Political Considerations
Episode Name: DoF - Political Considerations Written By: Fortunae Cast: Golden Produced By: Starfleet & Fortunae Directed By: Fortunae Aired On: Tue Nov 05 03:14:56 2002 Stardate: 52756.7
Time: Tue Nov 05 02:40:07 2002
Stardate: 52756.7
October 13th, 2375. 1125 hours.
"Sir! I strenuously object! I've already trained my team on the objective, we are supposed to leaving in just a few hours - it's imprudent to change the mission so close to go time." Dylan Golden is quite angry; across from him in the small quarters on deck nine is Lt. Commander Edison from Starfleet Intelligence. Edison seems to be patiently tolerant of the objection as he responds, "Lt Golden, your objection is noted. We all have our orders to follow, and the folks back at Sector Command have their own considerations. Consideration one, we can't force the Occan ministers not to speak about their return to Occa, which means we can't trust them with the "alternate deployment method" off the Aegis. That and the Romulans want in on the groundside operations so they can inspire good will with their Occan neighbors and we have to play ball with them. You are going to have to face the fact that you have the training to go with this, and your Ensigns don't as yet. The Romulans are willing to do it all themselves but we aren't going for that so you *are* going to go with the new mission protocols with the Tal Shava and the Tal Diann and a few of my kids from Dulcais and Takamura and Turtledove are going to go with other mission taskings for the invasion. Am I clear on this?"
"You are clear sir. Permission to speak frankly sir?" Golden is near boiling; it can be seen from the flare of his nostrils to the clenching of his hands. His face is flushed and there is a nearly insubordinately murderous gleam in his eyes. None of this is lost on Edison who wisely says, "Permission Denied" before adjusting his command branch red collar, not unintentionally reminding Golden of the rank disparity. Edison finishes his adjusting his collar as Golden stifles back his need to express himself, and then says "You will be boarding the Ts'lux T'Gora along with Doctor T'sal and the Occan ministers. You will deploy to the surface of Occa with the Tal Shava team and the Tal Diann Legate. You will secure the ground site and then arrange for the small craft landing of the Ministers. You will protect their entry into the government building and keep them safe during their broadcast and afterwards until relieved by the ground liberation force. Do you understand your orders, the ones I just explained and the ones on that PADD I gave you?"
Golden straightens up, his eyes clear and intensely bright despite the undertone of frustration in his next spoken words. "Aye Aye sir." Edison nods to that as if it was the only response expected, and perhaps it was. "Of course you do Dylan. This isn't your first operation under our purview and you always do just as you are told like a good soldier. I can't imagine you would do anything else, and you know that you can't imagine it either so smile, you're going to do fine." Golden forces a smile to his lips, it's a thin professional smile and he nods, but neither he nor Edison really believes it's genuine.
October 13th, 2375. 1300 hours.
There were eight of them in the mission room aboard the Advent of Sorrow. Four of them wear the uniform of Starfleet Special Operations, four of them wear the uniform of the Tal Shava - elite Romulan marines from the Pacification Command; none of them appear to be excited by the opportunity to work with their allies. Doctor T'Sal, the Vulcan Rapid Response medical officer sits patiently at the table, fingers steepled together refusing to rise to the unspoken antagonism from the Tal Shavas. Ensign Martin Waters of Starfleet Intelligence has given up trying to practice his Romulan engaging in a casual conversation; the Romulans clearly not being in the mood to chit chat. Martin's partner, Lt. (jg) Alexander Prapov is silently burning as many details about the Romulan half of the mission team into his memory as possible. Lt (jg) Dylan Golden is drumming his fingers on the table top having long since lost patience for awaiting the Tal Diann Legate that Lt Tolsar, the captain of the vessel, had assured them would be with them shortly. The doors whispering open ends all of this activity as all eyes focus toward the new arrival.
