The Waterbuck was captured against the verdant expanse of the veld. The proud head gracing its slender tawny neck, so mantled with the crowning glory of its twin ridge of curving horns, turning as the relentless sun began to dip behind far-distant mountains – ground & sky just beginning to merge gently into a shimmering vermillion as evening came to that distant part of the Kenyan Grasslands.

“You’ve got the markings wrong Abay.” Jan De Vries mumbled through a mouthful of toothpaste as he passed behind, his impressive physique clad only in a small towel.

Dr Abaywe Eboneke closed his eyes and sighed, paint brush poised a fraction above the canvas – the spell broken. He put the brush down on the small ledge of the easel that was set up in the tiny living room both officers shared (a significant concession when one of them was an Ensign who – by rights – should be berthed in the shared hall accommodations below decks) and carefully cleaned the oil paint residue from his graceful fingers with a cloth.

“I have not.” Abay smiled. The sight of his husband retreating back into the even more cramped bathroom they shared – fresh from the shower – was balm enough to temper his annoyance at being so interrupted from his painting.

Abay keyed the Holo of the Kobus ellipsiprymnus, a representation of the Common Waterbuck shimmered into the air beside the easel and the Chief Medical Officer peered at it offhandedly.

“Have so.” Jan replied as the sound of water ran and the hectoring sound of toothpaste being spat into a basin corresponded with the exact moment Abay winced. “The black ridge is thicker at the hind quarters – yours is uniform between the haunches.” Jan stuck his head around the corner of the bathroom and began to floss…”Shee?”

Dr Eboneke peered at the reference and then back to his canvass. His husband was right.

“Damn!” He swore with a quiet chuckle.

Jan emerged from the bathroom, similarly, dressed in a robe and kissed Abay on his tightly curled head.

“One of the perils of being to being married to a brilliant criminal investigator with the mind of a god!” The young South African man smiled and gently squeezed his partner’s shoulders.

“Well, yes, lucky me.” Abay smiled ironically and took Jan’s hand as he came to sit lightly on the arm of the chair and Abay leant his head against Jan’s strong shoulder.

“And of course, most devastatingly, crushingly handsome and modest I may add!” Jan beamed and stood to cross to the unit under the viewport, where lay a set of glasses and a decanter. He poured two glasses of a warming spirit and waggled one at Abay.

“A little early in the evening, isn’t it?” The Doctor joshed gently.

Jan made a show of producing a pantomime sad-face pout.

Abaywe laughed as he moved to the couch & gestured his Husband to bring the glass. When Jan had curled up next to him and they had clinked glasses and drank, Abay turned to Jan.

“Hard day I take it then?”

The Sacramento’s young Chief of Security let out a long sigh. “My darling, you have NO idea.”

“Well, I am sorry for your trials.” Abay took Jan’s face in his hand and kissed him. “As your Doctor, I advise you to tell me all about it.” He looked into Jan’s cool blue eyes and a warm smile creased his dark face.

Jan De Vries laughed and took another drink.

“Well, you don’t have to be a great detective to realize that the mood of the ship has shifted since the B’Queth and Va’Saal delegates have come aboard.” He reflected.

“My own little Hercules Parrot.” Abay jibed.

“Its Hercule Poir…..oh never mind!” Jan laughed (Abay did not share Jan’s love of classic detective fictions – even though he seemed to think that painting with noxious chemicals, instead of making Holo-art like most people, escaped that distinction of archaic and twee!).

“Sorry – bad joke – go on.” Abaywe prompted, rising to fill Jan’s glass again. His husband did not generally drink very often. If he was doing so at this early stage of the evening, he must really have had a bad day.

“Well, the B’Queth, the Gerontocracy faction, they really are a pompous bag of asses.” Jan rubbed his neck tiredly. “The weren’t too happy when the arrived onboard and were greeted by the XO instead of Commander Allen. You can tell they are a bunch that are not really used to not being in charge of everyone and everything – always.” Jan shook his head and took the refreshed drink gratefully.

“I’ve heard as much from Scuttlebutt.” The Doctor murmured and began to gently massage Jan’s neck, unbidden. The tension in the muscles was palpable.

“The Va’Saal – not the ones that act as servants to the B’Queth – those ones are as placid as milking-cows, but the ones from the Cessation.” Jan closed his eyes “They are troublemakers if ever I saw any. Argumentative, provocative, radical even – but they generally keep this under a civil veneer. My people have had to intervene at several junctures to stop things turning sour in some of the shared social spaces and corridors over the last two days.”

