Chapter Text
Chief Engineer's Log
Stardate 53445.5
The cloaking device is now operating in concert with the ship's defense subsystems, after almost forty-eight hours of double shifts to accomplish that goal. I'm looking forward to seeing the shift end logs tonight, as we're already on route to our destination under cloak.
I would like to commend my staff for rising to the challenge. Lieutenant Commander t'Aimne's expertise and assistance in the procedure was invaluable.
Personal Log of Halley Gage
Stardate 53445.51
Commander t'Aimne didn't exactly make a whole lot of friends when she first arrived, though I think I noticed that Rick James seemed pretty taken with her then. Who knew he knew a little Romulan? I think he puts her off her guard a little. Recently, they seem to grate on each other.
The time in Engineering she put in turned me around as far as she was concerned. Forget everything you've heard about Romulans and their stuffy attitudes when dealing with her and you might do just fine. She comes across as genuinely interested in us, instead of treating us like we're not good enough to breathe the same air. She got to know Heather really well; I saw them exchanging anecdotes in the wardroom during a break in the shifts. Even though she scored points with the engineers, she still has the rest of the ship to contend with. I hope she'll continue to prove to be as charming. I just wish I knew where all that charm went whenever Rick walks into the room.
"It's not that I don't like her. She just rubs me the wrong way," admitted Commander James, seated within the captain's stateroom. The stars outside of the forward viewport were distorted by the effect of subspace, and immediately below those large ports was the captain's reception area, consisting of a couch and five chairs around a coffee table.
Grayum was stretched out across the couch, his hands steepled over his stomach as he listened to James' explanation. "Like it or not, Rick, she's here on orders. Truth be told, I'm damned pleased about the cloaking device, but not so much about this exchange program."
Missy seized that moment to enter from the bedroom and into the reception area. James sensed she was doing more back there than arranging the captain's clothing for him. After having served almost three weeks aboard the Agamemnon, the executive officer quickly learned to turn a blind eye to any sort of action that might insinuate anything inappropriate. Even if they were engaging in an activity that might cause rumor and gossip aboard ship, they were both consenting adults and knew how to handle themselves. Besides, James thought, the captain was kept in a good temperament. Such a temperament was foreign aboard his old ship.
"May I offer you a cup of coffee, Commander?" Missy asked, with a very warm smile.
Rick did the same thing he always did when she would look him in the eye and offered something to drink. "Double sweet, please," he replied. The captain took his coffee without any alteration or additives. He leaned back into the comfortable chair and agreed with Grayum, "Regardless of how we feel, I would say that she is fitting in nicely with the engineering crew. And she's earned the respect of the security division so far. However, the notion of her sitting as second officer just doesn't sit well with me. Ah, thank you, Missy." He accepted the cup and saucer from the captain's yeoman.
Captain Grayum sat up, to sip at his coffee set before him. "You're a good woman, Missy. Thank you, and I'll see you later." It was his way of telling her to be somewhere else for a while, without coming across as rude to her. Of course, there was very little that anyone supposed would upset Missy to a point where she would lose that smile of hers. Once she departed the stateroom, he continued the conversation, "Let me ask you another direct question. You think she's a threat to the chain of command?"
It was direct enough of a question to give Rick pause before responding. Did he honestly feel that she was threat to their leadership? And if so, what could they do about it? It was only a suspicion, not any proof that she was conducting herself contrary to what was expected of her. She happened to be a Romulan officer aboard a Federation ship, acting with authority as though her commission came from the Federation Council instead of the Romulan Senate. What damage could she do to the ship before he could act to prevent her? He tried to reason within himself the kind of answer that the captain deserved. It was a yes or no question and he was waiting for either. At last, he lowered his eyes to his coffee and responded. "I don't know."
"That makes two of us," admitted Hank. "But you do think she bears some watching, right?"
"Of course, sir. That goes without saying, and it's something she would probably expect."