The Tal Diann Legate enters with regal coolness, she appears to have unshakeable confidence in her place in the universe. The Tal Shava marines as one lurch to their feet, they have no desire to draw the wrath of the political officer; their Starfleet teammates hesitate a moment before following suit, apparently they just want to be diplomatic. Golden rose ahead of his compatriots, but unlike them his expression is a mixed one of surprise and wariness and some confusion. "Legate Voidrai?" he lets slip before he can restore his composure. Legate Voidrai artfully ignores the question, and the lanky human who asked it, instead asking to the room in general, "Which of you Starfleet officers is in charge of your team." That she knows perfectly well who is in charge is a safe assumption, one that all present arrive at in a blink of her asking; despite that the affable Ensign Waters speaks up saying, "That would be Lieutenant Golden, ma'am." Waters even takes the extra step to indicate the Martian who has settled back into his mask of professional detachment. Voidrai takes a small breath, a suffering breath if one tries to read into it, and turns her vulpine features towards the Rapid Response team commander and arches a perfectly manicured brow. "You would be Lieutenant Golden, I presume?"
"You know perfectly well who I am" Golden says as he narrows his eyes, it's a familiar cadence of non-verbal communication, he is slipping into an old routine. "Hmm," the Legate intones dismissively. "I once worked with a Starfleet officer by that name I believe, but considering the lethality of this war and his basic level of inadequacy I am confident he has met an ignominious death face down in the mud from a shot through the back by now." She inclines her head with skilled superiority and adds, "You aren't implying that you are that same officer are you?" Golden looks to his fellow officers with a strained expression and says, "I worked with the Legate back along the DMZ conducting joint operations before we were officially allied with the Star Empire." Voidrai purses her lips in a dismissive expression and says, "It could be said some were working and others were riding the sashes of others." Before Golden can respond she continues, "And speaking of work, we have much to discuss and no time to waste on idle recollections of past glories. The Praetor requires your attention to the following..."
October 13th, 2375. 1617 hours.
Eight coffins are suddenly apparent to visual consideration in the low orbital reaches of Occa Prime; the only explanation for their sudden appearance is that they slipped out of a cloaking field. They maneuver on reactionless thrusters and bank towards the atmosphere, embracing the pull of gravity and slicing through the thin upper atmosphere until the friction begins to heat up their external skins and the shudder wake of their passage begins to force them to drift out of formation. In the night side sky they plummet, now turning nose down focusing the thermal reaction at the downward edge and causing the atmosphere around them to roil and churn until in an orchestrated symphony of action all eight capsules fire their cargo upwards and behind them. The coffins continue to shudder and then break apart, consumed by the force of their own progress while behind them their former passengers run through a series of aerial acrobatics before stabilizing their freefall.
Miles above the surface and the city of New Florida below, the eight officers extend their limbs to buffer their plummet. They are able to breath only due to the atmosphere provided by their masks, too small to be picked up by the planet side sensors that are more focused on tracking the battle that has begun on the outskirts of the system. Two groups of four are formed by the clasping together of wrists and forearms; an ancient technique to ensure that the parachutists remain together as they fall and fall and fall towards the surface that yearns to catch them in one final embrace of broken tissue and blasted bone. There is no communication between the teams as they plummet; communications discipline is paramount to non-detection but leaves each one alone with their thoughts and their fall.
Much closer to the surface now they separate from their formations, spinning away from each other to ensure a safe distance for chute deployment. Limbs are brought tight and close to bodies and heads are turned downwards, decreasing resistance and accelerating the rate of descent. The broader features of the larger buildings are now becoming apparent to the naked eye, the sky scrapers of New Florida reaching upward like greedy fingers. In rapid succession there is a billowing of micro weave silk as the parachutes open and abruptly arrest the downward progress of the mission team, hard yanks of the harnesses that bite into the bodies as gravity is denied it's due. The silently descending commandos line up in the sky before landing in order on the roof of one of the corporate offices in the capital of Occa. The auto-retraction devices activate pulling the chutes back into their packs, and packing them again for a future use as guided by the internal smart circuits in the weave of the fabric and within the deployment bags. Using only gestures the team communicates the next phase of movement, securing descender grapples to the sides of the multi-story building and then running off the ledge of roof and heading down toward the streets far below, weapons bearing towards the surface ready to drop any unfortunate soul who has the ill luck to notice their presence. New Florida doesn't know they are there, but that blissful ignorance won't last much longer.