“It’s the anger and the blind hatred between both peoples, just there under the surface, that’s so confronting.” Jan reflected sadly. “The way the B’Queth treat the Va’Saal, it’s like an echo of the apartheid of the Afrikaans from my own people’s history.”

“Oh, my love I’m so sorry.” Dr Eboneke stopped his massage and rose to his feet. “I proscribe another drink. I will make you a wonderful dinner and then plenty of bed rest.” He smiled warmly, not wishing to see Jan like this.

“As long as it’s replicated.” Jan stretched out further into the warm space vacated on the couch. “Your cooking is anything but therapeutic Abay.” He grinned cheekily and nearly dodged a throw cushion, lobbed tastefully, from the armchair Abay was passing.

“Monster!” Abay laughed as he made his way to the replicator and began to consider a menu. “In my considerably considered medical opinion, I shall put that outburst down to delirium and a lack of essential nutrients for now.” His eyes flashed with mirth.

“But seriously – I think the negative mood is reflecting on the crew and morale is begging to suffer from it.” Jan removed the pillow and set it aside.

“How so?”

Jan finished his drink and placed it on the small coffee table before him, running a hand through his short, damp hair.

“Well, take Lieutenant Hyland for example?” Jan wondered.

“Samantha?”

Jan nodded, “Yes Sam.” He turned to Abay. “Her father comes aboard. The pair have not seen each other in years apparently – so you’d think that should be cause for celebration. The happy coincidence of father and daughter being so unexpectedly reunited.”

“So, one would think.”

“So-one-would-THINK!” Jan punctuated each word with a gentle stab of a finger. “Instead, Sam seems to be taking on extra duty on the bridge, has been running comm – array checks with her team – under the pretense that these will be vital when the Subspace Array is deployed and seems to being taking every opportunity to actively avoid her father. Does that sound normal to you?”

“Families can be complicated, but, well, no, I would say it does not.” Dr Eboneke agreed (his husband just could not stop deducting – his bright & inquisitive mind was one of the reasons that Abay loved him so) as the replicator shimmered to life and the mouth – watering smells of Bobotie filled the room, the spiced rice with extra sultanas – just the way his husband preferred it. “But can you really equate that to the presence of the Primarion onboard – as disruptive as they may be?”

He crossed the room and lay both plates on the table and Jan joined him and started shoveling rice hungrily into his mouth.

“Who knows?” Jan Dr Vries paused and punctuated with his fork like a conductor’s baton “Something is brewing, and it won’t taste good. Let me tell you this, this dinner that the Captain has invited them all to attend this evening is going to be one hell of an interesting gathering if you ask me.”

Abay spooned the excellent egg – drenched spiced mince and rice into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“The CO is duty bound to try and strike accord with all parties in the interest of maintaining peace aboard ship Jan and food is an excellent unifier in most cases.” Abay reasoned.

“Humph.” Jan chewed, “I’d just hate to be a fly on the wall for that particular soiree is all…..”

USS Sacramento

Captain’s Quarters

Stardate: 2401.6.07

20:32 Hrs. (Shipboard Time)

“Will you take some more wine Gentarch Oramed?”

“My thanks Captain.” The B’Queth nodded affably enough, his colorful neck fronds creasing against the collar of his sumptuous robes.

The dinner was progressing reasonably enough, given the situation, with a formal but distinctly awkward patter of small – talk that Commander Allen was doing his best to steer away from shoals of potentially scuppering subject – matter.

Such was a Captain’s lot to smooth the passage of those under his charge to a less turbulent channel.

Chief Hojas filled the Gerontocracy delegation leader’s glass. The compact, serious – looking Chief of the Boat had volunteered to play maître – de for Nate’s little soirée. The Commander had not been surprised by this – Aileen had served with him for many years and the two had formed an instinctive bond of support & trust over that time. Try keeping the Chief at bay at your peril.

“It’s an Earth vintage from the Shiraz region of a country called Iran, itself once part of an ancient empire called Persia that was a famed center of civilization and innovation.” Lieutenant Duval offered from her seat next to the Va’Saal representative Ge’nan. “Next to my own people, the French, of course.” The CSO allowed with a little ironic shrug.

