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

Chapter Text

“Commander, life form readings, headed this way.”

“All right, better part of valor everyone. Back to the shuttle. ” She levels her phaser at the vegetation as the rest of the landing party starts the retreat, bringing up the rear. The bushes twitch. “We know you’re there,” she calls. “Show yourselves.”

“It’s her.” The first figure emerges, a tall woman with pale skin and that single tail of hair at the crown of her head. She’s got some kind of a long rifle leveled at her chest. “Song Tulin. Give yourself up and come quietly.”

That’s not my name, Chester almost says. And why the hell do they want me, she wonders, almost asks–

━and the phaser fire erupts around them, filling the air with ozone and the smell of burning plants. “Run!” she yells at her stupid away team who’ve stayed behind to save her ass. “That’s a goddamn order, Takahashi–!” 

She returns fire, noting with some quiet clinical part of her mind that the forms emerging from the brush aren’t Jem’Hadar, aren’t anything familiar, Takahashi is fucking hesitating, not wanting to leave a superior officer behind, goddamn green kid. One moment of breathing room, the shuttle’s visible beyond a boulder field. She catches up with them, gives the staring Takahashi a firm push. “They’re your command, kiddo, now get! I’m right behind you!”

And then the blow comes down between her shoulderblades and she’s down and fighting, and the next glimpse she gets is the shuttle against the sky and she’s fucked, but at least Takahashi is gonna live to get a bit less green–

Chester woke up with a hiccup of breath, and no clue where she was. She made herself stay still. It was a bed. That was good. The sheets were pretty nice, that was also good━and it had sheets, which was even better. She was more or less clean, and if the air smelled astringent, at least there was no further chafe of cuffs and collar and nothing was zapping her. 

Halls of Healing. Right. Dear god, did they name everything like a fantasy monastery? But given that this seemed to be some kind of religious order that called people of a certain level ‘masters’, it was probably par for the course. 

She lay in the bed, and took a few minutes to appreciate that she didn’t hurt. Was she safe? Good question. The Jedi seemed fairly willing to protect her from the local security services, but the political situation seemed unstable enough without introducing a fugitive into the mix. The last thing she needed was for Tarkin et al to decide the Jedi’s sheltering of her was sufficient reason to get the last people with a conscience out of authority in the war.

Military regimes like this one seemed to be didn’t tend to be kind to religious orders that didn’t toe the state’s official line, after all. 

That was settled. She needed to leave posthaste. Get out of here, find the bounty hunters who’d grabbed her, get them to take her back through the anomaly. Send out a distress call. 

Of course, she’d then be taking potluck with whether the Dominion or Federation got to her first, but after the last week━and a good look at Tarkin━she was willing to take her chances hijacking a Jem’Hadar ship.

Oh, ye gods. Tarkin. Was he still lurking around? Had anything been decided? She pushed off the blankets and swung her feet down. Someone had left her a sort of robe to put over her pajama-equivalents; she wrapped it around herself and padded cautiously out to the door, putting her head out into the hallway. 

All clear. There was a little automaton of some sort down the hallway, trundling along making intermittent vacuum-cleaner noises━janitorial services, she guessed. It did not appear to have any sort of observation capacity.

It was tempting to just make a beeline for the exit, but her chances of escaping the planet in pajamas and a bathrobe were not good, especially one with technology this unfamiliar. She retreated back to the room; they’d taken her uniform for cleaning, but she’d managed to get them to leave her commbadge and pips. Not that the latter were going to do her a lot of good here. The commbadge, with its universal translator, however…

There were clean clothes laid out as well, tunics and trousers in soft hues and fabrics. Sentiment led her to try and find something close enough to the colors of her uniform━heather gray seemed a surer bet than red, though━and she was somewhat relieved to find they’d at least left her boots. She pulled her hair out of its braid, very glad not to feel it catching grimily on her fingers anymore, brushed it out and pulled it into her habitual low ponytail. 

Dressed, she was beginning to entertain the idea of escape again when there was a gentle tap at her door. 

“Enter,” she called, turning. The unfamiliar tunic with its soft cut felt strange against her skin, and as she straightened her shoulders under it, she felt a pang━a little thing like a uniform seemed much more important right now, here in a strange place. 

You wanted to be something other than a soldier, she reminded herself. You’re a First Contact specialist, you’ve been longing for this—a chance to make friends instead of war. So shape up! 

But it didn’t feel right, knowing the war was going on back home, that she’d left the people who needed her, and that she was all but a prisoner here. She had to get home. 

