Success Is Relative
Episode Name: Success Is Relative Written By: Tyler & Ghorev Cast: Ghorev and Tyler. Produced By: Starfleet Directed By: Starfleet Aired On: Wed Jan 08 12:05:45 2003 Stardate: 52911.2
Time: Wed Jan 08 12:01:06 2003
Stardate: 52911.2
Tyler chimes the door to Quarters.
From Quarters's comm, Ghorev says "Yes?"
Tyler says into Quarters comm, "It's Lt. Tyler. Can I come in?"
From Quarters's comm, Ghorev pauses for a moment, and then says, simply, "Yes."
Crew Quarters 303 - Station 419 - IC
The outer suite is something of a shrine to the Andorian way of life. A silver-blue sofa with two matching love seats all fit together as a hard-angled 'U' around a wide low table of frosted glass the center of which features a small terrarium containing some odd flowering plants. The whole ensemble faces the doorway as well as a small personal terminal set into the inner bulkhead. A matching high table, with two high chairs, is near the replicator set into a side wall, forming a breakfast nook, and on the other side of the replicator is a shrine to some vaguely anthropomorphic Andorian god. In the far side wall, opposite the replicator and shrine, an archway leads to a bedroom with a huge bed. Next to that arch is a wall mount for a chaka, and a small storage and induction recharging for phasers and other small equipment items. There is also, on that wall, a tapestry which depicts a family of 12 Andorian adults and children. There is always the sound of soft music, rich in sound, and an earthy spicy smell similar to cinnamon-infused chicory drifting through the suite.
Through the transparent aluminum viewport, one can see the shining pinpricks of stars.
Tyler steps inside the door, but not all the way in. "Uh, hi," she says, tucking some errant hair behind her ear. She glances around a bit, never having seen the Ghorev nest as it were. "Do you have a minute to talk, sir?"
Ghorev reclines on the main sofa, his uniform jacket off and thrown over one arm of the furniture and his boots likewise a few feet away. A plasma caliper of some kind -- but oddly different than the one an engineer would normally use -- rests on his chest, a flash of metal against the mustard undertunic. He fingers it lightly as his bare feet kick up on the opposite arm of the sofa. "I do. I was just ... thinking. Have a seat if you like."
Tyler moves to one of the love seats and sits down, almost hesitantly. "Thank you," she says softly. She looks about again, looking at the vaguely anthropomorphic Andorian god for a moment, then back to Ghorev. She tries something diplomatic rather than jumping in with both feet. "You have nice quarters."
Ghorev says, "I've tried to keep things understated. But I know that when I am gone, the smell of browndubble will long remain." He sits up, taking the odd caliper in one hand. "Nobody will ever fill these quarters after me, come what may."
Tyler doesn't know what to say to that point, so instead she remains in a subordinate's silence.
Ghorev adds, after a moment, "But I thank you." After another moment: "We *are* at something of an impasse, you know. I don't think the Commander quite realizes that, but we are now caught between the nebula and the supernova, as they say."
Tyler nods several times. "Permission to speak freely?" she asks.
Ghorev says, "We're to work together on this. That can hardly happen unless you *do* speak freely."
Tyler bobs her head in ascension, and her ponytail keeps time. "Thank you," she says. "Honestly, I would have rather the Commander assigned me to someone - well, anyone - else. But Michael is right. If the two of us can come to an agreement, there should be few problems in the future." She hitches up her shoulders slightly. "No pun intended."
Ghorev says, "The point is well-made, frankly. But let's also be fair, Lieutenant ... For all the personal feeling here, I've been nothing but professional about you, and even about Lieutenant Golden," -- and, oh, there is a hardness to his eyes when he says Golen's name -- "in public. My feelings about the both of you are expressed behind closed doors, to senior officers. I have watched him trip trip over his own feet in a hostage rescue situation, and I have had to read the command logs of his negligence in command, and I have put up with his attempts to intervene in my personal life, and for all of this, not *once* have I done anything before a subordinate of his, or mine, to suborn his authority. So understand that for all the talk about non-professionalism, and lack of respect ... well, I'm not the one you should have been challenging with your eyes earlier."
Tyler's eyebrows pinch together. "Sir, I wasn't trying to challenge you... And I apologize if it seemed that way." She spreads her hands. "I don't know a lot about Andorians, sir, and I admit to not being able to fathom you at all. My feelings for you stem from our encounters though, which have rarely been pleasant. I do have to say I've never met a more stubborn individual. Not that that is bad, mind you. It means you stick by your convictions."
Ghorev says, "Come the dark or deepwater, that much can be said, yes." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and fiddling with the caliper. "What he has cost me, you can't imagine. And yet still I remain .... professional." And with that -- 'he' being Golden, perhaps -- he continues: "And so, let's consider. We have to balance security classifications and secrecy versus the privileges due an allied fleet on joint assignment, clearly. That's our main goal. The need to keep things secret means we need to treat you and your people as if you were still Starfleet officers in public, but if we do, we step on the privileges you require. So ... where do we compromise on this?"
