[Crazy Horse] Coil of Darkness - SD 241512.12 - BackLog | "Frontiers" | FAdm T'Evora

A Mission Post by Fleet Admiral T'Evora
Mission: Coil of Darkness
Location: Starbase 577 "Frontenac"
Timeline: 2382

Les petits ruisseaux font les grandes rivières.


[Starbase 577 "Frontenac", just outside the Kavrot sector]

2382

"So what you're saying, Ma'am, is that the … dog ate your rank pips?"
"Indeed." The stately Vulcan woman cast a mildly reproachful look at the canine in question, causing it to plop onto its rear and adopt an 'I am adorable and have no idea what you're talking about' expression.
"That's … well, if you'll pardon the expression Ma'am, … fascinating."
"Hardly, I should say. Belaar is rather indiscriminate in his approach as to what constitutes a balanced diet."
"Ah. Well, I'll have a new set replicated here in a moment, Admiral. I'm sure they'll have that little problem fixed in…"
"That hardly seems necessary, Lieutenant. The pips will reemerge in due time. Until then, the set already on my uniform will do."
"But…"

Vulcans. Parker resisted the urge to rub his temples and focused on the PADD in his hand. The Trevix was due in 4 hours, engineering still hadn't tracked down the problem with the replicators, there were five ambassadors on his tail wanting either booze, a dinner with the newly minted Rear Admiral, or a ride to some place – any place – else, and now this.
It was going to be one of those days.

Starbases serve a lot of purposes. Ship repair, resupplying, stopping point, R&R. Sometimes they observe and control the space around them, or are home to ships that do, sometimes they are mere signposts in the vast emptiness of space.
Set in high orbit of a rather lovely looking, if cold, class L planet "Frontenac" was a far cry from the bustling centers of commerce and fleet activities other starbases closer to home could boast of being. On the other hand, being out this far on the fringes of explored space and a veritable gateway to the Canis Major region had its very own challenges, opportunities, and – so Lieutenant Parker felt – distinctive drawbacks.

One of them being a Vulcan. A Vulcan with a pack of Corgis and a husband who completely failed to understand that space was not his personal playground. No, one could hardly blame a renowned astrophysicist for wanting a closer peek at a micro-wormhole, yes, fine, even if said wormhole was in the vicinity of a region with odd subspace shearing effects (which of course were subsequently dubbed "fascinating" as well), and, yes, alright, the shuttle wasn't completely scrap-metal when it came back … but weren't Vulcans supposed to have more sense than poking their aquiline noses into *every* blasted anomaly? Up close and personal?

Now the Admiral with Commodore's pips was walking off to do whatever it was Vulcans do when replicators spit out female undergarments instead of Jestral tea. In this case it apparently involved examining something red and lacy and … oh, dear.
"I'll see that this is removed immediately, Admiral."
"It would be advisable to inform engineering that the computer still has not yet correctly processed my measurements, Lieutenant."
"It… yes, Ma'am."
He was *not* going to ask. He…
"Also, I believe the problem to be in the subprocessor matrix. Logically, a request for a beverage should not be shunted to the patterns for intimate garments, however … enter." The latter was spoken towards the doors which promptly swished open to reveal the second pointy ear on Parker's 'top ten things to cause a migraine' list. Funny, he hadn't even heard the door chime. Must have been the hum of the replicator that still cheerfully materialized … yegawds…

"My wife." The tall, lean male with steel grey hair held out his paired fingers, quirking a curious brow at the red lace dangling from his bondmate's hand as she returned the gesture "The ambassadors have requested that the transfer of their cargo from the Trevix be given priority. Also, I do not believe this to be your size."
"Indeed it is not. Lieutenant Parker, if you'd kindly inform the diplomatic delegation that they may take possession of their shipment of Saurian brandy once Chief Prinnhz has cleared it." In a swift, almost absentminded move the Admiral saved some other frilly and altogether unhealthy looking piece of cloth from an inquisitive Corgi's attention "If that is all …?"

"How did you know… yes Ma'am. I mean, no Ma'am. I have that weather report you wanted." An eloquent brow told Parker he was about two seconds from another lecture about comparing ion displacements in space with atmospheric conditions of Minshara-class planets and he hastily held out the PADD in question "Oh, and the Skr'kr confederacy has declared they'll settle for an annual tribute. Instead of conquering the Federation, Ma'am."
"Commendable."
"If you say so, Ma'am."
Truth be told, the Skr'kr were a headache Parker gladly left to the flock of diplomats. Still, they'd gone from all out shooting their antique lasers at the Starfleet science ship that had first detected their warp trails to almost amicable threats. Out here, that probably counted as progress. Never you mind that said science vessel could have scrapped the Skr'kr fleet and been home in time for tea.

"Very well, Lieutenant. I shall join ambassador Trajsgrendkrtn shortly. My husband?" ever practical, said Vulcan had busied himself neatly folding the flood of lace and silks still pouring from the replicator and Parker could have sworn the perfectly tranquil face nonetheless radiated something … almost like amusement. Almost.
"I shall attend of course. The ambassador has generously promised a copy of their sensor logs from their close pass of the Gum Nebula. It should be most illuminating."
"Quite so."
With a brief nod towards the Lieutenant, both Vulcans walked out the door, followed by a cheerful Corgi in search of new items to add to his diet; leaving Parker with a replicator that had discovered the subcategory 'garter belts' in its memory banks.

~Fin~

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[Crazy Horse] Coil of Darkness - SD 241512.04 - Fleet Log “Admiral Corgi” || President Jolias Enor, Councillor Iyaru Aniri, FAdm T’Evora

A Mission Post by Lieutenant Commander Jin Rha-Yaleii
Mission: Coil of Darkness
Location: London, Earth
Timeline: current

[President's Office]

It was odd. To sit in this chair and realize that one might be one of the most powerful people in the entire Federation. Jole lifted his fingertip and stared at it in awe- in this one fingertip he now had the power to influence over a hundred worlds and billions upon billions of people. The mere thought startled him so that he shivered- the responsibility of such power was nearly overbearing. Could he actually build something better? Could he save the crumbling foundation? He was uncertain. Any thought of ever obtaining this post had been the furthest thing on his mind- never once did he desire to become the President…but now that he was here. The ability to bring about real change was energizing him. It was an energy he hadn't felt since leaving Starfleet- the sense of purpose.

"An election?" Aniri snorted at him from her window-side chair, the sun sparkling against her cobalt flesh "you are really something Jolias. You have the Presidency in your grasp and you throw it all away…"

"I'm saving it." He said with conviction "the most important thing in the Federation is not Starfleet. It's not our economic power or potential. It's not our resources or our planets. The thing that is great about the Federation is the richness and diversity of the people that comprise it. Vulcan, Trill, Tellarite…Andorian. Look how much progress we have made in three centuries. Should we throw it all away for expediency or security?"

"I'm not criticizing you Jole. Just…lamenting about your principles. It would have been much easier if we just proceeded with your appointment as President. The council was behind it after all- now with an election everything is complicated." Aniri sighed and stared out at the glimmering bay "what will you do about the vacant Starfleet CinC post?"

"Admiral T'Evora."

Aniri's eyes jerked away from the window and she looked at the Trill with barely contained amusement "you mean Admiral Corgi?"


[Later, President's Office]


Enor sat uncomfortably behind the massive wooden desk. There was something about residing in a palace that bothered him- it just seemed incredibly opulent and almost gaudy. He would have much preferred a side closet with a small desk to this spacious cavern he now resided in. His eyes moved to the doors as the creaking wood signaled their opening. Standing up he looked at the silhouette at the doorway "Welcome Admiral…"

The lithe, slender figure crowned with silvery white hair moved forward, and the effect of the Vulcan Admiral stepping into the afternoon sunlight pouring through the large windows might have been dignified to the point of regal – if not for the sound of scrabbling paws just outside in the corridor, and a pahkwa-thanh's exasperated groan as two small canines slipped through the ancient wood doors just before they closed.
"Greetings, Mister President." The seemingly oblivious – or mayhap simply unruffled - Vulcan stopped a short distance from the desk, her hand raised in the ta'al "We come to serve."
At her feet, two corgis appeared rather pleased with themselves and proudly plopped onto their rears.

Jolias gave a cursory glance to the two canines at the Vulcan Admiral's feet. Certainly when it came to Vulcans T'Evora would qualify as an 'eccentric.' Though accomplished she was less well known in the Admiralty ranks- her preference towards quiet duty was why Jolias felt she was perfect for the vacant Starfleet Commander position "I hope you are well Admiral." He waved a hand at the open couch and sat down behind the massive desk- it seemed there was a half a room length of desk-top between him and the Vulcan.

Long since accustomed to this kind of courteous inquiry, T'Evora responded with a polite nod and accepted the offered seat with a fluid, graceful motion. If, within that same movement, she also liberated a PADD from Nayik's jaws, it seemed almost like an afterthought. One which Commander Dee would no doubt appreciate, as this looked to be her weekly status report on the Neutral Zone outposts.

"I am indeed well, Mister President." To another Vulcan, the Admiral's body language would have seemed outright languid - legs neatly tucked to one side, one hand idly propping the rescued PADD (with barely noticeable teeth marks) against the couch, the other settled on the fabric with nonchalant elegance. To most outworlders, this was still a Vulcan – calm and dignified, and slightly aloof; yet inexplicably failing to radiate all the warmth of an Andorian polar cap.
Simply put, she was a Vulcan who somewhere around fifty years of age had decided that being herself rather than what people expected her to be was imminently more practical than having to expend time and energy to maintain a façade; and since this had worked quite well for over a century, saw no logical reason to change a thing.

Steel grey eyes with a startling shimmer of blue rested on the Trill across the expanse of the heavy desk, filled with the patience and serenity of a mountain lake "In turn I should hope you have recovered from recent, so highly unfortunate events, satisfactorily?"

