Samala’s blood seethed at the disdain she could see on the hologram’s face, the Romulan making no effort at all to try and be polite about what he thought of their presence. His visage and tone were matched by the Romulan Starfleet security officer that was using a knife to consume an apple. It might not have been the sharpest blade she had ever held but the pilot was sure that she could get the job done if she felt the need to spill green blood. Beside her, Lorad glanced across at Cameron Henshaw, noting her furrowed brows and reading the apology on them before the Ensign went back to trying to disappear behind her console.
<So formal and naive,> Samala mused to her brother. <To think that they could trust a Romulan of the Tal Shiar to keep their word. Every time I think that we have a chance at making your dream for Remans come true, something like this happens to shatter it.>
<It has not been shattered yet, sister,> Lorad reminded her. <Nor shall we do anything to help break it. Only through showing our strength against adversity will others see us for what we truly are and not how others have presented us.>
“I am Lorad, and this, despite her appearance, is my sister Samala,” Lorad said in Standard, introducing himself and his sister. “As much as many would deny it, she is proof that our species can cooperate. Her parents, my father, had a dream. Let today be another step toward that dream.” It was the most eloquent in the language that Lorad could remember being, but he hoped it had carried across as he had meant it too. True, most of it was copied from other works he had read or listened to, but he hoped the impact would be the same.
“Trust is in deeds, not words,” Samala pointed out calmly, her voice cold. “I may look like my mother, but I have my father’s blood in my veins. Remember that Remans will be affected by this as well. Or there is no point for my brother and I to be here.”