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Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Hirek tr'Aimne | Main Sickbay | Recovery Ward | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ] @Dumedion

"They are," Hirek agreed, looking down at himself with the expression of a man who has accepted an unfortunate reality, "a precise shade of something I have had occasion to irrigate from living tissue and would strongly prefer not to be reminded of while wearing." He paused. "Burn them. I endorse this entirely."

He moved to the head nurse instruction with a single nod that conveyed both comprehension and mild personal reservation.

"I will note that my interpersonal skills are — functional, in the way that a tool with a hairline fracture is functional. Adequate to purpose under normal conditions." He considered this characterization. "A recently acquired...friend of mine, once told me that I should put on my big boy panties and play well with others." His mouth curved. "I have found this framework more applicable than I would have predicted. When the situation warrants, I am capable of deploying it."

He turned to the screen.

The double helix rotated slowly. He leaned in, cataloguing — the Romulan strand first, his own, familiar enough in the abstract though he'd never had particular cause to study it at this resolution. Then the human strand, and the matched pair of genes sitting in both sequences like two people who had arrived at a party from opposite ends of the city and found themselves standing next to each other at the drinks table.

He noted the gender of the donor. He was quiet for a moment.

"Ah," Hirek said.

It was a small sound, but it carried the weight of a man rapidly running probability calculations and arriving at a conclusion he found simultaneously unsurprising and cosmically ill-mannered. The gods of his islands had always had a pronounced sense of humor. He had learned to recognize their fingerprints. He had a suspicion on who it might because it would be just his luck, his family's luck in fact, if it was who he now presumed it to be.

He straightened. "There are, as you note, not many Romulan donors aboard in any condition to be useful. I will make the verification a priority." He turned from the screen and looked at Leux directly. "The case you mentioned. Tell me about it."
2
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EPI S: Two sides, same coin [Day 03 | 0930]
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Lt. Enyd Isolde Madsen | Chief Diplomatic Officer's Office | Deck 08 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] @Dumedion

She caught the pouch. The tie did not survive the catch.

Bloodstones — deep crimson, shot through with threads of darker red, each one polished to a dull gleam — cascaded across her lap, bounced off the chair's edge, and scattered across the floor in every direction with the cheerful indifference of objects that have never once been asked their opinion on the matter.

Enyd looked down at her lap. Then at the floor. Then at the remaining stones still rolling in lazy arcs toward the far corners of the room. The laugh came from somewhere genuine.

"How fitting," she said, when she'd recovered enough to say anything at all. "Absolutely fitting for the times we're living in." She gestured broadly at the scattered carnage. "Here's a boon — congratulations, you've earned it — and here it goes, everywhere but where you want it." She pressed her lips together, shoulders still shaking faintly, and looked at the stones nearest her feet without yet moving to collect them.

The laughter settled. Something quieter replaced it.

"There's a comfort in predictability," she said, almost to herself. Her eyes tracked one stone that had come to rest against the leg of her desk. "I don't mean that as an insult — I want to be clear about that." She looked at Hauq directly. "Knowing that the Klingons will always be precisely what they are. That you won't wake up one morning and find the Empire has decided to become something unrecognizable in the night." Something honest moved across her face. "Even knowing that at some point, probably more than once, I'm going to do something that earns me a Klingon dagger at my throat—" she said it with the matter-of-fact tone of a woman reading from a fairly reliable forecast, "—there's something steadying about that certainty. The shape of it is known. You can work with a known shape."

She reached over and held out the ruined pouch toward the desk. Several promptly fell out and rolled off the edge and joined their companions on the floor.
Enyd stared at them. A short, undignified snort escaped her.

"Naturally." She set the empty pouch down. "Naturally."

She leaned back and let her eyes move across the scattered stones — across the floor, her chair, the desk, one that had somehow made it nearly to the door — and when she spoke again, her voice had shed the humor without losing its ease.

"I share your skepticism. About governments. About all of them, the Federation included — perhaps the Federation most of all, because I know it well enough to know exactly where the rot tends to grow." Her thumb ran along the rim of her water glass. "But the nature of this vocation is holding two things at once. The reality that every civilization in the history of the universe has been built by fallible creatures who will, given sufficient time and pressure, fail." She lifted her eyes to his. "And the reality that in the full sweep of that same history, there have always been exceptions. Individuals, moments, choices that bent the trajectory of something toward better than it had any statistical right to be." She leaned forward and placed the glass carefully on the desk amid the remaining stones. "I'd like to work toward ensuring that everyone involved has every opportunity available to be that exception." The pause was carried by her eyes dropping briefly to the scattered bloodstones. "While preparing, thoroughly and without sentimentality, for the likelihood that they won't be."

She studied the stones a moment longer.

"Tell Martok the back channel goes both ways. Whatever door he's leaving open on his end — the same door stands open on ours." The ghost of something animated moved back into her expression. "Besides." She shot Hauq the wink — brief, direct, entirely unrepentant. "If it means I get more opportunities to be a headache for you specifically, I consider that incentive enough to maintain the relationship."

She pushed to her feet, already angling toward the nearest cluster of bloodstones on the floor. Her boot found one first. The stone rolled. Physics, entirely indifferent to rank, vocation, or diplomatic consequence, completed the rest. Enyd's arms went out — a reflex, useless — and she went forward with the committed velocity of someone who has already lost the argument with gravity, directly toward Hauq.
3
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]
Last post by Dumedion -
[LT Arven Leux | Main Sickbay | Recovery Ward | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 
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Arven turned to glance over his shoulder at the Romulan – Perek? Jihjek? – whatever his name was, after a reasonable amount of time had passed to ensure the man had at least put some pants on. If the man had indeed designed the torture device, that clearly spoke of useful competence; Arven chose to dump the emotional attachment described as it struck too close to home with his own history with Cardassians. Above all, it was the way he offered to help that did it, really; there was a simple confidence in the Romulan’s tone that grabbed the Doctor’s attention. Unfortunately, upon registering the yellow/greenish PJ's, (the color reminded Leux of the gooey mucus he'd irrigated out of one of the pilots not long ago, or – more accurately – the runny bowel movements of a human newborn), Arven couldn’t quite focus on much else for a moment.

“Note to self, burn those,” Arven deadpanned, "every single one, then pick a new color," then cleared his throat to compose himself before returning his attention back to the matter at hand. “No one is stopping you from getting your hands dirty – just find the head nurse for the shift and do what they tell you, if you want to help with the day-to-day. As it happens, I have a case I believe your expertise could prove useful. But first,” he gestured to the screens with a hand and made room for the Romulan to approach.