The door opened to admit Master Che. “Feeling better?” 

Chester nodded. “Much, thank you.”

Master Che smiled. “Good. I’m afraid to report that Admiral Tarkin has set up a negotiation for your custody in half an hour. Master Plo has one of our legal specialists advocating for you, and he will be sitting in himself. I’m told that you have a very good legal case, and the Order intends to uphold your right to freedom. It’s just that Republic Intelligence is━hm━wanting to be seen rattling their stick, perhaps.”

“Yes, I’ll bet they are,” said Chester. “Tarkin didn’t seem the type to take defeat gracefully, and he didn’t seem particularly fond of your people, either.” She tilted her head, thinking. Master Plo—that was her guide from yesterday. He’d been the one to take the cuffs and collar off. He’d seemed kind, worried about her.

All of them seemed kind, but it didn’t make her any less a prisoner. “I appreciate Master Plo’s help. Has he a habit of picking up strays?”

Master Che’s mouth quirked upward. “You might say that. It is a rather common Jedi trait.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised.”

They gave Chester a simple little breakfast, some sort of chewy nut-and-fruit bar and a drink they called ‘caf’, which was absolutely definitely one hundred percent coffee. The caf was actually pretty good━not nearly as strong as raktajino, but dark and bittersweet. It got the brain going, at any rate.

The room in which the negotiation for her freedom was to take place was light and airy, set on an enclosed balcony overlooking an impressively large indoor garden. The light seemed natural, if thin and watery–the sky, visible through an enormous glass skylight set at angles into the vaulted ceiling, was pale grey. Mist floated past the towers of the surrounding city in wispy skeins.

Master Plo introduced her to the legal specialist, Master Lakshai, who looked almost human but for their powder-blue skin and pale lavender hair. Reading between the lines and listening for things unsaid, Chester surmised they specialised in the more political cases.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said to them, inclining her head in a gesture of greeting generally recognized by most humanoids. “Thank you for your assistance; I greatly appreciate it.”

Master Lakshai smiled up at her━they were very short━and dipped their head in return. The beaded decorations on their brassy headpiece clinked merrily against the ornate metal headband. “If only we were meeting in better circumstances,” they said, their voice soft and androgynous. “I am glad to help, Commander.”

The door opened again to admit Tarkin, just as pleased with himself, and crisply gray as he’d been the night (or afternoon) before. That smugness intensified as he looked at Chester. 

Chester returned the look with a coolly evaluating one of her own. It was much easier to push aside her fear after a decent sleep and medical treatment.

“I have checked with our sources,” said Tarkin, “and we have concluded that the claims made by the suspect are flatly impossible. That sector of space is a wasteland, heavily affected by navigational anomalies, and with no known civilizations. Much less a complex spacefaring civilization as she claims to have come from.” He tilted her a condescending smirk. 

“Have you checked for subspace phenomena?” she asked. “Unexplained tetryon levels, for example?”

Master Plo cut in smoothly as Tarkin opened his mouth. “I would not describe the Abbaji Western Field as a wasteland, Admiral━it contains a number of promising agriworlds, among other things. The navigational anomalies you mention would support Commander Chester’s claim, to my estimation, as at least one is a confirmed and registered stable wormhole. As I recall, there was a proposal advanced before the war broke out to investigate a number of others in the Field.”

Another wormhole? Oh, fuck that. The scientists would be thrilled, but Chester couldn’t say she was thrilled from a tactical viewpoint. The Galactic Republic wasn’t seeming like a great potential neighbor; more like one that would let their pet fascists crap all over the Alpha Quadrant’s lawn. 

Or the Dominion’s. Now that was a fight she’d prefer not to see.

Tarkin’s legal counsel blinked slowly. The man himself raised an eyebrow.

“That is an extremely unlikely scenario. The law is uninterested in fairy tales, no matter the scientific language you package them in.”

“Subspace phenomena causing displacement of persons or larger objects are extremely well documented,” said Chester. “They hardly constitute fairy tales.” Unless your astrophysicists are about as advanced as your ethical awareness. 

“By whom? This Federation you claim to represent?” He was smiling a little, clearly enjoying this. “An unfortunate choice of name, were you striving for credibility.”

“By the Republic Ministry for Navigation and Exploration,” said Master Plo, oddly flatly. “Admiral, I suspect you have not given your department sufficient time to research. These are well-established realities.”