October 13th, 2375. 1629 hours.
Dylan Golden, Kedha Voidrai, Alexander Prapov and Martin Waters are hunkered down onto the duracrete sidewalk beside an Occan ground vehicle parked near the corner of Commerce and Trujillo in New Florida. Waters offers his Spycorder display over for the perusal of his team mates; on the display are can be seen the results of the robotic hover probe that was sent forward towards the capital building only a minute before. In a hushed tone he says, "She was right, by sweeping for pheromone residue we can approximate the position of Jem'Hadar who are shrouded in environments with a low biological activity spectrum. Clever woman, what was her name again?" Prapov looks meaningfully at the Romulan political officer and says, "We can go into that later, Waters. How many and where?" Voidrai arches an eyebrow disapprovingly but returns her attention to the display, apparently more than capable of reading the Federation Standard text along side the data imaging without any assistance; Golden has remained silent, looking between the scan results and the apparently lightly guarded entrance to the Hall of Government, adjusting his tactical goggles to factor in the new data.
"We have eight New Florida municipals just inside the front doors in the lobby, from the indicators on this scan there are four Jem'Hadar lurking outside, one by each of the stone lions on the steps and another flanking on either side of the stairs behind that hedgerow. My guess is that if we can't see them with the naked eye, the Municipals don't see them either. If we can take out the Jemmies on the exterior without signaling those inside it would make all of this much easier," Waters explains with his still hushed tone. Golden tics his head to the left and asks Voidrai, "How long until the Tal Shava are in position?" The Romulan narrows her eyes, looking towards the roof of the Hall of Government and responds, "Eight more minutes if they stay on schedule, which they will of course do. Three more minutes to finish flanking around the building to the other side; one minute to scale to the roof; another to take down the guards up there. While they subvert the telecommunications array on the rooftop the resistance contact should be working up to the roof to bypass the alarm that will allow them to descend." Golden nods and says, "That gives us four minutes to be ready to move on the Jem'Hadar on the exterior and then move on those inside. Prapov, Waters, you'll move up to the right side and continue to use the parked vehicles as an infilade and hold position for opportunity fire. Legate Voidrai and I will move across to the left side then across the street, I'll draw the attention of the Jemmie in the bushes and Voidrai will pop him while I wide-beam the area near the Lion and hopefully take the other one out. The two on the right side should deshroud to move in on us and that is when you two drop them. Then we all move up."
"Three minutes before the roof action starts," Voidrai informs them efficiently before adding, "Once we have the exterior in hand, you three will boil inside while I hit the front of the building with the ion projection emitter we installed up there." She thumbs over her shoulder towards the device that is covertly mounted two floor up on the effacing building. "This should disable the security interfaces and emergency alarm systems for a few moments, long enough for us to take the rest of them down in the lobby." Prapov nods and says, "And if that doesn't work --?" Golden interjects, "Then I use the Borg setting on my rifle on wide beam and burn out all their tech without hurting the biologicals - so make sure you stay out of the reach of my beam and you drop those vat-babies before they can take me down; that setting won't stop them from counter attacking with pole arms or stop the municipals from using their slug throwers. Got it? Good move out." With that said the four darkened figures break into groups of two and slink toward their destinations low and fast even as the alarms all over the city begin to wail that the battle for the system is in full swing.
October 13th, 2375. 1640 hours
Voidrai's lips are only a few inches from Golden's, their bodies pulled together in something like an embrace not through an artifice of social interaction but due to the ascender harness they are using to move up the lift cable of the service elevator within the hall of Government. A few floors beneath them and to the east Lt Prapov still hunkers beneath the security desk of the lobby, the floor pulled up as he works furiously to complete the building systems interface and computer core subversion with an interlink to his PADD. Waters has figured out how to turn the reactive windows to a mirror setting on the lobby floor only, despite the fact that one hand is pressed into his side to keep his intestines from spilling out after the blood that already seeps through his fingers; an injury bestowed by a fanatic Jem'hadar before it itself was cut down by a disrupter shot to the back of the head from the Tal Diann officer. The computer desk itself is quite inert due to the murderous efficiency of the Borg Killing settings of Dylan's compression rifle.