“You might not be aware, but the number of Romulans currently on board have dwindled; with our replicators damaged, our ability to synthesize plasma is limited until repairs can be made – hence my search for a suitable blood donor. Unfortunately, you seem to have a more rare type,” Arven shrugged, “so try not to let anyone poke holes in you for the next week. Anyway, by sheer luck, or…fate, I don’t know, I found this.”

Leux nodded to the screens, which displayed two sets of DNA in a rotating double helix; one belonged to the Romulan, and the other was human – minus a pair of identical genes that matched perfectly in both strands.

“It appears you have a long lost relation on board; probably five or six generations removed, I’d guess,” Leux shrugged again.

“Curious, isnt it,” he folded his arms, thinking. Cross-species hybridization was hardly new, yet was still exceptionally rare – statistically speaking. “By all means, feel free to cross-check the analysis if you like. I’d rather be safe than sorry before I give the other party the news.”

4
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epilogue: They That Shed Their Blood [Day 03 | 1800 ]
Last post by Griff -
[Lieutenant (j.g) Alistair Leavitt | Arboretum | Deck 22 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy]
[Show/Hide]

Alistair, true to form, was late. Very late, in fact. After returning from the Hobus mission, he had been everywhere and nowhere, handling countless tasks ranging from the tedious to the apocalyptic, and sheer exhaustion was growing more and more insistent. He completely lost track of the time as a result, and so only just entered the arboretum halfway through the ceremony. He stood alongside the rest of the crowd, watching and listening, though he barely registered most of it. Alistair was still numb after Hobus.

Enyd being alive helped warm him, but their all too brief exchange wasn't enough. Even standing with his crewmates, even hearing the president welcome them back, Alistair couldn't help but feel a weight on his shoulders, grim and penetrating. Isolating. The thought of returning to his quarters alone was deeply unsettling.

One thing, however, caught Alistair's eye as Commander Stark said her piece. Behind her, on the wall, was not just a list of names, but a list of starships, their artistically outlined shapes visible next to them.

USS Harbinger NCC-67890
USS Endeavour NCC-71805
USS Resolve NCC-91985
USS Bellerophon NCC-74705
USS Eclipse NCC-73888

The last one hit like a gut punch. Alistair hadn't asked anyone to put the name up there. He hadn't even talked about it since returning to 2381, save for a murmured confession to Enyd in the dark, protected by their blanket fortress. Still, somebody had read the report. Put it up there.

The weight grew. Alistair left as soon as he politely could, talking to no-one.
5
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EPI S: Two sides, same coin [Day 03 | 0930]
Last post by Dumedion -
[Colonel Hauq | Diplomatic Suite | Deck 2 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Ellen Fitz

He watched her the way a man might sit and ponder the meaning behind an artist’s choice of color, or brush stroke; attention widened to encompass the entire work – fascinated yet detached. The little details still mattered: the way her hair fell slowly at the mercy of gravity and the micro-shifts in her posture – the way her tone shifted, once the brief internal debate had been concluded – the way weariness still pulled at the corners of her eyes and mouth, still threatened to drag her limbs down, and the way she still refused to yield.

Hauq was a man whose occupation demanded a higher level of observation; much like his fists, or blade, or choice of disruptor – he had long ago honed it into a weapon.

The chair was slightly smaller than required, forcing him to sit upright, arms draped over the rests as if he were a monarch of old, before the time of Kahless; when Madsen lounged, the Colonel’s posture remained the same – mostly because he didn’t fully trust the furniture’s architecture. The Federation seemed to enjoy building cushy, elegant things to mask their functionality; the Theurgy itself was a fine example of that – a ship built to rival any warship in the quadrant alone – yet it was riddled with fine embellishment and fanciful fillagree.

Madsen drank, then set about answering the question he’d asked.

He offered no response initially, only listened with rapt attentiveness. As humans were wont to do, the diplomat opted to take the ‘long route’ in her reply; Hauq didn’t begrudge her. He wanted to understand. Martok had requested this from him. The tale held the familiar sting of loss, something that even strangers shared if given enough time to converse. Anyone who lived long enough lost someone they loved. Madsen had the privilege of loving someone deeply – truly deeply – before that loves tragic end; yet Hauq felt no sympathy for that end. He felt bewildered that she would let such a thing – such an honorable sacrifice, such a courageous end for one so beloved – tear her down and nearly destroy her.

Such a man, Cardassian or no, deserved to live forever in her memory as an example of what love truly was: powerful, consuming, a passion that drove all sentient creatures to extreme, irrational behavior – yet fleeting, and always, regardless of how the end comes, tragic and painful.

Yet she found a way back, in the fires of Vulcan; Hauq would have recommended the Fire Wastes near the equatorial zone of Qo’noS, if given the chance, but they hardly knew each other then.

Fire is fire, he shrugged mentally.

The meaning behind the wink was understood, yet the way she categorized his ‘name’ for her was not; The Storm without End was a title, not a name – but he supposed that was merely semantics. Madsen had earned it by being exactly that: a seemingly never ending headache for Martok while the Theurgy had orbited the home-world; by design, or fate, or as some punishment for past sins, Hauq and his warriors had been left to clean up her mess. It wasn’t a term of endearment, nor was it an insult; it simply was who she was, in his eyes at least.

Madsen’s posture shifted again, into something more akin to seriousness. Hauq leaned in, resting his chin on the knuckles of his entwinned fingers, elbows resting on his knees while she counted off her points. He had expected nothing less, showing neither admonishment nor surprise at her words. His nose wrinkled at the mention of the so-called Romulan Coalition – which was just another turn of phrase for what would eventually become another Romulan blunder at government, given time – but he held his tongue. Madsen continued; her stance on the Federation president’s actions earned a barely perceptible shrug, followed with an equally brief nod of agreement.

At the end, Hauq blinked slowly; all of it, the entire speech, could be summed up in a simple answer: Madsen was playing the long game without knowing how long that game was going to last, with the hope that putting out one fire would prevent the entire quadrant from burning.

The colonel spread his hands after a moment as he leaned back slightly, then mimicked her counting digits as he spoke:

One.

“We are Klingon. We will do as we have always done – with or without you. Martok will face many new challenges from the Council; enemies will gather, more blood will be shed, but in the end, the strongest will prevail.”

Two.

“There was plenty of satisfaction to be had from mauling the Romulans; we have drunk and bellowed our songs to the stars and gorged ourselves on glory. Yet we are not fools, nor are we blind; Romulans will never change – no more than humans, or Cardassians, or those genetically forged creatures that call themselves Jem’Hadar. In a decade, or a century, or a millennium, this…Coalition…will implode, or turn rancid, or be perverted into the oppressive monstrosity we just spent countless lives burning from the stars. We will be watching, and waiting, and we will not ask for permission to do what must be done.”

