“Clash of The Titans” – Part 1
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The loud hum of the transporter faded as Ian Lamont stepped from the transporter pad and back onto the Charon after what had seemed like a small eternity.
“Had a good time ambassador”, the transporter operator asked with a wry smirk. Lamont looked up and smiled softly. “Quite”, he said rubbing his face and chin which were covered in several days of prickly stubble. His uniform had also suffered somewhat from the last few days of staying at some of the various Lyrillian camps. The Lyrillian experience had transformed many of his own perceptions and indeed had forced him to reexamine many of his own beliefs, thoughts, and actions.
Waking up in a hammock this morning, a warm breeze blowing, and the new Lyrillian sun just peaking over the horizon had been the hallmark of a difficult mission which had ended in overwhelming success. The success was not his to claim, but belonged to the Charon’s brave crew who had risked much to save the dying planet. He had played only a tiny part in the overall mission however seeing the smiles on Lyrillian faces, the joy in their hearts, and hearing their laughter and songs had lifted his own spirits and given him perspective on many things.
With a new found energy, Lamont thanked the transporter operator and headed to his quarters. Once there he was somewhat underwhelmed having spent so much time on Lyrillia and in its natural and simple pleasures for the past few days. Showering, shaving, and cleaning up, Lamont grabbed a bite to eat as he looked over the object before him on his table.
Lamont had a duty to perform at the proctor’s request and a delivery to make.
Lamont took the object from the table and set off for the bridge. His last visit to the Charon’s nerve center had not been especially pleasant, but he hoped to mend certain fractures that he himself had created. Such injuries would not heal quickly however he would be undeterred. The lessons he had learned and the introspection afforded him by staring into death’s abyss had altered his attitudes in a profound way. All he could see now were possibilities where walls and roadblocks appeared in the past.
He hoped for at least a civil discussion with the commodore. It was a lofty goal given their strained relationship, but the journey of many miles and an eventual destination had to begin with a single step; no matter how hard those first steps proved to be.
Entering the bridge, Lamont cautiously asked for the Commodore’s whereabouts. A crewmen indicated she was in her ready room.
Lamont made his way to her door pausing for a moment to collect himself before pressing the door’s chime.
“Damn fvai.” Shiarrael frustrated slammed her fist onto the desk causing all the PADDs to explode down to the floor. Her lips quivered as she stared at her reflection in the polished desk top. A complete review of every data the Quantum Fury collected yielded nothing. After painstakingly going through the information a second time the conclusion was the same- and that conclusion was no conclusion. Where the missing marines might be the elements only knew. “Curse this wicked fate.” She heaved a furious sigh and leaned back in her chair. When the chime rang she looked at the door and sat forward “enter.”
Lamont tugged on his uniform and entered the office allowing the doors to close behind him. “Commodore, I would like to offer my congratulations on the success of our recent mission and commend the brave and valiant crew who’s dedication and heroism has saved millions. I also offer my sincere, humble, and personal thanks to you sir. This mission has been both a supreme challenge as well as highly rewarding on many levels. Khnai'ra. ”
He bowed slightly in deference to the Commodore who’s steady hand had saved lives instead of ending them having deferred execution of the Omega Directive thus sparing Lyrillia and her people from destruction. For a time he believed she would take the easy option and execute the directive’s order, but that was before he realized he needed to look past the stereotypical image he had formed of her as just another harsh, uncaring Romulan soldier. Her methods were sometimes blunt, her character hard, but he had realized in recent events that she was not completely unreasonable. He had been such a fool. Standing here before her now he was acutely aware of how ridiculous he must seem in her eyes.
“Ambassador, slick tongues can be very dangerous things.” Shiarrael eyed the Ambassador for a moment before continuing with her thought “I do not require flattery or compliment. The only ones deserving of such things is the crew. Without them I would nothing but a foul susse-thrai and a fool. So do not bring such things to me. However…” She stood up and walked around her desk collecting the fallen PADDs. When she finished she set them on her desk and began sifting through the pile. Finally finding the one she wanted she held it out to him. “Your punishment has not been served but-” She gestured to the PADD “I have read that there is an old Terran custom that those who are released from confinement must make a payment- a surety that they will return or not cause a disturbance. It is called a bail.” She smirked “to remain outside of the brig you will be required to make ‘bail’ and I believe that crate of ale in your custody will suffice nicely.”
Lamont’s practiced reflexes returned only a deadpan expression. He refused to give the Commodore an ounce of satisfaction. This so called ‘deal’ was beneath even her standards. Though his features remained expressionless he had nearly bit his tongue in surprise and anger. How silly it had been for him to believe she actually had a heart! She was the same cold, calculating Romulan bastard he had punched in the transporter room not so long ago.
Nothing had changed. Now she stood in all of her arrogance and expected him to grovel and capitulate to her will? No. No he would not bow to her demand for unswerving loyalty, obedience, and fealty. She treated him with nothing but utter contempt since their first meeting and indeed would continue to do so no matter how much ale he presented her. He could drown her in gallons of the blue liquid and no amount would satiate her lust for absolute control. He refused to yield to her veiled attempt to impose her dominance over him.
His collection of Romulan ales was a meager, but fine cache of various vintages some stretching back more than sixty years in age. Some of the bottles were rare, valuable vintages, worth considerable sums and difficult or impossible to obtain. He had a taste for the Romulan beverage, and Romulan culture in general, in addition to a passion for collecting the rarest and finest stock. A few of the bottles he had wrestled out of other diplomats or personages of considerable power or influence over wagers or his favorite, a game of poker. Three of the bottles were so rare it was doubtful another existed anywhere outside of Romulan space.
No. She would not have her prize. He would deny her and thus tempt fate yet again. Shiarrael Rehu was after the one thing she knew the ambassador held dear. If this was a test it was a sick abuse of power and authority. Lamont had hoped that being civil with the woman might lead to an improvement in their strained relationship, however, the clarity he had found on Lyrillia had evaporated in a mere minute of time.
[ To Be Continued ]