"I really am surprised to see that you are still alive Golden," The Romulan says in the quietest of voices as they are carried up into the darkness of the elevator shaft. "I assure you that my survival has absolutely nothing to do with you, Voidrai." He responds just as quietly. "Oh, of that I am most sure, if I had a hand in your continued survival it would have been to ensure a lack of such." The Romulan responds with narrowed eyes, eyes unmet by Golden's own gaze as he is gazing upwards at their progress. "Shh-yeah. Don't blame me that you didn't get a chance before they sent you back to some desk job on Romulus; the way I figure it they just saved you from any further embarrassment as you tried to keep up with a professional," his response. Her hissing intake of breath is louder then her previous words and she leans in even closer, her lips now just centimeters away from his cheek and her breath hotly caressing his ear as she speaks. "The proof of your lack of professionalism, Golden, is that your people had to beg the Romulan Star Empire to come and bail you out of the situation you created with all your exploration without the will to take the proper precautions to ensure what you stir up you can keep down. It is fortunate for you that D'era requires us to help you lesser species with our leadership and superior understanding of the universe or you would have already been conquered." Golden brings his eyes down to meet hers, and despite the goggle-visor over his own eyes she can feel the fire of anger blazing from them, matched by her own ferocious glare as he says, "Belay that bullshit Voidrai; if your people were so damn superior you wouldn't have been ejected from your homeworld, and you would have gotten D'era adjusted by first we humans alone and then by the Federation time and time again. The Neutral Zone doesn't protect us, it protects you from us by giving us an excuse to not have to go in there and teach you how to play nice in the sandbox."
The ascender continues to perform, despite their conversation so there is no interruption in the climb as Voidrai snarls and with a flick of her wrist has a knife tip pressed just below the point on Golden's face where his skin gives way to his visor. "I believe this mission has progressed enough that your death would not jeopardize the outcome; perhaps it is time to put aside childish things - like yourself Dylan-once and for all, neh?" Golden doesn't move as the cool tip of metal touches his skin, but he says "I'd look down before you make any final decisions about that Kedha." The knife doesn't falter but she flicks her eyes downward, her gaze directed helpfully to the nature of the situation by a light poke by Golden into her ribs. She sees the phaser two he has pressed against her, as remains unsure how long it has been drawn and pressed there, so she looks back to his face. "Why Lieutenant Golden, I didn't realize you cared." She observes with a whisper seasoned with sultry undertone, still not pulling the blade away from his occipital lobe. "Lady, if I gave a damn about anything you said outside of our mission, you'd already be consulting your star-gods about the truth of D'era - now put that knife away we are almost to our floor." She hesitates for a moment, the slips the metal away from the humans face and back into it's wrist sheath, just before the ascender stops at it's preprogrammed height leaving them to swing in the dark shaft. Golden begins to unstrap the harness that binds them together but is stopped by the Romulan's hand on his wrist and her leaning her mouth up along his left ear. "One day, Martian, Ifni will not be looking, and on that day you will find my dagger in your black little heart. Remember this." "If that's what it will take to get your lips away from the side of my face, I may ask her to turn a blind eye right now. Now let go; and let's do this."
October 13th, 2375. 1644 hours
The exchange of energy weapon fire carries down the hallway from the direction that Golden and Voidrai are moving to. Golden's phaser rifle is tracking left to right as he moves, body low and angled to provide a narrow target of opportunity along the left wall, and from outside the citywide alarms continue to wail and warn the local populace to stay indoors and out of the way. The Romulan proceeds with confident grace down the right side of the passage, a disrupter pistol in either hand; one to lead with and one tracking possible angles of flank attack. That her pistol occasionally strays to pointing at the long limbed human is likely a coincidence as it never tarries there for more than a beat of the heart. The chorus of polaron and disrupter fire intensifies in volume until they press up against the wall on either side of a door marked Situation Chambers. Goldens left hand presses against the side of the visor he is wearing and he quietly apprises his partner of the situation within until she nods and prepares to open the door while he lets his weapons swing on the strap over his shoulder and fishes out a some tools from his belt. A small patch of the wall is cut away in a moment, and then his long fingers are within the exposed wall rerouting power and circumventing a security lockout mechanism. Golden slips the tools back into their original position, then pulls a photon grenade from the back of his belt arming it even as he brings it around before him and Voidrai opens the door.