Three.

“Your President is a fool – on that we can agree. I can only hope the Chancellor can maintain some semblance of self-control while they speak, otherwise we may part on far less friendlier terms. I cannot control him anymore than you can control her – nor can I influence the other members of the Council – but I can keep the back-channels open, for as long as possible, should the worst come to pass.”

Hauq nodded to her.

“The screening as already begun. It will continue – likely for the entirety of our lives. Where they are discovered, will be shared; we will burn them out wherever they choose to hide, given time.”

He stood then, to pull a pouch from his belt at the small of his back.

“Your words will reach the Chancellor’s ears. To that end, he wished me to bring this; a token of personal gratitude – unofficially, by Martok himself,” he tossed the burlap sack to her. “Bloodstones. Enough for every member of your crew. We can no longer guarantee your safety in Imperial space, you see; this…situation, will reach the ears of the Council, and they will twist the facts to serve their own ends. Some will take matters into their own hands, some will not. What matters is this: should the need be great, any of you that bare one of these stones will be granted amnesty and asylum within the House of Martok, without question.”

The Colonel smirked briefly.

“The man takes life debts quite seriously.”
6
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 1900 hrs]
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Specialist Hirek tr'Aimne | Sickbay | USS Theurgy ] @Dumedion

The hand moved before he was fully awake.

It found the device at his sternum and wrenched — or tried to. His fingers closed on it, knuckles whitening, and for three seconds he was not in sickbay at all but in a chair in the sub-levels of the Citadel with something very like this pressed against his chest by a man whose name he had taken pains to memorize for later use. The smell of his own scorched skin. The particular quality of silence that Tal'Shiar interrogation rooms were designed to produce, sound-dampened so that nothing you did in them carried anywhere useful.

Then Leux said something, and the smell went away.

Hirek released the device. Laid his hand flat on his sternum instead, feeling his own heartbeat, methodical and unimpressed with the last thirty seconds. He looked at the ceiling of sickbay for a moment, then at Leux.

"My apologies." His voice was rougher than he'd have preferred. "Reflex."

He looked down at the device properly now — the housing, the contact points, the particular geometry of the emitter array — and something moved across his expression that wasn't quite amusement and wasn't quite the other thing.

"A vel'drath stimulator." He said it the way a man identifies handwriting he recognizes as his own on a document he didn't write. "The design is mine. Or was, originally." He sighed, shaking his head. "I developed the prototype approximately eleven years ago, after a close acquaintance with a Breen energy dampener during what I can only describe as an inadvisable diplomatic encounter. The experience left my cardiac and peripheral nerve function in a state that my own people's medicine addressed with considerably less elegance than I thought the problem deserved." The corner of his mouth moved. "I was bedridden. I had time to think. The device I eventually built was intended to support heart and nerve function during recovery from acute systemic trauma — a tool for healing, with several secondary applications I found personally interesting."

He looked back at the ceiling.

"I am not surprised the Tal'Shiar adapted it. They have been attempting to recruit me since before I had anything worth recruiting. Every refusal cost someone I cared about something they could not afford to lose. It became something of a motivating factor in my decision to kill as many of their operatives as opportunity permitted. Which is what led me here." He stopped, realizing the medicine the doctor had given him and loosened his tongue far more than normal and he'd just said more to this man of acquaintance of five minutes than he normally said to better "friends." "Forgive me." He said it without particular self-flagellation, the way a man corrects a navigational error. "You are the chief medical officer of a department that is, from what I understand, currently held together with whatever the Theurgy equivalent of twine and optimism is. My history with the Tal'Shiar is not a pressing concern in your professional hierarchy."

He sat up slowly, accepting the offered pyjamas with a glance that suggested he found them faintly absurd but was willing to concede the point. He pulled them on without drama.

"I can help." He said it simply, as a fact being reported rather than an offer requiring consideration. "I hold cross-training in field medicine and biochemical trauma response — useful if not formally credentialed by Federation standards. The science department has granted me latitude to pursue certain experiments, but the scheduling is flexible." He settled the collar with one hand. "I cannot promise consistency, but I can promise competence, and I suspect at the moment one of those is more available in your department than the other."

He raised an eyebrow at whatever Leux had said next — the offer, the question, the thing Hirek hadn't quite caught in the residue of adrenaline still working its way out of his system.

"Proceed," he said. "I have always been a curious sort. It is, in fact, at the core of most of my documented problems."
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Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Conference Lounge | V. 1 D. 1 | USS Theurgy ]  @TWilkins @Pierce @RyeTanker @rae @chXinya   @P.C. Haring  @joshs1000  @Dumedion  @Nesota Kynnovan  @Eden  @Brutus  

T'Less arrived first of the second wave. She moved to her seat without needing the seating configuration to orient her — she'd either reviewed it in advance or assessed the room in three seconds and drawn the correct conclusion. Both were consistent with what he knew of her. He gave her a nod that carried the weight of the sit rep she'd compiled, and she returned it without ceremony.

Pierce came in behind her. Cross knew what she chose to show him, and he had catalogued the distance between that and what she likely knew. He filed this as normal rather than adversarial and indicated her station.

Ida zh'Wann came through the door and Cross's attention went to her antennae before his eyes did — old sha'mura habit — then settled on her face and stayed there a half-second longer than it should have. She moved correctly. Took her position with the precision of someone who had earned it. None of that changed what her presence meant. Akoni was dead. Cross had known this. He had filed it and had not taken it back out, because there had been no functional moment to do so and there still wasn't. He looked at Ida zh'Wann and felt the absence of Kai Akoni like a pressure differential in the room and said nothing, because nothing he said would make it smaller.

Rel entered, spine straight, eyes controlled. Cross read him the way he read everything he hadn't fully catalogued yet, noted that the man looked like he'd rather be in a cockpit, and found this understandable.

Hathev came in without announcement.

She never did.

Cross's hands, clasped behind his back, did not move. His weight did not shift. His eyes went to her once — location, bearing, status — then returned forward. Everything he didn't do with his face after that was a significant amount of effort he would not be acknowledging to anyone, including himself.

Lok came in last, unhurried, carrying the FAB's numbers the way he carried everything — like a man who had been doing this since before most of this room learned to walk and had long since stopped being impressed by conference tables. He found his position without being directed to it.

Cross looked at the empty chair that should have held Natalie Stark.

"Commander Stark is with the President," he said. "She'll join when she can. I'll give her the highlights." He left no space for commentary on this arrangement. "We'll proceed."

He scanned the table once — not for effect, but because he wanted confirmation that everyone who was supposed to be here was here and seated and pointed in the right direction — then clasped his hands behind his back.