Tyler replies, "All of my officers have high security clearances." She again runs her fingers behind her ear again. "We are willing to share our intelligence so long as it directly affects Station 419's welfare and security. We have had two recent missions, though, that have nothing to do with 419, at all. They weren't even launched from here, they were launched from the Aegis. Stuff like that, it just doesn't fall into the need-to-know category for local Starfleet interests..." She shrugs up her shoulders. "If you feel the need to dismiss my crew from intelligence briefings, despite their security clearances, that would be fine. Unnecessary, but fine."
Ghorev says, "That's not what I meant."
Tyler asks, "Then what did you mean?"
Ghorev frowns. "Your people cannot be known by anyone below the senior officers of this station in clearance to be something other than Starfleet. Which means, in public, you *aren't* a separate fleet and you *do* fall directly in our chain of command, not at once both aside it and within it like some twisted Moebius strip. How are we to reconcile that, then? When I am dealing with you, or Ensign Idisha, in front of a junior officer not cleared to know of Timefleet's existence, I have to treat you as if you *are* a junior officer in Starfleet even when it steps on your prerogatives as a Timefleet officer, in a separate chain of command. Do you see? If I don't, there goes what little flimsy shred of 'cover' you have."
Tyler nods. "Then treat us like junior officers. My crew expects nothing more." She shifts in the loveseat and says, "If it's something sensitive, pull them aside. As any good commanding officer pulls a subordinate aside on sensitive subjects."
Ghorev says, "And then there's the matter of you. You *aren't* RRT. Not even as a public cover. Frankly, I would *expect* our Medical staff to tell you to mind your own business when you inquire about the medical diagnosis of an RRT officer. I'm surprised you don't see that."
Tyler nods several times. "I do, now. After Aaron explained it to me. That was my error. However, it wasn't that, really. The attending physician was rude because of their RRT status, not because I was out of place. It was never once mentioned that it wasn't my place to ask. And I wasn't inquiring about details, I pretty much asked when they'd be back on their feet." She hunches up her shoulders. "The attitude given to me was directly related to the officer's opinions over the RRT matter."
Ghorev says, "Frankly, I don't blame any such physician for that, either. Alright, perhaps less than professional, but you can't say it's not well-deserved, either -- this vague notion of the RRT as some elite super-officer has got to stop."
Tyler nods once. "I agree. I've told them as much that they're to try and be small. Unnoticed. The vague notion, as you put it, isn't being perpetrated by my crew, though. And if it is, I want to hear about it." She pauses. "I heard about RRT when I was at the Academy and it was the exact same attitude and perceptions about them. I've let my crew know that they're not to draw unwanted attention upon themselves."
Ghorev says, "The regulations, however, foster exactly the reverse attitude. Let's strip away *all* the personal animosity here -- even if the rest of it stands, frankly, this nonsense regarding separate physicians for general duty physicals has to stop and stop immediately. Forget the rest of it." He waves his hand. "Forget you and Golden and even Ensign Idisha. Forget the matters of security and combat command. Forget that Golden's boys have gone to him to double-check orders given to them by Lieutenants Dakin or Havaris regarding mundane Security matters, or so I'm told. Forget that Ensign Turtledove shot me in the back. Forget *all* of that. The minute you say that our highly trained, highly skilled physicians are not qualified to declare a man unfit for duty /not/ because of race or physiology but because of some twisted little chain of command, you've set yourself up as elitists."
Ghorev says, "And then it's /you all/ who are insulting /us/."
Ghorev gestures helplessly and sets down the caliper, falling silent at that point.
Tyler replies, "Starfleet physicians can relieve a Klingon exchange officer from duty for medical fitness. But the same Starfleet physician cannot relieve a Klingon exchange officer of his duties to the Klingon Empire. It's the same for us. Your physicians can declare them unfit for Starfleet service. Relieve him of Starfleet duties. If that happens, you can bet our doctors are going to evaluate him for duties there. When they are on /your/ time, Lieutenant, treat them as you would any other Starfleet officer."
Ghorev utters that trilling sigh. "History shows us that's hardly worked, but if that's the road you wish to take, I suppose I can call that a fair compromise until the first time it fails us. Very well."
Tyler sighs as well. "Lt. Ghorev... What more would you ask of me? I am willing to give here, I want to know what you want of me."
Ghorev grunts. "If what I wanted mattered, there wouldn't be a Timefleet." He rises in a sudden fluid motion that, were one to look closely, would truly highlight that his skeleton is different and his muscles don't cramp. "But there is, and so we make the best of it. 'Success is relative....'" he intones, as if sure you'll complete the thought.
"...It is what we can make of the mess we have made of things," Wendy says quietly. "Lieutenant, please. If you have a better idea of how to handle things, I'm open to it."
