BACKLOG
“Invitation”
### USS Charon, Deck Three ###
On his way out of his quarters to report for his usual duties in Engineering, Ian finished typing a brief message at his terminal before instructing the computer to send. Closing the terminal, Lamont headed out for his daily duties interested if he would receive a reply to his inquiry.
A notification light flashed on at the terminal resting on LtCmdr Sakarra Tyrax’s desk.
She had come off duty, deeply gratified to be back in the pilot’s seat and even more pleased with the performance of the engines. If they would be able to sustain these speeds, and there was no reason they should not with the warp core humming like a content Sehlat, it would take several days off their journey to the Stellar Nursery.
When Sakarra stepped out of the shower, vigorously rubbing her soaking wet curls with a large towel, she noticed a few messages waiting. None seemed priority, so the young woman leisurely selected some comfortable robes and procured a glass of tea before settling at her desk.
The first message already managed to make a slanted brow climb by precisely 0.5 centimeters.
To: Lt Cmdr Sakarra Tyrax
From: Ambassador Ian Lamont
Subject: Invitation Request
Commander,
I was most impressed by your swordsmanship as demonstrated in recent combat actions on the bridge. Such skill and finesse with a blade is not a common skill when phasers and other weaponry are so prolific and far easier to use. I would venture a guess that you have training with the Vulcan Defense Forces. If this is indeed the case as I believe it is, I would very much enjoy an opportunity to spar with you on a friendly basis. I myself have substantial fencing skills being adept at the sport as simply a hobby. In the past I have won many awards in competition though I am unsure how sharp my skills are given a lack of practice in recent months. Testing my abilities on someone of your skill and prowess would be both an honor and a pleasure. Indeed I look forward to learning from you should you accept my invitation. The holodeck avatars are quite predictable and a real opponent would likely help both of us keep our skills sharp and provide enjoyable exercise.
Please let me know if you are interested. I await your response.
Dif-tor heh smusma
[ END MESSAGE ]
She leaned back in her chair, folding long, slender fingers under her chin. A friendly sparring?
Well, and why not. If anything, humans were unpredictable and the good ambassador was a prime example for this trait of his species. And one could always hope physical exercise would keep him out of trouble for a little while.
A brief, affirmative note was sent, along with a request to confirm the time when Sakarra had scheduled her next holodeck exercise. It was rather late at night by ship’s time, but she preferred not to present the spectacle of a Vulcan carrying a sword to too many of the crew.
[Later that day. Quite a bit later, actually]
The ship’s lights had already dimmed to indicate night watch and the young Vulcan moved near soundlessly through the corridors with only the light sigh of fabric swishing in time with her measured stride indicating her presence. The heavy overcoat in a red so deep it seemed nearly black covered a russet colored training tunic and wide legged trousers that could be mistaken for a skirt unless one looked closer. Slung across her back was another dark, elegant shape, hidden but for the hilt protruding from the coat’s collar.
She rounded a corner and to her mild surprise found the tall figure of Ian Lamont already waiting, his pale hair shimmering in the subdued lighting.
“Good evening, ambassador. You are early. I hope you have not waited long?”
“Not long. I wanted to ensure the holodeck would be available even at his hour. I have been looking forward to this since I received your response earlier today. I am pleased you accepted commander. It has been too long since I have had the pleasure and opportunity to practice against a real opponent.” He clutched his own sheathed weapon, clad in a dark obsidian case, noticing the hilt of the Vulcan’s protruding ever so slightly from her magnificent attire.
“I must say you are indeed the best dressed and most lovely sparring partner I believe I have ever had the pleasure of challenging.” Lamont bowed slightly in deference to the commander. “Shall we?”
He tapped the computer console as the doors to the holodeck parted revealing its usual orange grid. He followed the commander inside as the doors closed behind them.
“What venue suits you commander? Something hot and dry given your Vulcan heritage or perhaps something else more exotic? I believe it only fair to grant you the decision”, Lamont said with an exuberant smile. He was curious as to what Sakarra might indeed choose. Her choice inferred information about her tastes and preferences. Perhaps she would agree to spar with him again in which case such details could prove useful.
The young Vulcan acknowledged the compliment with a slightly raised brow and a polite tip of her head before following the ambassador into the holodeck.
“As you wish, Mr Lamont.”