"CONN."

Every head in the room found Llewellyn-Kth with the collective efficiency of people who had sat through enough briefings to know exactly what that word meant for whoever came after it. Cross watched the ensign register this, stand, introduce himself, and collect his knee against the table edge in the same approximate motion, and filed all three events without expression.

“Thank you, Commander.” Sylvain began, making a move to stand, though hesitating as he appeared to second-guess himself, before haphazardly continuing to rise to his feet, a soft thud sounding in the room as his knee appeared to collide with the edge of the table. “I-i'm Ensign Llewellyn-Kth, the new Chief CONN officer, for those of you who haven't met me yet...” He paused, straightening himself up and trying to present himself as professionally as possible, his pale face adopting the slightest twinge of red as he spoke.

"I’ve run CONN activity reports across all three vectors, and the most immediate material concern is the loss of four of our shuttles, with five more severely damaged. A further three shuttles were damaged when the Romulans boarded the ship, but it's mostly low-yield disruptor burns, so we should have them up and running again within the next few days.” He paused, taking a small breath. “As for the more severely damaged ones, we’ve tractored them into Shuttle Bay one, pending an engineering assignment, but it looks like it'll be quite resource-intensive to get them back in working order.” He shot a somewhat furtive glance towards the Chief Engineer before he continued. “That leaves us with only four functioning shuttles as it stands, so we’re going to have to be quite frugal with how we assign them until we get the repairs completed on the rest.”

“Moving on… Navigation. We’ve taken damage to our secondary navigation sensors on Vector One, the primary navigation array on Vector Two isn’t far off needing a complete rebuild, and the Stellar Cartography sensors are completely misaligned.” He paused once again, pale finger gliding deftly along the side of his PADD. “We’re making a temporary fix by rerouting Vector Three’s navigation array through the main deflector, but it won’t be enough to compensate if we run into any sort of spatial phenomena. Even a subspace eddy could cause us some real damage if the computer can’t map it.” His finger flicked across his PADD, to bring him to the next section of his report. “We’ve also got some sort of malfunction in the inertial damping system; something is causing the ship to think that impulse speed is threatening the structural integrity, but all internal scans confirm we’re not in danger. We have a team working on finding the source of the error as we speak, but between that and the navigational issues we’re having, I can’t recommend that we head anywhere in a hurry; we could risk doing more damage to the hull than we’ve already got.” His mouth opened to deliver a final point, and then closed again, hesitating somewhat. Something processed behind his brown eyes, and then his mouth reopened, clearly having decided that whatever he had to say, was important for the Senior Staff to hear.

“The President’s entourage also gave us some updated Federation star charts, which I’ve been cross-referencing with the information in the Theurgy database…” He paused, referring once again to his PADD. “… and there are some rather alarming discrepancies between the two.” Sylvain took another brief pause, sending a copy of the map to display on the conference room monitor, so that the rest of the Senior Staff could see for themselves. “There have been notable changes in the borders of several species that neighbor Federation territory. We’ve seen expansions from the Tholians, the Sheliak, the Breen, the Tzenketh, the Kzinti, and the Talarians. There have been incursions into both Federation and Cardassian space, and entire systems seem to have been absorbed into their respective territories. There’s nothing in the charts to indicate when these changes took place, or why they occurred, no mention of any wars or diplomatic exchanges;  the Federation has even lost territory in the Beta Quadrant to the Shackleton Expanse, which doesn't really have any explanation that I can think of...” He paused once more, glancing over at the display as though it meant something more personal to him. “I don't really know what this information means to us, I just thought it was something that we should be aware of, given how long the Theurgy has been without any updates from Starfleet…” He turned towards Cross, somewhat bashful looking, given the amount of time he had spent talking, and gave the man a small nod. “That’s all from me, Commander.”

The report itself was competent. Cross listened the way he listened to everything — tracking the numbers, flagging the gaps, noting where approximation had been substituted for certainty and whether that substitution was honest or evasive. Four functioning shuttles. Navigation rerouted through the main deflector. Inertial damping throwing false structural warnings that nobody had located the source of yet. He did not write any of this down. He did not need to.

Then the star charts went up, and Cross went still, the way he did when something required his full attention rather than his operational attention, which were different things that felt different from the inside. Border expansions. Tholians. Sheliak. Breen. Tzenketh. Kzinti. Talarians. Territory absorbed, systems gone, no corresponding diplomatic record, no indication of timeline. Federation losses in the Beta Quadrant to the Shackleton Expanse, which was not an entity that acquired territory through conventional means.

He looked at the display for three seconds longer than he looked at most things. The Theurgy had been running in the dark for a long time. Cross had known this in the abstract. The abstract had just become considerably more specific.

He gave Llewellyn-Kth a nod when the ensign turned to him, brief and direct. "Noted, Ensign. Well done." He let his eyes move back to the star chart for one more second, then pulled them forward. "Engineering."

Frank took a sip of his scalding hot coffee. At this point, it was more of a ritual than something that would keep him awake. It had been a very long day and it still wasn't over. The closest thing he'd gotten to any sort of rest was the funeral service for those that they knew were dead at the moment. It was still a long and terrible list. It wasn't likely over at this point yet since they weren't sure who was going to make it or not from the wounded list. Those would be much smaller affairs though.

He waited till he was called on to give a status of the ship.

"It's bad, but could be worse. The hull has sustained a significant number of micro fractures, several dozen blown out windows that have forcefields in place, and one major breach on vector three where a romulan boarding shuttle was connected to the ship."

He flipped a button and the page changed. "Over system capabilities are within tolerances. Weapons, and engines are ready at your command." He flipped a page and kept going as his mouth turned into a grimace. "I would advise that we keep the amount of fighting to a minimum. Though the major combat systems are intact and being brought back to full capacity, the shield system took a beating and will need several hours to repair. It can operate, but won't hold out for long. The boarding of the ship is where the majority of the damage is going to be dealt with." Another PADD flip. "Our side and theirs were fairly liberal with the use of their weapons and in some cases, explosives. We have damaged ODN and EPS relays all over the ship, along with the accompanying computer systems. If the majority of the effort wasn't allocated to removing various hazardous bodily fluids, I would redirect the efforts to restoring the data and power systems." The Chief Engineer checked the numbers again. "So far the damage survey has counted on average 15 damaged EPS relays, 8 ODN junctions, 45 interface units across every deck. There's also damage to the lsolinear and Bioneural data storage systems that will necessitate replacement and testing. Re-routing systems are working for the moment, but the ship is currently working in spite of the damage since data packets are being rerouted, but this is causing a slight degradation to computational processing and communications speeds as other systems have to take up the slack." Chief Arnold tried to keep his sense of being miffed at having his shiny repaired ship in such a state of disrepair, but it was fair to say he felt he had the right to be slightly salty about the whole affair. The Chief looked up and saw a slight glazed look over take the others and he let out a grunt of irritation as he decided he's made his point and moved on.