“Does the word ‘federation’ mean something different here?” Chester asked. Her voice came out sharper than she’d intended, and she throttled down the fear-fueled irritation rising in her chest. “All it means to me is a description of a political structure: a group of states or organizations gathered under a central authority, maintaining independence in internal affairs. There’s a Federation of Farmers on one of our planets━they’re no danger to anyone but water quality inspectors.”

Again, Master Plo cut Tarkin off. “The word is shorthand for the Trade Federation, a splinter group of which has declared support for the Separatists. The Federation has been the single most powerful non-government economic entity in the galaxy for the last two centuries.”

Not a translator malfunction, then. Chester nodded. “I see.”

“As it stands, Admiral, we have provided the Intelligence Bureau and the relevant Republic officers with genetic evidence that Commander Chester is not the fugitive you claim.” Master Lakshai passed the legal counsel a lit datapad, pointing to a particular passage in the file onscreen. “All of this is a conclusive proof of identity, established in Republic law for centuries. If you would like to dispute the evidence, that is your right to do so, but this is not the proper process.”

Tarkin looked down his thin nose at them. He didn’t seem at all bothered, Chester realised; he’d pushed the flimsy excuse knowing that it wouldn’t work. Why? Was this really just a bully looking for a scapegoat?

Or…

A recaptured traitor was easier to disappear than an extragalactic visitor. And in Tarkin’s place, she would have been concerned about the security threat such a visitor might pose. The difference was that she believed in a whole bunch of pesky sentient rights.

Chester looked at him, opened her mouth, thought a moment and closed it again. She let out a long breath through her nose, composing herself, and glanced at Plo and the other Jedi. “As I am new to your Republic,” she said slowly and evenly, “are you familiar with any other legal proof that Admiral Tarkin can request from me to prove that I am who I say I am? Or is his suspicion sufficient to detain me?”

“In a time of war?” said Tarkin, and smiled thinly. 

“The demands of wartime security have not yet superseded the principles of justice which are essential to civilization, Admiral. We are not yet in such a desperate place that any flimsy construance can be used as an excuse to detain a person indefinitely.” Master Lakshai’s soft voice sharpened. “The Admiral may dispute the provided evidence, which he no doubt already has. The Courts will examine his argument, and if they find it has merit, they may compel you to provide essentially the same evidence–DNA, largely–to an external lab. The Order will not object to this request in principle, but given the slipshod manner in which the Intelligence Bureau has dealt with your case thus far, we will exert our right to retain custody of you, including protection and supervision while you provide this evidence.”

“To which we object that the fugitive Song Tulin represents a significant threat to the security of the Grand Army of the Republic, and that custody of the suspect should be yielded to the Intelligence Bureau.” Tarkin’s lawyer had begun to sweat. “Our investigation is time-sensitive.”

“You have been chasing Knight Tulin for months,” Master Plo pointed out. “You would waste months more on forcing this case through the Courts.”

“Is there any way I could be returned sooner?” Chester asked, and hated the evident distress in her own voice; Tarkin looked at her like he’d scented blood. “I have a duty to return to. I’m second-in-command of a starship; that’s not something lightly put aside, much less for months. ”

Much less with an ongoing war. But she couldn’t say that, not to any group that included Tarkin, and even if it had just been the Jedi that would have been ill-advised. They seemed kindly enough, but their oaths were to a republic clearly slipping into authoritarianism. 

“If we were permitted to conduct our own genetic testing and corroboration of the information this individual has supplied,” said Tarkin, with a sly look at her, “we would be much more willing to accept these assertions.”

“In your own facilities, no doubt,” said Chester. 

“An unbiased review would certainly set the record straight.”

“Would I be permitted to have anyone accompany me?”

“Republic Intelligence believes the Jedi have been rather too involved in this case as it is.”

“It seems to me that, having walked into your custody, I would have very little assurance that I would walk out of it again.”

Tarkin gave her an agonizingly smug look. “Commander,” and she could hear the quotation marks clank into place around the word, “let me assure you, if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear.”

“The cry of every totalitarian regime over the last thousand years on hundreds and hundreds of worlds,” she said, very dry. “I’ve seen how this plays out. Forgive me if I fail to find it convincing.”

“We concur,” said Master Lakshai. “Republic Intelligence has shown a disturbing lack of willingness to consider any option but that of Commander Chester’s guilt, and thus far has supplied no proof of her guilt past her superficial physical resemblance to the accused━who, I might remind you, has also not been tried let alone convicted.” 

Tarkin’s expression slid sideways into a sour sneer. “The defense of the Republic is paramount, Master Jedi. I would have thought you of all organizations understood that too is a fundamental principle of civilization.”