The metallic item tumbles through the air, but is off it's mark a fraction from the start so has drifted a full meter off target before it clips the edge of a heavy desk and fall underneath it. Two of the Jem'Hadar who were in the original target zone whirl their attention from the Tal Shavas who are suppressing their position from the doorway of the nearby staircase and immediately open fire at the doorway from which the new threat has arrived. "Crap," is the spoken extent of Golden's reaction to this turn of events; even as he attempts to twist away from his exposed position purple beams of deadly energy streak towards him. It is the swift leg sweep of his Tal Diann companion that flattens him onto his back just in time to avoid being punctured and converted to a terminal state; before he can even react to this surprising intervention the grenade blows inside the Situation Room underneath the desk and blows the rapidly disintegrating mass of the wooden artifact into the Jem'Hadar who are firing upon his position. Voidrai wastes no time even to gloat at the prone human, but steps over him with rapid steps and begins firing in earnest with both weapons at the exposed rear position of the fortified Occan Municipals and their Jem'Hadar muscle. Her militantly short hair bobs in sync with the rhythm of her ducking and weaving and firing progress from the door side of the room toward the filing cabinets that have fallen and will provide her with a moment of cover. Under this withering hail of fire humans and Jem'hadar alike are struck and burned, turned and eviscerated, bowled over and amputated; the Tal Shavas don't hesitate to capitalize on this opportunity and move forward again in a fluid rush up to the barricade lines that had helped the defenders forestall them and unleashing a flurry of deadly energy into the dead and living defenders who are caught in the crossfire.
Golden, taking advantage of the respite from fire being directed at him, helicopters his legs and shoves off with his shoulders to find himself in a standing crouch with his compression rifle training on the enemy mere milliseconds before it starts belching golden hued rays of assertive negations for surrender. Moving crosswise and continuing to fire even as Voidrai ducks behind her makeshift fortification, Golden is forced to duck a violently swung pike and then twist into a spin to avoid the thrust that follows it before he can respond more assertively. The Jem'Hadar, death promised in its eyes, rushes again with pointy end leading; Golden shifts his weight to his back foot and brings his forward leg up and then down in a circular motion that drives the head of the pole arm into the floor which puts the Dominion warrior off balance just long enough for Dylan to bring his rifle around to bear and introduce the cloned super-soldier to the dramatic effects of a high phaser setting. His attention is suddenly brought to bear on a Vorta who rises from behind the desk in the far corner and immediately attempts to negotiate an non-violent end to the exchange; but the genengineered mouthpiece is unable to get out more than his opening gambit before smoke roils out from his mouth and he pitches over dead upon the desk. His fall reveals a Cardassian Kel who swiftly drops his weapon before offering in a salubrious if oily tone, "Just showing you who's side I'm on. Long Live Legate Dumar!" Golden doesn't even shrug when Voidrai levels her disrupter and shuts the Cardassian up.
October 13th, 2375. 1659 hours
"They are clear on the roof," Prapov updates Waters. "Situation room is under control and we have the Occan Senior staff pinned up in the auxiliary control center, no comms going out. You gonna make it?" Waters sags against the control desk in the lobby, his bodily fluids still leaking through his clenched fingers. "I'm going to make as long as that Vulcan doctor gets here soon. I picked up some odd readings on my tricorder," Waters says through clenched teeth. "Should we be getting any chronitonal activity here? Are the Occans known to have a developed temporal project or is it something the Dominion had going, like the Ferrengi temporal forcasters that caused the market crash on Ferrenginar?" Prapov shakes his head as he says, "Not that we have any intelligence on, but I wouldn't be surprised if those credit grubbing bastards sold some of that tech to the Dominion in exchange for something else, like being left alone. Can you isolate the emission point?" "No, I don't have the right tricorder rigging for that, but we should make sure we pass it along to analysis development for further scrutiny," Waters suggests. "Fine, we'll do that. Okay, secured the inter-feed from the global net it looks like there are other teams making mischief on the planet, the Vorta in charge of the cloning station seems to be off campus, he's screaming for more troops to be sent to his position. It's not going to take him long to figure out that the Vorta here isn't answering his calls, do we have that doppelganger projection-ware we got from the Romulans ready to roll. Waters? Ensign!" Prapov tries to spur an answer from his partner, but Waters is long beyond the cares of the quadrent.