Enor nodded his head "I am recovered somewhat." He frowned faintly recalling the recent 'unfortunate' events in passing "but overall I am alive and as a human might say- that is something to be thankful for." He glanced at the opaque screen on his desk which slowly illuminated to bring up the document he had made. He quietly perused its contents to ensure, once again, out of caution or slight compulsion that it was to his liking before he read from it. "In the interest of brevity I will simply get to the point. Admiral- I have been tasked or shall I say I have tasked myself with permission from the necessary elements of the Federation council to appoint a new Starfleet Commander. During the Federation crisis last year and your assistance I can think of no one else who I would have serve in this capacity- if you would accept such a responsibility of course."

If the president had declared that the Sundered were hosting a soiree in Minsk with Orion dancers in attendance, the Vulcan's finely slanted eyebrows might have climbed a few millimeters more. Might have. As it was, the Admiral's face displayed the serene yet faintly incredulous aura of the Alps while trumpeting Carthaginian elephants ski down the slopes.
Vulcans, of course, would never say 'you must be kidding' or 'I'd rather swim with wu'zud-alukar, thank you kindly'. Nor would even a mildly eccentric one go so far as emit any sound resembling 'gah'. T'Evora did, however, lean back slightly on the couch, her fingertips tapping a light staccato against the PADD as she studied the Trill's expression.

Knowing what she did of the former Admiral, this proposition was likely a well-considered one. An accomplished officer and capable commander, Enor's service record indicated a person who would not shy away from unpopular or controversial decisions, but he was hardly what some of her colleagues called a 'space cowboy'. Logic suggested there was a considerable political element involved, but she had no reason to question the man's integrity. Quite the contrary.

"I am honored by the offer, mister President." Responsibility indeed. Not that the Vulcan shied away from that, she was in fact quite used to it. But to wield it in such a prominent position, and one mired in the realm of politics, went strongly against her personal preferences.
There is an ancient Vulcan proverb which states 'The only terrain you truly control is the ground you're standing on.' T'Evora had found this to be quite true. Still, as someone who had lived through times of both peace and war, and had quite early on decided the latter was a tremendous waste of time which could be spent in more satisfactory pursuits, she also could not deny that this was an opportunity to work for somewhat worthwhile.

The needs of the many …
Just as Belaar had completed his security sweep of the room and decided no sandwiches were in need of being liberated so he might as well take a nap on presidential shoes, T'Evora nodded once, slowly and thoughtfully. "Before I accept however, I should like to point out that while my skills are in the area of administration and communication, my … preferences tend towards exploration and science. And that I am a strong proponent of Starfleet's returning to those principles, even and especially under the current circumstances. There are those who argue, quite reasonably, that in the Federation's current situation Starfleet must needs focus on defense and consolidation, and not waste resources on pursuits which may not have immediate benefit – or even none. I disagree with that assessment in all points."
Her fingers still lightly, almost playfully tapping against the PADD, the Admiral's gaze briefly wandered towards the window and the pale sunlight struggling through silver clouds. When her grey eyes came to rest on the Trill again, there seemed to be an air of … satisfaction about him.

"I agree with you Admiral. I believe Starfleet has become too militarized. Not that security isn't important- but I believe the militarization has been a catalyst of some of the recent conflicts. There is always the potential that I am an idealist- in fact my detractors are adamant that I am a weak minded soft hearted fool that will lead the Federation to ruin." Jolias smirked recalling all the tirades railed against him recently in all the FNS late night programming "but this is why I want you. I also know you share a similar...vision...if Vulcans have such things. I want the Federation to be greater. I want to bring stability back to this region of space. It won't be an easy task and unfortunately it will require the Romulans and Klingons to be on the same page…"

"Most certainly Vulcans do have such things, mister President. How else would a man who realized there was a better way to live than kill each other out of sheer habit, have gone about changing a world? One must first see - envision - the goal, before one may bring it into being." Soft hearted fool indeed. It took a great deal more courage and fortitude to lay down one's arms and say 'no more', than it did to stroll around with armour and guns.

"The latter however might be easier said than done." T'Evora stated drily, but there was a note of interest, even good-natured humor in her voice. Apparently the stubby-legged dog at her feet picked up on the familiar timbre and approved, its fluffy tail beating against the carpet in rapid rhythm. "For the Klingons, there is little honour in peace, despite the great strides some of their culture has made towards recognizing that random bloodshed is not merely detrimental to a species as a whole, but rather lacking in the glory a warrior should seek. As for the Sundered …" while the Admiral did not exactly share the profound unease which many of her kind experienced when discussing this violent, troublesome offshoot of their race, neither was she immune to a certain … exasperation "then as now, it is xenophobia - the fear of the unknown - which drives much of their actions."

It would be a challenge. But the Vulcan knew well that most worthwhile pursuits were such.
"Very well, mister President. I will accept this duty."

[End]

Jolias Enor
President, UFP

T'Evora
CinC

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[Crazy Horse] Coil of Darkness - SD 241511.16 - Plot Log| "" | CO, XO, CHelm | Cmdre Kanryth, Capt Agron, LtCmdr Rha-Yaleii

A Mission Post by Commander Zivit Agron & Captain Khiy Kanryth & Lieutenant Commander Jin Rha-Yaleii
Mission: Coil of Darkness
Location:
Timeline:

[Crazy Horse]

The Romulans were diving towards the outer atmosphere- thin cones of tawny fire laced across their beaks creating a sparkling trail of embers behind them.
"Weapons hot!"
Khiy coiled his fingers around the armrests. Below them the massive turquoise of the pacific oceans gave way to the emerald and dust stained landscape that from such a distance seemed more like something that might be strewn on a canvas then real. The flare of Sol sparkled against feathered etched hulls of the Romulan ships. What are they doing?! "Captain Agron perhaps we sho…" A sudden shower of emerald rained out of the Romulan ships. He felt his stomach instantly tightly into a rock.

"Hold fire." the Valzhan voiced, filling in the stunned silence that took over as the Romulans unleashed their own power. If there was anything at all to make things worse, it would be to turn their weapons on these ships. As if not enough to watch her hopes erupt into a rather spectacularly bright ball of flame; made all the more morbidly glorious by the gaseous atmosphere the quartet, now trio, of ships occupied.

"Attempt to hail Romulan vessels." Zivit commanded, the words full of careful composure. Realizing it may have been a touch of assumption on her behalf, emerald gaze was cast sidelong towards the Commodore beside her in silent quest of reaction.

While Crazy Horse bucked and snorted rather like her four-legged namesake and Jin struggled to keep them in weapons range of the winged shape on the viewscreen, she couldn't help but wonder the same thing as Ducky – were they daft? Not that the space elves couldn't be foolishly brave when they thought it was necessary, but these guys had to know firing on a Federation core world could get them sent to Ariennye express mail.

So, if they hadn't gone space happy, or were trying to start a war – and what a stupid way to do that, outnumbered as they were, and with their very own Praetor in the crossfire – there really weren't too many options … Efrosian curses are a bit more colorful and emphatic than 'oh crap'. But the sentiment is pretty much the same.

"Nothing."

Vexation creased across Khiy's forehead as he stared at the screen. Seconds seemed to extend into eternity as the hot green bolts of plasma lit up surface like molten rain. The once pristine blue of Lake Tahoe was being transmuted into s sulfurous mud as smoke billowed up in long dark streaks like great crags filling the sky below. "We can't wait." Khiy bit his lip, glanced at his XO, and then turned his attention back to the carnage on the view screen "tractor beam- maybe we can drag them out of orbit."

Half-turning, the Valzhan found the face she sought easily enough behind her, as had been expected. "Lieutenant Batul, prepare a reconnaissance and recovery team. If there is anyone or any...thing left, we need to find them immediately."

Receiving a quick nod in reply that was good as word, the first officer returned her attention to the Romulan vessels branded across the viewscreen. What in all of the living hells were they going to do with those? Even should they manage to be pulled back. Frowning deeply, she awaited what would unfold in the next handful of moments.

Jin had rather hoped for the Romulans to answer the hail, just so she could have offered them a friendly "Eneh hwau' kllhwnia na imirrhlhhse!" over the channel, but she would have settled for weapons control to give them the message more succinctly. A nice but firm tap on the shoulder, as it were.
Since neither seemed a viable option at the moment, and fighter pilots are, as a rule, prone to get twitchy with weapons fire in the vicinity, the little Efrosian pondered the situation for a few seconds and then decided she had more than demonstrated polite restraint.

Had the pointy eared Commodore paid attention to the small head crowned with a mop of snowy hair, he'd have seen it tilt to the side in that "baby hawk just saw something interesting" way he knew to herald … annoying things.
With a sudden howl of her engines, Crazy Horse leapt forward. Inertia dampeners caught on to the rude little maneuver after a good 0.2 seconds, but somewhere behind Jin a soft thud announced that someone had landed on what qualified as their hind end for their species.

To any Romulan on the nearest warbird it might have looked as if the Horse meant to live up to the crazy part of its name by barreling right for a blood-green beak – and then the silver dish dipped playfully, not quite venturing into the line of fire but close enough to make its shields flare briefly … and for some inexplicable reason a feedback loop caused the forward disruptors to cough and splutter before blowing out a few rather important circuits.
Not so inexplicable, really, when you figured that firing weapons while this close to a planetary atmosphere could cause some nasty energy buildups crackling just over the thermosphere. Which the insolent little lloann'na ship had just fed the mighty warbird with a rather large spoon. Almost as if someone had known exactly when that green energy beam was running hot enough to cause not only said feedback loop, but some highly innovative references to the Federation pilot's ancestry.

"Whoops." With an expression of innocent glee, Jin sent the Horse into a barrel roll, speeding away from what by now were probably rather cranky Romulans. As if she didn't have one of her own right behind her.

Satisfaction was felt- but rarely shown. Khiy gave the exuberant Effrosian a simple nod of approval while his eyes studied the Romulan ships on the viewscreen. Certainly t'Rehu wouldn't have ordered such a haggard and half assed attempt? He shook his head. "Inform them to leave orbit immediately or we will have them towed back to Romulan space." He sighed and looked at Zivit "will be in my ready room Captain. Contact me when the survey teams report back."

