Bravo Fleet
Grand Auralik Kevenianh hadn’t been born into his position. He’d earned it – name, title, the office with the nice view, and the comfortable chair on which he spent most of his time.
The most important lesson he’d learned along the way was that, just like Roscessa itself, every victory had a dark side.
Losses.
Unsavoury details.
The most important lesson he’d learned along the way was that, just like Roscessa itself, every victory had a dark side.
Losses.
Unsavoury details.
He’d also learned that those could be swept under the rug. The rug could be stapled to the floor, and as long as his own chair was firmly seated atop it, no one would ever know.
After all, history was a story told by the victors.
And just like winning, the telling of stories had become second nature to him.
“It pains me to hear one of your own was captured during the attack,” Kevenianh said, carefully balancing equal parts sadness and regret. He lowered his head to convey his dismay, the gesture – while not a natural part of Roscaa’s interaction – studied to perfection.
Then he looked up again, and his eyes settled on the uniform across from him.
Or, more precisely, on Teralek, the Commanding Officer of the starship that was orbiting Roscessa VII, and could so easily be the solution to all their problems. Particularly those related to the Ry’kol.
Or, more precisely, on Teralek, the Commanding Officer of the starship that was orbiting Roscessa VII, and could so easily be the solution to all their problems. Particularly those related to the Ry’kol.
But Starfleet refused to help. Principles, they called it. Non-interference. Which, in Kevenianh’s ears, was nothing else than the diplomatic way of declaring that it wasn’t their problem.
But Starfleet refused to help. Principles, they called it. Non-interference. Which, in Kevenianh’s ears, was nothing else than the diplomatic way of declaring that it wasn’t their problem.
Though that had changed now, hadn’t it?
“We share your pain.” Kevenianh continued. “We have lived it. We will mourn her as if she were one of our own.”
“Her death has not been confirmed,” the woman next to Teralek interjected sharply.
Kevenianh didn’t like that one. He’d tried his best to dismiss her as unimportant when she arrived, claiming to be Starfleet but looking so very different from the pointy-eared and perpetually frowning Teralek.
But he hadn’t succeeded.
Kevenianh wasn’t sure what unsettled him more – the instinct that he couldn’t trust her, or the nagging suspicion that she didn’t trust him.
But that was a thought for another time. Kevenianh raised a hand to placate her.
“Of course,” He paused, then repeated. “Of course. We are doing everything we can to find her. The Gloaming Settlements… I strongly advised visitors to stay within the city.”
“There was a local,” the woman said calmly. “He suggested we see the settlements for ourselves, and he’s the one who brought us there.”
Kevenianh kept his face neutral.
Of course, he knew who they were talking about – Vianh.
Who had performed his role much better than expected. Had he returned, Kevenianh would’ve rewarded him.
Names could be expanded. Status nourished. Obedience encouraged.
Then again…
He couldn’t deny that him not returning was probably for the better.
“I… can’t imagine what possessed him to lead you to visit one of the settlements,” Kevenianh said and shook his head.
“Did you find him?” Teralek asked calmly, almost casually.
“Not yet. However, we will continue to look – for both of them. You have my word.” Kevenianh assured.
It wasn’t an empty promise – he would keep looking.
He just wouldn’t necessarily be finding them.
Kevenianh straightened.
Losing one of their own meant the offworlders experienced firsthand what the Ry’kol attacks meant. Surely that would change their opinion on helping them.
Teralek glanced at the woman, and Kevenianh found he didn’t like the oh so subtle nod she gave in reply.
“Is there any way to get in contact with the Ry’kol leaders?” she asked.
Kevenianh shook his head. Another learned gesture. But before he could weave his tale, Teralek spoke.
“You said previously that trade agreements failed, so there must be a way you got in contact with them.”
“Those agreements were attempted a long time ago,” the Grand Auralik interjected, and entirely truthfully so.
There had been talks – there had even been careful attempts at peace, and talks about reunion.
But that was decades ago, when Torivanonh held the position of Grand Auralik.
Before Kevenianh had seized power, and learned what had been buried with it.
Torivanonh had broken under it.
He would not.
“Thank you, Grand Auralik. That is all we need for now.” The woman’s words were a mere echo interwoven in thoughts Kevenianh didn’t know he was thinking.
He opened his mouth to say something. Then he realized that the decision had already been made without him.
He opened his mouth to say something. Then he realized that the decision had already been made without him.
And once they were gone, his chair felt a little wobbly.
He adjusted his weight until it stilled.