"Golden went up to the roof with Kortal and Lemvek to pick up the Occan ministers, we have only a small amount of time to do this without Starfleet knowing anything about it. Did you subvert their security control of the building yet?" Voidrai asks the unit leader of the Tal Shava on the mission. He nods once with complete confidence in himself and his deeds and Voidrai nods in return. Moving with directness she and the Tal Shava leader take the floor of stairs rapidly and slice down the hall at the end of them until they reach the door to the auxiliary control center where Voidrai immediately begins a security bypass that makes the door hiss open allowing the Tal Shavan to boil inside and cover the collected Occan Military high command with his disrupter weapon. Kedha stalks in behind him, her level gaze doing more to silence the Occan High Command officers and cease their efforts to draw weapons than even the bulky Romulan marine. "Gentlemen," she begins, "We don't have much time so I'll keep this short. You have lost, the Dominion is going to be pushed out of this system and being so far from their main supply front they will be crushed completely between the Star Empire, the milk toast Federation and stupid if brutal Klingon Star Empire. You are about to removed from government life permanently. Yes, I realize you have issues with aliens, we can understand that - but we also understand when there is a time for alliances to be made. You need the Romulan Star empire if you want to survive this situation and have a hope of one day bringing your planet the prosperity you think it deserves; this time you simply picked the wrong associates. Now here is what I am proposing" Voidrai speaks to her captive audience, a speech that had been prepared in vaulted halls on Romulus, a speech that had been designed by a Senate committee, which had been approved by the Praetor himself; it is little surprise then when her audience's expression changes from captured to captivated.
"I'm so relieved to see you, Lieutenant." Vhypist whispers to Golden as they reach the first landing down from the roof where the Romulan cloaked shuttle has dropped the Occan Ministers off along with Doctor T'sal and another squad of Romulan Tal Shava. "In your original briefing you never said we would be left alone with Romulan's on one of their vessels, I must tell you I feared I would never be safe among humans again.," Vhypist adds. "You weren't alone with Romulans, Minister Vhypist, Doctor T'sal was with you, I apologize for the change in plans but we all have to answer to the politicians and this time that meant we had to bring you down through the graces of our Romulan allies." Golden replies as he escorts the Minister, his tone is polite but clipped; he's trying to stay on schedule. "Well, yes - yes she was with us, but she's a Vulcan and Romulans and Vulcans are the same - I mean, they *aren't* human like us," Vhypist explains as he hurries along to keep up with the long strides of the quick stepping Martian. "A fact that would no doubt please them to no end," Golden mutters. "What was that?" The minister asks eagerly. "It's just down here at the end," Dylan lies. "Well of course it is my boy; I know my way around here, remember this is where I worked until that horrible day. This is what comes of trafficking with aliens of course, can't be trusted. I told the President that all along, but he wouldn't listen to reason and now look at what has come of this. Terrible simply terrible; but nothing the right people with the right resources couldn't fix. You know, young man, there are many fine opportunities for a highly trained ambitious officer like yourself. We are going to have to rebuild after this unfortunate incident, new techniques for our security and defense; you could do well here - handsome salary, an office with a view firmly on the ground; and best of all the perks. I'm sure a virile fellow like yourself can appreciate all the advantages you would have with the ladies being in a high office and still young enough to cat around, eh?" Golden, at the door, pushes it open and turns with narrowed eyes on Minister Vhypist but is stopped from saying what is on his mind by a well timed clearing of the throat of Doctor T'sal who has been following along behind the ministers through the entire conversation. Golden flicks his eyes towards the Vulcan, who raises an eyebrow in response; only lowering it when the human takes a deep breath and says, "All things we can talk about after we win the peace Minister Vhypist, please come in so we can get started."