"Yessir." Valzhan replied, rising from her seat. A short gesture sent Batul towards the lift, the Captain's feet quickly taking her on the same path. While there was little hope to find anything left...but she would rather sift through pieces of debris than dare trust herself to try to speak with those who had ruined the opportunity for answers. As if this whole thing did not already reek of something incredibly rotten...

=/\=

Commodore Khiy Kanryth
Commanding Officer
USS Crazy Horse

Captain Zivit Agron
Executive Officer
USS Crazy Horse

LtCmdr Jin Rha-Yaleii
Chief Helm Officer
USS Crazy Horse

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[Crazy Horse] Coil of Darkness - SD 241511.10 - Romulan Empire Log | "Dimness" | Arrenhe t`Ahaefvthe, Lwanissa Tyrax

A Mission Post by Lieutenant Commander Jin Rha-Yaleii & Captain Khiy Kanryth
Mission: Coil of Darkness
Location: IRW Hhveir Ri'hwathech
Timeline: current

[IRW Hhveir Ri'hwathech]

Shiarrael was always one for fanciful notions…but this? Imin glared at the woman in front of him. This Betazoid witch the soon-to-be Galae'EnRiov wanted to subject the Praetor to- the idea was asinine. He had protested but as always when it came to his opinions the EnRiov was content to brush them off as hyperbole. We'll see, if this sorceress turns our Praetor's mind into a primordial goop. he thought wryly.
"We are here." Raha announced while looking questioningly at the gloom faced Imin "Doctor, you seem a bit pale. Perhaps you are a bit ill?" She licked her lips and jerked her thumb at the Rei'Krannsu guarding the doorway "we need some privacy. EnRiov's orders."
"We do not work for the EnRiov."
"Then you can tell that to her- and fly home after she throws your ass out of an airlock. If you insist I will oblige…" She pressed her commbadge "Raha to t'Rehu the…"
"-enough. We'll give you ten minutes. If anything happens to the Praetor…"
"Yes, yes, you will have my head. So be it." She nodded at Imin and the Betazoid leading them into the dim room.

Lwanissa couldn't help it. Sad and terrible and upsetting as the whole affair was, she hadn't had an adventure like this since Wrigley's Pleasure Planet. Unless you counted the Berq wedding. Speaking of weddings, the fidgeting doctor had some rather interesting vibes. Perhaps … ah, little 'Kara would probably just give her another Look. Pity.

She strode after pretty Raha with the even more interesting vibes, offering magnanimous waves to the few crewmembers they encountered. All of whom looked askance at the Betazoid in her flowing, peach-colored dress escorted by the ship's doctor and security officer. Ah, more of the adorable darkly dressed people. Which made Raha's announcement a bit superfluous, though it was a nice gesture. And of course being this close, the poor Praetor's migraine was now a near tangible thing, inserting itself into the stream of white noise like a serrated blade. Though 'white' noise was putting a polite name to the energetic, volatile, abundantly colorful vibes that still crashed against Lwanissa's senses from every direction. Such a lively people. Lwanissa would have found it charming in the extreme, if the poor dears weren't so unsettled by a perfectly friendly empath.

Airlock? Something tugged at the Betazoid lady's memory, some fanciful tale of a temperamental Romulan Captain and something involving airlocks and underwear … but then the two men in black moved aside after transmitting the by now familiar silent 'argh', looking almost as sheepish as their colleagues who had gotten themselves stuck with a Betazoid, and the doors slid open.
"Well dears, since something already has happened to your sweet Praetor, the threat seems a bit excessive. But we take your meaning." Dismissing the Rei'Krannsu with an amicable wave of her fan, Lwanissa floated across the threshold with the utter certainty of the well-bred that they are at home anywhere they decide to be; and be it a dimly lit, well appointed room on board a Romulan flagship.

The sensation of grogginess and a massive headache intensified, and Lwanissa's innate aversion to such suffering led her towards the shadowy figure huddled beneath a window.
"Lwanissa Tyrax, Daughter of the Twelfth House." If pretty Raha was surprised how soft and low the exuberant Betazoid's voice could sound when she decided so, Lwanissa didn't notice. "I am terribly sorry about the impromptu visit."
Yes, definitely something … oh, my.

Arrenhe slowly rose from her drug induced stupor and placed her emerald gaze squarely on the Betazoid's light framed silhouette at the doorway. "The light…" She winced and turned away until the door closed behind the trio. Turning back, she frowned "why are you here? You are…" The words dried in her throat as she recoiled suddenly and pressed fingers into her temples "ooh…this…"
Imin rushed to her "the drugs are wearing; we will need to…"
His hand was suddenly pulled into the air by Raha's grip. The erie'Riov shook her head at the doctor "the EnRiov has spoken Imin. No more drugs."
The Praetor suddenly calmed and looked at Lwanissa "did T'Leia send you?"

"No, but I sincerely hope old Sobersides asked for your leave to park himself in your head before doing so, else he'll wish he'd never have had a Katra to misplace when she finds out." Shaking her head, the Betazoid gently nudged the fussy doctor out of the way; and it was oh so difficult to stop her lips from twitching when the sensation of a Vulcan transmitting the equivalent of 'argh' brushed across her mind.
This was bad. The gorgeous Praetor didn't seem to know what was happening, but the brief emergence of an all too familiar vibe had been enough. That low, fiercely contained hum of a powerful mind pulled into a tight coil, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible and succeeding about as well as a sehlat in a china shop. Not good.
And the drugs probably hadn't helped either, though Lwanissa was far from an expert on vivacious Romulans and their little quirks.

"Your EnRiov is quite right, doctor," the tall Betazoid lady addressed Imin over her shoulder, "your drugs won't work anyways. The lovely lady Praetor seems to be having an allergic reaction to a Vulcan – not that I can blame her, the darlings can have that effect even without trying."
Lwanissa sighed. This was going to be … political. Meaning, about as much fun as falling into a mud pit with a disgruntled fogcat.

"Miss Praetor… what's your name anyways? I can't for the life of me pronounce the Aha part, at least not without hurting myself. You may call me Lwanissa, or Nissa if you like. Anyways, do you remember touching old Sa'vak before he died? Perhaps a strange sensation, like … oh, I don't know, being run over by a sehlat?" not that she had any idea what it was like, nor the slightest inclination to find out. But one thing about having pointy ears in the family was you picked up a thing or two over the years, and so Lwanissa could venture a fair guess.

"Touch…" Arrenhe groaned and massaged her temples again "there was a brief moment…" Her eyes widened as realization manifested and was absorbed into the logic that now hovered in her mind like some thick unending fog "I have been violat…" her voice trailed off into strange utterances. Finally she stopped and stared at the Betazoid "you must…get it out of me…"

Oh boy.
"That's easier said than done I fear, Miss Praetor." Lwanissa racked her brain for what sweet T'Sora and little 'Kara might have mentioned about Katras and the transfer of such (fall-tour something?), all the while gently fussing over the beautiful lady, with the kind but decisive air of a great-auntie whose little darling has fallen out of a tree. Again. She managed to steer the lovely thing to a comfy looking chair and waved her fan at the fidgety male "Doctor Imin dear, would you see about some tea for the lady? And perhaps some sweets, somewhat to munch on, she looks awfully pale." When in doubt, do normal things. As a survivor of the Dominion occupation of Betazed, Lwanissa knew well the bracing effect of simple, familiar rituals when your world came crashing down around you.

"Now," smoothing down her silken dress, the Betazoid lady pulled over what looked like a small footstool and sat down in a billow of skirts "I don't think he meant to cause you all that trouble, Miss Praetor. You might have had a misunderstanding, which happens quite a bit with stubborn, not quite so logical as they pretend beings, but the old boy must have sensed something about you that made him trust you. Trust you with nothing less than his whole, annoying self."
In fairness, Lwanissa was curious. For a species who couldn't imagine what it was like not to feel other people with your innermost self – and didn't want to, either – such closeness with a usually so reserved race was … rare. Interesting. Tempting. Too bad she didn't think it was as easy as simply telling old Sa'vak to jump ship and use a willing Betazoid as lifeboat.

"Don't you worry though, Miss. I may not know a great deal, but I do know this is not meant to be a permanent solution. You're … a Keeper. It's a grave and honorable trust for a Vulcan, and a Deities-cursed nuisance for most other people I'm sure, but once we have you on their dustball of a planet they'll get him off your back – or head, as it were – in no time."
Lwanissa gave the gorgeous lady's sleeve a reassuring pat "But until then I do suggest you go easy on the sedatives and just swat the Vulcan across the nose if he gets too lively in there. A firm 'Kroykah' does wonders, too. Unless you feel like talking to him and giving him a piece of your mind, which I'd certainly understand, but in your condition right now that might just make the migraine worse."

"Heh." The Praetor whispered a slight chuckle of wry amusement as she settled her head against the pillow. Her mind swam with thoughts that were not her own- an foreign invasion. It was like being a minnow in a school of fish. Endlessly overtaken and lost. "This invader..." She laughed against "my reactions are not logical...my emotions...they hinder my ability to rationalize this situation..."

"They do have a way of doing that, don't they?" Lwanissa said mildly.
Not good. Not good at all.
"Raha dear, how fast do you think your little ship can make it to Vulcan? I'd be able to call in some favors I'm sure, but I'd rather not have the sweet lady moved about when there's no pressing need. And your pretty commander seemed a bit put out by the idea of this being gossiped about."

Lwanissa absentmindedly patted the Praetor's sleeve again, wondering if she should … no, for all she knew giving the old boy a telepathic swat might only make the poor woman's headache worse. But … "Oh, and if you'd like I can make a few discreet calls once we're in comm range – a Romulan ship parking itself over Mount Seleya might not go over so well with the V'Ket these days, bless their hearts. Fortunately for you I happen to know one or two who can help with that." Offering her most reassuring smile, Lwanissa quickly banished the thought of Vulcans getting jumpy over a big warbird barreling hell for leather towards their home. "On that note, how's that tea coming?"

