Star Trek: Theurgy

Day 04 [0800 hrs.] New Game, Old Players

July 02, 2022, 11:39:23 PM

[ Lt. JG Nysarisiza “Nysari” zh’Eziarath | Outside the Conference Room | Deck 8 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @stardust

Her uniform was immaculate, and yet Nysari still found herself adjusting it. Pull the cuff down a millimeter, smooth a perceived crease in her skirt, slip a finger beneath the collar to tug it away from her throat. This was the same uniform she’d worn five years ago, but she didn’t remember it being so tight. Every fix only served to reinforce what she already knew - the problems were all in her head. It didn’t take a counselor’s training to spot the red flags, stray thoughts grown into monsters intent on eating away at her psyche. The last week had been one upheaval after another. First Paris, then the Federation Embassy, learning the true threat that had orchestrated it all… now here she was, back in uniform like she’d been thrown back in time.

In seven years of service, she had worn three different uniforms. Others had shaken their heads and rolled their eyes with each new release, but Nysari had always welcomed the change. Someone at Starfleet Command had shared her fickle sense of style, each new outfit felt like a new chapter in the adventure. She would have expected a new one by now - or had missed an iteration entirely. She could have donned the armor that symbolized her new direction in life, assured that she had made the right choice. Instead, these gray shoulders had withstood the test of time, leaving Nysari with an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu. Picking up right where she’d left off, as though unconsciously signaling that her time as a civilian had been a mistake. Or an oddly vivid dream. It gave the impression that the years given to her family had been wasted, a train of thought she’d never dared travel before.

Furthering her detached sense of temporal displacement was the woman she was about to meet - her new superior officer, Lieutenant Commander Samantha Rutherford. When Captain Ives had mentioned who she’d be reporting to, Nysari hadn’t immediately placed the name. It was only after Admiral Anderson reactivated her commission and assigned her to the Theurgy that Nysari had done her homework, recognizing in her service photo the blonde human she’d served with for a time on Deep Space Nine. They had been of equal rank then, two young diplomats working on the Treaty of Bajor. Their paths had divided after that short acquaintance, Nysari gone to make her name in Paris while Sam had remained in service - and clearly done quite well at it. They’d only shared a minor correspondence after that. When newly assigned to the Palais’ Romulan Desk, Nysari had contacted Samantha on a ship returning from Romulan space, capitalizing on their shared moment in history to garner the other diplomat’s first hand opinion on current Romulan affairs. Strange that they were now meeting again. In a universe so unfathomably large, paths shouldn’t accidently cross more than once.

The slight tapping of footfalls pulled her from her ruminations, causing Nysari to swear silently at herself when she realized the passing crewman had seen her fidgeting. Her attention rightfully focused outward again, she quickly pulled herself together, a warm smile and crisp “Good morning,” sending the human and his curious glances on his way. Normally force of will was enough to keep her hands still, but today she clasped them behind her back, locking them in place and deeming them inaccessible for any more last minute uniform alterations. She was here early, a few minutes before their scheduled meeting. She needed to pass the remaining time in stilled patience, rebuilding the walls of her composure to the level her job required.

In games of diplomacy, first impressions were everything. Though they’d met before, this was a new ship, new postings, and two steps in the chain of command now between them. It would set the tone for the rest of Nysari’s time on the Theurgy. And it wasn’t like she could transfer if things went south. She had made her choice, turned her coat, and given her fate over to this ship of renegades. They would go home as exonerated heroes - or live out their lives in prison cells. If they made it home at all. Dramatic tendencies aside, this needed to work.

“Step one, be on time,” the Andorian said quietly under her breath, allowing herself one more breath of preparation before tapping the door panel, a soft musical chime alerting the occupant that a guest had arrived.

Re: Day 04 [0800 hrs.] New Game, Old Players

Reply #1 – July 07, 2022, 03:50:33 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Auxiliary Conference Room | Deck 8 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @rae
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Sinking back into the waves of her chair, like the ancient warship she felt like, Samantha relaxed her sore limbs into the soft cushions. Feeling the adrenaline and tension of the moment slipping away, it was only then, that the heralds of reality, came crashing back down on her, like the riders of the apocalypse, descending from high heavens. The gentle hum of Theurgy’s systems, that could be almost oppressive in the unrelenting monotony. The imperceptible flicker of the recessed lighting strips. The conditioned air, maintaining a delicate equilibrium, between a myriad of different biological preferences in terms of humidity, temperature and oxygen levels. All of which sensations that had fallen to the wayside entirely, as she’d been focused on the call with the Klingon high chancellor.