“The oaths we swear to the defense of the Republic also include defense from malign forces within, those which seek to erode the foundational principles on which the Republic was built.” Master Plo managed to sound thoughtful rather than accusing, which was mildly impressive. “I think, if we fail to uphold the spirit of justice in which nineteen thousand systems consented to accord, for all beings within our auspices, then the Republic dies as surely as if the Separatists had conquered us. No, Admiral, the Order will not be sending Commander Chester anywhere without an escort. You are free to nominate a facility, you may bear witness to any tests you like, within the bounds of individual privacy. If you do not trust the Order not to harbor Separatist fugitives, then I wonder why you trust us to lead your armies.”

The corner of Tarkin’s mouth twitched. “This is a single case. It’s inappropriate to extrapolate it to the war as a whole.”

Master Plo tilted his head. “Oh, is it?” 

“There is a prevailing impression that the Jedi Order considers itself to be above the law–I would expect that you would be eager to diffuse that impression at every opportunity. Your insistence on conducting this entire affair behind the closed doors of the Jedi Temple will be seen as most suspicious.”

Chester tilted her head, looking at Tarkin. This wasn’t about her. Not really. She was an excuse–either the Jedi would give her up, setting precedent that would give Tarkin and his people more power over the next member who stepped out of line, or was perceived to do so, or they would protect her and in so doing make a stronger argument for people like Tarkin to be given more oversight of their affairs. 

And she was either going to end up interrogated and then dead, or a de facto prisoner, unable to set foot outside of the Jedi Temple for fear of arrest. 

Clearly, they needed to find a third option. 

Fortunately for them, Starfleet officers specialized in third options.

There was a small army of little droids hard at work when they stepped into her assigned quarters. Small boxlike things that zipped around on wheels, making faint vacuum noises, and multi-legged things that climbed the furniture and in one case the wall. A chorus of beeps greeted them.

“Thank you,” Master Plo said to the droids. “That will do nicely.”

The room smelled gently musty. She suspected it hadn’t been occupied in some time. The droids filed out the door, the leggy ones hitching rides on the wheeled ones. The room they left behind was immaculately clean.

“Comfortable,” she said, looking around. She meant it. After a few moments familiarizing herself with the layout—very similar to officers quarters on a starship—she went to the window where it looked out over Coruscant and pulled up the blinds, letting light spill into the room. She paused with her hand on the controls, scanning the city. 

Coruscant was a forest of skyscrapers, some merely enormous and others gargantuan, like mountains of steel and glass. Remnant wisps of cloud drifted past below, and when she lifted her eyes to the horizon, there was no relief there; the grays of buildings stretched to the horizon, broken here and there with the needles of the taller skyscrapers. Below, there was nothing but traffic filing past in long honking lines, stacked as deep as the eye could see. The buildings seemed to have created veritable canyons, plunging deep. 

Chester had grown up in San Francisco. She thought she was perfectly well acquainted and comfortable with cities.

Apparently, she’d never really seen what a city could be before. 

She couldn’t say she liked it.

“Is the entire planet like this?” she asked. Despite her best efforts, her voice came out sounding just as dismayed as she felt.

Master Plo joined her at the window, looking inscrutably down into the yawning chasm of a street that skirted the Temple. “Almost, yes. There is a single reserve of semi-natural environments━and I say ‘semi-natural’ because they are a more recent reconstruction of what this planet once looked like, rather than an original environment.”

“We have very few worlds like this.” She was staring still, halfway between impressed and horrified. “Our member worlds have often…” she throttled back something undiplomatic, “often been less engaged in urbanizing.”

That was…sort of polite, right? Dear god you turned your capital into an industrialist hellscape would be worse by far. Especially if followed by what were you thinking, destroying your own ecosystems?! 

That wasn’t going to matter, because she was getting the hell out. Tonight, ideally. And a big city would be perfect cover. 

“Coruscant is certainly the most urbanized of the Republic’s member worlds,” said the Jedi, sounding very slightly wry. “The first cities on this planet were built tens of thousands of years ago. If I recall my history curriculum correctly━it was some decades ago now━the two indigenous sapient species, the Taung and the Zhell, spent centuries at war over resources. The Zhell won, and expelled the remnants of the Taung from the planet. Then the Zhell themselves were invaded by the Rakata, enslaved en masse, and quickly disappeared from records. The Rakata stripped Coruscant of all its resources, appropriated the cities of the Taung and Zhell, and set about establishing slave cities and industrial complexes on what remained. When the Rakata fell, the descendants of their slaves maintained the cities and factories because there was little else to do.”