"Vulcan?" Raha looked at Imin who turned away from her- his way of voicing his displeasure at her. The ships security officer frowned "it would be quite the detour...very noticed. Not something Riov Yhisu would prefer i'd imagine..."
"Is it the only way?" Imin finally spoke.

"Well, unless you're hiding a Seleya-trained adept somewhere under your uniform – which they'd hardly stand for I imagine, but then you never know with … hush, Sa'vak. I'm trying to … oh? Yes, well, now kindly go back to making yourself small, the pretty lady has had quite enough of … there's a good Vulcan. What was I saying?" feeling the beginnings of a migraine herself, Lwanissa absentmindedly rubbed her temples in an almost comical mirror image of the Praetor's exasperated gesture. Nothing worse than a pointy ear eager to be helpful after making a mess of things.
"Ah. Right. Yes, I'm afraid so, dear." Prickly as he was, the handsome doctor looked honestly concerned. Alas, there was nothing for it. "Unless you want to broadcast this little mishap to the entire quadrant by asking around for … whatever the Vulcan word for Katra-specialists is, and good luck finding one this far out, their big ball of sand is your best – I said hush, Sa'vak! By the Great Fire, I know there's trees and such … T'Shen? Oh well, it could be worse I guess. Yes, I'll tell them. Now shoo."

For a mercy, Lwanissa sensed the old boy pulling back, properly chastised for the moment. And about time it was, too, with the lovely lady taking on a slightly olive-ish hue around her aristocratic nose. "There now, Miss Praetor. Think Romulan thoughts. That's the ticket. Anyways, if Miss Yeezoo doesn't like the idea of big fanfare at Seleya – which I can certainly understand, splendid as the place is, it's a veritable oven – old Sobersides seems to think the darlings at T'Shen can help. And I can personally vouch for them being discreet. You might even make an outing of it, they have this lovely little lake there … ah, I guess not." The stunning girl Raha's emotional aura flickered briefly, sending some "why me?" along with the Romulan equivalent of "yegawds" through the clamor surrounding the Betazoid, before the kaleidoscope of noise closed in again.
Lwanissa could certainly relate to the sentiment.
"Look on the bright side, Miss Raha. Detours are what make life interesting. And just imagine the faces of those Vulcans when they realize who is bringing the old boy's Katra home."

"I don't pretend to understand this Vulcan…magic." Raha said "but if will exasperate our annoying cousins I will not mind such an occurrence." She smirked. "Though, the good EnRiov will have to settle affairs on Earth before we can leave and I'm certain things will soon become quite complicated. Even if they don't shit on your floor people still do not appreciate it when you sneak a flock of hlai through their house."
"I would imagine not." Imin tersely answered "and what a crude expression."

"No magic, dear." Lwanissa said good-naturedly, and since the handsome young doctor looked about as lost as a theocondt on a roof, decided to take matters and command of the situation into her own capable hands. Which meant at the moment, locating a washbasin and a towel, and … ah, there. "Though I suppose one could make the case that they are by nature magical creatures. Well, in the cryptic sense at least. And some precious few in the enchanting one. Here we are, Miss Praetor." She gently draped the dampened towel over the lovely creature's forehead and returned her night-black gaze to Raha "And I won't pretend to understand what hlai are, or why you would sneak the poor things through a house. But do kindly tell your darling EnRiov to not shop around for souvenirs – your Praetor is in a very real sense stuck in a small room with an overbearing Vulcan and she's not liking it any better than you would I daresay."

A pity the good lady didn't seem inclined to have some fun with the situation, and if it was only to take the opportunity to swat a Vulcan across the nose. Repeatedly. Mayhap she simply didn't know how? Mind-blind races could be … confusing. Hard to imagine these pretty, lively creatures were actually related to those walking warp-cores with pointy ears.

"We will leave you to your business." Raha grabbed Imin by the arm and with a certain lack of grace dragged the good doctor out.

"Well, Miss Praetor. Looks like it's just you and me, then." Trying her very best not to chuckle at handsome Imin's scandalized expression at being practically jostled out of the room, Lwanissa stuck her head out of the door to wave at the darlings in black hovering nearby. Since she seemed stuck with the duty of looking after a head of state with a Vulcan allergy, she might as well see that the lady got some tea.


[to be continued…]

Arrenhe t`Ahaefvthe
Chief Praetor
RSE
&
Sa'vak's Katra

Lady Lwanissa Tyrax, Daughter of the Twelfth House
Senior Diplomatic Aide to Ambassador Extraordinaire Yulana Enaren, Daughter of the Fourth House
(additional titles omitted for the sake of not writing a minor novella. Kindly direct complaints to the Gorn embassy on Efros Delta).

Also starring:

Raha - CSEC
Imin – CMO
& some vexed Rei`Krannsu

IRW Hhveir Ri'hwathech

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[Crazy Horse] Coil of Darkness - SD 241511.03 - Plot Log| "Unanswered Questions Pt.1" | CO, XO, Sec | Cmdre Kanryth, Capt Agron, Lt Batul

A Mission Post by Commander Zivit Agron & Captain Khiy Kanryth & Lieutenant Commander Jin Rha-Yaleii
Mission: Coil of Darkness
Location: Lake Tahoe, Earth
Timeline:

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or the ridiculous amount of coincidence; but Captain Agron almost found the situation they were in laughable, had it not also come accompanied by a vast amount of tragedy and uneasy suspicion. Batul's hypothesis had proven correct, and there had been two separate explosions. The first had been caused by the stolen trilitium, also as anticipated. The seconds, however, had been an equally destructive resin known to be used by the Obsidian Order. While no answer had exactly been found to how or why that particular element was involved, it had stirred up some untoward connections in the form of Starfleet involvement. A Commander Bargash, still active, and a former Captain by the name of Sergei Andropov.

The names were not familiar to the Valzhan, though the activities, connections smacked of something more recognizable. With no direct ties, however, the blame had been able to be narrowed down to a particular organization. One she could not bring herself to believe was working alone, despite what shreds of evidence to the contrary. Fed First. How terribly biased of a name could they have come up with? Disgust twisted her lips into a frown, one slender hand moving to hover over the phaser that rested against one hip. Never before had she truly had any inkling of desire to use a weapon of any kind. The small hunger for vengeance of some kind crashing against everything she had fought for her entire life, stomach cramping in nauseous protest.

In early morning sunlight, Lake Tahoe sparkled brilliant sapphire. Its beaches suspiciously empty save for the small group that now moved carefully through the brush at their edges. That it was here, of all places, their quarry had been traced to made Zivit all the more ill. Had they been sitting a few hundred yards away that whole time? Memory of the strange handful that had passed through their camp stirred, bringing with it unwarranted guilt. What could they have done? Interrogated passerby just for looking mildly out of place? Perhaps they should have...

At the head of the pack, Batul forged the path. Green-skinned Security officer moving as if she was intimately acquainted with the terrain, for all that she had likely never been there. Careful, almost strangely agile movements that reminded of a hunting feline, stalking its prey. There were no words exchanged this close only gestures. When the Orion drew up, all movement stopped behind her. Roseate gaze swept over a thin strip of shoreline, glinting almost animalistic as the sunlight caught them. This was the closest they would be getting, for the moment.

On the other edge of the shoreline Khiy moved with his own small entourage and a group of Marines. There was something personal about having one of his favored retreats violated. His eyes focused on the glistening water while his mind covered every possibility it could imagine.

On the other edge of the shoreline Khiy moved with his own small entourage and a group of Marines. There was something personal about having one of his favored retreats violated. His eyes focused on the glistening water while his mind covered every possibility it could imagine. A glance at his chrono told him that they were near the operational start time. "Colonel keep forwar-" He stopped suddenly and looked towards the lake. Beneath his feet the Earth began to slowly vibrate sending pebbles cascading down the shoreline and into the crystalline lake. From all directions birds suddenly left their perches in the trees and flew skyward nearly blanketing the sky.

The lake- once pristine was now becoming clouded in grey sediment as the calmly ebbing water gave way to large ripples which slapped hard against the shoreline. Looking across the lake Khiy pressed his commbadge "Captain- it seems they are going to try to make a break for it." His eye's narrowing knowingly as steam started to bubble out from the lake.

Uttering a phrase that had no translation, Zivit pushed past the crouched Orion officer and the remaining underbrush. Glaring at the roiling surface of the water, Valzhan diverted her attention towards the opposite shore; as if there would be a visual answer just waiting there. Of course, it was a foolish hope. A small handful of phasers was not going to make a lick of difference. Tapping her combadge, she hoped that her presumption would be the correct one. "Agron to the Crazy Horse. Reclaim all parties immediately."

[USS Crazy Horse]

The beautiful yet turbulent scenery evaporated and was replaced by the bright blue lights of the Crazy Horse's transporter room. Khiy immediately filed off the pad followed by his contingent and rushed out of the room. This scenario had been anticipated and they were ready but it still made him uneasy. There were too many variables and getting into a firefight in Earth orbit was not ideal. He looked behind him to see Zivit charge out of the transporter room. He stepped into the turbolift and pressed the button holding it for her as she headed towards him.

Normally serene mask worn by the Valzhan was gone, replaced by a much more honest stormy expression. As soon as her foot cleared the door, she gave a short nod to the Commodore, lips pressed into a thin, firm line. It would have been so much easier if they could have managed to keep this on the planet. Now...she felt all her hopes of obtaining answers slipping away like sand through her fingertips. Desperate people fought the hardest. And Often to the death.

"Bridge."

The lift moved but at a pace that seemed all too slow. He waited silently as the lights fluttered through the transparent panels. The tension slowly started to coil around his heart as time seemed to ebb towards eternity. When the door finally parted he could barely breathe as he stepped onto the bridge. Everyone seemed frantic. Khiy calmly walked around the tactical console until he found his seat. The view screen image was focused on Earth but the Crazy Horse was out of position- below them Europe twisted around towards nightfall "we need to get in better position. Inform spacedock to release moorings."

