Shortly after the delegation from the T’Seran arrived, Sub-Lieutenant Taren Rhehl slipped out from under her uncle’s supervision. Perhaps it was his third lecture on etiquette, or his endless attempts to coach her on what she could or couldn’t say, but one way or another, she got out from under thumb.
Trying very hard to look like she belonged, Sub-Lieutenant Taren moved through the crowd, lifting a drink from a server’s tray without much thought in an attempt to fit in.
“Thank you,” she offered to the server, and then she raised the glass and took a confident sip. But her confidence swiftly vanished as her eyes widened, the bitter drink taking over her senses.
Fighting every instinct, she forced herself not to cough. Instead, she awkwardly moved the glass to her lips and spit the drink back into the glass, the motion far less discreet than she’d intended.
The young Romulan glanced around, hoping no one had noticed, but then her eyes fell on a hulk of a Klingon captain. He was staring right at her.
“Got a bit of a kick, does it not?” HoD Kragor chortled, flashing a toothy grin. “The selection of flavors tells you much of the host.” He glanced over at the old Starfleet admiral in his formal attire, the ambassador who had assembled this gathering aboard the Kennedy. “Michael Drake may play the elder statesman, but do not think him soft. He’s still got some bite to him.”
“For a moment, I was certain I’d picked up a glass of engine coolant,” Sub-Lieutenant Taren smiled lightly. But then she noticed Commander Tavik, her uncle and the commanding officer of the T’Seran, staring straight at her from across the room, his eyes full of wariness and disapproval.
“Hardly,” HoD Kragor scoffed as he reached over and snatched the glass from her hands.
The young Romulan stood there, uncertain how even to react, but then the large Klingon captain raised it to his mouth and tilted it back, taking it down in one long gulp.
As HoD Kragor set the empty glass back down, his eyes returned to the young Romulan girl. “Perfectly aged. I’ll have to extend my compliments to the ambassador for his fine selection.”
“I, uhh… yeah, that probably wasn’t the most diplomatic thing for me to say,” Sub-Lieutenant Taren admitted, feeling the heat building up in her cheeks. “It’s Taren, by the way. Engineer from the T’Seran.”
“HoD Kragor, captain of the Ch’Tang,” the Klingon replied, omitting any form of lineage or allegiance from his introduction. Houses, factions and blocs underserved his people, and ultimately, it was the people of the Empire who he served.
Sub-Lieutenant Taren hesitated for a second, as if considering her next words, but then, with careful pronunciation, she went for it: “Qapla’.” She’d made the effort to study Klingon, even though she didn’t know when to use it.
HoD Kragor cracked a light smile at the girl’s attempt at his language, and then, with effortless ease, he answered in kind: “Sab khut hafeth, frazhannempal was qailefeth.”
Sub-Lieutenant Taren blinked as her mouth fell open. “You… you speak Romulan?”
“I speak for the borderlands, in all its forms,” HoD Kragor replied proudly. Whether or not his people or the Romulans or Starfleet wished to acknowledge it, he knew their fates were intertwined. Ambassador Drake understood, that much he knew, but as for the rest, he was less certain. And the High Council, they most certainly did not.
For a second, Sub-Lieutenant Taren just stood there staring at the large Klingon. She’d spent two weeks practicing that one single word, and here he had replied eloquently, almost as if a native speaker. “Seize today, for we know nothing of tomorrow… I like that,” Taren offered, translating back what he had said. “Seems fitting. People always say Klingons think only of battle, but that doesn’t sound like you talking to me now. It sounds like someone who’s learned not to waste the time they are given.”
“These people you speak of, how little they understand,” HoD Kragor replied. “Battle is but one path to glory. An easy path, certainly, but not the only one.” His eyes narrowed in on her, noting the youth and optimism in her eyes. “Is it really all that different from what people say of you though? They’d say a dagger in the back is the Romulan way, but tell me… is that all your Republic was built upon?”
Sub-Lieutenant Taren instantly looked across the room to her uncle. For a moment, she wondered if this was one of those conversations he’d been trying to prep her for. “No, it isn’t,” she stated firmly as her eyes came back to him. “The Republic was built because enough of my people decided there had to be a better way.” She looked back at her uncle. “But I suppose every culture gets remembered for its worst stereotypes.”
It was not lost on the HoD the girl continued to glance in the same direction, at the same man, over and over. “Do you speak for all in the Republic, Taren from the T’Seran?”
Taren’s eyes flicked once more to her uncle, then quickly turned back to the Klingon. “No… I am not sure anyone can speak for an entire people. I can only speak for myself, and I believe the Republic was built for more than survival and what came before.”
“Our people are not all that different, yours and mine,” HoD Kragor cautioned as if to assuage the doubt in her response. “No matter the intentions, old wounds are not easily forgotten, and old habits do not die easily.” Especially when so much blood has been spilled.
“I think people have spent too much time protecting themselves from the past that they no longer know how to let their guard down,” Taren paused. “And, admittedly, they might have good reason. But if no one tries, then we just leave those old wounds to the next generation and call it prudence.”
“A flower does not blossom overnight,” HoD Kragor replied, his words curiously introspective for a man with burgeoning muscles and battle armor. “And without water, it will wilt as swiftly as it was birthed. I am a gardener, Sub-Lieutenant. What about you?”
“An Engineer, I suppose,” Taren grinned. “We aren’t as poetic as some, but we find what is damaged, and try to make it work again. Sometimes that means replacing the broken part, and sometimes that means realizing the entire system is broken. We have to take the time to understand how everything is meant to work, before we can work together.” Taren waited to see if he would find her answer naive.
Oh, the perspective of youth, HoD Kragor thought to himself. It might be naive, but it was also refreshing. “I hope you have a large toolbox aboard the T’Seran, because when I look at this galaxy, I see more that is broken than not.”
For a moment, the Klingon captain’s word hung there in the air, both sitting with the meaning.
Taren, though, eventually broke the heavy silence. “I should probably find my uncle before he determines I have caused some sort of interstellar incident,” she offered sheepishly as she glanced around the room once more. “Thank you, HoD Kragor, for the conversation,” she offered as she looked down at the empty glass. “And for rescuing me from whatever that drink was.”
“Maybe someday you will return the favor,” HoD Kragor replied, although she’d have to leave the engine room for that. Until then, as long as men like the Republic commander she’d kept stealing glances at called the shots, he wasn’t quite ready to put his faith in the Romulans just yet.