Now, however, as the screen had returned to the filigree logo of the United Federation of Planets, she felt her muscles relax for the first time. The way her uniform had grown hot under the gravity of the conversation, like a moon melting under the scrutiny of its parent planet. Suddenly, the old norm felt like an archaic notion of illusive comfort, by comparison to this new reality, that came rushing in. “Computer, lower ambient temperature by five degrees.” the diplomat requested from the sentient machine she had not yet quite learned to accept as a person. Maybe that was why an acknowledgment seemed unwarranted, and instead the gentle flow of air from hidden vents briefly accelerated. A welcome change, embalming the blonde’s lithe figure with refreshing ether, as she emerged from the radiant chair, making her way swiftly to the replicator unit.

“Water, cold.” she ordered curtly, light flutter and sparkles reflecting in larimar orbs as a distinct glimmer of anticipation. Picking up the chilled beverage, the immediately forming condensate against her fingertips, created a sensation akin to diving into a pool on a hot summer’s day. Bringing brim to plush lips, the sanguine ambrosia trickled across peach slices into the warm embrace of satisfaction. As lash-framed shadows descended upon azure ponds like the vanguards of night. Not only the liquid, but the entire notion, consumed by Sam’s body as if it was a sponge, whose only purpose it was to soak up the last bit of glacial sensation. A desire in stark contradiction to part of her desert dwelling heritage, no doubt, but even a Vulcan couldn’t deny the measure with which a glass of water seemed to rise in value the longer you had to wait for it.

It was then that the door chime broke the momentary serenity. A short measure of reprieve from duty. But on the other hand, Samantha had expected her mind to wander the moment her bodily requirements had been met. Which was why she usually packed her appointments so closely. To minimize the chance of being dragged away into the vast expanse of pondering, and to remain in the here and now fully, where she was needed. “Come in.” the diplomat ordered sternly, moving back towards her throne, taking up position like a viceroy, bigheaded with the pretentious power of being the king’s mouthpiece. Yet, it was only a superficial metaphor, befitting her oftentimes aloof and statuesque appearance, not a claim to veracity.

For a moment, as the Lieutenant entered, it was as if Sam’s eyes were a mere mirror, to the Andorian’s skin. Reflecting the vivacious blue in all its facets. But as long lashes blinked over cornflower coins, it became rather obvious that they were merely a match in vibrance, rather than a mirage of one another. “Please, take a seat.” The diplomat invited with a ginger gesture of her free hand, while holding on to the cold glass with the other. Crossing her long legs, rose petals constricted for a moment, like a blossom at dusk, as thoughts circled through the blonde’s mind … larimar hues unrelenting. She had already deducted from the Lieutenant’s personnel file that there was an unignorable overlap in their duty history. They had both served on DS9 in a very pivotal time for the Federation, and she remembered there hadn’t been many diplomats there at the time. However, that year had passed like a blur for Sam, after her husband had perished in the last battle of the war. So, it was probably understandable that she couldn’t initially place a personal connection, that logically must’ve been there. As such, for now, she decided to couch the subject in more official matters.

“I hope you're having a smooth experience settling back into duty on the fleet?” the commander asked casually, belying the difficult nature of having to subject oneself back into the rigid structures and confined spaces of a starship. Though she had never served in an embassy herself, she had heard stories about her academy rival all the time, on how consulates were only tingling from party to party, schmoozing with politicians. Certainly an important aspect of foreign relations as well, just an entirely different one. “I also read you came on the ambassador’s referral … that is some high praise.” And while the seasoned diplomat always liked to start a conversation on a tough hit, to instantly gauge what kind of brittle stone she was chiseling at, her subsequent tone usually adapted more to the individual proclivities.

Depending on how much she needed to carve a flawless statue, that was, instead of a pile of rubble.