"Roger that" an unwontedly cheerful voice piped up from the helmsman's seat and in short order a tiny creature with a mop of white hair informed spacedock as requested. Which in this case meant engines humming to life with the sound of a huge tiger yawning, while a diminutive Efrosian's fingers tenderly slid across the helm console. Judging from some excitedly blinking lights and the plaintive honking of diverse small alerts, they got the message.
Being a friendly person, Jin quickly transmitted a confirmation that the Crazy Horse intended to depart – not that it wasn't obvious, but it never hurt to be polite – and the moorings retracted with alacrity.

"Spacedock, I still have an umbilical on my nose. You might want to … no, slowing down is not an option at the moment. I know that look on Ducky's face. What? No, we're authorized alright. There we go. Merci."
In what might well be the second fastest spacedock departure in Starfleet history, Crazy Horse shot from its cradle like a racing equine from the gate, her nose dipping towards port and glowing nacelles swung about by sheer momentum, leaving a mightily disturbed anthill in her wake.
Somewhere the words 'not again' were muttered into empty air.

Fighter pilots aren't wont to ask silly questions when the hunt is on, and Jin had gathered enough from the hectic conversations on the bridge to know they were headed towards the Northern American continent. She also figured, quite reasonably, that they were in a bit of a hurry, and a shortcut might not go amiss.
Shuttles scattering before her bow, Crazy Horse dipped into a lower orbit, her hull skimming Earth's atmosphere like a playful surfer while underneath the pretty blue marble rolled and on the viewscreen the American shoreline took shape.


"Commodore. Two of the Romulan ships have pulled into lower orbit. Weapons hot!"

Khiy's eyes left the view screen and focused on the young Ensign at the tactical station "what?" He didn't doubt that they had been monitoring communications but all the precautions had been taken to encrypt communication…unless… Khiy frowned "open a channel to the Romulan ships."

"Channel open sir."

Standing up Khiy walked towards the view screen until he stood between the helm and operations stations and stopped "Romulan vessels this is Commodore Khiy Kanryth. You are not authorized to use weapon within Federation space. I repeat you are not authorized to use weapons here. Withdrawal immediately before an incident occ-" A bright emerald flash temporarily illuminated the bridge as a line of bright green disruptor bolts swarmed towards the Earth bathing the clouds below in a translucent emerald as they pass through them.

"They've opened fire!"

"Damnit. I've had enough." Khiy retreated to his chair "red alert. Target the Romulan ships. Inform them that if they do not stand down they will be destroyed."

Khiy had barely finished speaking when his ship did a turn over her starboard nacelle that might have looked playful if it hadn't been a large Insignia-class doing it. For about half a second the inertia dampeners strained, spat out shipwide alerts, and then thought better of it. Their reward was another second and a bit of queasy vertigo when Crazy Horse plunged downwards like a ballerina who has severely overextended herself and surely must crumble to the ground – only the silver shape didn't. Instead, it bounced off Earth's atmosphere, and even as the ship groaned and the dampeners would have cursed the mad pilot had they been programmed to do so, the Horse's nose was suddenly pointed right at the nearest warbird.

Jin eyed the pretty blood-green shape with the unnatural calm of a pilot on the scent, almost absentmindedly nudging the ship closer, finding the perfect angle … Insignia-class meant that to get the ideal shot she had to … gotcha. For a moment her fingers looked for a targeting system that wasn't there, but at least the very satisfying beep of a weapons lock reached her sensitive ears.
Somewhere behind her, she could feel Ducky's beautiful black eyes shooting daggers at the viewscreen.
Talk about an interesting first day at the new job.

Sinking into the seat just to the right of the Captain's, Agron stared in mild disbelief at the viewscreen before her. "What...what are they doing here?" was demanded into the air, though she did not exactly expect a response. Really, one was not needed. They were destroying any chance of answers that would have still thinly remained.

=/\=

Commodore Khiy Kanryth
Commanding Officer
USS Crazy Horse

Captain Zivit Agron
Executive Officer
USS Crazy Horse

Lieutenant Commander Jin Rha-Yaleii
Chief Helm Officer
USS Crazy Horse

Lieutenant Kishar Batul
Security Officer
USS Crazy Horse
apb Zivit

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[Crazy Horse] Coil of Darkness - SD 241510.30 - Romulan Empire Log | Stowaway | EnRiov Shiarrael t'Rehu & Lwanissa Tyrax

A Mission Post by Captain Khiy Kanryth & Lieutenant Commander Jin Rha-Yaleii
Mission: Coil of Darkness
Location: IRW Hhveir Ri'hwathech
Timeline: Current

[IRW Battlequeen]

Materializing in the Battlequeen's transporter room Shiarrael's soot covered silhouette was immediately awash in emerald battle lighting. The two Gai'Shian on guard duty slung their disruptor rifle over tight shoulders and saluted her. Shiarrael gave them a passing nod as she walked off the platform and made haste into the adjacent corridor followed by a thin cloud of dust that smoked away from her lithe frame with each step.
In the corridor Raha, late, appeared and followed in step with her Leih "how is the Galae'EnRiov?"
"Dead." Shiarrael snapped coldly before finding her words too abrasive "he will be in short time at least. You must send word to Romulus- on a secure channel to Senator tr'Verelan and t'Charvanek before the news breaks. It will no doubt cause an uproar within the Senate but they need to appoint a successor to prevent chaos with the upcoming Klingon campaign."
"You, Rekkhai?"
"Elements willing, no." Shiarrael could already feel the dread beginning to seep in. For whoever wields the title of Galae'EnRiov tragedy seemed to await. She hoped the Senator had someone else in mind.
"Understood…oh…there is also a stowaway aboard…"
"A stowaway?" Shiarrael frowned "how in the elements were they able to get aboard my ship?"
"During the chaos after the explosion they were apparently pushed into one of the transports by mistake." Raha said "it was my mistake. I will accept the consequences…"
"To hell with consequences. I don't blame you. Who is it?" Shiarrael somewhat hoped it was Lamont so she could finally have the pleasure of shooting the ambassador out of an airlock.
"Tyrax…"
Shiarrael abruptly stopped causing her poor security officer to barrel into her creating a thick cloud of soot and dust. "Tyrax?"

[Battlequeen, Flight Deck]

"Daughter of the Twelfth House, Keepers of the Sacred Fires of Vathax, Heir to the Scepter of Khrysaros, senior diplomatic aide to Yulana Enaren, Daughter of the Fourth House,… oh, thank you, dear. Triy, was it?"
"Yes, Madam. Ah, you might wish to-"
"Don't be silly, dear. This can't be as bad as that Vulcan concoction they serve down in Kir'Ahl. Scalds your insides, it does. Right before you feel the steam coming out of your ears." All the same, Lwanissa gave a perfunctory sniff before sipping at the tea the nice young men in black had rustled up somewhere. Poor darlings, stuck with a Betazoid in slightly less than pristine condition, and no idea what to do with her. But there were certainly worse things than being parked out of the way on a Romulan flight deck while harried pointy ears darted to and fro.

Meanwhile, the poor fleet officer standing before her with what Lwanissa recognized as a mightily befuddled expression – not that she could blame the little woman, Four Deities alone knew what the universal translator made of Betazoid titles – turned around to the sound of the large doors opening, and it didn't take an empath to notice the waves of 'oh crap' radiating off everyone in the vicinity.
What the stately Betazoid lady found interesting, was that the focus of said silent shouts of 'argh' appeared to be a lithe figure covered in a mighty mess, striding towards the gaggle of Rei'Krannsu and the splash of peach-colored silk in their midst with a determined gait.
"You see? I told you someone would be along to sort this out eventually." Tea in one hand and gilded fan in the other, Lwanissa Tyrax offered a polite wave towards the soot-caked lady. And then looked just a little befuddled herself, when her great-niece's radiant violet eyes stared at her out of an unfamiliar face.

"Sort this out?" Shiarrael arrived with full entourage in tow. They fanned out around her in a crescent shaped phalanx as eyes darted between the strange woman and the fraught Rei'Krannsu she was apparently harassing.
Raha appeared amused as she shielded a bevy of snickers behind her palm. For their part the Rei'Krannsu seemed relieved and quickly removed themselves from the situation by quietly moving into the shadows of the flight deck while the attention became focused on the EnRiov and the uninvited guest.
"This is the uh…Tyrax I spoke of." Raha finally said as her fitful glee towards the harried Rei'Krannsu ebbed. "Some feddy diplomat." She stepped forward and circled Lwanissa "perhaps a bit…crazy?"
Shiarrael frowned at the woman "you're not the Tyrax I was looking for."

"Ah no, dear. Not crazy. Betazoid." Lwanissa favored the darling Romulan giving off the gleeful aura with a mild smile, shaking the ornate fan at her in a grandmotherly gesture "and it's Lwanissa Tyrax, Daughter of the Twelfth House, Keepers of the Sacred Fires of Vathax, Heir to the Scepter of Khrysaros. Ah. And obviously the wrong one. Which begs the question which one would be the correct Tyrax, as it were."
Since her erstwhile courtiers had discreetly melted into the shadows, the regal lady gave the tea another try. Not bad, though it could use a touch of honey. Golly, a veritable glittering demilune of pointy ears in their neat little uniforms for one stranded Betazoid diplomat. Well, of course they were more interested in their fairly bedraggled commander, but it was touching all the same.

And speaking of bedraggled - it was rather difficult to resist the impulse to cluck over the pretty violet eyed woman – partially of course because she seemed so terribly distraught it rasped across a Betazoid's senses like nettles – but there was also something eerily familiar about her, as if any second she might break into melodious laughter and tug at Lwanissa's sleeve to show her how fast she could climb a gespar tree. And get stuck.
The mental image of this poor, dusty, yet so dignified Romulan in a tree caused a discreet little cough.