“My own people know much of the art of making of wine.” The grey skinned Ge’nan demurred politely. Sat across the table from his pink – hued counterpart, by contrast the Va’Saal was quiet- spoken and understated in simple garb, where the B’Queth was garrulous, domineering and bedecked in ostentatious finery.

As a cultural anthropologist, Dr Duval was in her element, but remembered Nate’s instruction and did not let her natural curiosity obscure the directive to ensure that neither party strayed too far into the troubled waters of argument. The intent of this gathering was to placate and dilute some of the tensions that had been simmering aboard over the last few days.

The Gentarch waved a dismissive clutch of plump many-ringed fingers airily and nodded to Nate. “Of course, the B’Queth have always ensured that the necessary knowledge is carefully handed down to our charges in each of their brief generations – essential to ensure the quality of the vintages are consistently maintained.” The B’Queth enthused confidently. “The Va’Saal are as a moment of joy – short-lived and vibrant. Sadly, many that gather the harvest seldom endure to enjoy the first vintage.”

No one at the table was sufficiently impressed with the depth of the Gentarch’s triteness – save himself.

Representative Ge’nan pursed his lips – refusing to rise to the Gentarch’s barb. He nodded to Cerine, “Tell me Dr Duval – this Empire of the Persia that was so mighty, how did it become this Iran?”

He pointedly refused a refill on this own glass when Chief Hojas passed his seat. Nate noticed that the Va’Saal was far less ostentatious and domineering than the Gentarch in his manner but was more comfortable framing his reposts from a careful position of passive aggression. For a race that had evolved primarily into a ‘Master & Servant’ dynamic – the Commander supposed that this was to be expected.

“Well,” Cerine smiled and drank a sip of wine from her own glass, “The Persian Empire began to decline under the reign of the ruler Darius’s son, Xerxes. Xerxes depleted the royal treasury with an unsuccessful campaign to invade a neighboring empire called Greece and continued with irresponsible spending upon returning home. Persia was eventually conquered by in 334 B.C.E.”

“I see.” Representative Ge’nan remarked pointedly as he turned his gaze toward the Gentarch and continued. “So, their leaders grew complacent and were bested by an inevitable outside force?” He smiled thinly at the B’Queth across the table from him.

“Pah!” The Gentarch fluttered his fingers at Chief Hojas imperiously to re-fill his own glass and pouted theatrically. “I am sure that the good Dr Duval has simplified the more complicated elements of her story for the benefit of all gathered Ge’nan.”

The Chief refilled the Gentarch’s glass, her face unreadable.

“Like so many things Captain.” Oramed spoke pointedly to Commander Allen, rather than directly to the Va’Saal, “One has to simplify and abridge much of what is related to our Va’Saal compatriots for the sake of brevity. As short lived as their time is amongst us, it becomes essential, a kindness even, not to belabor them with erroneous details.” The generously – proportioned creature purred obsequiously.

Frowning Cerine Duval began to lazily trace a finger around the rim of her own glass, creating a sonorous – but distracting – tone. She replied.

“Well Gentarch, a man called Alexander the Great, finally toppled the Persian dynasty and assimilated it into his own growing Empire. After a series of ill-planned invasions of Greece that had failed and numerous rebellions by frustrated nations within the Empire, the Persians were weakened.” The suave Frenchwoman hoped that the pompous Genocrat could appreciate the abject lesson apparent in this tale.

Unperturbed, Gentarch Oramed clapped his hands together and rejoined silkily “And here we find the disturbing pattern of behavior common to your people it would seem, H’mmm?”

Without wanting or waiting for anyone to form a response, Oramed smoothly pressed his point – most evidently pleased by the turn of conversation and the opportunity to confirm his primacy over it.

“Like your Starfleet seeks to assimilate our own glorious culture and traditions into its own and that we reach the point where we effectively cease to be as a people, separate and distinct. Why else would you be stoking the fires of discontent to even consider this ridiculous Va’Saal request for cessation – if not to achieve this end?” Oramed’s final tone was dark with implication.

“That supposition is both illogical and misrepresentative on many levels Gentarch.” Sorvak intoned levelly, as he picked over his salad. The Vulcan Second Officer had not spoken all evening beyond opening greetings, content to listen thus far, but now he weighed in without emotion.

“Firstly.” Sorvak turned his bald – head to the B’Queth, but to also make clear he was also addressing the Va’Saal seated at the table equally.

