The party broke up around 2100 hours, with everyone exchanging the usual closing pleasantries and heading off their separate ways. Tarik noticed that Garek and Carter were headed somewhere together, while Wallace, Kitara, and Razek headed off on their own. He stopped Razek for a moment.
"Ensign, have the encrypted Mullaran files sent to my office by 0900 tomorrow. I expect to have Mr. Deveraux hard at work on them very shortly."
"Aye, sir," Razek said, a little reluctant. "Sir, if I may ask--why your office? He can do the work just as well from Ops."
"It's easier for me to keep an eye on him from my office, and fewer opportunities for him to get into trouble. If Deveraux's truly disgruntled the last thing you want is for him to get into the command and control protocols for the station!"
"But if he should try something from your terminal?" Razek asked.
"Then he won't be leaving my office on two feet, I'll guarantee you that!" Tarik said with an evil grin. He was willing to give junior officers a lot of latitude but not so far as to question his judgment.
"Wasn't that a bit rough?" Kassia asked as Razek left.
"He knows I don't mean it," Tarik said. "It's important to establish parameters in the command relationship. Razek's still a fairly new officer and he still needs to learn these things. Training doesn't end at the Academy, you know. I went through it, so did Wallace and every other senior officer in the Fleet. And once Razek reaches those exalted heights he'll know this too."
Hmmmm . . ." she said thoughtfully. "So where does that leave me? I don't even have any Academy training to fall back on," she questioned, her green eyes dancing with curiosity and a hint of mischief, waiting to see what he would say.
"Not every officer goes through the Academy. Deveraux didn't, but I suppose he isn't the best example," Tarik said, laughing. "Captain Wallace started out in the enlisted ranks as well. So did many other officers I've known. It's just a matter of being ready to adapt to the culture. You actually will have a bit of an advantage over most others, I'd think..." he continued with a wink.
She smiled. "I suppose you have a point there," she said. "This protocol though . . . I still don't have enough information on it. It wasn't all in my reading materials. In fact, some of it wasn't there at all . . . It's like an on-the-job sort of thing and I do much better if I can read it, or if I can be shown . . ." She smiled again. "But I guess I adapt quickly."
"Not everything is written down, either," Tarik explained. "It's part of the culture. Part of the problem many Vulcans and other literal-minded types--including unimaginative humans--have in the actual command setting is learning how to adapt to the unwritten rules of interactions between people. I had that problem at first as well. You'll do fine!" he said as they walked down the corridor.
"Thank you," she replied. "This is still all new to me. It still feels strange . . . Good, but strange . . . And I love being a Counselor and part-time Medic. I can see why Len wants to be a Medic . . . It can be very rewarding, just like being a Counselor . . ."
"Not everything is written down in data files," Tarik continued. "In fact, most of the important things aren't. Now, as for working in medical, you couldn't pay me enough to do that! I've seen what happens to people out in the field...our corpsmen and Starfleet Medical personnel have the toughest job out there," he answered, remembering vividly the corporal whose legs had been blown off in front of him. They weren't able to save him, and yet another body lay in the station's morgue waiting for transport back to Earth.
She saw the images in his mind and stopped, placing a hand on his arm. "How do you live with what you see out there? I mean, at least being a Medic or a Doctor, there's a chance to fix what happened. You see how it happens . . . That . . . I don't know how to put it . . ." Her eyes held a haunted look, as if her own old ghosts were rearing their own ugly heads within her.
"A lot of us can't," Tarik replied flatly. "Some of us resort to excessive drinking, or substance abuse, or other self-destructive habits. It takes a very special type of person to devote his or her career to going into combat. The training helps, but the fact is there are some people who by constitution ought not to be doing this sort of thing. The conscript soldiers--ordinarly citizens pressed into combat duty against their will--of centuries ago often ended up with serious mental problems as a result of what they experienced. By only accepting volunteers we can ensure that only the people who actually want to be here are here. That helps."
He continued. "And then there are the people who want to be out there just a little too badly, if you know what I mean. Habitually violent people seeking a legally-sanctioned outlet for their aggression. They're also notoriously undependable and often get their own people in trouble. Most of the time we can weed them out, but occasionally one or two slip through.
When I was part of the Training Command I instituted a requirement that all enlisted personnel be interviewed by a counselor before entering training to ensure that we were weeding out psychotics and people forced into combat duty against their will. You don't know how valuable good counselors can be--or how destructive a bad counselor can be. But as for how anyone can possibly handle it once he or she gets out here, there are no clear answers. I wasn't handling it well before I met you. The important thing is to make sure you have something else to live for."
