Act 4.10 - Presentation

Tor’laen saluted instinctively, as the older Ydani descended the steps of the shuttle.

“Commander Korr’taen, welcome aboard the Saint’s Aegis,” he intoned, watching the older Ydani step out from the shuttle.

“By the First Light,” Korr’taen breathed, looking around, marveling at his surroundings. “Simply remarkable. You could probably land an entire one of our frigates in here. And this is just one of many hangars, correct?”

“It is indeed. This way, Commander.”

“At ease, Captain,” the man chuckled. “No big need for formalities. At least, not at the current moment.” He flashed Tor’laen a grin, which the younger Ydani couldn’t help but return.

The Commander’s guards seemed to share his wonder, their heads on a swivel, taking in the sheer scale of the hangar of the Aegis. Zakkili engineers were nearly everywhere in the bay, refueling and working on the various ships which called it home.

“Then I shall just call you ‘sir,’ if that is acceptable.” Tor’laen relented, as they started across the hangar floor.

“My word, son,” Korr’taen clapped Tor’laen on the back. The Shield Consort was privately glad he didn’t wince at the action. It had been half a span since the hostage rescue, and only in the past two days had he healed enough that daily life wasn’t a painful experience.

“It feels like just yesterday we were pinning an Outrunner Captain insignia on your uniform, and now look at you.” Korr’taen continued, gesturing to their surroundings. “Integrated into one of the mightiest ships we’ve ever seen.”

“It has become my home, sir,” Tor’laen returned, his voice sincere. “The people aboard — my charges to defend.”

“A fine cause, I would think.” The Commander winked at him. “Regardless of what the old fossils on the council think, I’m more than excited to learn about our new neighbors.”

“I am sure they are looking forward to meeting you as well, sir.” Tor’laen nodded to the commander. “Especially if you wish to play them in a match of Dominion.”

“Oh, now you’re speaking my language, Captain.” Korr’taen chuckled, a smile playing across his face.

“I do hope so, sir.” Tor’laen gestured toward the entrance to the Mid Deck. “Come this way, please.”

“Marvelous,” Korr’taen said for the fourth time, pausing to examine the wares on display in an electronics shop — tablets, games, and various household appliances. The owner gave him a friendly wave, which he returned after a moment’s hesitation. “You said this was called the…Under Deck, correct?”

“Yes. That is the closest I can translate it at least, sir.” Tor’laen glanced back at the man and his guards.

“A city inside a starship. Never in my wildest dreams…” the commander chuckled, looking out over the railing at the walkways and recreation areas.

All three Ydani guests were clearly in awe. The two guards Korr’taen had brought along were doing their best to stay vigilant, but their gazes kept straying to the shops and food stalls the group passed. Interestingly, the visitors’ fascination was mirrored on the faces of the residents of the Under Deck, the Zakkili men and women openly staring at the group of Ydani. Tor’laen, of course, was not an uncommon sight on the Under Deck, and nearly all of the civilians knew who he was by this point. Many of them waved or offered greetings as he passed, the Shield Consort doing his best to return those he could.

Amusingly, some of the civilians also tried to greet the Commander and his guards, obviously unaware they didn’t speak a word of Zakkili.

“I believe it is in this quadrant…and we should be on the correct level…” Tor’laen murmured to himself, checking his communicator for the message Nalyra had sent him with directions to the restaurant. It was an interesting place to hold an informal diplomatic visit, but the Crown Daughter had been quite insistent. Rather than hosting a formal dinner on the High Deck, his wife had essentially appropriated an entire upscale restaurant for the evening. With the proper remuneration for the owners, of course.

Still, seeing just how enchanted Korr’taen was with the Under Deck, Tor’laen found he couldn’t fault her logic in the slightest.

“Here it is,” Tor’laen muttered, catching sight of the silver-painted sign. “The Ninth Bloom.”

As they drew closer, he spotted a solitary Armswoman, standing guard at the restaurant’s entrance. Tor’laen raised a hand in greeting, and Tia nodded in response.

“Shield Consort.” She came to attention, straightening up.

“Armswoman.” Tor’laen’s gaze flicked up to the restaurant’s sign then back to the woman. “Stuck on watch duty outside, Tia?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry.” She grinned at him. “The Royal Hand is paying me triple for this. Make sure you have a good time.” Tia jerked her head towards the Commander and his guards. “Them too, if possible.”

“Doing my best.” Tor’laen gave her a wry smile, and the woman tapped the panel next to the entrance, the door sliding open with a chime.