October 13th, 2375. 1714 hours.
"My fellow citizens of Occa," the address begins. "It is with mixed sorrow and relief that I address you for the first time since that terrible day many months ago when a coup was lead against our beloved President by radical elements of the Joint Chiefs operating under the influence of vile aliens from a distant quadrent known as the Dominion. My heart breaks with yours that the president was killed via the actions of these criminals, but I am here to reassure you that all of this is to change. Even now the forces of Romulan Star Empire, the Klingon Empire and the Federation are throwing off the Dominion yoke upon our precious world, eager for us all to return to the antebellum harmony that we once know. These allies have seen the dynamic destiny of Occa and her people, and so have taken the logical though painful step to honor such apparent future greatness by sacrificing their own warriors so that you might once again know liberty."
"As you can see, the Joint Chiefs have surrendered completely to myself ; and have admitted with great shame their complicity in this outcome. We must find it in our hearts to forgive them for following the path that they thought was best for our future. Our great president reached out to the stars beyond our home with hope and generosity of spirit; all of us can see that though a noble thought, it has been our involvement with those not of Occa that has lead us to this most regrettable situation. Now is the time for us all to act as one and let previous misunderstanding between Occan's of good conscience fall to the wayside. Around the planet our neighbors and cousins are fighting to clear Occa of the foul touch of the Cardassians, Siinogans, Vorta and the Jem'Hadar; stay out of there way and let them do what they are called to do - their expertise in battling alien monstrosities is credibly beyond our own and we would likely only get in the way."
"In light of the democratic crisis we are under, I am stepping forward as the President Pro-Tem until normalized elections can resume after our beloved world is restored to a semblance of order. You have my personal pledge that I will take my intimate understanding of President's vision into account as I move form a non-partisan platform to reconstruct our world and resume our place in the economic structure of the sector. My first act as President Pro-Tem is to pardon all the members of the military junta and it's government if they immediately lay down any arms they are taking up against our neighbors; and later swear an oath of loyalty to the elected government of a united Occa. Stay safe, my brothers, my sisters. Be of brave composure. A new day is dawning here in the Capital city, and with it, a new day dawns for the future of us all. Occa forever!"
October 13th, 2375. 1745 hours
T'sal carefully picks her away around the rubble of Ansuiscon Hotel's upper floors that now lay blackened and scattered in the street before the Hall of Government. She comes to a stop near her team commander, who is crouched alongside a heavy pile of blasted duracrete, rifle cradled across his thighs, his face a mask of grime except the raccoon-like patches around his eyes where his goggles were obviously worn. Golden screens his eyes with his left hand as he looks up into the morning sun to meet T'sal's gaze. "The Thomas Paine has confirmed that there are no more troop elements in the area. The grid is secure. They recommend that we turn the area over to ground command and transport up." Golden rises to his feet, not with his customary speed or grace but slowly with a set jaw and a wince of his eyes. "Very good Lieutenant, inform Lieutenant Propav we are releasing this area to ground forces unless he has any objections. Once we board the Thomas Paine you are released to return to medical, I'm sure they are going to need your help." Golden wipes his forehead with the back of his hand then adds, "Good work doctor, I appreciate your efforts here today." Lieutenant T'sal merely nods once, further conversation is unnecessary, and she turns to return the direction she came. Golden slings his rifle and steps up some of the rubble to peer out out over the battlefield that was birthed in downtown New Florida by the President Pro-Tem's announcement; the shattered and burning tanks that still fill the morning air with black smoke, the crushed and burning ground vehicles that had once been parked in orderly rows before some of the near by buildings. He covers his eyes as he turns to take in the panorama of carnage, the skyline now broken up by buildings missing large chunks or entire upper floors; one with a Starfleet Attack Fighter's tail sticking out of the 21st floor pinpointing where one brave crew spent their final moments in a crash after being hit by a Dominion SAM. Finally he looks back down towards the ground and with a few bounds reaches the shattered street and jogs slowly for the Hall of Government.
