuttle doors opened, and Strom hesitated slightly before continuing forward, to his mission, perhaps his last before his time in this world came to an end.
…
It had taken Sopek much longer than he remembered to get his shuttle going, though it had been over a decade since he powered it on. An unwise, inefficient thing for him to do, he knew, but he had been pressed by the High Command into retiring when he developed a degenerative nerve disease in his legs. After that, the logic of maintenance on a shuttle he'd likely never use was lost to him.
Fortunately, it was still in flying shape. He would go to Ra'al to pick up his fellow traveler, and then for the first time in that same decade he would see the dark of space. He almost felt emotional. One more chance to get into space, the vast unknown full of mystery and purpose.
As he pressed the shuttle buttons, programming the flight for Ra'al, he thought ruefully that he should have never taken the promotion from captain to admiral all those years ago. Space was his home. He was a captain, boots on the ground, not an admiral, stuck in lengthy meetings with High Command. Time couldn't ruin him like that had.
The shuttle floated over the bay, and after a quick check and official clearance, Sopek was ascending into the air. He tapped the communications array after the shuttle lurched forward. "Please advise, Dr. Strom, I am twenty minutes to arrive, and we are one standard hour away from rendezvousing with the ship of the Honored Dead."
He flipped the send button and proceeded to increase speed. He knew this might be his last time off planet, and if it was he was going to be mindful of such a privilege.
Upon landing the craft on the receiving pad, he straightened his posture as best he could, tamping down his obvious excitement and schooling his expression into something far more acceptable.
With no small effort, he swiveled his captain chair toward the open shuttle door. There, as dignified as he remembered him, he saw his acquaintance. With great effort, he pressed himself upward and steadied himself with one hand on the ceiling and the other one in the form of the ta'al. "Osu Strom. It is agreeable to see you after so many years."
The moment Strom looked at him, without telepathy, scanner or anything, he could see in the old Vulcan's eyes the very same thing he felt inside himself. This trip they were about to go on was going to be their last mission, for both of them.
Slowly removing his hand from the ceiling, the admiral carefully lowered himself down on the captains' chair again. "Please, attach your safety harness. We are right on schedule for meeting the Klingon ship." He hadn't waited for the normal social cues to sit, but his age and infirmity removed his ability to perform, or indeed any necessity towards it. He knew Strom understood.
The elderly doctor buckled himself in. "Has Dr. Yuris been satisfactory in the treatment of your disease?" he asked bluntly. His age had made him even more direct than normal, and given that he was the one who found Sopek's disease, he was genuinely curious about his progress.
Sopek nodded as he shut the shuttle doors. "Your fellow doctor is a credit to your agency, Dr. Strom."
With one last glance at the planet that had birthed them, and now trapped them, the admiral saw that they had clearance to depart, and began launch procedures. Once they had cleared the atmosphere, he pushed the accelerator to its limit even as the vehicle lurched in protest, excitement overtaking him once again.
Strom sat stiffly in the passenger seat of the shuttle, taking a deep breath in response to their sudden increase in speed. "You'll forgive me, doctor," Sopek murmured, his aged fingers still rather deft at the controls. "Our vehicle is not exactly in prime condition."
A moment of silence passed before Strom spoke again.
"I may be older, but if at any point you need assistance, do not hesitate to ask for it," Strom offered, and Sopek nodded his understanding. The admiral wondered if Strom's inclusion in this mission was not for his benefit. The High Command could hardly have a celebrated admiral of the Vulcan fleet collapsing in the middle of a lecture.
He put his musings from his mind as they hailed the Klingon vessel and asked for permission to board. They received a gruff affirmative and Sopek began boarding procedures. Strom appeared to be meditating, but opened his eyes at the banging noise that greeted them once the chamber re-pressurized.
"I find that sound most disagreeable," he said, his jaw tight in disapproval.
"It is," the admiral agreed. "I did some research into this vessel and her captain. Miral is of the lowest noble house, and has a reputation for recklessness and impulsivity that I find most illogical. Do not expect comfortable accommodations on this craft, doctor."
"It is a Klingon warbird, admiral, not a Risian hotel. I am aware that it is not built for comfort."
They exited the craft, and Sopek could see with a simple scan of the shuttle bay ten infractions that would have never been tolerated aboard his vessel. A man was waiting for them, his white-silver hair cut much like a Vulcan's, with the bangs coming to a neat point over his forehead ridges.
Letant was standing stick straight, his hands behind his back as if his officers were going to parade by him for approval. There was a small break in his stern face when he saw the two ancient Vulcans appear from behind the shuttle door. He started to step forward, to make his customary greeting, but as he did the loud banging and metal scraping stuck him to the spot for the solid minute it happened. He casually turned to the lower decks Klingon in charge of their bags. "Humans have an oil, I believe there were 39 different preparations of it before the 40th turned out…you should check into it."