This drew a scrutinizing stare from Hank. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you... where in the hell did you learn to speak Romulan?"
Rick nearly inhaled his coffee rather than drinking it. It was the manner of the question, the jovial tone of the captain's voice, as though perhaps he himself were a Romulan spy aboard Hank's ship. And it was true, not a single soul aboard knew as much as the executive officer when it came to the language and the customs of the Romulans. But that was easily explained. "I don't speak it fluently. I just know a few choices phrases and the ranks of the Galae. Uh, that's what they call their main military fleet. Back on the Fearless, during the war, we had two Rihannsu officers serving as liaisons to the Romulan attack wing we were assigned to. I got to know both of them fairly well. Add to that a natural ear for languages, and well, you'll end up picking up a lot of the words. Amazingly enough, they were willing to teach."
"No kidding," remarked the captain. "I've met some Romulans in my time, and every single one always seemed to look at you as though you were something they scraped off their boot."
"Same here. And for a while, that was how it seemed at the very beginning of their stay with us. Both of them wouldn't look at you to spit on you," Rick reminisced, looking toward the stars again. "After the first couple of engagements, though, they started to loosen up. The senior officer was a khre'Arrain, and the junior was an Arrain; a lieutenant commander and a lieutenant, respectively."
Hank chuckled, "Well, if you don't mind an amateur opinion, but I think you picked up the dialect enough to scare poor t'Aimne."
Rick nodded, remembering that scene in the conference room. "Speaking of which, she's royalty. Or at least, in her house, she is. The t' prefix is significant. She would be a Lady of the House of Aimne, if I'm recalling the naming structure correctly."
"She sure doesn't act like royalty."
Chief Munoz, Ensign Low, Lieutenant Gage, and khre'Arrain t'Aimne sat in the wardroom surrounding a curious looking dish of food. Around them stood many other officers looking on in interest at the dish, and to see if Heather, Rittian, or Halley would be brave enough to sample t'Aimne's offering.
Rittian asked, "What's this called again?"
"Viinerine," replied t'Aimne in a proud tone. "It's a traditional dish, often shared by officers serving on a Rihannsu ship. The strips are made from a root grown near the Fethraie River on my home world, and seasoned with a mixture of tangy spices."
"I didn't know that you programmed the replicators to make Romulan dishes," Halley said.
"This isn't replicated matter, Lieutenant," the khre'Arrain looked at her. "It would be an offense to offer replicated viinerine to the compliment of officers."
Heather blinked, her tone incredulous, "Are you trying to tell us that you made this by hand?"
t'Aimne said in a matter-of-fact tone, "To do otherwise would risk insult."
Rittian made a gesture with his head, reaching over to poke at one of the strips with a fork. "If you don't mind, I'll just go ahead and take a taste."
His hand never made it, arrested by t'Aimne's. "Ensign. Lieutenant Gage is the senior officer present. She has the honor of being first."
Halley's expression was one of astonishment at the way t'Aimne grabbed Rittian's hand. "Whoa, hey, wait a minute. I don't know how things go on board Romulan ships, but here we just serve ourselves."
Righting her stance, t'Aimne released Rittian's hand, "My apologies to you, Ensign. A misunderstanding, of course."
Rittian looked at his hand, rubbing at his wrist, "You have a very strong hand, Commander."
Halley smirked, "That's what you get for having no manners." She was trying to diffuse what was obviously a culture clash. "All jokes aside, we definitely appreciate the gesture. And now, I'll do the honors." Looking down at the dish, she realized that she was not learned in how to serve herself. Rather than risking further misunderstandings, she asked, "Why don't you just put it in the plate for me?"
"Of course," t'Aimne nodded. She took a large flipper-like utensil and sliced a long strip from the whole, and without breaking it, places it gingerly upon the plate proffered by Halley. Heather and Ritter both hold up their plates and she repeats her motion until all three officers have a portion of the viinerine in front of them.