More flipping. "The other area of major concern is the FAB. The bulkheads held despite multiple major explosions inside the hanger decks. There is wreckage still littering the flight areas and flight operations at this time are limited. Launching, recovery and servicing operations are major concerns with damage still being surveyed at this time. There's about a dozen wrecks littering the FAB. We barely have the space at the moment for the storage of the surviving fighter complement till we can get all those wrecks cleared out. So that leaves the question of whether you'd prefer we salvage the ships or just dump them out into space? I have our people going the wrecks for sensitive and dangerous technology, so maybe we can get something useful, or at least easily dump all the hazardous parts out of the ship soon."

Another flip. "Casualties amongst the engineering staff are not heavy, but are still significant with over a dozen dead and an equal number wounded and not likely to return to duty soon." This was the tough part. "Assuming we can find the necessary non-replicatbable materials, I'm estimating repairs out of our own resources will be at least 4 days." The ice blue eyes of the engineer looked into the Commander Cross as he would not flinch from his conclusion, especially after what he'd heard from the President. "None of these repairs are going to be as solid as if they came from a starbase, so some of the systems are going to be less durable. It would help if the Starfleet task force could transfer personnel and materials to assist in our repairs? It would save a lot of time to have ready made components."

Cross listened to Arnold's report the way he'd been listening to all of them — tracking numbers, noting the gaps between what was said and what was implied. The engineer didn't dress it up. Cross appreciated this.

Hull micro-fractures, blown windows on forcefields, the Romulan breach on Vector Three. Weapons and engines functional. Shields degraded and needing hours he didn't currently have to give them. The interior damage was the longer problem — EPS relays, ODN junctions, interface units across every deck, the bioneural and isolinear storage systems flagged for replacement. The ship was routing around its own injuries like a man favoring a bad knee, and at some point the compensation would cost more than the original damage.

The FAB numbers landed and Cross's eyes moved briefly to Lok, who was already looking at Arnold with the expression of a man listening to someone describe his living room on fire. A dozen wrecks in the flight areas. Salvage or dump. Cross filed this under decisions with resource implications that required Lok's direct input and moved on.

Arnold looked at him when he got to the conclusion. Didn't flinch from it. Four days minimum, assuming materials. Repairs that wouldn't hold like starbase work. The ask for personnel and components from the task force was framed as a recommendation, not a request, which was the correct way to frame it.

Cross nodded once. "Noted on the task force transfer. I'll raise it with Commander Stark." His eyes moved across the table. "Medical." Cross looked at Leux. Leux looked back at him with the expression of a man who had written the report, knew exactly what was in it, and had no interest in performing surprise at any of it. "Doctor."

Leux picked up his PADD and read in one of the most tired sounding voices of the meeting thus far.

"Acting CMO Report: Medical staff has been reduced to approximately 2/3 strength, with the entire senior officers cadre either KIA or placed in stasis. Vi-Nine is functional, and carrying a significant patient load. LT Leux has assumed the CMO's duty role temporarily. Vector 01 (V1 Battle Clinic) damage: minimal – repairs ongoing. Utilized as an extended ICU/UCU. Vector 02 (Main Sickbay) damage: moderate – critical systems affected include decontamination chamber, primary holographic table, blown/destroyed EPU conduits to consoles A3, A7, B4, B8, B12. Two biobeds, main replicator, and Vi-Nine’s secondary recharge station. Repairs ongoing. Utilized as a primary care facility with minor injuries attended via the first aid station at reception. Wait times improving, but remain longer than optimal." He took a breath, heaved a sigh, and continued reading. "Vector 03 (V3 Battle Clinic) damage: severe – almost all critical systems are offline/destroyed. Utilizing what we can as a secondary aid station. Repairs ongoing. Ongoing treatments and damage to replicator systems has hindered on-board supply of plasma, platelets, and blood; until all systems are operational, a donation drive has begun to restore back-up supplies. As humans hold the majority demographic, all blood-type donors are needed, but universal donors and receptors take precedence. Morale concerns – medical is working around the clock to catch up with treatments post-battle. Primary concerns based on observation/cases tended thus far: sleep deprivation, malnourishment, lingering psychological trauma. In essence – while repairs are needed, it behooves us not to work ourselves to death. Medical staff requests LT. Ryn remain detached from engineering repairs to medical facilities." He finally glanced up and found Cross's eyes before adding. "End Report."

Leux delivered it clean. No editorializing, no softening of the numbers. Two-thirds strength. Senior officer cadre gone — KIA or stasis. Vi-Nine carrying load. The vector breakdown went up and Cross tracked it: V1 functioning as an extended ICU, V2 running primary care with the damage list that made Arnold's engineering numbers feel optimistic, V3 stripped down to a secondary aid station on salvaged systems. The replicator damage had hit plasma and blood supply, which meant the donation drive wasn't a suggestion — it was a logistics problem wearing a morale hat.

The morale assessment at the end was the part that would not appear in most CMO reports, which was why it was the part Cross intended to keep. Sleep deprivation. Malnourishment. Psychological trauma presenting across cases. No surprise there.

"Lieutenant Ryn will be detached to medical facilities," he said. "I'll clear it with Engineering." His eyes moved to Arnold briefly — confirmation, not a question — then back to Leux a moment before he looked to Frost. "Science."

"Science." Frost straightened under scrutiny. The report was on his PADD but he didn't look at it. "I'll begin with personnel, because the rest of it needs that context first." He kept his voice level. "Five dead. Tyreke Okafor — synthetic biology, nutrigenomics, organic electronics. Asra Tek — warp theory, Daystrom-caliber work." A beat that was shorter than it felt. "Kizra Tos and the Tos symbiont. Nara Nueva. Cir'Cie." He set the PADD down. "I didn't know any of them. I want to be direct about that, because it would be easy to stand here and perform grief for people I never met. What I can tell you is that I've read their files and their work, and the losses are significant beyond the personal." His jaw tightened. "Okafor in particular. If I'd had six months with him, we might already have answers we're still looking for."

He picked the PADD back up.

"Facilities. The majority of Science is functional or in the process of becoming so. The exception is Xenozoology, which experienced a power loss during the fighting that resulted in a catastrophic containment failure." He said this with the careful neutrality of a man who had chosen, consciously, not to lead with it. "Most specimens have been recovered. We are currently missing one vole." He looked up briefly. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Kerina and Ensign Dunne have been assigned to assist the Xenozoologists in retrieval. I expect a resolution shortly. The vole is small. The ship, relative to the vole, is not."