Inside Voidrai watches the Rapid Response officer trot back up the steps to the main building from her vantage point in the lobby where she sips some tea that a politically savvy Tal Shavan had delivered to her minutes before. As he enters she smoothly places the tea cup on the control desk, and effortlessly steps over the pool of drying blood that marks where Ensign Waters drew his last breath; stopping several paces from the desk she pointedly gazes at Golden until he stops himself and meets her stare. "Lieutenant Golden," she says. "Legate Voidrai," he answers. "I am to understand your portion of the away team is being relieved and returned to the Thomas Paine," she states. "Yes, that's the word," he responds. There is a moment of silence shared between them, the distance across the floor a mere shadow of the gulf that actually exists; a gulf of culture, a gulf of species, a gulf of empires and federations. "About before, outside the situation room - I just wanted to thank you for savi-" Golden begins but is cut off with a sharp gesture and a mild sneering of the Romulan's lips. "Don't thank me for that Golden. I didn't save you miserable life for you, or your precious Federation. If you were the only one on the entire team to turn up dead, considering our previous association, I know doubt would have come under accusations and scrutiny that I don't wish to entertain. I did it for myself, please don't sour the memory of the decision by implying I was actually trying to *help* you." Golden's features play through a series of expressions: surprise, disbelief, anger then finally arrive at the neutral professional mask he often resorts to when confronted by a situation that he has no firm position on. "Ensign Waters died on this mission, don't forget that Legate. Let's not cheapen his ultimate sacrifice so you can have a punch line for one of your head games." "I'm well aware of the death of Ensign Waters. Now. If I had been aware of that situation upstairs I assure you I would have made a different situation regarding you and the possibility of your torso having holes in it."
"Sweet Ifni's loaded dice, Kedha Voidrai! Can't you even accept a simple thank you without turning it into a contest of whose phaser has a longer range?" "What the do you expect from me, a pat on the cheek and a hug? You sabotaged my career, or nearly did so. Do you have any idea how much boot licking and feces eating I had to do since you little stunt got me sent back from the DMZ?" Kedha's eyes flash hotly and her left hand balls in a fist while her right hand stabs an accusing finger towards Golden who has returned to an expression of bewilderment. "What are you talking about? I didn't have anything to do with your departure, well, aside from not letting you show me up when we took down pirate port at Devra-Kondin III. You can't blame me for refusing to let you make me look like a clown AND I saved you from that Nausicaan with the axe - he had you dead to rights and you know it." She takes another angry step towards the human and retorts, "That was *your* impression Dylan - which I add is as usual a clueless and uninformed one. The nature of the style is deceiving the opponent into thinking they have an opening - I was about to finish him when you came blundering into the situation! Then you went to your TC and suggested I be removed from the joint operation until I was capable of handling it!" Golden takes a step towards her in return, his voice also rising in volume as he fires back, "I did not go to the TC about you, if I had then I would have had to explain why we had split up in the first place! Use your head for something other than a display for your bad hair cut and maybe you will catch up to the rest of the universe on the reality check front." There is the sound of a clearing throat, both of the officers take a step back from each other before looking for the origin of the sound, which turns out to be a Bolian officer from the ground forces wearing an expression of curiosity and wariness as she stands by the emergency staircase doors. "Lieutenant Golden, you're to report to the roof for extraction sir. They said to hurry you up, sir." "Very good," Dylan responds to the Bolian before looking back to the Romulan and saying, "It was a pleasure working with you as always Legate Voidrai. May peace come soon so we aren't forced to do so again by circumstance." Voidrai nods politely, if with aloofness as she turns and picks up her tea cup from the desk and sips it. As Golden passes her she says in a low tone, "We won't see each other again Starfleet, unless you see me first." Golden starts to turn to explain to her she got the saying wrong, but stops himself when he realizes exactly what she meant by that. He stiffens a moment then strides with long steps to meet the Bolian then pass her, leaving Voidrai behind and not for the first time.