Re: Day 04 [0800 hrs.] New Game, Old Players

Reply #2 – July 15, 2022, 05:22:16 AM

[ Lt. JG Nysarisiza “Nysari” zh’Eziarath | Auxiliary Conference Room | Deck 8 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @stardust

As she entered the room, the cool air brought with it a profound sense of relief. In designing public areas, Starfleet and the Federation tended to opt for the human norm, moderate temperatures in between what their Andorian and Vulcan co-founders found comfortable. Having spent the entirety of her adult life away from the icy moon she hailed from, Nysari tended to believe that she’d adapted quite well. Which meant that she’d long since stopped worrying for her overheated skin, relegating the discomfort to the back of her mind instead, only remembered when a cold soothing breeze passed by. For a moment, she wondered if Rutherford had changed the temperature on purpose for this meeting. If so, Nysari was grateful for the small diplomatic gesture. Not that it was anywhere near Andoria, but even a slight difference was refreshing.

Her gaze found the chief diplomatic officer immediately, meeting another pair of deep blue irises that rivaled her own. Nysari walked over to the end of the table to stand at attention, her body falling back into old habits remarkably quickly. But the rigid military discipline was broken a moment later with the invitation to sit, an order the Andorian acquiesced to with a polite nod. “Thank you Commander.” She took the seat across from Rutherford with easy grace, her back as straight as before, legs crossing, hands resting lightly on top. Her face was schooled in the polite expression she’d constructed outside, alert and attentive as the other woman spoke.

“It has been a smoother transition that I expected,” she admitted, as honest as she dared to be. So easy her brain was rebelling. A struggle would have shown that she’d truly left. The familiarity was driving her mad. “Some habits are hard to break, exactly as Starfleet Academy intended.” After the battle outside to get under control, Nysari was hardly going to admit to her troubled thoughts now. She had made her choice in accepting this post. The emotional repercussions would have no effect on her work. Compartmentalization at its best.

Interesting, that she had not chosen to start with their brief acquaintance. Instead, the olive branch was Ambassador Bommu’s compliments. Alright, she could work with that. “I am pleased to hear that I made a positive impression. I was sent to Qo’nos to solve a problem for him. What should have been a minor territorial dispute was blown out of proportion by the parties involved. Representatives from border worlds brought it up in the Federation Council, talk made its way to the Palais,” she shrugged, a light delicate gesture as though to say ‘You know how these things happen in Paris.’ It was a simple issue. The planetary system in question belonged to the Federation and no amount of shouting would change it, no matter how important the Klingon shouting was. But in games of great power politics, the truth wouldn’t be believed until it came from someone with the right job title. “Sometimes a fresh perspective is required to get the job done.”

“At least, I do hope that is what the Ambassador was referencing,” she added with a slight self-deprecating smile, “rather than my conversation with him and Captains Ives and Jackson a few days ago. They seemed pleased with my initiative, though I regret not taking the time to read first.” Nysari wasn’t normally one to jump in head first. She liked taking her time, researching everything thoroughly, and starting off as prepared as one could possibly be. One could never know everything, there would always be a surprise, but she’d be damned if she didn’t try. “In my rush to avert a war, I offered various solutions to the Romulan threat that ultimately proved futile once I had more information.”

In her youth, with stars in her eyes and idealism brimming in her soul, Nysari would have clung to the idea that there was an immediate diplomatic solution to every problem. Her faith had been crushed during the Dominion War, where the solution had only surfaced after years of blood and pain. Even so, she had still tried, cooking up wild ideas of peaceful solutions, the dogged determination alone keeping her sane. These years of peace had given her hope again. She was older now, more experienced, searching for balance between pragmatism and idealism. There was no magical solution to the approaching fleet. But maybe they could find a way to hold off the shooting for a little while longer.

“Ambassador Bommu did hope that my experience with the Romulans would be of use to you. Perhaps he didn’t know that you have experience of your own in that arena.”

Re: Day 04 [0800 hrs.] New Game, Old Players

Reply #3 – July 27, 2022, 02:54:56 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Auxiliary Conference Room | Deck 8 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @rae
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It was astounding, how a little nuance like temperature, could be an entire encyclopedia of diplomatic effort, the Federation had facilitated, ever since its conception centuries ago. A concept fine-tuned to the most common denominator in an excruciating process that involved many different departments and specialists. Yet not much more prevailed to this day than a simple standard, deeply ingrained in the computer systems of any Starfleet vessel and base, becoming a norm – of sorts – and as such, an entirely occult notion. Much like the groundbreaking alliances and agreements, that had shape eras of comparable peace, which were now nothing more than legends to glorify.