He flipped to the next section.

"Hydroponics sustained significant damage. We lost a substantial portion of the current growth stock." He paused. "Among the losses was a specimen that had shown preliminary indications of therapeutic potential in individuals affected by Infestation. Early stage — nothing peer-reviewed, nothing I would have staked a treatment protocol on yet. But it was promising enough that losing it is not simply a botanical casualty." He set the PADD down again. "Our botanist is also gone. Hydroponics is currently being maintained by Crewman Jensen and Crewman Kane, both botanical technicians. They are doing the job. I want that noted. They are doing a job that is not theirs by rank and they have not stopped."

He looked at Cross.

"In response to medical." The words came out with the clipped precision of someone who had rehearsed not saying them and then said them anyway. "I have been awake for approximately forty-eight hours. I am, by any reasonable clinical definition, a liability to my own department, and so is anyone else who has been awake and working for that long or longer. I concur with the medical recommendation to rest and recuperate to avoid further damage." His eyes moved briefly, involuntarily, to Leux.

Cross nodded, thanked Frost for his time, then he looked to their resident "cowboy diplomat." He'd personally had little interaction with her up to this moment but her reputation certainly preceded her. "Diplomacy."

Enyd set her PADD flat on the table and did not pick it up again. She had written the report herself, which meant she knew what was in it, which meant she did not need to read from it, which was the only advantage she currently had over her own exhaustion.

"Diplomatic Corps." She kept her eyes level and her voice even. "Staff strength is at roughly half. We lost personnel in the battle, and we've had transfers in that haven't fully oriented yet. What we have is functional. Whether it's adequate is a question I'll answer after the next seventy-two hours."

"The D'ravsai Coalition." She turned her head slightly toward the display. "The President has sanctioned trade routes through the Neutral Zone as a soft-presence measure while the Coalition consolidates. We are not establishing official diplomatic ties — that's off the table for now, and I think that's the correct read. What we're doing is building a door before we knock on it." She paused. "Initial reports from personal contacts of the Romulan bioengineering specialist who defected to Theurgy prior to the battle, Hirek tr'Aimne, indicate the Coalition is already gaining ground among the Romulan population. That's the good news. The less good news is that there are early whispers of disconnect from some of the Reman groups — fracture lines appearing before the structure has fully set." She glanced briefly at Pierce. "Intelligence may have more granular data on that. From a diplomatic standpoint, trade is where we start and where we stay until the ground tells us otherwise. I have made some recommendations to the President regarding current personnel who may do well with the soft presence, and I will forward those names to you." She briefly looked apologetic, as if it just occurred to her that she'd put the cart before the horse but she continued her report before the emotion fully settled.

"The Klingon alliance." Her tone shifted slightly — still even, but careful in a way the previous beat hadn't required. "Chancellor Martok, as a personal favor, sent a friend to discuss the state of the alliance directly." She did not elaborate on the personal side of that conversation. "What came out of that conversation is that Martok is holding, but he's holding against significant internal pressure. Several of the Houses are reading this new alignment with the Romulan factions as something close to a betrayal — not of treaty, but of identity, which is considerably harder to argue against." She set her hands flat on the table. "My official recommendation is that we continue to provide reassurances where we can, but that the heavier diplomatic lift needs to come from the President herself, not from us. Bacco has officially recognized the Infested threat and welcomed the Theurgy back into the fold — that carries weight Martok can use with his Houses in ways that our word alone cannot." She inclined her head toward the PADD. "My personal recommendation is that we share any intelligence on combating the Infested with Martok directly and then step back and let him handle his own people in his own way. He did not get to be Chancellor by needing someone to hold his hand through a political crisis."

She took a deep breath and slowly let it out, pushing slightly back from the table before continuing. "The pardon." The word landed the same way it had in her head for the past eighteen hours — necessary and complicated in equal measure. "To this point, the Infested have used every step forward as raw material. Every alliance, every public statement, every moment of apparent progress — they find the seam, and they work it. This pardon is visible, and it is politically thin, and it has put a target on the President's back from two directions simultaneously." She kept her eyes forward. "There is still no large-scale method to scan for Infested. No reliable way to combat them at scale. We don't know their numbers or if they are growing. What that means in practice is that how we respond to official orders in the coming days — how we are seen to respond — will determine more about how our allies receive us than anything Bacco said at that podium. We cannot afford to give anyone a reason to revisit the word traitor. The pardon bought us standing in some circles and further condemnation in others. Only time will reveal which circles feel what towards us."

She looked down the table toward Pierce, brief and direct.

"The Dewitt intelligence out of the Akh'Terel Veil — Commander Pierce will likely have more to say on this, and I'd ask her to elaborate further." She brought her eyes back to the center of the room. "What I can add from the diplomatic side is that I received corroborating information through a private channel from Doctor Marlowe, reporting along much the same lines — coordinated alignment among the Orion Syndicate, Tzenkethi, Kinshaya, Gorn, Tholian, Cardassian True Way, and Breen elements, all of it oriented against a Federation they are reading, correctly, as fractured and distracted." She let that sit for a half second. "Dewitt died getting that data out. Marlowe is still on the proverbial, or literal, front lines of this unrest and can be called upon for further insight should we need it. I think we owe both of them the courtesy of treating what they sent us as the strategic context for everything else on this table, not a line item at the end of the report." She looked at Cross. "That's what I have, Commander."

Cross nodded, letting a brief silence fall over the room as everyone ingested and wrestled with the reports up to this moment before moving on to the next report.
8
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]
Last post by Dumedion -
[LT Arven Leux | Main Sickbay | Recovery Ward | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Ellen Fitz
[Show/Hide]

The privacy screen shimmered around the recovery bed with its annoying, dull buzz; barely noticeable, yet perceptible enough to set one’s teeth on edge if you let it.

Arven stood adjacent to the biobed with his attention directed away from the unconscious patient, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he reviewed the case file, scans, surgical results, and medical history simultaneously. A three-dimensional holoprojection shimmered in the air off to his left, various sections and biological systems highlighted in turn, each represented an injury or trauma previously noted and corrected – either by his hand or Vi-Nine’s – during the previous hour or so bout of surgery. The list of injuries had been long but distinguished; nothing the Doctor hadn’t seen before, with the caveat of this patient being Romulan adding a unique twist to things.