“This way, sir.” He switched back to Hylec, and gestured to the other Ydani.

The three men stepped inside, and Tor’laen gave Tia one last nod before following them in. The restaurant was quite stylish, the Shield Consort could admit.

Polished imitation-wood flooring gleamed beneath the soft lighting, while tasteful beige paneling lined the walls, decorated with holographic images of Zakkil and its capital. The entire restaurant was softly lit, giving it a relaxed feeling, as calm music played in the background.

Tor’laen’s gaze immediately found Nalyra, the Crown Daughter relaxing at one of the tables, drink in hand. She gave him a small grin, before the royal mask settled back over her face, her expression one of imperious command. The command staff was also present, half of them in uniform. Orli and Nivi, however, were wearing dresses, the Master Engineer looking particularly uncomfortable in a dark-green gown.

He was surprised to see his team there. Grace squad was dressed up as well, each woman holding drinks or plates of food. The remaining guests were officers from the bridge crew, about half of whom Tor’laen recognized.

“Something smells wonderful,” Korr’taen said, stepping past the Shield Consort.

The food was laid out in what Nalyra had termed a “buffet” — some kind of eating arrangement where each diner procured their own food, taking as much or as little as they wanted of each dish. Noting their hesitation, Tor’laen pulled his guests aside and quickly explained how they could get their meals. The concept was unheard of on Ydan — dishes were delivered with strict portion control in the restaurants of his people — but apparently commonplace among the Zakkili.

The two guards hesitantly removed their helmets, glancing around the restaurant and finding no obvious threats.

“So we need simply…take whatever food we wish?” one of them asked Tor’laen, his gaze darting about.

“Yes, Corporal,” the Shield Consort replied, noting the man’s rank insignia. “I believe you will find the dishes quite delicious.”

Korr’taen was already circling the tables where the food was laid out, offering smiles and nods to the bemused Zakkili around him. Tor’laen stepped back, letting the other Ydani find their own way about the restaurant.

Tor’laen sensed someone standing on his blindside, turning his head slightly to look down at them.

“Saia,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t aware that you even owned a dress.”

“Rude, Tor’laen.” She jabbed his thigh with her elbow. The woman was wearing a gorgeous black dress, which proudly displayed her curves. The color matched her prosthetic arm beautifully, the mechanical limb looking perfectly at home as she rested it on her hip.

“Apologies, Corporal.” He grinned down at her.

“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes at him. Saia jerked her head in the direction of the other Ydani. “How are they finding it?”

“Enjoyable, it would seem.” He tracked the three guests with his gaze. “Commander Korr’taen has ever been among the strongest voices for our integration into the Monarchy.”

“He wants his people to be vassalized?”

“I do not think I would term it like that, but essentially yes.” Tor’laen shrugged. “I have not asked for his reasoning.”

“Shield Consort.” Vessa appeared at Tor’laen’s other side, a box clutched in her hands. “Would you be willing to translate for me? I have a token of goodwill to present to the Commander. Something I had fabricated yesterday.”

Tor’laen glanced down at the box, a smile playing about his lips.

“It would be my pleasure, Admiral.”

The pair left behind a bemused Saia, and made their way to where Korr’taen and his guards were perusing the food, talking quietly in Ydanic, clearly comparing notes on the different dishes laid out before them. All three were grinning, Tor’laen was pleased to note.

“Sir, a moment of your time?” the Shield Consort asked in Hylec as they approached.

“Of course, Captain. What do you need?” The Commander’s gaze strayed to the Zakkili woman at Tor’laen’s side.

“This is the Crown Daughter’s second in command.” Tor’laen hesitated for a moment, unsure of exactly how to translate Vessa’s title. “Fleet Commander Vessa. She has something for you.”

He bent down for a moment, Vessa quietly relaying the message she wanted translated.

“She would like to present you with this token of her appreciation, on behalf of the Saint’s Aegis and its crew,” Tor’laen said, translating her words in Hylec. “And she wishes for your continued support in the union of our peoples moving forward.”

“Well, it would be churlish of me to refuse, I dare say,” Korr’taen said with a laugh. He took the box carefully, giving Vessa a respectful nod. “And I wonder if this is what I think it is…”

Setting his plate down on a nearby table, the commander placed the box next to it, and gingerly removed the lid.

“By the First Light…” the man breathed, his face full of wonder.

Inside the box was a Dominion set, but different than one Tor’laen had ever seen before. Vessa quickly explained, grinning at both the Ydani.