She lifted her face to meet the gaze out of astonishingly green eyes and could not fail to notice the curiosity and anticipation his smile was indicating.
No, her usual program would hardly suffice, he would be terribly disadvantaged. Heat, gravity, and the harshness of even the artificial rendering of Nevasa would make this a brief exercise indeed.
“Computer, access my personal files, program Leh-sheh k’tuhr. Remove characters and display landscape only. Activate.”
It was a desert, but a gentle one as Vulcans reckoned such things. Dry air, warm as a crisp spring morning over Llangon swirled over barren mountains, but the plateau they were standing on held an abundance of hardy vegetation. Not far, a great old fortress loomed, its forbidding face softened by the smattering of tents, huts and market stalls huddling in its shadow, displaying every cheerful color one could imagine.
A cloud of dust rose at the far end of the plateau where graceful horses cantered towards the settlement, and a yellow, small sun was creating soft shadows.
Sakarra let the heavy coat slide off her shoulders and stood silently, still holding the human’s gaze.
The changing scenery and its visual magnificence seemed pale in comparison to the Charon’s helmsman. Lamont could look at nothing else as a warm breeze gently blew against his skin. He said nothing for a time sizing up his opponent with fascination and wonder. She was no doubt good as he had seen her skills first hand on the bridge having dispatched several of the Romulan soldiers who had attempted to commandeer the Charon. He was looking forward to experiencing first hand just how good she was in addition to measuring himself. Ian was exceptionally good with a blade with finesse and skill that had won him countless awards and tournaments, however he had never fought in combat nor trained to do so. He was curious if his skills based in sport could match her honed in combat. He would soon find out.
Pulling his blade from its scabbard he discarded its case and took several practice swings in the air before him to regain his familiarity with what felt like an extension of his own body. The sword was a simple yet remarkable weapon. Unlike a gun, rifle, or phaser which could be operated by nearly anyone and achieve reasonable effects on a target or targets at distance; the sword was a personal weapon with a personality all its own. It was a useless device in untrained hands however in those of a skilled swordsman it could be as quick and deadly as the most modern weapon. The sword was a simple, elegant, and remarkable anachronism which remained a potent weapon even in the modern age of phasers, disruptors, and other technological terrors.
Lamont smiled at Commander Tyrax sticking his blade gently into the dirt at his feet as he discarded his own jacket given the warmth of Sakarra’s choice of venue. “Interesting selection”, the ambassador said pulling his weapon from the dirt. “Is it somewhere familiar or perhaps home?”
“Mr Lamont, if this were my home there would be no need to ask for confirmation.” The young Vulcan stated dryly, but there was a good humored echo in her level voice. “This is in fact your homeworld. The ‘Rif’ which is part of what humans refer to as the Sahara desert to be precise.”
“I see. It appears to be a remarkable place nonetheless. Perhaps I can find time to visit and see the real thing for myself sometime.”
The young Vulcan nodded silently and observed the human’s grip on his blade before reaching behind her shoulder, drawing the shimmering steel. Another languid move let the scabbard drop lightly onto the coat’s dark fabric and she stepped aside soundlessly, giving the ambassador the advantage of having the sun at his back.
He noticed her unveil her own weapon.
“How do you wish to proceed? Might I suggest a simple match-point system? The first to land a blow on the other wins the match and receives a point. The person with the most points at the end of the evening wins. Will that be satisfactory?”
A rather odd way to test an opponent, but Sakarra was inclined to see what type of tactics such an approach was going to produce. Most likely a rather playful attitude and much embellishment, but even that should not be underestimated. Nor should one pass the chance to learn something new. “It shall suffice, ambassador.”
Lamont smiled. “Excellent.” He took several steps toward the Vulcan until he stood only a meter away. “Are you ready?”
Another unexpected question which this time earned Lamont an amusedly quirked brow. As far as she was concerned, she had signaled readiness from the moment she had shown her sword, but apparently this, too, was a human idiosyncrasy.
Giving the minute, traditional bow of acknowledgement the young Vulcan raised her blade until it was parallel to the rocky ground, both hands wrapped around the black, unadorned hilt.
A brief gust of wind swirled around her still frame and dispersed, leaving only the scent of cypresses and nearby water lingering.