Yet as much as a concession in negotiations, an olive branch extended, could lull an opponent into a false sense of superiority, an unintentional accommodation in terms of temperature, could just as well smooth over the difference between a benevolent colleague, and a contentious one. As such, even though the initial trigger was unknown to the lithe blonde, she could very well indulge in the saccharine fruits reaped, from the branches of courteous etiquette. “Would you care for a drink?” Samantha queried mannerly, extending some of the lush proverbial flesh back towards the Andorian, while subtly hinting at her own fogged up glass of chilled water, with a delicate nod of her head. Before settling into the posture of a listener, as the Lieutenant proceeded to betroth her questions with valid answers.

A small smile brushed past rose petals, like a spring breeze, as Nysari presaged that Starfleet had ulterior motives to condition its officer for a life-long adaptation to serve in space. When, as a matter of fact, the diplomat believed it was any species’ evolutionary advantage being able to do so. The implication alone, however, was a humorous one - at least to the quarter Vulcan – no matter what either of them truly believed. Sam could understand that the measure of introduction didn’t seem like it was what the Attaché expected, but that was hardly ever the case. If it was, she would’ve done something wrong in her job. Regardless of what the reasoning was, behind the brief measure of apprehension. As such, it was almost ironic, that it was the part of her heritage from a culture defiant to any sort of emotional display, that allowed her to be more sensitive to that of others.

A delicately inclined brow rose a mere quarter of an inch, with larimar hues momentarily averting to the glossy finish of the table, at the mention of a situation escalating on the Klingon homeworld. As a diplomat, the commander wished she could say that it was surely only due to the confrontational Klingon culture. But recently she had to learn, that wasn’t always true. The intricacies of this culture were still a valley in the fog to the blonde, only slowly revealing itself from the deafening silence. Whereas the human penchant for emotional reactions was far more familiar to her. Romulan deviousness she too understood much better … maybe because they were an offshoot of part of her own genealogy too. Which was also why she couldn’t wait to depart this glorified zoo.

“Looking from the outside in can be beneficial.” Samantha agreed, azure ponds reflecting back at their icy counterparts. Like the bottom of a lake against the frozen sheet covering it. Surely, in part, that was her experiencing with joining the crew of Theurgy recently as well. Merging into a close-knit group of people that had traveled to hell and back together. “I am sure they are …” the diplomat replied, tilting her figure forward ever so slightly, as her wrist came to rest against the chamfered edge of the table. Thumb playing with a vacant spot on the woman’s ring fire. “… and you will come to realize that working among this crew will render you in a perpetual state of catching up. Which isn’t so much a reflection upon you as an officer, but rather the pace with which new scenarios develop.” After all, the commander was still trying to come to terms with their next objective.

Ultimately, however, Sam had to yield a measure of admission to the blue-skinned woman as well. Pate dipping in gentle confusion, dissecting the specimen of words she had presented, sifting through entrails of significance and the flesh of meaning. Obviously, the Lieutenant had an equal foreknowledge of her superiors record, as much as she did in return. It wasn’t unusual in terms of procedure, but rather in terms of practical execution. But regardless of whether it was meant as a lure to entice the little decapod out of her shell, this crustacean didn’t bite. After all, paranoia was a hazard of the trade. “I haven’t had the pleasure of ever meeting the ambassador in person, but his distinguishments precede him.” the diplomat replied vaguely, counting on the schooled intellect of her opponent to pick up the subtle undertones.

“You mentioned being overwhelmed by the true reality of the threat we're facing. Do you have any questions I could answer in that regard?”

Re: Day 04 [0800 hrs.] New Game, Old Players

Reply #4 – July 30, 2022, 09:38:30 PM

[ Lt. JG Nysarisiza “Nysari” zh’Eziarath | Auxiliary Conference Room | Deck 8 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @stardust

“I said that I rushed to a solution Commander, not that I was overwhelmed.” It was a soft correction, but important for the diplomat, entrenched in a profession that demanded exacting word choices. “Captain Ives provided the Embassy staff with a plethora of information on PADDs, which took time to read thoroughly. They invited questions, which I took advantage of after only skimming the major headlines. With a first hand source readily available, I decided to risk diving into the situation. Had I read through everything, I would have seen the flaws in my plan. However, I would also have missed the chance to speak to both Captains regarding the Romulans.” At the very least, her actions had gotten her noticed, enough that she was now in position to continue the work now that she was up to speed.