“It is the first Dominion set designed for play between our peoples,” Tor’laen translated, picking up one of the cards and looking it over. Under the Zakkili text was Ydanic script, Tor’laen recognizing the characters, even if he could no longer read them.

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“And these?” Korr’taen gestured at the small plastic ships. Next to the blocky Ydani ship replicas were a set of smoother, more elegant designs.

“Zakkili ships,” Tor’laen replied, recognizing the shape of them. Each player’s forces were a mix of the two types of plastic spacecraft.

“Wonderful.” Korr’taen couldn’t hide his grin, examining the game pieces closely.

“If the Commander would like to give the game set a test run, tell him I would gladly be his opponent,” Vessa said, wearing a grin of her own.

“Now that is an offer I cannot refuse,” Korr’taen replied after Tor’laen translated her words. The commander sat down at the table, pushing his plate to the side, and Vessa slid in across from him. The pair quickly started to set up the board, rapidly sorting the pieces and cards.

“And with this, my Admiral has an entire planet full of opponents to play this ridiculous game with,” Nalyra sighed, appearing at Tor’laen’s side. “I suppose it will keep her occupied, at least.”

“As you say, Crown Daughter.”

Her thoughts brushed his mind affectionately, though her gaze remained cool, her posture regal.

“You’re hungry, Consort,” she said quietly, undoubtedly having caught the sensation from his thoughts. “Go and retrieve whatever food you fancy. I daresay these two will be keeping each other busy in the meanwhile.”

He laid a hand on her shoulder for a breath, then moved to the tables where the dishes were laid out. The chefs of the restaurant had clearly gone all out, likely knowing they would be serving the Royal Hand and her guests. Tor’laen’s mouth started to water at the sight and smell of the dishes.

There was braised navar flank, slow cooked and dripping with a dark, savory sauce. Next to it was a large pasta dish, with some kind of pinkish fish flaked into it. On the other side of that was a large variety of the meat and vegetable skewers that were so popular throughout the Under Deck. They smelled amazing, and Tor’laen didn’t hesitate, putting a mix of them onto his plate.

The selection of drinks was just as impressive, with everything from simple juices all the way to bottles of brandy and whisky. A grin touched his face as he noticed a bottle of enysha, and he poured himself a sizable glass of the stuff. Its alcohol content was low enough that it shouldn’t leave him notably impaired. It wouldn’t do to get drunk in front of one of his former commanders, after all.

Tor’laen quickly checked on the Ydani guests, his gaze darting across the room. Korr’taen was still deep in his game with Vessa, his plate of food almost forgotten next to the game board. The two guards were sampling the different dishes, and a few Armswomen were chatting with them as they did so, making use of the translation tablets.

Satisfied, he took a seat at one of the tables, and started in on a skewer of meat. It was delicious. The skewer was on another level, even by the competitive standards of the Under Deck. The meat was tender enough to nearly fall apart in his mouth, and seasoned to perfection. He would have to remember this restaurant for the future. Tor’laen chased the meat down with a sip of his drink, savoring the sweet taste as it mixed with the lingering salty tang of the morsel.

A plate was set down next to him, and Mikka followed it, dropping herself into the seat at his side.

“Hey, big guy.”

“Mikka,” he replied, giving her a small smile. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Doing my best to.” She gave him a lopsided grin. “I was ready to be bored out of my damn mind in some stuffy diplomatic event, but this seems alright.”

“You can thank the Crown Daughter.” He gestured in the direction of Korr’taen and Vessa with the skewer he was holding. “All I did was tell her what kind of man the Commander is, and she came up with the rest.”

“I’ll pass.” Mikka gave him a wry grin. “I think she’s still mad at me.”

“What for?”

“When she watched the helmet recordings from the rescue operation, she saw how close I came to getting my damn head vaporized by that fucking railgun.” She took a bite of one of her own skewers. “She was not happy about that.”

“Are you holding up okay?” Tor’laen asked, concerned for his friend. He remembered what he’d thought were her final words, tumbling into his head. “If you want to talk…”

“I mean, it was probably the closest I’ve ever come to dying, that’s for sure.” She took a pensive sip of her drink — some kind of whisky, judging by the smell. “If Lekka had been half a second slower, or if her aim had been the tiniest bit off, I’d have just been…gone.” She glanced up at him. “I’m not gonna pretend it doesn’t bother me, but you’re a soldier too. You know how it is. Can’t live life trapped by all the times you almost bought it, yeah?”