"Yes. Betazoid." Shiarrael echoed "I could tell from your soulless eyes. Perhaps a curse from your ability to peer into the souls of others." She could see some of her more ignorant crewmembers chaff when she mentioned that the woman was a telepath. But when one was trained in thought it was not hard to keep things hidden beneath a 'noisy' veneer. "The Tyrax I would seek is part Vulcan- perhaps a relative of yours. Sakarra. An old friend." Melancholy. There were days when she wished herself back aboard the Charon. It was much different now. The past was simply a warm memory.

"Soulless? My dear, the liquid, sensual depths of Betazoid eyes are the subject of quite a few poems across the quadrant." Lwanissa tsked good-naturedly but she could hardly hold it against the poor thing. Mind-blind races could be so terribly jumpy even around the most gentle empath.
The other thing however … now that was a surprise. For just a split-second, the Betazoid's overtaxed, pummeled senses (really, need they throw their emotions at innocent bystanders like this?) picked up an unexpected surge of warmth coming from the elegant little woman, come and gone so fast she might have imagined it. If Betazoids were so silly as to mistrust their own senses, which most decidedly they were not.

"Little 'Kara?" with a deeply thoughtful mien, Lwanissa gave the pretty Romulan a thorough once-over. "You *do* know that 'part Vulcan' in the poor darling's case is calling a fogcat 'part feline', yes? Of course she had a little bit of promise when she was younger, but I fear the pointy eared blood will out in the end. Fortunately for the sweet girl she's at least inherited my brother's lovely eyes." The Betazoid lady sighed. "But if you're looking for her, I'd suggest trying the Vulcan High Command. Something with a Ket and a bar. If you ask nicely, they might even tell you where to stuff it in a polite way. Unless she's home of course. I could call her, while your sweet Praetor gets her Vulcan migraine taken care of. Which reminds me, she's not taken up kal'toh or asking for a lirpa yet, I hope?"

There was an exchange of glances between Shiarrael and Raha.
"erie'Riov please see to it that everyone finds their tasks well." Shiarrael gestured at the crowd of onlookers before turning back to the enigmatic betazoid "it seems you know about our situation." Her eyes casts a sidelong glance at Raha who had taken the cue and was busy escorting people out of the immediate area giving Shiarrael a small area of privacy "would you like the honor of meeting the Praetor of the Star Empire? It is a privilege few of your…" She smiled as the word 'ilk' passed through her head but was translated verbally as "prestige." "Are ever granted."

"Oh, my. I've stepped in it again, haven't I?" Lwanissa gave a rueful little smile but took the time to wave a friendly, if mildly distracted goodbye to the flock of pointy ears being shepherded away. "I told Yulana I'm much better suited to charming trade delegations than … ah, well." The little metal teacup was placed haphazardly on the gleaming wing of a … something, quite pretty, actually, with its air of playful menace; and the Betazoid tapped her ornate fan against her dress thoughtfully.

"Your situation. Yes. I can't be sure of course, least of all with people throwing their emotions hither and thither like this. Fair makes one dizzy, it does." Lwanissa waved the fan exasperatedly, as if trying to disperse said barrage of Romulan passions being cheerfully tossed about with no care for any hapless empath in the vicinity. "But as I told your darling men in black, I was quite close to the poor woman when she got tangled up with a dying Vulcan. Not that that in itself isn't enough to give one a headache the size of Tharazad, mind you."

For a few moments, the tall, distinguished lady seemed lost in thought, her fathomless black gaze turning inward. Then she decisively tugged on her barely mended dress, and picked up her purse with the air of royalty who has just been informed that alas, the chambermaid has had a nervous breakdown, and all that was available for the state summit were a pair of ghastly blue marabou slippers and a hat. With a pineapple on top.
A well-bred Betazoid and Daughter of the Twelfth House was hardly deterred by such things, and it could always be worse. It could be a Ktarian melon.

"Still, if you're asking if I might be able to figure out whether the lovely woman is merely suffering from Vulcan whiplash or whether old Sobersides has taken up temporary residence, I am the Betazoid you're looking for." Disheveled from a dreadful explosion or no, Lwanissa knew a fellow woman in charge when she saw one and gave the pretty lady a regal nod "And I *would* be honored."

Shiarrael studied the woman cautiously. She was related to Sakarra- but could she trust the woman? If word got out…elements sake- she didn't even want to ponder the political implications. The situation was simply maddening to her. "I'll have someone escort you to the Praetor's chamber as I have other business to attend to. However, I must warn you that should word of this ever get out…" She looked into those pitiless eyes and projected a vivid thought of the poor Betazoid woman tied to a pike, flayed, and crying in agony as a pack of thrai played tug of war with her entrails- all while maintaining a bright smile. "It won't be pretty."

"Tsk" Lwanissa tapped her fan against the little Romulan lady's shoulder in mild reproach – such a dramatic picture, and delivered with such good cheer, too! – but she took due note of how important this whole thing seemed to the poor dear.
"You said you think of little 'Kara as a friend, yes? Well imagine the Look she'd give me if I made a mess of things. Getting more and more like T'Leia by the day, the little love, Four Deities have mercy. On me at least, Vulcans have no gods of mercy. Which tells you something, doesn't it?" Putting on her most reassuring 'don't worry auntie Lwanissa got this' smile, the Betazoid lady rummaged in her purse "ah, I seem to be all out of Rigelian candy, bless their great hearts." Too bad, the Romulan looked like she could have used a bit of a sugar boost.

"So." For just a moment, Lwanissa's smile settled into a most serious expression "politics, eh? Well, lucky for you the Keepers of the Sacred Fires care little for that. Naught, in all fairness. Nor are Betazoids in general known as liars, since it's really quite pointless among empaths. You want this kept secret, you only had to ask." She winked, gentle mischief and dignified cheer returning to her liquid black eyes "best not keep the lovely Praetor waiting, though. That migraine won't get any better."

[To be continued...]

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[Crazy Horse] Coil of Darkness - SD 241510.27 - Romulan Empire Log | Flames of Empire | EnRiov Shiarrael t'Rehu

A Mission Post by Captain Khiy Kanryth
Mission: Coil of Darkness
Location: Various
Timeline: Current

[IRW Hhveir Ri'hwathech]

Argelian circled the conference table. "What is my sister's status Shiarrael?"

"She is hysterical. None of the surgeons are sure what has happened to her. She is speaking incoherently. They currently have her sedated. Perhaps…"

"No. She had not lost her mind." He said suspecting her line of thought "not over something this trivial. She is Rei'Krannsu. Something like this would not affect her." The Senator stopped pacing and began to rub the light silhouette of a ridge on his forehead "you must ensure that news of her condition does not spread to Romulus. Not until we have solved the Galae'EnRiov dilemma. You must have the surgeons keep her sedated."

Shiarrael shook her head "Imin will not do it nor will any of the healers under him. It is not ethical- nor will I ask of it him. I will not play these games. It is not what I came here to do."

"If you do not keep it quiet there will be an uproar in the Senate. Everything will be thrown into disarray!"

"That does not involve me." Shiarrael sat down in her chair and propped her legs up on the conference table's top while crossing her arms. Her casual mannerisms appeared to upset the Senator as he seemed set for tirade but turned away and approached the large windows instead. She shook her head and chuckled. Some things never changed.

"Do you find this funny EnRiov?"

"I find you funny Senator. This blustering- whether as a politician or Galae'EnRiov you have not changed much. My crew will keep silent. I have carefully chosen all of them from houses and clans loyal to S'Rehu. So fear not about news leaking out about your precious sister's current insanity. She will be isolated and well cared for. In the interim our focus must be on how to proceed. The Galae'EnRiov is gravely ill- he will not last long now. I am set to return to his bedside shortly for the final vigil. You must be prepared for that. We must also find a way out of this mess with the Federation. Undoubtedly some of your more foolish colleagues will call for retribution or war. Neither of which we have time for on the cusp of a full conflict against the Klingons."

"The Zorek are already frothing like rabid thrai over this incident. They will likely to push their own into the position of Galae'EnRiov. If things do not go well-"

"That also does not concern me. You are the politician Argelian. Do not seek my advice. My only two jobs are to keep my crew safe and kill Klingons. Both of which I normally do quite well. I will not step into the hlai pen that is your arena. I've never enjoyed wading through their shit. Bedah."

He spun and lifted his hand but his figure fizzled into oblivion before he could actually launch into a tirade.

Shiarrael lifted her finger off the disconnect button with a wry grin as she pressed her communicator. "Lai, my friend, if Senator tr'Verelan calls we are having communication issues. Some poor hnoiyika has entangled itself in the equipment."

She could make out the trail end of snickers as the communicator flared "Ie, Rekkhai- and if he is insistent?"

"What can we do? Damn hnoiyika."

[Romulan Senate]

The large entrance doors thundered open as a long entourage of Senators flowed into the chamber behind Argelian tr'Verelan and speaker t'Charvanek. On the opposite side of the chamber another large entourage was flowing in behind Senator Saeihr t'Vaien. As the opposing sides filled their seat the trio made their way to the center of the chamber which was illuminated by the tawny rays of morning sunlight as it poured through the skylights. T'Charvanek centered herself between AAnikh and Zorek.

"An urgent meeting of the Senate body has been called to discuss the incident on Earth-"

"We cannot let this offense go unpunished!"

"Tcht." T'Charvanek snapped. The sound echoed through the chamber as the elderly speaker narrowed her eyes at the young and exuberant Senator who interrupted her "tr'Parnas I helped your mother wipe your bottom when you were an infant. Do not think that in my age I am still not capable of wiping the floor with you if you continue to act like a child. Now be silent." The comment was immediately followed by a bevy of claps and cheers. Unaffected she continued "unfortunately Galae'EnRiov Takaram tr'Thrai was seriously wounded during the incident. We were informed shortly before convening here that the Galae'EnRiov has passed. Senator Argelian tr'Verelan has asked to address the body and I have granted my permission." She stepped away from the center floor as Argelian took her place.