"Here goes," said Halley. She took a medium-sized bite from the piece and placed it into her mouth. To her right and left, the transporter chief and the helmsman followed suit. Unfortunately, the bite never passed any further than her tongue. Coughing, she spit the piece back out into her hand before waving at her mouth and requesting something to drink in an immediate fashion. t'Aimne's nonplussed expression became one of concern, turning around to fetch a glass of water from the replicator.
"Are you all right?" asked Rittian, as Halley drained her glass.
Nodding her head while trying to put out the flames, she finally gasped for air and said, "I'll be all right. I think those Romulan spices were not meant for us mortals."
Chief Munoz, on the other hand, was finishing up her plate. "It's not that hot, Gage. My Papa makes some meaner dishes than this," she held her plate out for more. "But it tastes great, Commander. Mind if I have another dish?"
"Yellow alert," called the computer in its feminine tones. "Yellow alert. This is not a drill."
Everything was left as it was as every officer filed out of the wardroom and reported to their respective stations. Captain Grayum and Commander James were already at their duty stations when Halley, Rittian, and t'Aimne stepped onto the bridge.
To the left of the captain at the auxiliary console, James explained, "A Breen frigate appeared on sensors. We've altered our course to pursue."
Halley examined her station from over the shoulder of the ensign manning the engineering console. "Cloaking device functioning with normal parameters," she said, as she gave the junior officer a chance to log out of the station to allow her to use it.
"Weapons systems powered," t'Aimne reported, settling in at tactical.
Grayum acknowledged Ensign Low with a brief nod as he relieved the officer at the helm console, and logged in to switch over to his helm and navigational display configuration. "Let's keep our distance, Ensign," the captain ordered.
"Presently maintaining a distance of three hundred thousand kilometers at our present speed of warp seven. If he alters course unexpectedly, we won't have much time to react, but I'll do what I can," Rittian replied.
"Does our current trajectory take us anywhere near Epsilon?" asked James in a curious tone.
His fingers flew over the console as he plotted various courses for comparison. "We're traveling in the general direction of Epsilon, sir," Ensign Low turned his head toward James to answer his question.
"How general are we talking?" asked Grayum.
"The difference is approximately two-point-nine light years, if we remain on our present course."
James offered to his captain, "Close enough."
"My gut's telling me that may not be what it's cracked up to be," Hank replied. "If this turns out to be a wild goose chase, at least we won't be too far off the beaten path. Maintain pursuit for now. This guy could be on a patrol or something."
"Aye, sir." Commander James pulled up sensor information on his console, looking for anything out of the ordinary. "Are we sure this is a member of the faction we're after?"
t'Aimne replied, "This ship's passive sensor package does not provide enough information on the frigate to make that determination. Switching to active sensors would reveal our presence."
A alarm began to sound at the helm, to which Rittian reported, "They're accelerating, their speed is now warp eight."
Grayum responded, "Wait until we've got another three hundred thousand kilometers between us and then match speed."
"Stand by, sir," the ensign replied, keeping an eye on the distance readout. "Target distance achieved, we are now matching their acceleration curve."
"Call out your speed, Ensign," ordered James.
"Aye, sir. Now at warp eight-point-five," Rittian answered, keeping his eyes on the helm display before him.
t'Aimne reported from the tactical position, "Cloaking device efficiency is decreasing as we continue to match their acceleration, Captain. If we increase speed to warp nine, I cannot give any assurances as to the device's..."
Rittian called out, "We are now at warp nine and holding. He's up to something, Captain."
"On screen," said Grayum.
The viewscreen blinked once to show the Breen frigate turning slightly, the bow of the ship angling from port to starboard in a very slight movement, but not so slight as to go undetected by the naked eye. Suddenly, the ship angled sharply and fired a single blue beam toward the Agamemnon. When the beam struck the ship, the cloaking device's field was penetrated. They had been discovered.