“That… explains a lot.” She wondered briefly if someone would one day tell stories like this about the Dominion, then recoiled from the thought–for one thing, it felt like taking entirely too much for granted. For another, if the Dominion won and established this kind of empire, humans would not be among the enslaved peoples that survived them; it was pretty clear that complete genocide was the plan.

She had to get back.

She turned to look at her… probably ‘captor’ was a disservice here, but guard might be appropriate. Kel Dor was the species name, if she remembered correctly, and he seemed like a decent sort. He’d been kind enough so far; she just hoped her escape wouldn’t disgrace him. “So,” she said, cheerfully, “tell me about yourself. And what did you do to get saddled with babysitting duty?”

He laughed softly–seemed promising. “I volunteered, in fact. My fellow councilors did not object; I suspect, because their workloads are a little heavier than my own. Also, my own quarters are just down the corridor, if there is ever an incursion.” 

“Good to know.” She quirked an eyebrow. “What kind of incursion?”

“This Temple is very secure, but it is not impregnable. I do not think it likely that Republic Intelligence would attempt to kidnap you, but I cannot say I trust them at this point. The rooms on either side of this one are currently occupied by Jedi Masters. They will give you space if you request it, but they have been asked to keep an eye out, as it were.”

Well, that was going to be… challenging. And what a nice way to tell her about the security arrangements for keeping her in place━meant for her safety as they were, the very fact that the Jedi were not discussing getting her home meant she was their prisoner instead. 

Not that she could blame them, with Tarkin so eager to infringe on their autonomy. “Comforting,” she said, with a bit of a smile. “Do you often have problems like this with Republic Intelligence?”

“Not so much, once upon a time.” He sighed. “The demands of war, they say. From our perspective, it seems an ongoing perversion of justice.”

“No shit.”

He dipped his head, a faint wry laugh escaping his mask. “We Jedi are━supposed to be━negotiators and diplomats. You’ll find that we habitually speak in understated terms. You aren’t wrong, Commander.” 

She couldn’t restrain an answering chuckle of her own. “We Starfleet officers are also supposed to be negotiators and diplomats, though I can’t say I’ve been doing an exemplary job of either in the last week.” And I’m going to do worse before the day is out. 

She was fairly certain she could get the window open, for one thing. 

For now, she had to seem casual about it. She settled on the couch with a gesture of invitation. 

“Understandably so,” he said, sympathetic, and sat at a polite distance, gathering the wide sleeves of his robes and clasping his four-fingered hands neatly in his lap. “I don’t believe I would be at my best after a week of having been kidnapped by an entirely unfamiliar force. We appreciate your willingness to work with us despite it.”

“It actually happens to us rather a lot,” said Chester dryly. “Job hazard of deep space exploration. Sentient species get curious about one another━or particularly powerful entities get curious about the ‘lesser’ species and get a little grabby. The only difference is usually, there’d be a starship reasonably nearby to help sort things out.”

“Ah,” he said, something of an intonation on the syllable. “That is unfortunate━it would make things very much easier if there were a starship to simply hand you over to.”

Chester considered that, and also considered the words Captain Steenburg would have for a people who helped themselves to her first officer, none of which would be printable, let alone diplomatic. “Simpler, yes,” she said, and found herself grinning. “Knowing my captain, however, it might not be the politest start to a relationship between our peoples.”

To that, he sighed. “It would not be the first time, nor probably the last.”

There was a short, somewhat awkward silence.

“Starship,” he repeated, slow and thoughtful. “Is that a title, or a class of ships?”

“It’s a general term,” she said. “Starfleet has many classes of starship in service━the Bedivere is a Nebula -class starship, maybe a little above the median standard size. A few classes are specialized, but for the most part Starfleet prefers all-rounders; starships carry scientists and researchers as well as doctors and diplomats. We explore—but we also troubleshoot the issues that might arise for certain of our colonies and outposts, or, for that matter, other people’s planets. If we’re invited, that is.”

“I see,” he said; he turned his head a little, possibly a sidelong look although it was impossible to tell with those goggles in the way. “Ships in the Republic tend to be more specialized, but we do have a number of mobile bases and laboratories in the Agricorps━a branch of the Jedi Order devoted to agricultural and environmental aid. Those aside…”

“I see. Starfleet doesn’t have a separate service for that kind of work.”

“The scope of the work seems comprehensive,” he said, and it sounded thoughtful, even approving. “What drew you to it?” 