"This chaos that now engulfs the Empire requires steady leadership. We cannot allow our momentum against the Klingons to go to waste. We appoint someone with proven leadership. That is why I am nominating EnRiov Shiarrael Nn'Verih t'Rehu as Galae'EnRiov."

Thunderous. Applause and shouts echoed through the chamber simultaniously. One Senator stood up and shouted "we cannot let that traitress lead the Galae!"

"She is a traitor!"

"Foolish!"

"Silence." Saeihr stood next to Argelian surprising even the Senator who twisted his head around to look at the colleague who was suddenly in his space. Seeing the two adversaries together brought the entire chamber to pure silence. "I agree with the Senator. We cannot allow our momentum against the Klingons go to waste. They must be punished for their ignominy against us. Who among us has the proven skill and ability to throw those barbaric interlopers back to their space? Who?" She paused and waited. When no one responded and she smiled "silence. This is not the time for politics. It is the time for action. We must unite. I will support the nomination of Shiarrael t'Rehu."

Silence filled the chamber for a long moment as the shock of an agreement required time for everyone to digest. Battles were easy…but an accord? Boring. It caught everyone off guard. Finally, one Senator stood and clapped while shouting "Rehu!" Others followed suit until the entire chamber was doing the same. The previous shouts of opposition were now a distant memory.

[Elsewhere]

He barely had time for his early meal before thunderous echoing of bootsteps filled the serenity of his dinner chamber. Shouting. Fervent walked. Tr'Vreenak set his spoon down in his spiced soup and waited for the doors to burst open. When they did he looked through his clouded eyes at the speck of blackness against the morning sunlight "Vriha- I am very patient in my age but even I will not tolerate this nonsense. Burst through my home like a horde of fvai and I will have you tossed out with the rubbish. Now what is it that has you so worked up?"

"You appointed t'Rehu as Galae'EnRiov? The Senate just voted and it was unanimous!"

"Is that why you are so animated this morning child?" He lifted his spoon and sipped his soup. After allowing the slight burn to subside he focused his attention once more at the pouting Riov in his dining hall "and who should I have support? Khre'Riov Volskiar? Or perhaps that young Tomalak brood? You want me to support an unproven military leader when we are near war? I am beginning to doubt what promise I had seen in you originally Vriha. We must deal with the Klingons. T'Rehu is more than capable of that."

"Then you will get rid of her?"

"Get rid of what?" He slammed his fist into the table. "Do not speak such things in my house so casually. I will sooner slit your throat then have my head presented before the Chief Praetor." He sighed "but this is my fault as I have not taught you better. You are young. Impatient. I understand these things but you cannot let those traits lead you to folly. No, I will not get rid of t'Rehu." He paused and turned his face towards the warmth of the sunlight. "She is my grand-niece after all. I should support her. S'Rehu is not beholden to the AAnikh."

[To be continued]

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[Crazy Horse] Coil of Darkness - SD 241510.27 - Plot Log | Coil of Darkness | "Failure"

A Mission Post by Captain Khiy Kanryth
Mission: Coil of Darkness
Location: Various
Timeline: Current

[Earth, London]

Perfect. The vantage point was everything he needed and more. He carefully slipped the top of the barrel into its base and primed the battery. "I'm in position. Are you ready?"

"I have eyes." The voice crackled into his hears "they are arriving now."

"I'm almost assembled here. Will take out the package as soon she exits." The Ghost twisted his neck around allowing the tension in his vertebrae to release. With care he slipped the nozzle of the weapon through the opening he had drilled into the building's wall and studied the targeting screen in front of him. He watched those ugly Romulan bombers plant themselves down in front of the convention center and wait. As the Romulans emerged he focused his targeting point at the Praetor…just one moment. His finger shifted ever so slightly and he prepped…

A blur. He grimaced and pulled his finger away as a member of the crowd hoisted a child on their back. Damnit. "Obstacle."

"Get rid of it."

"It'll compromise us. I'll re-position."

"There's no time! You have too…"

The obstacle was gone in a puff of smoke. As was everything else. He saw it before he heard it. The white translucent shockwave that ripped glass from nearby buildings echoed out instantly and was immediately followed by fireballs and debris. It took a few seconds before the thunderous concussion reached him. He pressed himself against the ceiling but felt the building shudder against the wave. Foolish! He sat up and looked at his screen. Nothing. Smoke. No visibility. "Did you blow it?"

Nothing.

Static.

He frowned.

Finally, a voice appeared from the noise. "Not us…those stupid feddies. They must have done something."

"Get out of there. It's too late to salvage this mission. I'm going to blow it. Meet at the rendezvous."

[Convention Center, 5 minutes earlier]

James Wohlen pushed the silver food cart down the elegantly carpeted hallway. The dishes rattle on its top as thick crimson sheet rippled against its sides. A few beads of sweat dripped from his chin- he just needed to get the package into position. Carefully. The rattling made for a nerve racking affair- one of the wheels just wouldn't turn properly and instead insisted on vibrating with every movement. He took a deep breath and held the cart firm as he slowly continued down the hall. His breathing labored and heavy. As he neared the intersection he barely registered the waiter going the other way. He had enough time to think 'oh shit' as the other food cart t-boned his. Normally these sort of things would just make for a huge mess. Unfortunately for James however- trilithium resin was not one for a ruckus. Before he could even register his thought verbally he was vaporized.

[Luna, 24 hours later. Location Unknown]

Happy. That was an emotion Alera was becoming increasingly foreign to. She was beginning to understand Terrh's frustration- and eventual downfall. "So, because of some parasite on its mother's back you failed to kill the Praetor when you had her in your sights?" She wished he had brought her weapon. Not that she would use it. Killing someone was always a nasty affair- especially in the more civilized reaches. It wasn't that she couldn't dispose of a body. But dragging it through New Tycho? Absolutely onerous. Vaporizing him would probably be noticed with all the errant scanning going on in sector now. "I thought you were professionals?"

"I'm returning the deposit and leaving. You're responsible for this failure. I warned you about working up the locals into a frenzy. They always just get in the way." He kicked the cargo container towards her. "Don't call us again unless you're going to let us work without…nuisances." A sparkled of green light swirled around him and then slowly faded away along with his visage.

Alera grimaced and walked up to the container and put a boot on it. Praetor tr'Vreenak would not be happy. It was always a headache to deal with a dissatisfied client.

[To be continued…]

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[Crazy Horse] Coil of Darkness - SD 241510.21 - Plot Log| "Well, shit." | CO, XO, Sec | Cmdre Kanryth, Capt Agron, Lt Batul

A Mission Post by Commander Zivit Agron & Captain Khiy Kanryth
Mission: Coil of Darkness
Location: Captain's Ready Room
Timeline:

Each footstep Agron made seemed to eerily coincide with the low, persistent throbbing of her skull. There was at least some solace in being back in her own realm, even if the smoke and despair of the planet still seemed to cling to her like a shroud. Casting a sidelong glance at her superior officer, the Valzhan frowned slightly. There was a litany of questions that demanded to be asked, and absolutely no time for it.

Catching his gaze for a scant moment, Zivit held it for the span of a breath; her own telling that there would eventually be a broach of the topic. Passing into the main bridge, a nod was given to the handful of crew, though most barely managed appropriate acknowledgement before swiftly returning to their duties. Or at least, making the effort to look as if they were working. Slowing her step just enough to let Khiy reach the door to the ready room first, a deep breath was slowly drawn in as the portal irised open.

Rising from the chair she had commandeered to wait in, the green-skinned security officer offered a snappy salute. "Captain, Commander."

"Commodore and Captain now, Batul." Zivit replied with a wry expression. Acknowledging the salute, she quickly gestured for the Orion woman to return to her seat, crossing the small distance to take the other. Blowing out a short sigh, emerald gaze passed over the array of the CO's desk, frown tugging at her lips. Now that they had gotten there, she was no longer certain of how much she truly desired answers.

"Condolences." Kishar replied, sinking back down. Though the woman sounded rather monotone, there was a glint of fleeting amusement in her rose-hued eyes. Fetching up one of several padds that she had strewn over Kanryth's desk, a compilation of data was drawn up onto the screen. "As I mentioned, we have found...something. It is not exactly what I expected, though no doubt confirms the suspicion that there is a much greater web at work here."

"Found something?" Khiy eyes moved from the Lieutenant to the cluttered stacks of PADDs on his desk. Rounding the periphery of the desk he grabbed one and slid into his seat on the other side of the woman. "Elaborate with some details about what you have found Lieutenant." He ordered as he scanned over the information.

Giving a small nod, the Orion woman's gaze fixated on the padd in hand. "We have discovered that there was Starfleet involvement in the obtainment of the trilithium resin, as was suspected upon our initial information gathering. Though primarily in the aspect of obscuring records in which said compound was to be recorded. We managed to trace this through to dummy accounts; officers that do not exist. Most of them were formerly counted as deceased, and their files and codes reactivated. By whom, we were not able to discern as of yet. We were able to find small snippets of video surveillance from the station itself showing a specific maintenance crew that serviced all of the ships in question. Of course, they were not questioned, given their falsified identifications. We have yet to actually identify any of the perpetrators, though I have begun running what few face shots we were able to obtain off said footage through a facial recognition program. We currently only have access to a regulation officer level, but if you are willing to sign your name to it, we may also be able to gain access to Fleet's personnel database as well."

Tapping swiftly to pull up a second set of files, Batul continued right along. "However, the resin that was stolen was a finite amount. There would not have been enough to contribute to both of the bombings on Terra unless it had either been supplemented from elsewhere or with other materials. From studying what footage of the incident we were able to obtain from private and public sources, the conclusion has been tentatively reached that only one of the explosions was actually caused by the Trilithium. Also, given the short lapse of time between the first and second attack, it strongly suggests that either whatever group was behind this is far less organized than would be expected by the lengths of subterfuge already gone through just to obtain the element...or that there were two parties involved. Either with or without prior knowledge of one another."