Ghorev says, "I don't." He makes his way to the replicator. "Not for as long as this secrecy nonsense has to be maintained." Then, to the replicator: "Browndubble and warm /agranu." Then back to Tyler: "As long as the rank and file can't know why RRT has to be treated as something different, as long as we have to invoke 'need to know' on matters that shouldn't be cloaked in secrecy, and wouldn't be for anyone else, we're going to run into problems. And since you folks require that secrecy, it is an impasse."
Tyler asks, "Lieutenant, would you hold this same bias against a Starfleet Intelligence JOC? Technically, they're removed from Starfleet. They would keep secrets from you. And some may even be among your crew. Would you have this much problem with it?"
Ghorev twitches at the mention of SI as he adds the shot of warm, sweet wine-like substance to the equally hot concoction of earthy spices. "Yes," he simply says, and it's clear that maybe the chicken-and-egg for Ghorev is simply that. It's confirmed when next he says: "I don't like conspiracies, Wendy, not even when they claim to be on my side. *Especially* when they claim to be on my side."
Tyler asks, "That's pretty cultural, isn't it? I mean, communal living doesn't seem like it'd lend much toward secrecy."
Ghorev says, "That's ... something of a stereotype, and on the surface, you'd be correct." He blows on the hot drink to cool it somewhat. "However, it goes deeper than that. And besides, I don't live communally."
Tyler nods a few times. "Yes, sir," she says. "Do you not see a need for secrecy at all? I mean, should my project be public?" She sounds genuinely curious.
Ghorev says, "THere's a difference between secrecy -- even *active* secrecy -- and pretense. Let me pose a counter-question."
Tyler nods once. "Certainly," she says quietly.
Ghorev settles down onto the opposite loveseat to face the young woman across the frosted glass table: "There's a handful of people who are keenly aware that the Artifact responds to you. And those folks haven't any clue of its full power, but know it's powerful enough to cause a great deal of damage. How would *you* feel, Wendy, if those people started lying to you, keeping secrets from you, twisting what they tell you, withholding valuable data, all because they feared how the thing would respond to your distress, your anger? How could you function, not knowing how much of what's being told to you is a lie, or at least carefully skewed and filtered? Whom can you trust when that happens? How can you make efficient decisions when the information you receive is flawed? How can you tell your true friends from your lackeys and would-be manipulators?" He shakes his head and sips the spiced brew, letting the question float there over glass.
Tyler looks wounded and suddenly less balanced. "Tera... Is m-my friend. Aaron," she whispers. "Lieutenant," she says, trying to regain control over herself and her emotions. "I have nightmares about being feared," she admits, as if Ghorev is some sort of father-confessor or Counselor impromptu. "I've been trying, Lieutenant. I've been giving it my best. I have tried to get the artifact to stop. Don't you understand that it hurts me to see that happen?"
Ghorev says, "Of course it does. You hate violence." He shrugs, not really understanding that, but what, as they say, can ya do? "But that entirely proves my point -- people who lie to you because they are afraid are more concerned with their survival than they are with the truth. That very reason right there is why I live alone, why I sleep alone, and why Michael Edwards and I are no longer friends: I place survival far below what is right. I don't settle. I won't settle on *this*, either. Ask Niel Haven to order you a copy of the play I intend to put on -- it's not T.S. Eliot, but the subject matter might help you understand what I mean."
Tyler regards Ghorev as if he just stepped out of a painting. "Are you saying that Michael Edwards lies to me?" She looks incredulous, but this arrow has burrowed far further than any Ghorev's slung before.
Ghorev says, "I'm saying that survival is his highest goal. He's admitted as much to me. I'm saying that if he thought it meant life or death for this station, yes, he would lie through his teeth to you."
Tyler winces at the words. "I've done so much for him," she says, not to Ghorev, but to herself. "I think any more tonight w-would be counter-productive." She regards Ghorev only briefly, her eyes avoiding his as she stands up.
Ghorev says, "One thing more."
Tyler asks, without turning around. "Yes?"
Ghorev rises, himself. "I was ... involved ... with Lieutenant Idrani, when we found out about the Lithian test subject, about the Truth of it. I had to keep it from her. I love her -- though she no longer loves me, I love her more than I have ever loved anything -- and I had to keep that from her. I had to lie beside her at night and hear her heartbeat -- and you'd better believe that these antennae can hear my lover's heartbeat when she's curled up against me at night -- and I had to smile a fake smile and hide from her something that, by any stretch of morality, she deserved to know. I followed my orders, Lieutenant. I compromised something that a man should never have to compromise." He sips his browndubble. "Don't ever ask me again why I hate secrecy. If that isn't enough to tell you, the rest of the answer won't matter. Good night, Wendy. Hold something that matters to you tonight, and speak only Truth to it, and don't let the nightmares come. Nobody deserves them."
Tyler swallows audibly and she nods. She slinks out the door in silence. Trying to be very small, indeed.