Nodding Lamont raised his blade and tilted it toward Sakarra until its tip rested gingerly against hers. His green eyes looked deeply into her dark ones. Ian simply looked not in a devious or probing way, just as a tourist admiring the awesome beauty of a scarlet sunset or the commanding vistas from atop a towering mountain.
He loved this sport for many reasons. A person’s eyes, gestures, mannerisms, and skill could often tell volumes about them where words failed. Swordplay could be as expressive as a work of art and revealing as an intimate conversation. Actions could speak far louder and reveal far more about a person’s thoughts and personality. This reason alone had always fascinated and captivated the ambassador.
He was greatly anticipating the silent story the commander was about to tell.
“En Garde”, Lamont said with bravado anticipating the commander’s first move.
Apparently there was a great deal of ceremony required before humans engaged even in a non lethal fight. It made one wonder how they would perform a marriage challenge. Safe to assume the preliminaries would take up most of the day and both champions might simply decide to rather face the executioner.
Still, it would be rude to ignore another’ customs, just as it would be rude to treat this exercise as if the ambassador were another Vulcan. His stance and grip on the blade already told her most of what she needed to know, but it would be appropriate to get a correct assessment of his physical strength if she wanted to avoid an unintentional injury.
With an explosion of speed, the young Vulcan let her sword impact the ambassador’s. Once, twice, gauging the level of resistance only.
He was slightly faster than anticipated, and deflected the attacks well. Still, Sakarra thought for a moment she had detected a hint of astonishment and backed off slightly, only to find herself besieged by a skillfully executed attack.
Interesting.
She allowed him to drive her across the plateau for quite some time, presenting openings at infrequent intervals just to see how far he would push his advance and took due note of every move, every breath drawn, every change of expression in the radiant green eyes, no matter how small.
A brief turn on the balls of her feet sent the fabric about her legs flowing when Lamont obviously lost patience and vehemently sought to elicit a counterattack.
It came perhaps faster than he had anticipated because with the ringing sound of metal against metal, the blades locked.
Friction and force held their two blades together as each continued to press home an attack which for the moment had resulted in stalemate. Lamont couldn’t hide the smile upon his face. He had not had this much fun or felt such exhilaration in quite some time. Tyrax was good. She was better than good being as agile and quick as he had witnessed her on the bridge in the not too distant past. The holodeck avatars he was used to challenging were technically proficient yet lacked any passion or emotion having a general empty and robotic feel. The commander on the other hand was no doubt carefully watching him as he was her inspecting and analyzing every movement, stroke, step, and breath probing for weaknesses and encountering strengths.
“You have superb form”, Ian said roughly through gritted teeth as he watched the commander’s face which hovered only centimeters from his own. The eerie sound of metal upon metal filled the air as the two struggled against one another. She had allowed him to push her far across the plateau. Was she attempting to tire him or perhaps evaluating his style and form searching for a weakness? He couldn’t be sure. Understanding and learning about one’s opponent was at the heart of his love for the sport.
Perhaps she was merely going easy on him? That too was a possibility and one that carried with it much higher probabilities of being correct. If it was indeed true Lamont wondered how he might coax her indirectly into giving him her best. Asking would be incredibly rude but perhaps there was a way to politely encourage her. He was reluctant to give her his best not wishing to tip his hand so early in the contest. He would wait for a time and see how the evening unfolded. He was having far too much fun simply sparring than to concern himself too heavily with the exacting details of form and technique.
Quirking a brow at the smile on the ambassador’s face, Sakarra considered and dismissed several options. He was not yet leaning into the lock with his full weight, but it was enough to send him falling, hard, if she decided to put a fast, but painful end to this stalemate.
A swift retreat that would leave him unbalanced and vulnerable was the reasonable choice, but it was also one the young Vulcan found most inelegant. No, she had a fairly good estimate of his weight and strength now, so …
One foot moved near imperceptibly until Sakarra had found the ideal balance and with what qualified as a friendly nudge, she sent the ambassador backwards. Allowing a brief glance of approval she noted her had managed to retain his footing and was already in the process of regaining his advantage.
Unfortunately for him, it was what the Vulcan had waited for and while he did breach her defenses, it was only to find a blade hovering close enough by his throat to shave off any pale hair that might still be lingering. Her back half turned towards Lamont and close enough to feel his breath on the tip of one ear, she glanced at the other sword resting lightly against her hip. One point two seconds too late.