“That is true,” Tor’laen said quietly. Nalyra likely wouldn’t understand, not the way they did, but he could see where the Lieutenant Commander was coming from. You couldn’t survive as a soldier if you spent too much time thinking what if.

“But yeah, I thought your wife was going to tear my damn head off,” Mikka chuckled. “I haven’t seen her that mad since…fuck, since before she was a Royal Hand, I think.”

“You knew Nalyra before she was a Royal Hand?” Tor’laen asked, perking up slightly.

“Shit, have I never told you? Yeah, we go way back. I’ve known her for about twenty years now.” Mikka leaned on the table, her gaze distant. “Back when she was still just a Crown Emissary, she found me. Pulled my ass out of the damn pit I’d dug myself into, actually.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, nothing too dramatic.” Mikka made a dismissive gesture. “At least, not on the surface. I was born and raised on Svalya, a planet in the frontier. Back then, it was little more than a growing colony, about as far from the Core as you can get in terms of importance. I joined the peacekeepers when I was old enough, with dreams of getting promoted to some high-ranking position…maybe Captain or something. Then I hit a fucking wall.”

“I assume you are not being literal,” Tor’laen said, selecting another skewer from his plate.

“Of course not,” she snorted. “My superior, Sergeant Vielli, was a nasty bitch, and jealous too. She saw me as a threat, I guess. Didn’t want me to get promoted for fear that I would…I dunno, surpass her or something. She buried me in paperwork and shit duties, kept me far away from anything that might let me show what I can do.” Mikka gazed at her drink, gently swirling the liquid around her glass. “So I fell into a slump. Just got wasted at the bar near every night, convinced that I was going to rot in that place.”

“Then you met Nalyra?”

“By chance.” She nodded. “Vielli assigned me to be one of her guards when she visited the planet, come to inspect the local government. I was the lowest rank of all the peacekeepers assigned to her, so I guess my sergeant assumed I would be on errand bitch duty. Dunno what Nalyra saw in me, but when her visit ended, she personally offered me a place in her permanent escort staff.” Mikka chuckled darkly. “I thought Vielli was going to have a fucking aneurysm from pure rage when I told her why I was quitting.”

“I saw a talented, competent woman, wasting away in a place that neither valued her, nor properly utilized her.”

Mikka’s shoulders stiffened slightly as Nalyra sat on her other side, a bemused expression on the Crown Daughter’s face. The Lieutenant Commander kept her gaze fixed on her plate.

“Even in the most mundane duties, you demonstrated care and prudence. And simply from the way you carried yourself, protecting me from even the smallest possibility of danger, no matter how unlikely.” Nalyra grinned, watching as Mikka’s cheeks flushed. “Even as an inexperienced Crown Emissary, I could see brilliance buried within. And I daresay I was not wrong.”

“Nalyra, come on…” Mikka muttered.

Tor’laen kept his gaze on his food, unable to suppress his grin. He could feel just how much Nalyra was enjoying herself, perhaps taking a small measure of revenge on her Troop Commander for the worry Mikka had inadvertently caused her.

“But yes, I feel as though my decision has been vindicated, has it not?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, Lyra,” the Lieutenant Commander said quietly, drumming her fingers on the table. “Give me a break, will you?”

“Then we can leave the lovely tale of your promotion to Troop Commander for another day, I suppose.”

“You keep going like this, and I’m gonna tell Tor’laen about what you had to go through to become a Royal Hand,” Mikka returned, shooting the Crown Daughter a sideways glance. “And just what happened to the former Royal Hand of the Aegis.”

“Mikka! You will not!” Nalyra drew back as if stung.

“Alright, ladies,” Tor’laen interrupted. “Let us not do this during a diplomatic event.”

The two women were glaring daggers at each other, mock outrage on each of their faces.

“Fine. We shall…postpone this discussion,” Nalyra said with a haughty grin, folding her arms.

“For now,” Mikka returned, matching the Crown Daughter’s smile.

Tor’laen said nothing, focusing on finishing his food so he could make a hasty tactical withdrawal. He pulled the last piece of meat off of his skewer, then stood, grabbing his empty plate.

“I should go and check in with Vessa,” Tor’laen said quietly, as the two women continued to glare at one another. “Make sure she’s, uh, not having any problems communicating with the commander.”

He quickly moved away, depositing his empty plate with the other dirty dishes, then moving over to the table where Vessa and Korr’taen sat, still deep in their game. Sinking into the seat next to the Admiral, Tor’laen noted that the game was not going in the woman’s favor — that much was obvious even at a glance.