“It was a lifelong dream,” Chester said. She was trying not to hear one of her instructors━conflict deescalation and hostage negotiations had been the lecture title━reiterating how establishing a rapport was one of the most important steps in diffusing a situation and, if captured, significantly increased one’s chances of returning home alive. It was somewhat unpleasant to contemplate. She rather liked Plo.  She wished this could be a normal first contact, not–not in the middle of a war, when her people needed her. “I grew up across the bay from Starfleet headquarters. I used to take my homework up to the rooftop deck of my family’s home, and watch the shuttles coming and going and try to guess where they were headed.”

It was a visceral sense-memory, sitting up there with the chill of a late autumn afternoon on her face and the brackish wind off the San Francisco Bay, and far below the smells of ginger and garlic and roasting meat wafting up from the family restaurant, her grandmother’s voice lifting in song, tuneless and creaking. Mandarin, the language their family had spoken long before universal translators had demolished such barriers, and the song itself even older. Grandmama’s voice suddenly cut off in a huge hiss━rice wine vinegar and soy sauce going into the hot pan for the guo tieh sauce, and then the incredible smell a few moments later, breathed out by the elderly vents of the little apartment that sat on top of the restaurant.

A perfect moment, a perfect afternoon, caught between home and family and all it meant to her, and all she’d ever wanted━she remembered being perched there on the deck chair staring hungrily at the distant smear of city where Starfleet Academy was, and wanting, frantically, the sounds of family and cooking a comforting background; now, with all she’d wanted in hand, she found herself just as frantically longing for those smells and the unmusical sounds from downstairs━singing was important, Grandmama said, and even more so if you weren’t good at it, and then she’d sing even worse, to make her point. 

“My grandmother was the chief engineer on a starship, and my mom grew up onboard,” she said aloud. “Mom decided she didn’t want that life and came back to Earth━my homeworld and the capital of the Federation━where she opened the restaurant. When my grandmother retired, she came to live with us. We have the most heavily modified ovens on the planet, I’m pretty sure━she likes to tinker.

“I always knew I wanted to be in Starfleet. I’m pretty sure I would have wanted it even without grandmother’s stories. And I knew what I wanted to do, too. 

“As I said earlier, Starfleet isn’t a military, it’s a deep space exploration service. Humanity crawled out of the wreckage of our Eugenics Wars and when we reached for the stars it was to explore, not conquer–we’d realized the folly of that during the wars when those old hostile impulses almost destroyed us. Our First Contact, with the Vulcans, taught us the importance of that first encounter with the wider universe, and First Contacts with new species remain one of the cornerstones of a Federation starship’s duties. And what I wanted to do was be a First Contact specialist.”

“I imagine it is an advanced and delicate course of study,” said Plo, with a certain wryness to his tone. Doubtless he had memories of his own of first encounters with new species that didn’t go quite to plan. Chester found herself smiling, bittersweet. 

“It is. They do go wrong. Lots of species have popular culture and myths surrounding extraterrestrial entities, including a fear that they’ll arrive with conquest on their minds. Even when everyone’s going in with the best of intentions, misunderstandings happen. Sometimes really bad ones.” She made a face, thinking of one of the missions she’d had as an ensign; if the captain’s fast talking hadn’t saved them, the entire landing party would have ended up mindwiped and institutionalized to “protect state secrets”. “It’s not exactly the easiest course of study, but it’s certainly not boring.”

A soft noise of amusement from Plo, which was reassuring. 

“My background is in history, linguistics, and philosophy━I specialized in our communications systems on my first assignments and then transferred to Command track.” A fairly typical background, but she didn’t want to out and say she’d done that to start angling for a command of her own. First Contact specialists very often ended up captaining starships━the jobs were usually one and the same. “And here I am, ironically making a hash out of a scenario I’ve spent my entire career training for.”

She was learning to read his facial expressions behind the mask now. This one was very dry. “After being kidnapped,” he said, “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Yes well. It happens. Just usually not over such distances.” The psychic powers weren’t exactly normal, either, but she didn’t want to outright say it. “They can’t all be winners.”

There would be time to relax, to think about the whole mess, to work on making a proper contact between their peoples, if it weren’t for the war. If it weren’t for the awful guilt sitting behind her sternum of abandoning her crew and her captain. She had to get home, and she couldn’t tell these people why. It wasn’t standard procedure, but she didn’t want Tarkin or his buddies thinking about the opportunities that a weakened Federation might offer, and she didn’t know how far anything she said might go. 

Better to stay quiet.