He shook his head and stepped toward the two venerable Vulcan men. He didn't know them, and he didn't suppose they knew him either. "Greetings!" he said, with a casual elegance. "I'm senator Letant of the Romulan Empire."
There was a note of pride in his mellifluous voice. With that he raised an awkward and quick ta'al. "If you are expecting ceremony and well…." he glanced behind him, "manners, I would beg you to seek it elsewhere. If you are here to serve, well then, follow me. Our captain doesn't –" he paused, " – there is an old Ferengi saying, here for the paycheck." He chuckled. "But allow me to show you both to our shared quarters. Someone has to."
Strom raised an eyebrow. "How irregular, even among the Klingons."
Letant ambled with them, noting that one of the Vulcans was leaning heavily on a cane. "We are all sharing one room if I haven't made that abundantly clear. Dinner is served promptly at whenever they throw leftovers at us, and our charming young lady captain is given to fits of complete rage." He stood next the door and put his hands behind his back again. "Just duck when that happens. She is on her second or third number one since I have been here. Poor dears, their reflexes weren't up to par with her rage."
He held a hand out, gesturing that they should enter before him. "Please, l have put on some Romulan red tea. I thought it might help us all get settled before our voyage."
Sopek wasn't sure how appropriate it was to put all the delegates into a single room to share, but he swallowed down any sign of disapproval and stepped into their room. There were four bunks total, each nothing more than a metal slab for laying on, and a central table with hard chairs for working or eating. Sopek sat in one of the chairs, leaning his cane against the table, and Strom directed the porter to set his bags on the bed next to Sopek. Letant had already claimed a side of the room, and the Romulan busied himself at a small stove in the corner, which felt like it functioned as the room's main heat source.
"Admiral," Strom murmured, glancing towards the bunks, "would you care to switch bunks with me?"
He was bemused by the question until he realized Strom was aiming to put him nearest to the heat source, giving him what comfort could be found on this flying scrapyard of a ship. He nodded briefly, touched by the gesture, and the doctor busied himself moving their bags around.
"There," Letant said, finally turning around with a fine teacup in his hand. "I had to bring the cups from home, otherwise we'd be having tea out of old cans!"
"Thank you, Senator," he said quietly, and took the tea with a nod. He hesitated for a moment, but then decided that the Romulan likely didn't care enough to poison him, and would deprive himself of someone to talk to if he did.
Letant lifted his cup of tea. "To one of the most austere places I have ever been, at least now I have…decent company. What is the saying? A burden shared is a burden halved? I tell you honestly, gentlemen, I don't know what egregious sin I committed – other than living too long – that I landed this assignment, but I wouldn't do it again." A grin played over his thin lips. "Actually, I won't lie to you, I probably would but this time I wouldn't get caught."
Sopek had dealt with many Romulans over his life, and found that against all logic, he already felt fairly agreeable with Letant. "Seeing the contingent in its entirety, it is puzzling why the three of us, who are well past our primes, are the focal point and speakers in this cultural exchange. It is one thing to honor one's elders and seek our their wisdom, but this seems another thing entirely."
Letant pulled several small bags of dried fruit out of his luggage and put them on the table for his new companions. "If I didn't know better, I'd think we were being sent out to pasture."
Strom's head cocked as his translator did not make sense with what the Romulan man said.
"He means, put out to the Forge," Sopek supplied, knowing exactly what had confused his friend.
"Ah," the doctor replied in understanding, pulling a utensil from his bag in order to spear some fruit.
Just then, someone in an adjacent compartment flushed the toilet, sending a loud groan through the room; a visible bulge passed through the pipes on the ceiling, perfuming the compartment with the smell of old gagh.
Letant winced. "So, please, tell me about yourselves. I would love to know who I am traveling with. Though, I believe I recognize you," he asserted, tipping his head toward Sopek.
The admiral raised an eyebrow, shaking his head in confusion.
"The stand off of Aventa Prime. You were leading the Vulcan fleet?" the senator continued, his voice a conversational purr. "You are a formidable leader, I am told, Admiral Sopek."
The Romulan was guessing from remembered tidbits of intelligence he had read over the years, but he felt certain he had the correct name.
"I led the Vulcan fleet that day, yes," Sopek replied gravely, trying to ignore the terrible smell perfuming the room. "Though my time in the captain's chair is gone, unfortunately. I was surprised the Romulans decided to use the M'Taak maneuver when they were so outnumbered. An effective plan, even if you did eventually lose the day. I will concede that your tactics were well-measured and unexpected. You gave us a challenge on that day."
Strom nodded along, having nothing but passing knowledge of the incident, but it did comfort him in some way to be here, to be among other people even if their accommodations were more fit for a Tellerite smuggler than Vulcan and Romulan dignitaries. Despite the discomfort, there was a sense of braving the unknown, a sense of purpose pulsing in his veins that made his hands shake slightly. He knew not what this meant, but he steadied himself and politely carried on his part in the conversation, allowing the emotion of gratitude to wash over him.