“Tor’laen, I am getting slaughtered here,” Vessa sighed, sliding another few plastic ships onto the board as she spent her reinforcement points.

“I am not surprised,” Tor’laen chuckled. “It’s been years since I played against the commander, but even then, I have never once taken a game off him.”

Korr’taen raised an eyebrow, and Tor’laen repeated his words in Hylec, causing the man to laugh.

“You’re a fine Dominion player, Captain, but you’re not ruthless enough.” He wagged a finger at the Shield Consort. “You hold back when you need to press forward at times.”

“Either way, I cannot see myself claiming victory against you in the near future.”

Vessa glanced down at the tablet next to the board, reading their translated words. She shook her head, smiling wryly, then gestured to the commander, letting him know her turn was over.

“It would seem I will still have a goal to strive for once I defeat you, Tor’laen.”

“Oh? So I have become merely an obstacle on your way to Dominion supremacy, I suppose.”

“Your days of winning are numbered, Shield Consort.”

Korr’taen watched the two banter back and forth, a wide grin on the man’s face. He was clearly enjoying himself greatly, even in the middle of “enemy territory.”

“Lovely. Just lovely,” he said quietly in Hylec.

Vessa eyed the man thoughtfully.

“Tor’laen,” she started. “Could you ask him why he supports the integration efforts? I find myself intensely curious about his reasoning.”

The Shield Consort translated her question, and Korr’taen gave a quiet hmmm noise, as he corralled his miniature fleet on the board.

“I haven’t told you, have I, Captain?” he asked, and Tor’laen shook his head. “You fought in the war, of course. You remember what it was like.” The commander twisted one of the spare plastic ships between his fingers, staring at it thoughtfully. “We thought the Cal’raz were representative of the wider galaxy. That everything we’d meet would do its best to expunge our people from existence.”

Tor’laen nodded. The void had felt far more threatening back in those days — as if nothing but potential foes were lurking in the darkness between the stars.

“Then the war ended, and our people had a moment to breathe. Then we discovered your people.” He nodded at Vessa, who was following along with the translation tablet. “The other members of High Command, hell, most of our people saw the Zakkili as the next great enemy. The next big challenge for the Ydani to overcome.” He paused for a breath. “I did not.”

“You didn’t, sir?” Tor’laen asked, surprised. He had thought all of High Command had been united in their fear of his wife’s people.

“Oh, I certainly didn’t think the Zakkili were harmless, by the First Light, no,” Korr’taen chuckled. “I read the intelligence reports, of course. However, they weren’t the unfeeling monstrosities that the Cal’raz were, that was certain. They had language we could translate, culture we could study.” A grin touched his face. “Games we could play.”

“Games, sir?” Tor’laen returned, cocking an eyebrow at the commander.

“Games, Captain. It was — it is my dream. I would like to step foot on another world, walk through another race’s cities. Learn about their games and hobbies. There is so much out there, Captain. You of all Ydani should know that. We need not be trapped in our small little system for much longer. And I would like all Ydani to have that freedom as well, in time.” The commander placed the plastic ship down with a firm clack. “That is why I support the integration. That is why I will make this effort succeed.”

“Even at the cost of your own sovereignty?” Vessa asked quietly, and Tor’laen translated her question.

“Bah, sovereignty. Where has that gotten us?” Korr’taen snorted. “I am tired, Fleet Commander. So tired of bickering with the other members of High Command over every petty emergency that is brought before us. We have held the Ydani together, as our people spiraled ever further into paranoia and irrational fear. You know of what I speak, Captain. Of the bleak future that waits at the end of our current course. And I know others may see it differently, but…” He sighed. “I wish to travel to other worlds, preferably before I am infirm and elderly. And if the Zakkili happen to need a strategist, I would be more than happy to serve, so long as it takes me to places I’ve not yet been.”

Korr’taen finished his turn of Dominion, moving more pieces onto the board, and fell silent. Tor’laen rested an elbow on the table, looking his former commander over thoughtfully. Before that day, the Shield Consort would have said he knew the man reasonably well, but clearly there were depths to him that Tor’laen had never encountered. Had never even come close to suspecting. Part of him couldn’t disagree with the commander, though their motives perhaps differed regarding the integration into the Monarchy.

A wish for one’s people. A wish for one’s self.

“Now then, Fleet Commander.” The boyish grin had returned to Korr’taen’s face. “I believe it is your move.”