The idea of working in a ‘perpetual state of catching up’ was an appalling notion. She had no fear of a rapid pace, but Nysari already planned to be on top of it, rather than racing behind. Many planets had similar complaints about the slow pace of bureaucracy, but to her it was a necessary evil. Government and diplomacy existed in an intricate balancing act. Working frantically to keep pace while taking the time to ensure that everything was done right. This however, was an opinion Nysari kept to herself. The newly arrived had no place debating workplace ideologies. Nor did it truly matter anyway. This was her environment now, and how she handled it was her prerogative - so long as the work was completed.

“As for the true reality of the threat,” she paused for a moment, her eyes leaving Rutherford’s for the first time as she mulled over the question. “I have not been able to discern a motive. Why are they doing this?” This ship had had a traumatic journey, and she knew how her question could come off as naive to those who had grown accustomed to war. “Destruction for destruction’s sake? If these are sentient beings, what is it they want?” She took a breath then, creating a beat in the conversation and letting it calm her. Nysari didn’t like not knowing, hence her tendency to gather every scrap of information first. When she continued, it was from a more analytical viewpoint. “We are dealing with an opponent whose composition and culture are unknown to us. We don’t have a frame of reference, no starting point for diplomacy. Has negotiation been attempted?” In the videos she’d seen, the fighting had begun the moment the parasite’s host was uncovered. “I know there is an informant on board, but I do not know the extent of his remaining connection to the parasite.”

As she finished speaking, Nysari continued to mull over a previous comment. Still, they were focusing on the Ambassador. A man whom, by equal admission, neither of them knew well. Nysari had only spoken to him to give updates on her work, and Rutherford had never made his acquaintance at all. Insisting on referencing Bommu as a point of reference seemed unnecessary to the Andorian. She replayed the conversation in her head, trying to find a rationale for the other diplomat’s logic. Surely she had a reason, trained professional that she was, for ignoring the segway Nysari had laid out, that subtle hint of their last correspondence. Could she have forgotten? It was not a path she wanted to take right away, certain that Rutherford had researched her record the moment Nysari had been assigned here. Perhaps she hadn’t connected her new attaché to the Palais official who’d requested intel on the Romulans a few years ago. The Commander had been correct on one point. Things had moved so quickly in the past days that her old job already felt like ancient history, an oft dwelled on dream or a memory of another lifetime. It wasn’t a sensation she enjoyed.

“If your offer still stands, a cup of katheka would be delightful, thank you,” she switched topics smoothly, referring to Andoria’s morning drink of choice, a caffeinated beverage analogous to the human’s coffee. As Rutherford no doubt intended, Nysari’s gaze was drawn to the glass the commander was holding, the laws of thermodynamics holding true as condensation dripped down the sides. Unfortunately, that only served to remind her that this room was still far warmer than her body’s norm. “I could refresh your drink as well.” As she spoke, Nysari shifted her body in the chair as a prelude to standing, indicating her willingness to go get the beverages herself. Ever mindful of the chain of command and the other woman’s position on a higher rung. However she refrained from getting up immediately, waiting to see what Rutherford wanted her to do. In time, she would learn the Commander’s body language and predict what was needed in a scenario without these games. They had to get to know each other better first. “Though I admit I do not remember what you preferred while we were working on the Treaty of Bajor.”

One more reminder couldn’t hurt.

Re: Day 04 [0800 hrs.] New Game, Old Players

Reply #5 – August 09, 2022, 02:04:28 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Auxiliary Conference Room | Deck 8 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @rae
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As a chief diplomatic officer, it was Samantha’s duty to observe the behavior of her subordinates and adjust if necessary. To guide their development in the arts and psychology of negotiation and impasse her years of knowledge and experience in the area. When it came to the Andorian woman in front of her, however, the blonde couldn’t help but feel a little bit like a fraud, if she were to insinuate there was anything she could teach someone of similar age and knowledge. As such, she held back any verbal comments on the gentle correction, as they were in a setting among peers. But would make a mental note to observe whether the woman too exhibited such slightly contentious behavior in negotiations – she already had a subordinate like that. Because it was never a good idea to correct an opponent. Which could’ve been misinterpreted as being aggressive. When the more prudent thing to do was to try and understand the source of the confusion.