James held on to the auxiliary console as the ship suffered a direct hit to the hull. To his far left, Gage was redirecting damage control teams to the proper areas with multiple keystrokes on her console. t'Aimne looked to Grayum immediately for orders while Rittian was holding to evade any further strikes against the ship.
A series of orders came out of Grayum's mouth, his lips curled up in a snarl, "Damage report! Disengage the cloaking device and bring us about to an attack posture. Raise the shields and sound battlestations. Halley, can you jam his communications? We don't want anyone crashing our little party, here."
Rittian responded first, "Bringing us about, sir." The viewscreen showed the stars blur slightly as the ship responded to the ensign's commands.
Gage shook her head, "Hank, they're putting out enough interference to make communication impossible. That hit was a low-level particle beam, so it did superficial damage only. Minor damage to the outer hull and superstructure points on decks two and three, sections four through six."
"Shield grid online and functioning," reported t'Aimne, as the red alert indicator began to blink and the alert siren wailed.
"They were knocking on our door, to see if we were there," James muttered to no one in particular. He looked at Halley, "What kind of interference?"
"Enemy vessel has acquired a weapons lock and is targeting our warp core." t'Aimne said, switching from passive sensors to the more powerful active array. Not only did she get the information she wanted about their ship, but the Breen knew exactly what she knew as well. "Request permission to destroy."
Grayum shook his head, "Lock weapons, but target their communications and propulsion systems."
With the results of her scans on her display, Halley shook her head in an expression of confusion, "I can't identify the type of interference. It looked like a basic electromagnetic disruption pattern, but it's spanning the entire EM band, rather than a portion of it. The good news is that they can't call for help, but then again, neither can we."
"Resetting targets to communications and propulsion only, Captain. May I open fire?" t'Aimne did not look up form her console to speak to Grayum.
The captain nodded his consent. "Fire at will, Commander."
Commander James rose from his seat, "Hank, it sounds like they're on the same mission as we are."
"Incoming fire," warned t'Aimne. The ship rocked slightly, but not as violently as before. "Shields are holding at ninety-seven percent. Returning fire." The beams from the ship lanced out at the frigate, scoring hits across their shields.
"Minimal damage to the forward shield generators, no other reports of damage," reported Gage, checking the Agamemnon's damage control display quickly.
Rittian looked over his console, "They're swinging around for another pass, sir."
"They've suffered a loss in power output to their forward shields," scanned t'Aimne. With the active sensors back in use, she could scan the Breen a lot more effectively than before. "Captain, they are no match for this ship," she determined after having run a tactical analysis.
"How's that?" Grayum asked. It was pretty unusual for him to hear that kind of information. In his previous encounters with the Breen, they had always held the upper hand.
"While they hold the advantage in maneuverability, we possess the advantage in offensive and defensive capabilities." t'Aimne programmed a new firing pattern that fit her recent report. "Once they return within weapons range, I am confident that they will be disabled. Do you wish to take prisoners?"
"No. Just destroy their capability to send out a distress call or maneuver."
"Understood, sir."
The captain watched and waited in his chair, looking at the viewscreen intently. As the frigate completed its turn and brought its bow to bear on the light cruiser, it sped up to close the distance quickly. But as t'Aimne had said, they had the upper hand in weapons. Moments after passing within weapons range, she had effectively tore through their shields with a rapid pattern of visibly destructive phaser fire. Small explosions erupted across the surface of the nacelles, and on the exterior transceiver array. It was like watching a surgeon at work, as the beams were handled with such precision.
"All targets destroyed, with a point-seven-seven-eight percent margin of error," reported t'Aimne, who rested her hands at her sides, as though she had finished playing a piano concerto.
James stared at her from his station, his mouth open in astonishment. "Point-seven..." he trailed off. "That was outstanding work, khre'Arrain."
Grayum rose from his chair, not wanting to give t'Aimne too much of an ego. "Uh, yeah, Commander, good work." He turned to look back at the disabled frigate. "Lock a tractor beam onto them and prepare to tow at full impulse."