Two parties? Khiy carefully looked through the information contained in the PADD. The existence of two groups working separately would significantly complicate the situation. Though for the moment it would probably be most efficient to work on the lead they had the most information with. "This will make things difficult. I want you to focus on finding the identities of those involved with the trilithium thefts. If they are indeed Starfleet personnel, we must root them out immediately and discover the depth of their duplicity."

"Yes, Commodore." the Lieutenant replied, once again rising from her seat. "I will narrow the parameters of our search. Anything of significance will be brought immediately to your attention."

Without awaiting an official dismissal, Batul quickly turned heel and made her exit; obviously eager to continue on the task set before her. Having turned to watch the Orion leave, Zivit slowly brought her gaze back to rest on the Romulan across from her. None of what had been divulged was terribly surprising. If anything, it was just...disheartening. Pressing fingertips against silver brows, the Valzhan exhaled a long sigh. "Well, shit."

=/\=

Commodore Khiy Kanryth
Commanding Officer
USS Crazy Horse

Captain Zivit Agron
Executive Officer
USS Crazy Horse

Lieutenant Kishar Batul
Security Officer
USS Crazy Horse
npc'd by Zivit

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[Crazy Horse] Coil of Darkness - SD 241510.21 - Vulcan Council Log || “Entropy” || Councillor V’Les & a host of pointy ears

A Mission Post by Lieutenant Commander Jin Rha-Yaleii
Mission: Coil of Darkness
Location: Vulcan
Timeline: current

"We've been looking for the enemy for some time now. We've finally found him. We're surrounded. That simplifies things."
- Chesty Puller at Chosin Reservoir


[Council Chambers, Shi'Kahr, Vulcan]

"Nam-tor wugauk. Ki'tev-tor Sa'vak"
"Dan-ripadonrumik."
"Ved kriv."
They were Vulcans. As such, the phrase "I told him this was a bad idea" would have never left their lips. Nor would they ever care to show aught but composure and carefully restrained grief; for even the mildest indication of "I hate being right" would have been in extraordinarily bad taste.
It was there all the same. It floated on the gold and copper afternoon light; it was in the carefully steepled fingers, it was in the grave, dignified expressions. Along with 'Now what?' and a fair measure of 'Not again'. And, as V'Les noted with no small amount of vexation to which she would admit when Nevasa's light turned purple, much of the 'Now what' seemed directed towards her.

"Has there been any word on the Praetor?"
"None."
They were Vulcans. They neither sighed nor rubbed their brows, and they most certainly would not ever consider smashing a fist into the table while resurrecting some savage colorful idioms of their hearthworld's fiery past. Not only because it wouldn't help and was therefore quite illogical and useless, but because they were too busy thinking.
There was of course no point in suffering consequences before they befall, yet it was quite simply daft to not consider possible outcomes of a situation. The carefully neutral expressions around her told V'Les that all the amassed intellect in the room could not conceive of a favorable outcome to … this.

So be it.
"The Yel-halitra has issued an alert. I propose the Council advise the f'rel-barr to stand down, and that a period of mourning be-"
"The Guardians are not on alert, Madam. And may I point out that-"
"I am well aware my function here is as an advisor only, Varek." V'Les did not appreciate being interrupted, and it was a breach of decorum in any case. But her sharp, grey-green gaze latched on to the insolent male not because his manners required mending. Saros had not put the Guardians on alert?
"Confirm the status of the V'Ket."
It was the Minister of Defense herself who answered, an unhurried hand reaching for the garnet holographic letters floating serenely before her above the gleaming table's surface "V'Ket forces within Eridani system remain at f'nosh yon-kur." At T'Kosa's touch, the graceful script began to spin gently and small sub-screens fizzled to life before the other council members "There have been minor changes to patrol schedules due to seasonal solar flare activity, and Ni'Var was dispatched to render assistance to a Bajoran freighter which experienced impulse drive failure."

V'Les was Vulcan. As such, she would be damned before a grim, satisfied smile would reach her lips, but it was in her eyes all the same. "Noted."
It seemed the Grand Admiral had put his proverbial boot down, and since it was a light desert boot more often than not, had managed the feat without fuss. Status red. What meant mayhem on a Starfleet vessel was not quite the same for a green-blooded species who associated that colour with T'Khut's warm glow and the embers of a hearth fire.

"Is this wise?" of course it was cautious old T'Reni who would ask.
"Perhaps not." Minister Syvar's face was one humans would have expected to see in a Buddhist temple, and indeed if he'd only hold still long enough, and perhaps folded his legs in a lotus position, sooner or later one might be along and haul him off to one such to be placed upon a small pedestal and dusted regularly. "However, it is logical."

"To leave the system vulnerable, o'pid`shikh-ornasu? May I point out that if the Sundered intend to strike, the Yel-Halitra is in no position to stop them, nor send aid in time to prevent disaster?"
"Indeed." Supple musician's fingers folded under his chin, Syvar turned his heavy lidded gaze to rest on the agitated Varek "Yet Vulcan is grieving the dead of London, o'shikh-ornasu. All of them."
Gravelly with age, and as calm as it was quiet, the old Vulcan's voice nonetheless put a halt to the discussion as surely as a roll of thunder.

V'Les exhaled a soft breath. Since the Minister of State and the Grand Admiral were in accord, there might be no need for her carefully prepared argument. One by one, heads around the table inclined slightly in acceptance, though certainly not agreement in all cases.
Either old Syvar knew somewhat they did not, and was willing to stake the planet's safety on it; or he was willing to take a calculated risk to make a quiet, yet poignant statement. Knowing him, either was possible, so V'Les wasted no more than three point six seconds on calculating probabilities.

T'Kosa seemed among those less convinced, yet she had obviously already decided to choose her battles. Hardly surprising "Have we any news of the Rihannsu Fleet which the Agency has … misplaced?"
Menos wasn't one to raise as much as zero point one centimeter of brow at the suggestion V'Shar might keep Romulan Warbirds in a drawer and then inexplicably fail to find them again. He merely gave a brief headshake "Negative. And unless this Council sees fit to authorize more … proactive means, the Agency has stated the ships are like to remain … misplaced … until the Sundered decide to reveal them again."
Swell.
Of course they didn't say it, but T'Kosa's dark eyes turning towards the ceiling spelled it rather clearly. The fact said gaze lingered however, told V'Les that chains of logic formed in the elder lady's mind; names, strategies and ship movements playing out in a soundless game of galactic 4D chess.
"Surely the Director has provided an analysis?"
"He has. However considering the volatile elements involved, he has proven reluctant to provide a probability assessment."

If there is one thing that can put a serious dent in a Vulcan's day, it's having to play guessing games. When even the Agency threw up their proverbial hands and declared themselves unwilling to chase untamed waterfowl, or rather Warbirds, …
"Perhaps we should authorize-"
Menos' disapproving stare at the excitedly chirping screen in front of him had of course no effect on it, however his touch caused garnet letters to scroll upwards at an alarming rate.
"It would appear the Yel-Halitra has located the misplaced fleet. Their trajectory-"
"Tlingan'stuk." T'Kosa's eyes were still fixed upon the patterns of light on the ceiling, her hands loosely folded on the table, but evidently the chess game playing out behind her unreadable mien had reached a critical juncture.
If Menos was surprised, or had any thoughts on this little bit of rudeness, he concealed it well. "Yes."

They were Vulcans. As such, they pointedly refrained from groaning, or expressing their opinion of Klingons or the Sundered in any way other than subtle headshakes and perhaps a raised brow or two.
And although the situation very much appealed to the Vulcan sense of humor (oft thought non-existent, yet merely so fine and laconic in nature that it tends to go unmarked by most other species), they also found it quite unnecessary to state the obvious: that when one stomps into a raptor's nest, one will soon be able to fight in the shade.
And least of all would they admit to the brutal logic of this, or the cunning elegance of what had obviously been planned well in advance. All the same, V'Les noticed a flicker of "Blast it, I should have seen this coming" in the Minister of Defense's dark eyes.

"Recommendations." Syvar's deep baritone dropped into the silence, eliciting a row of blank stares which this time owed little to Vulcan stoicism and a great deal to 'I got nothing'.
"Yeht'aya eh`kriv." Unsurprised, the old Vulcan nodded; once more evoking the image of a tranquil Buddha contemplating the mysteries of the universe in V'Les' mind. One might think the Sundered could choose to parade through the Council Chambers riding le-matya, and he'd favor them with the same mild gaze as he did the assembled Vulcans in the room. "Madam V'Les, if you will inform the Federation Council Vulcan stands ready to provide diplomatic assistance if required. V'Shar, I am certain, shall be pleased to share their tactical analysis which is undoubtedly already in progress."

Not that a Vulcan would be so nonchalant as to wave his fingers in a distracted gesture of affirmation while staring intently at floating crimson letters; but Menos certainly made a reasonable effort towards such an impression.
And because they were Vulcans, there was no fanfare or superfluous words, such as 'very well then' or 'this meeting is adjourned'. Only a few terse nods and the rustling of robes before the elegant, high-ceilinged room high above Shi'Kahr fell silent; and the late afternoon light illuminated a lone figure a dark tunic rearranging holographic ruby and garnet symbols with deft motions. A pantomime played out with no audience but silent Nevasa, letters resembling musical notes dancing and glowing, moved and betimes dismissed by a silent maestro.
"T`Rehu."
Vulcans don't sigh. At least, not most of the time. But when they know themselves to be all alone, they just may speak a name like a curse. Or maybe with a bit of grudging admiration.


~

V'Les
Federation councilor


Vulcan Planetary Council:

Syvar
Minister of State

T'Kosa
Minister of Defense

Menos
Minister of Security

T'Reni
Varek
Council members

~~~~~~~

Yel-halitra – Starfleet

o'pid`shikh-ornasu – Honored-Eldest (Highest) -Minister (polite address for Vulcan Minister of State)

The Sundered (Sadahshsu) – The Romulans

Yeht'aya eh`kriv – The Vulcan equivalent of "Well; and so". More literally an abbreviated 'The facts of the situation are acknowledges as such'

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