Ad Astra :: Star Trek Fanfiction Archive ^{Beam me up, Scotty.}

* * *

Trujillo stood impatiently outside the cabin door, conscious that she was due to begin the day’s negotiations with the Romanii in less than half an hour.

“Come!” Curzon called from inside, prompting the hatch to open.

Trujillo stepped through into the guest accommodations, a large cabin by Reykjavík’s standards, and well-appointed with tasteful yet intentionally species-neutral decoration.

Curzon was adjusting his robes, his tightly curled hair swept up into something approximating a pompadour and barely contained by the high collar of his sleeveless outer garment. He studied his reflection in a full-length mirror as he addressed Trujillo.

“Good morning, Commodore. I needed a few moments of your time in private before today’s proceedings begin.”

“I am at your disposal, Ambassador,” she replied, subsuming her irritation beneath a veneer of calm professionalism.

“I require that you be at your best today, Commodore, and of late your impatience with the Romanii has begun to affect our efforts here.”

She bit back a terse, knee-jerk response, and took a breath before replying. “In what way?”

“You’re taking their actions personally, Nandi,” he said, invoking their familiarity by using her given name. It was a time-honored diplomatic tactic, she knew, but an effective one.

“They’ve attacked and killed our people, lied to us repeatedly, and are actively working at cross-purposes to our goals,” Trujillo answered in a tightly controlled tone. “I tend to take such things personally.”

Curzon ran his fingers through his hair, turning his head to inspect his reflected visage before finally moving to face Trujillo. “We’re both Kronophiles, you and I, steeped in the culture and traditions of the Klingon people. I wonder, would you have taken such umbrage if we were facing a Klingon delegation down on the surface that had taken the same actions the Romanii have?”

Trujillo was caught flat-footed, the question igniting a long moment of introspection on her part.

A smile crept across Curzon’s features as he watched her struggle to formulate an answer. “Are you angered by their actions, or by the fact that humans are behaving as we might expect Klingons or Romulans to?”

Her confident expression crumbled, doubt flickering in her eyes. “I… don’t know,” she confessed.

“Yes, these people are human, but their culture is as alien to us as any other Starfleet has encountered. They have undergone significant social development and change in the past two millennia, making them profoundly different from the culture that was extinguished on your Earth with the fall of the Roman Empire and its successors.”

“You think that I’m judging them unfairly,” she assessed.

“Aren’t you?” Curzon countered. “Your single example of the Romanii thus far has been Lieutenant Helvia, a man who has adopted Federation culture and ethics after fleeing this world. Of course they’re going to fail to live up to his example, because his example is actually ours.”

Trujillo nodded reluctantly, feeling the anger and tension bubbling within her begin to fade. “I understand, and I appreciate your observations. I will endeavor to be more mindful of my prejudices in that respect.”

Curzon smiled. “Excellent. I am most gratified to hear that. It is important that you and I be in lockstep as we delve into this next stage of negotiations. Thanks to your science officer, we now know the true peril the Romanii face, and we have a better understanding of why they’re behaving so recklessly.”

Trujillo tilted her head, giving Curzon a curious look. “Why do I feel as if you don’t believe our having this knowledge is going to prompt them to accept our assistance?”

He nodded sagely in response. “Very good. You’re correct. In their minds, our knowing how vulnerable they truly are places them in an extremely dangerous position. This could prompt even more rash behavior on their part, most especially if their leadership represents a less unified front than it appears. Factionalism in such scenarios is a real and credible threat.”

She nodded slowly. “I’ll follow your lead.”

He gave her a broad, genuine smile. “This is one of the reasons I relish working with you, Nandi. Many people in such senior positions feel as though they already know all they need to in the art of diplomacy. A lesser leader might have balked at my earlier observations instead of engaging in true self-examination, leaving me with yet another problematic factor to worry about during the talks. In my experience, you have never been afraid to learn something new.”

“The day I stop learning is either the day I leave the service or the day they close my casket,” she said.

He gave his outer vest a tug to smooth the material. “Have you read this morning’s diplomatic brief?”

“Not yet,” she admitted. She had been too anxious this morning to focus on much of anything aside from making it to their appointment on time.

“The Romanii are piqued,” Curzon explained. “It appears someone beamed down to the surface from Reykjavík without permission, stayed briefly, and beamed back before the Romanii authorities could locate them.”

Trujillo frowned. “I wasn’t aware of this. What location?”