The patient (Arven couldn’t be bothered to remember his name – point of fact, he couldn’t really pronounce it correctly anyway) seemingly stumbled into the Vector 03 battle-sickbay some time ago, requested assistance, then promptly passed out mid-examination. Leux hadn’t been present at that initial diagnosis, but he could imagine what caused the loss of consciousness…

Simply put, it was difficult to remain lucid while your lungs filled with blood; not to mention the…other problems.

Violet eyes flicked to the small, transparent canister sitting upon the edge of the small desk beneath the monitors to his right, and the device held inside: some form of neurological agitator of Romulan design. A single spike of seemingly unremarkable metallic alloy, yet every few seconds it deployed a plethora of barbed mechandrites, so thin they were barely visible to the naked eye; these would slither along the victim’s nerve endings, embracing each neuroplastic pathway like a long-lost lover – and hijack the receptor/receivers at the cellular level. A rather ingenious, if altogether wholly immoral and unethical piece of bioengineering. Romulans seemed to ignore or blur the rules when it came to extracting intelligence… or simply enjoyed torture enough to not give a shit. The doctor frowned at it, then returned his attention to the screens with a shrug.

A minor groan issued from the patient; subdued, almost a snore. Leux turned his head a fraction, watching the Romulan reach up to the device that beeped and buzzed upon his forehead in his peripheral vision. The Doctor reached and patted the questing limb away. “No touchy,” he warned, then continued his study for another moment before turning his whole attention to the patient, giving the man time to come to terms with where he was and what had likely happened.

Arven let the device on his head finish its cycle, then peeled it off without ceremony with an audible rip of adhesive and skin.

“Usually this is the part where I ramble off the litany of injuries you sustained and inquire as to how you feel, if there is any lingering pain, et cetera,” he shrugged, “but something tells me you feel better than you did. The lingering neural damage will sting, no doubt, but that’s to be expected given the…well,” Leux frowned, lifting the canister off the desk for the Romulan to see. “I’m not sure what to call it. It was embedded in the greater vagus nerve in your neck, which in Romulans,” Leux gestured, “is the major pathway to autonomous controls – heart rate, digestion, breathing. Thankfully, it was dormant and thus easier to extract. Had it been active? Well…,” the Doctor sighed and set the thing back down. “You’d probably be dead.”

He let that sit for effect before continuing.

“I can deduce and understand why you waited to be seen,” Arven nodded, “given what we’ve all just gone through. I’d be remiss to remind you however, in the future, it would behoove you to get in here a little faster – especially with latent injuries that appear less serious than what they are. Internal hemorrhaging is nothing to ‘limp off’, unless you’re a Klingon with the corresponding secondary organs and really don’t give a shit.”
 
His spiel/lecture concluded, Arven shrugged. “Of course, that’s your prerogative. Anyway, would you like to hear something interesting I discovered, looking for a blood donor,” he asked, eyebrows lifted with the barest hint of excitement. Arven suddenly remembered the man probably wanted some clothes first and tossed a set of medical PJ’s over. “You’ll have to excuse Vi – she doesn’t take modesty into account while working,” he explained, then turned and called up the info he’d discovered while the man dressed.
9
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epilogue: They That Shed Their Blood [Day 03 | 1800 ]
Last post by Hans Applegate -
[ PO2 Knox | Arboretum Terrace - Memorial Wall | Deck 21 | Vector 3| USS Theurgy ]

Knox, having already checked in with Cross earlier, decided to continue the day in his official female form. PO2 Knox was the first human that he impersonated. And he was still impersonating her. So did that make him a she today? Knox pushed the ridiculous question aside as he rounded the corner of the hallway and entered the area where the memorial service was about to start. There was already a crowd there to celebrate how few crew members there are left now. Noting everyone’s somber expression, Knox mimicked their melancholy looks, feeling a bit emo while doing it, and made his way to a place to participate in the ceremony. Or maybe not participate. Observe. That is the word. Observe—actively in a group together.

The person doing the talking said really nice things about the dead crew members. That made Knox feel like he should respond, or someone should. Cheer or clap or something since they sounded so awesome. But there was just silence from the crowd. No ‘So say we all’ or anything, so Knox stayed quiet too.

Then came the name reading. It was and wasn’t that long. Knox had never been to a funeral like this before. The spawning season as a Nebullian Crab saw hundreds of thousands of their kind die each year shortly after mating. Tridopulons lived for nearly a thousand years and had very few numbers to start with so death for one of them was rare, but apparently their funeral could go on for a week or more. Warriors of Kevnath, a tentacled wasp-like people, held a massive gathering where they read the names of their fallen after a battle with a rival clan before having a massive orgy to breed new warriors to replace the ones who had fallen in battle. Knox looked around and deduced that there was no mass orgy likely in the near future, seeing as how everyone was acting. Although there were tears. Many members of the crew were crying because of the deaths of their crewmates. Crew…mates…

Then, as Knox was deeply thinking about the word Crewmate, the ceremony concluded. People began to mill around and talk. Some hugged. Others cried. Some seemed to head away quickly wanting privacy. Knox was interested in making a friend or two if he could. This was his first social outing after all.

He walked up to a cute young ensign and decided to open with a question that seemed on topic and relevant to the situation. “Hi, did you lose anyone close to you?” Knox asked.

The ensign started to cry loudly with big, tearful sobs, as Knox stood there wondering what to do next. But before Knox could make up his mind for his next course of action, the cute ensign ran away down the hall, still crying loudly.

“I didn’t get your name!” Knox called out.
10
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EPI S: Two sides, same coin [Day 03 | 0930]
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Lt. Enyd Isolde Madsen | Chief Diplomatic Officer's Office | Deck 08 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] @Dumedion

The laugh surprised even her.

It came out short and genuine — not the diplomatic variety she kept on hand for situations requiring the appearance of warmth — and she shook her head at the flask he'd produced with the particular fondness one reserves for people who are absolutely wrong about what you need and completely right about everything else.

"Hauq." She held up the glass of water like evidence at a tribunal. "I have consumed enough caffeine from three separate species' culinary databases to put down a giant targ. The water is not a preference. The water is triage." She set it back down. "My blood is approximately sixty percent stimulant compound at this moment and I am one poorly-timed thought away from ripping my hair out, shredding my uniform, and running foaming at the mouth down the corridors until my nervous system remembers it's attached to a human being."

Her gaze drifted to the ceiling with a look of genuine longing.

"I had plans for that, actually. The holodecks." She let the thought sit there a moment. "When they're back online."

She looked at the flask. Then, with the air of a woman making a calculated tactical decision, she reached for it.

"Although." She turned it over in her hand, considering. "A depressant to counter the stimulant. That's not irrational. That's chemistry."

She drank. Didn't grimace. Stared at the flask for a long moment as though it had personally misled her about its intentions, then set it on the desk between them.