“It is the United Federation of Planets that has been at the forefront of the diplomatic efforts to entreat with both your peoples, as is required when a civilization reaches the relative technological development necessary to develop Warp-capability and thus be considered for inclusion with their involved ‘at-play’ Galactic contemporaries. Starfleet, in this context was and is merely the instrument of First Contact and continued outreach between our peoples.”

“So you say, So you say…” The Gentarch pushed some food around his plate, pretending good natured acceptance of the Vulcan’s diatribe, but inwardly annoyed that his limelight was being obscured.

“Secondly Gentarch.” Sorvak continued, equally unperturbed (as he was essentially imperturbable) “The United Federation of Planets is a collective of numerous interested planetary sovereignties sharing a common mandate of exploration and defense. It has not been a purely human endeavor since the dissolution of the United Earth Space Probe Agency in 2161 and its ‘assimilation’ into the earth polity as a founding member of the UFP that we know today.”

“HAH! See? That word again – ‘Assimilation’.” Oramed interjected smugly, “Strange how it seems to recur whenever we touch upon your Federation and its dealings. One may wonder how this makes you people any different from these ‘Borg’ that you keep on trying to frighten us with.”

 The Gentarch was aware that he was losing his grip on the conversation and was resorting to bluster – a typical B’Queth fallback.

Sorvak frowned and spoke to the Gentarch as if explaining an evident to a small child.

“I fail to equate your reasoning Gentarch.” The Vulcan raised a critical eyebrow. The most animated his face had been all night. “The Federation seek to support and assist the development of any species willing to interact in the furtherment of peace and relative freedoms.”

Sorvak looked pointedly from the Gentarch to the Representative when he pronounced ‘relative’.

“Whereas the Borg are an entity that exists only to extend its hegemony, the Federation would only seek to enrich itself by the encapsulation of the Primarion cultural diversity into its own culture as a distinct and active participant. The Borg know no such distinction and would seek to subsume your people into the Collective – effectively eradicating your culture in favour of their own. I myself have encountered the Borg during my career and can assure you that it is only by the merit of the values of the UFP and the bravery of Starfleet that I am able to relate this distinction to you today.”

A pallor of awkwardness hung over the dining table. Someone cleared their throat nervously and the only sound was of cutlery moving against crockery.

Commander Allen launched a conversational countermeasure that he had been holding in reserve.

“Our people are certainly excited to learn more about Primarion culture and its genesis.” Nate nodded as desert was served. “The Federation appreciates the goodwill of the Gerontocracy and the support of all Primarion people in permitting our science team to visit the site on Primar – Majoris#7. I am sure it will serve to bring our peoples together – just as it has with Lt Hyland and her father here?”

At this, Sam glanced at her father – the Xenoarchaeology Professor Jonas Hyland. The expression was unreadable, and Nate began to experience a sensation of misgiving. The CO had been pre-occupied during the first few days of the voyage and had hoped that introducing the Hylands to the guest-list would interject a much – needed opportunity for lively debate & conciliation. It seemed however that this may have been overambitious, as something was evidently awry between father and daughter.

Nate made a mental note to follow this up with Lieutenant Hyland at a later date, but the erudite Professor Jonas Hyland came to his rescue.

“The Reliquary of Ost is indeed a captivating site, both in terms of antiquity, architectural refinement and – speaking with the inevitable self-interest of a scientist – a singular opportunity to appreciate the manifold wonders and mystery of the influence of the Providers.” Jonas Hyland possessed such an infectious intellectual curiosity that, when he spoke, you easily could see how the gifted academic could hold entire lecture theatres of his peers in such thrall.

“Thank the Providers.” Gentarch Oramed intoned respectfully.

“Thank the Providers.” Representative Ge’nan echoed quietly.

Jonas Hyland removed his antique spectacles and made a show of polishing the lenses until they gleamed like his clever green eyes. “Just IMAGINE what secrets and wonders, what things that they still have to say to us through the wisdom of what they have left behind?” The Professor enthused genuinely – so much that even his daughter allowed herself a small smile.

Both opposing Primarion at the table nodded their assent to this guileful appeal to their shared (if uneven) cultural base and the conversation was gently guided down the imagined vaulted stone archways and plaza of the fantastical ruins of Reliquary in the Great Ost Desert and away from the clashing echoes of past and present conflict.

Commander Nathan Allen raised a forkful of dessert to his face to mask a small, wry smile of hope – thinking that he might just get his guests to coffee and petit – fours unscathed after all………