“Lieutenant Helvia’s former family holdings, where you escorted him previously.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll have words with the lieutenant when we return. What kind of fallout can we expect from this?”

“They’ll use it for whatever leverage they can get by making it a bigger issue than it actually is. We should remain noncommittal, aside from promising to investigate the matter further.”

Finding himself presentable at last, Curzon turned for the door. “Shall we?”

* * *

The security team scheduled to accompany the diplomatic party was conducting last-minute equipment checks in the locker room adjacent to the transporter room.

Helvia slapped the energy magazine into the grip of his assault phaser pistol before re-checking its setting and holstering the weapon. He was still processing what he had learned on the surface, the revelation of the end of his faith and bitter news that he and a handful of family members, refugees within the Federation, might be the sum total of the religion’s remaining adherents.

“The reconnaissance sensors we left in the meeting room show no signs of any augmented humans at the meeting location, sir,” Ensign Elşad Ibragimova, a young human of Azerbaijani descent reported as he studied a data tablet.

“Thank you,” Helvia replied automatically as he tightened the fasteners on his armored security vest.

“Cethegus actually met the Mother, didn’t he?” Ibragimova asked.

Helvia’s thoughts had wandered so far afield that he found himself responding before his conscious mind could intervene.

“Yes, he is eldest among thos—” Helvia’s head snapped up and he stared daggers at the young man whose broad face radiated innocent interest. Despite his anger and confusion, Helvia was momentarily stunned into silence.

“I get nothing from him,” Ibragimova said, voice tinged with regret. “One would think that I could see her through his eyes, his memory, but no.” The youth shook his head sadly. “It is especially vexing.”

Helvia’s hand moved to grip the handle of his phaser, but he did not draw it from its holster. “What are you saying?”

Ibragimova tucked the data slate into a pouch slung over one shoulder by a strap. His expression was distant, as though mining his own memories. “Every time he was in her presence, every conversation… there is only a Mother-shaped hole there. Where her words should be, only silence remains. Cethegus still hears her voice, but I am denied such.”

Helvia glanced around quickly, realizing only the two of them remained in the locker room area. The larger man moved with startling speed, picking Ibragimova up and slamming him against a bank of lockers, the man’s feet dangling well above the floor.

“How do you know of Cethegus or the Mother?“ he seethed. To speak of the Mother instead of the Son was forbidden, a sacrilege punishable by death in his faith.

The younger security specialist seemed oddly unaffected by the danger he was in, with Helvia’s hands gripping the front of his security armor and pressing him firmly into the unyielding lockers. He answered conversationally, replying simply, “I tracked you to the old man so that I might finally see her. Truth be told it was my idea. You’d never have gone without permission on your own accord.”

Ibragimova raised a hand and Helvia found himself lowering the man to the floor without having meant to do so. He took an involuntary step back from him, no longer in control of his own limbs.

“I would give much to merely see this individual,” Ibragimova continued. “Do you have any idea how terribly, frighteningly marvelous it is to be denied a thing? I am as far beyond you as you are the single-celled organism that spawned your species. I am in nearly all respects a god by comparison, and yet this… this seemingly mortal being exists in some plane beyond my reckoning.”

“You cannot see her... the Mother?” Helvia asked, finding himself able to move again.

“I could pry Cethegus’ brain matter from his skull and turn it inside out in search of those memories, but it would be to no avail. I should be able to travel back to when she lived and study her, speak to her, even, but I cannot. It can't be possible, and yet it is.”

“Who are you?” Helvia asked, beginning to tremble.

“Call me a student of history,” Ibragimova said with a coy smile. “I have a consuming interest in all things Magna Roman, and your faith in particular. Would that I could spend but an instant in her presence, but it is impossible.” He stared at his raised hands in a gesture of helplessness, and then looked at Helvia with eyes that seemed far older than Ibragimova’s scant twenty-three years. “We once worshiped gods of our own. Perhaps this is what that felt like, eh?”

“Faith frees the spirit,” Helvia answered, “it does not bind it.”

“Sir?” Ibragimova said, looking confused.

Helvia examined the other man closely. “What gods did you worship?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, I don’t understand,” Ibragimova pleaded. “Is this some kind of test?”

“And so it is,” Helvia confirmed, “and you have passed. Dismissed, Ensign.”

Ibragimova gathered his gear and beat a hasty exit into the transporter room, leaving a confused and unsettled Helvia behind.

* * *