"Right." She slid it back toward him. "You want to know why I'm playing the long game instead of swinging the sword."

Her feet found the edge of the desk. She put them there without ceremony, let her head tip back against the chair, and felt two pins give in her bun — the whole thing beginning its slow architectural collapse. She didn't fix it.

"I'm going to tell you something that has no bearing on anything tactical," she said to the ceiling, "and I'm telling you because I want you to understand that I know the difference between losing the thread and choosing a longer one." She brought her eyes level with his. "I was engaged once." Her lips turned upward in a wry smile. "Well, actually twice, but this one was more...traditional?" Her half-shrug caused more of her hair to shake loose and again she didn't try to fix it. "On Cardassia." She watched his face. "Javec Praar. Aide to Castellan Ghemor. Former military. Son of a deposed elite." The corner of her mouth lifted, dry. "You might be offended to hear this, but I think you two would've enjoyed hunting together or some other manly pursuit where you can beat you chests and gloat over one another over a strong drink."

She let that land and kept watching as she continued, her voice matter-of-fact.

"He died in my arms. A wound that should've been mine. I felt the last push of his heart — felt his blood go from warm to not." She didn't look away. "And then I went somewhere very dark for a while." She retrieved the flask without asking and took another pull, set it back. "Specifically, I drank myself to the bottom of a bottle and then climbed back up, found a colleague I found deeply irritating, and performed an Orion dance on his desk." Her thumb traced the edge of the chair absently. "I was informed, with some precision, that if I didn't recover my composure, I would be removed from the fleet." She tilted her head. "At the time I thought that sounded like an adequate plan. Find a hole. Wallow in it. Die of misery in some unremarkable corner of the quadrant." Her thumb stilled. "I had held the man I loved while his body stopped. I had brought him there. It seemed like a fair trade."

The ship hummed around them. The stars outside held their positions with the specific indifference of things that have watched empires rise and collapse and remained entirely unmoved.

"Something intervened. I'd call it luck but luck doesn't feel like nearly dying several times on hot rock." She exhaled. "The Vulcan Forge. A pilgrimage. I have no business surviving that kind of terrain — I have gusto in abundance, but I am still human, and humans are relatively fragile when stripped of technology and pointed at ancient lava fields." Her voice had gone quieter. Not softer. "But I burned through the self-pity in there. The grief. The part that wanted to give up because giving up felt like the appropriate scale of response to what I'd lost." She looked back at him. "I came out the other side still angry. Still tired. But pointed in a direction."

She let her eyes close. In the silence, her hair finished its collapse — the bun giving up entirely, dark strands shifting loose across her shoulder. She didn't open her eyes immediately.

"I tell you that," she said, "so you understand what I mean when I say I don't lose the thread. Even now. Especially now." She opened her eyes. "When people call me names — and they do, and not all of them as generous as yours—" she gave him the wink, brief and direct, "—it's usually because the line I'm walking looks, from certain angles, like I'm walking the wrong direction."

She brought her feet down and sat forward, elbows on the desk, and when she raised her hand to count, she did it the way she did everything — without preamble.

"First." One finger. "The Infested within Klingon borders, and Martok's consolidation of power — that is not a Starfleet problem to solve. I want to be plain about that. If Theurgy remains in Klingon space running Martok's errands, the other Houses won't see an ally. They'll see a pet targ on a Federation leash, and Martok's authority becomes a question mark that his enemies will answer for him." She met his eyes and held them. "Information on fighting the Infested — freely shared. Technology, personnel when the need is specific and the ask is direct — of course. But the Theurgy cannot be seen doing Martok's interior work for him. That is a battle he must be seen winning himself."

Second finger.

"The D'ravsai Coalition." She registered whatever moved across his face and continued before he could respond to it. "I know. I know what a Romulan is to a Klingon. I am not asking you to change that. I am pointing out that there is now a new governmental power taking shape on Romulus that is not the Senate as it was, not Tal'Aura's remnant, not Shinzon's excess — it is something that has not existed before, and it has not claimed one contested planet, not rattled one disputed border, and has specifically requested to be left alone to put itself together." Her finger stayed up. "More to the point — the Tal'Shiar, which was at the root of most of the Romulan-Klingon friction that wasn't pure cultural theater — has been gutted. The new government has made clear they have no interest in sustaining it. The cells still out there are severed limbs. They'll move, they'll cause damage, but they have no heart now." She dropped the finger. "I would think Martok might find some satisfaction in that."

Third finger. Her voice shifted slightly — not softer, but careful in a way the previous two hadn't required.

"The President." She exhaled through her nose, jaw tightening once. "I cannot control her. I would not have chosen that speech. I want to be honest with you about that — not because it changes anything, but because I think you deserve the honest version." Her hand stayed up, but her eyes moved to the viewport, then back. "What she did has put a target on her back from two directions simultaneously. From the Infested, who will read this civil unrest as the exact piece of chaos they've been cultivating — and they will use it, Hauq, because that is what they do. Reality becomes their raw material. Mother doubts child. Brother turns on brother." Her hand lowered. "And from the uninfested who genuinely believe she overstepped her authority, which is not an unreasonable reading of what happened, and who will use that belief with complete sincerity to undermine everything she tried to build with that pardon."

She sat back, the chair taking her weight fully.

"We may have just handed them the keystone." She said it flatly, without drama. "The Theurgy has been visible since the pardon. Anyone who aided us, anyone who stands near the President — they're now in the crosshairs of something we cannot fully map. And when people start denouncing each other, when the accusations begin to compound, the Infested don't have to lift a finger. The uninfested do it for them."

She looked at her hands, where they'd come to rest in her lap. Then back at him.

"And the screening." Her voice went very quiet. "The entire quadrant, Hauq. We still don't know where they come from. We don't know if more are coming. We can fight the ones we find. We can burn out the nests we locate. But the mathematics of screening a galactic population with our current tools—" She stopped. Pressed her lips together. Didn't finish it. Didn't need to.

"Now is not the time," she said instead, "for impulsive emotion. Not the time to doubt the people who have proven themselves, not the time to move fast because moving fast feels better than moving carefully." She held his gaze, and her voice came out level — not commanding, not soft — the tone of someone speaking a thing they have believed for long enough that it has become structural. "At the core of everything — everything, all of it, every line being held on every front — is eradicating the Infested. That's what we're protecting. That's what comes first."

Her chin lifted a fraction.

"After that, we can go back to arguing about territory and culture and whether Romulans are trustworthy and whether Federation diplomats ask too many questions." The ghost of something moved at her mouth. "I look forward to it, frankly. It'll mean we survived long enough to care about the smaller things again."
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