“By that logic, would you consider diving in, with just the superficial knowledge of a situation, is a good idea in any circumstance? If so, what could those be?” the commander however asked curiously, feeling as if such off-the-cuff behavior was rather emotional. Only then remembering that this was exactly what part of her ancestry had always considered the blue skinned species to be most distinguished in. Which instantly triggered a self-aware judgment process of whether she was imposing archaic stereotypes on the woman. Then again, it was merely a measure of trying to gauge her mindset in the context of her duties. Which was a duty of her own, as a department head. “The worst plan, surely, is the one that’s never voiced.” was the ultimate attempt at giving the whole sentiment a more diplomatic touch. Not being able to shake off a faint sense of contest within the other woman, in relation to her previous occupation within the sluggish gears of the political system. It was an arena far better suited for a Vulcan.

In essence, Samantha didn’t mind that they transitioned right into the thick of it. Time too was a luxurious commodity they didn’t have a great deal of. As knowledge seemed to be. For all the questions Nysari proposed, there weren’t any solid answers. “The most important, and most difficult lesson in dealing with other cultures is: not to try and impose your own values and motivations upon them, nor to try and find any, where non exist.” the blonde paraphrased one of her academy lecturers. A Vulcan himself, obviously. “I think it is a mistake to equate logical thinking with intelligence. There are countless of species who behave irrationally and follow no clear motive … not to our understanding anyways. Which makes diplomacy difficult, as the baseline of negotiation is an understanding of mutual benefit.” she replied, attempting to answer a few of Nysari’s questions at once. To that end, in her opinion, trying to understand or find a motive within what the parasites wanted or did was wasted effort.

“Dr. Nicander has – at least to my understanding – not yielded much useable information in the area of finding a diplomatic solution or common ground. Though other departments seem to have been more successful in deriving viable intel.” The commander shrugged idly, letting larimar hues fall to the precipice of the table between them. It wasn’t much of her concern. “I see our department’s work more in the realm of rallying allies to our cause and delicately spreading word of the threat, rather than attempting to find a peaceful solution with the aggressor.” With that, icy blue pastures fell upon their counterpart once more. “I too have to come to terms with the realization that a diplomatic resolution might not be possible with everyone.” A lesson she seemed to be learning the hard way too.

It was a somber revelation. One that was luckily alleviated by the Lieutenants segue into a previous invitation. “I am fine, thank you.” the commander replied, nodding both pate, and index finger, casually in the direction of the replicator. Once more attempting to effectively answer two questions with one answer. Larimar hues, however, remained on the space that the Andorian woman had previously occupied. A figment of contemplation in the conditioned air. It was a measure of afterthought, that ultimately caught the blonde off guard, and dragged her back from whatever hypothetical wonderland her mind had escaped to. Heralds of long repressed daemon, echoing from the corners and recesses of the woman’s mind, like shadows from the deep creeping back into light.

The Treaty of Bajor …

“I beg your pardon?” Samantha replied, cornflower fields under a curious moon, as she looked back at the woman by the replicator. A question like a reflex, a knew-jerk, intended to both pass time and temporarily switch focus back on the conversation partner. The measure with which realization came back to her, however, the question soon became rather metaphorical. “Ah …” the blonde nodded slowly, an air of epiphany washing over her delicate features. “… anything that kept me focused, if I remember correctly.” she added, rose petals curving into a delicate smile, conveying a feeble sense of warmth, at the very least.

A fleeting summer’s day.

Re: Day 04 [0800 hrs.] New Game, Old Players

Reply #6 – August 21, 2022, 05:21:06 AM

[ Lt. JG Nysarisiza “Nysari” zh’Eziarath | Auxiliary Conference Room | Deck 8 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @stardust

This was not a negotiation. Yes, they were diplomats, but was part of diplomacy not in knowing one’s audience? The correction - more a clarification than anything - could have been approached in a more circumspect manner. But in this initial meeting, she knew Rutherford would be judging her new subordinate, testing her capabilities, deciding on assignments and what role Nysari would play on the Theurgy. It would not do if that take away was ‘overwhelmed,’ or anything even slightly tending towards that suggestion. Nysari had given up everything, her life, her job, her family, because the threat she had seen was too monstrous to ignore. If she was to have nothing left but this old job she’d returned to, she wanted to dive in headfirst.