“You must excuse my desire to not ‘land a blow’ in such a sensitive location, Mr Lamont. By your counting system, I believe you should be awarded a point, no?”
“Your discretion is most appreciated commander”, Lamont said with a playful hint in his voice.
He stepped backwards breaking their closeness by a few feet his mind quickly processing the Vulcan’s last few movements. “I am tempted to call the round a draw”, Lamont said rubbing his neck which was not accustomed to feeling cold steel. However if we adhere to strict rules then I would have to agree with your assessment.”
The point had been hard fought. Had the battle been for real it was very likely they would have mortally wounded one another. He could hardly say it was a victory. He stood for a brief moment catching his breath allowing Sakarra to do the same. Deep down under all of the layers of emotional barriers he wondered if she felt any pang of pride or desire to win. Such a thing would be abhorred by a Vulcan and embarrassing to display in public yet he still wondered if such things were present in thought alone.
He was curious. Seeing such things in other races was a subtle indicator of thoughts. However she was so difficult to read. She betrayed nothing. Her movements were as mysterious as her expressions revealing little beyond the facts that she was as precise as she was skilled. But was she truly giving him her best? In humans, passion betrayed such things. However in her he had no gauge by which to measure certain variables. Emotions could be both an ally and a curse sometimes at the same time. The wrong emotions could cause one to lose focus and dull the senses. Anger and fear were the two most volatile, yet when properly harnessed and channeled they could be used to great advantage. In previous matches he could read the disposition of his adversaries and anticipate their next actions or at least play upon emotion to illicit a favorable response for him to exploit.
The Vulcan was as blank as a piece of windblown stone. He couldn’t read her and was unable to anticipate anything. She was as dangerous as she was exhilarating. Sakarra was a genuine threat and one that was as mysterious as she was thrilling to engage. She was a true challenge. He only hoped he could hold his own against her. The evening was still young. Only time would tell.
Turning his back to the commander, Ian increased their distance by a few paces before turning and raising his sword. He no longer felt the need for words and sensed that they were perhaps unnecessary. He tilted his head slightly indicating his readiness for another round seeking her tacit, but silent reply. He could not remember the last time he had had this much fun. His recent troubles were a distant memory as he stood quietly gazing at the commander. He hoped she was finding the engagement beneficial if not enjoyable herself. He could not tell. Her delight or displeasure was tightly locked away behind those dark eyes. Perhaps he might one day catch a glimmer of what lie behind them. Perhaps…
He would like the chance to understand her however he would have to earn such a thing. Such a prize would not be won easily or quickly. Friendship had to be built and trust earned. It was perhaps the hardest single task as a human, a person, or an ambassador. Earning trust and friendship and keeping it was far harder and more complex than any mere negotiation, talk, or conference.
Clearing his mind he took a breath and filed such thoughts away for another time. If he was going to beat her again he feared it would take everything he had and perhaps more. While it did not show he somehow felt that she would be unwilling to concede a second time.
For a human, his focus was quite satisfactory. His physical agility however could not quite keep up with that of his mind, this much was clear. Feeling it would only be polite, she let two full seconds pass after returning his courteous nod, rather than launch her attack right away as she would have on the grounds of Xen’tal. Still, the sheer speed and force of her first blow prompted an expression of mild shock, although she was pleased to note it had not been enough to send him staggering. It would have been a sign of clumsiness on her part to injure the good ambassador.
The next blows were deflected with much greater ease and the interested, observant look had returned to Lamont’s green gaze, even as he found himself being forced to rapidly give up ground. His counterattack came slightly sooner than expected, but Sakarra had been ready for it nonetheless. Sidestepping him with a graceful turn, the young Vulcan brought her blade around in a swift arc and raised a brow approvingly when he blocked the steel racing towards his unprotected side at literally the last second.
But his breath was coming slightly faster already, and he had absorbed the force of the blow, having had no time to redirect the impact. Vulnerable. She saw every weakness, every fault, every small opening one might exploit. And were this a duel against another like her she would have been wise to move in with full force right now. Feint an attempt to make him favor the unbalanced leg and whether he did or not, he would have to drop his guard in one of three areas. Repeat the blow, for the sword arm was still weakened, not giving him time to regain the near perfect grip he had on his own blade.
Each and every approach that flashed through her mind … would hurt.
[ To Be Continued…]