Noting the subtle invitation, Nysari vacated her seat in the direction of the replicator, ordering her drink in a quiet voice. She glanced back around only briefly as the katheka materialized, attention drawn by the other diplomat’s soft exclamation. Seeing the understanding wash over peach skin, Nysari finally found the answer she’d been searching for during the whole conversation. Rutherford did not, in fact, remember. Whatever had affected her so seemed a painful thought, which convinced Nysari to drop the topic. Turning back to the replicator, she took a few seconds longer than necessary to collect her mug, in case time was needed to collect herself after Nysari had inadvertently touched an old wound.

Before long she was settled again, drink positioned slightly to the right of center and within easy reach of her hand. The movement had given her time to think through Rutherford’s comments, which she now began to answer, choosing to go in the order in which they’d been presented.

“I would ask myself, what damage might my ignorance potentially beget? In speaking with Captain Ives, the risks were that a Starfleet captain would think me a fool,” evidently not his takeaway, but even if it had been, it would have mattered little given his current reputation in the Federation, “Or that I would waste his time. Ultimately, I believe I did, but one tends to expect wasteful questions in open forums. All perfectly acceptable risks. On the other hand, there are cultures who take a mispronounced word as an intolerable insult.” She shrugged lightly, “I am an over-preparer. Expected in the civil service, but not always possible in Starfleet, I know.” Was it a flaw? Yes. But she couldn’t help it. Who wouldn’t feel more comfortable when they had all the answers?

“The greatest villains in literature are those who see themselves as heroes.” Blue eyes flicked momentarily towards the commander’s ears, hidden beneath golden locks. There was, she remembered from her earlier research, a hint of Vulcan blood running through those veins, courtesy of the Vulcan representative to the Federation Council. As an Andorian, Nysari couldn’t help but find the comment rather ironic. How many times had the Vulcans made that exact argument towards her own people, during the tumultuous eras before joining in the alliance they now shared. Illogical. Irrational. And yet, Andoria had never viewed their actions as either. It had taken a third viewpoint, offered by humans during Earth’s first years of space exploration, for the ancestral enemies to finally find common ground. Then look at what they had all come together to build in a scant two hundred years. If an Andorian or a Vulcan from that time came onto the ship now, they wouldn’t believe that Commander Rutherford and Lieutenant zh'Eziarath were working together in mutual understanding. When the impossible became natural, it was time to move onto the next impossible thing.

“With your permission Commander, I would like to speak to Doctor Nicander.” She ventured, her face remaining carefully blank, even as an urgent need ran beneath. To her knowledge… Did that mean that the diplomats hadn’t spoken to him at all yet? “What we see as irrational and lacking in motive is colored by our own culture and perceptions. Is there not a possibility that, in their worldview, their actions are logical and necessary? Five days ago, I thought everyone on this ship had gone mad, but everyone here is perfectly rational. The Theurgy has a view of the quadrant that is unique to the Federation. There can be no understanding of mutual benefit without understanding who sits across the table. Maybe we’ve done something to threaten them. Perhaps they don’t view us as proper sentient lifeforms, given our different compositions. Maybe they conqueror as a right of passage. Or they’re running from a catastrophe and need a stronghold here to survive. Or they have an overwhelming base instinct to destroy. We won't know unless we ask.” Those were only a few examples. In Starfleet one could find so many more. “Even if I am embarking on a fool's errand, I feel compelled to try. If diplomatic resolution is ultimately impossible, is it not our duty to at least make the attempt?”

It was one thing to come to the realization. It was another thing entirely to accept it. When that happened was when they stopped trying. Then the war would rage forever.

Nysari paused then to take a breath, willing the muscles in her antennae to loosen. Her speech had become a bit more impassioned than she would have liked. “I apologize if I overstepped. The worst plan is the one that’s never voiced, yes?” Feelings aside, she would do nothing without permission. They might be similar in age, and if one counted purely in years, they were similar in experience. However, their experiences varied, as evidenced by the extra weight on the other woman’s collar. Nysari would make suggestions, but Rutherford would lead.

Re: Day 04 [0800 hrs.] New Game, Old Players

Reply #7 – September 19, 2022, 06:14:52 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Auxiliary Conference Room | Deck 8 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @rae
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If there was but one truth in the universe, one constant, it was the equilibrium of powers. Force and counter force. An ethereal balance of scales, keeping the whole of reality from collapsing in on itself. And by understanding this baseline of function within the fabric of reason, one could harness the power of the universe to their own advantage. On a very small scale at least – no pun intended.

A notion which drove the precipice of Samantha’s pate to dip reverently in the realization that Nysari seemed to be aware of this innate truth herself. Weighing benefit against cost, like a Ferengi would in a business deal. And quite logically so, the quarter Vulcan had to admit. It was nice to see a diplomatic officer embrace both standards of approaching a subject. Both the logical AND the emotional. Not either in an exclusive fashion.

“It seems like your penchant for ‘overpreparation’ has served you well in grooming a talent for risk-management.” the blonde acknowledged appreciatively. It certainly was a skill well suited for the circles they were operating in. If not any Starfleet branch as a whole. “And as evidenced by your reposting, I am seemingly not the only one who sees it that way.” Which was probably an obvious conclusion to draw, but it could serve as a compliment as well, if the Andorian would like to see it that way.

Gently inclined brow cocking, at the paraphrasing of what sounded like a scholarly quote, the commander was temporarily paralyzed in the notion of sifting through decades of knowledge pertaining to the literary greats of many cultures. But as she couldn’t come up with a solid lead, she discarded the tangent in favor of a more substantiated approach. “Just like a truly insane person doesn’t know that they are.” she instead continued that thought with a theorem of her own. “I am sure you too have tiptoed on the brink of villainy from time to time – certainly in a matter of perspective – otherwise you wouldn’t have done your job right.”

A bold claim to make, but even more true at its core. For first and foremost villainy, just like right or wrong, were matters of perspective. One’s savior was another one’s terrorist. One’s liberator was another one’s slaver. The only one truth being whatever ideology you subscribed yourself too. Which was ironically exactly the kind of truth Sam had intended to impart on the blue skinned diplomat when referencing the parasites and their seemingly veiled motivations. Which she herself believed to be either non-existent or none that they could understand, in this there-dimensional existence of theirs.

Letting the Lieutenant continue, the blonde resisted the urge to wet her lips while larimar ponds reflected upon the sleek tabletop. Thus potentially giving away her numbness to the notions proposed. As they were – at least to her – just another display of the same unsubstantiated “risk-taking”, with which Nysari seemed to be blind-shooting for potential targets. At the end, however, she had to admit that doing something seemingly pointless was more than doing nothing. So, there was at least logic in that.

“But we did …” Samantha poignantly replied, letting the phrase site there for a moment like a thick cloud of fog one had to stagger through to see the light behind it. “… in our very first session with Dr. Nicander he couldn’t even distinguish whether the parasites were actually sentient individuals or merely perversions of a host’s character by the ‘nameless darkness’ as if it was a form of radiation or a poison.” Explicitly accentuating the ridiculous name they used for this aggressor the weary dread shined through brightly, that the woman felt at the odds of finding a diplomatic solution with such a … thing.

“Your assumptions are, of course, all valid, and if you care to dive into each and every one of them I will support your decision. All I ask is not to let yourself get disillusioned if you come up empty handed.” It was certainly an emotion she had to admit to feeling after her first meeting with the dear doctor herself. “Rest assured, at this point I am led to believe there is very little that hasn’t been attempted in revealing the enemy’s motivations. But the best education are lessons learned first-hand.”

Stirring in her chair from a long silence, bones aching with the fire of serenity, Sam leant forward to call her PADD on the table to life. “I’ll put a request in with yeoman Henshaw and she can liaise with you directly on an appointment with Dr. Nicander.” The tapping a few buttons and the respective melody of confirmations later the blonde folded her filigree hands over the tabletop like a toppled tent. “If there is nothing further, at this point, I am anxiously awaiting your first report.”

Which was both an encouragement and a threat at the same time. Like the best diplomatic ultimatums were.

"Just keep in mind: the most objective observations are made from a distance."

- FIN