She nodded in understanding as they reached her quarters. "Care to come in for awhile . . . or longer?" she smiled softly.
"Do you have to ask?" he said, returning the smile.
She laughed and keyed in her code. As the door slid open the pair walked in. "Troy won't be here until close to 02:30, so we have the place to ourselves. Care for a drink?" she asked walking to the replicator.
"Certainly," Tarik said. "Andorian mead, please," he requested as he sat down on the sofa. "So, what do you think of Commander Mallory?"
Kassia replicated the Mead and a glass of wine for herself and took a seat beside Tarik, handing him the glass. "I think she's going to be a very good Diplomatic Officer," she said, "She is very serious about her job . . ." Her voice betrayed a bit of sadness.
Tarik took a pull from the mead. "I get the feeling there's something else going on," he replied. "I could see it in her eyes, but I wasn't sure."
She sipped her wine. As she held it in her lap, she stared into it, trying to lose herself in the pinkish hues. "A moment ago, you were talking about how important it is to have something to live for . . . Well, that's actually true for anyone whose alive and breathing . . . But . . . and I'm not sure I should be saying anything . . . But . . . The only thing Kitara Mallory lives for is her job." She took another sip of her wine, feeling a bit upset. She remembered the feelings that had coursed through Kitty earlier . . .
"If you think she's a danger to herself or others, then you need to let Captain Wallace now. I don't need to know--and shouldn't know--the details, unless she's willing to tell me directly and I don't foresee that happening. My job was all I had to live for until a few months ago, and I see now where that was taking me. Do what you need to do to help her," Tarik replied. "If she's really all she's cracked up to be she could save thousands of lives out here on all sides. If not, then we could be in for an even rougher ride. Bad diplomats are even more dangerous than bad counselors."
"She's not a bad diplomat," Kassia replied. "She's one of the best, but that's all she has now is her job . . . She . . . lost something very precious to her, and since then, all she's had is her work. Its what gets her up in the mornings . . . Mind you, she hasn't told me any of this. I just know it," she said. She knew he would understand. "And I can understand her . . . But we are in no danger of her making things worse. I just want to help her," Kassia said. "And she's convinced I can't . . ." Kassia sighed deeply. "She thinks no one can help her."
"Then perhaps what she needs right now is a friend as opposed to a counselor. You can't treat the unwilling," Tarik answered, taking another drink of the thick blue liquid.
That was my thinking," she replied, a hint of a smile returning to her. "She's under orders to have a session with a Counselor once a week. This order has been affective for the last two years . . . Instead of taking the usual route, I've invited her to a session at Holo Pursuits. I think the best thing I can try to do for her is to be her friend . . . I hope she'll accept my friendship . . ." She took another drink of her wine, and set it on the table.
"Perhaps we--meaning us as officers--could do more to integrate her into our community as well. Provide her with options," Tarik said. "It's been a while since we've had a pub crawl around here. Maybe Troy or Toren or even Deveraux might be able to get through to her as well," he said, setting down his drink and putting his arm around Kassia's shoulders.
"Something tells me that would be right up her alley," Kassia laughed.
"Great! As soon as things calm down around here we should go for it, then!"
"Definitely sounds like a plan!" she replied, with another laugh.
"And speaking of plans, did you have any for tonight?" Tarik asked coyly.
"Good! Then that means I can share a few things with you!" Tarik said.
"Like what?" she asked innocently with her smile soft and bright.
Tarik thought quickly. "I've been asked to participate in a special research project involving some new equipment. It is on a need-to-know basis, so you technically aren't cleared for it. From time to time, though, you'll probably read things from me involving this project."
"Ahhh . . ." she replied. "And since this is something I'm not cleared for this could be a problem?" she asked.
"More than likely. I can tell you this much, though: it's something that's been in development for nearly a hundred years and if the project succeeds it could potentially save countless lives," Tarik said. The powered battle armor would, in fact, completely revolutionize both air-ground and urban combat, to say nothing of giving the Federation a decisive edge in ground battles. Whereas Borg drones were once the most feared force in the galaxy, the battle armor would give a single Marine the ability to destroy most of a Borg cube if it worked. If being the operative term.
Kassia took a sharp breath in as images filled her mind. "Wow!" she replied. "Sorry . .. That was a bit intense . . . Kind of appeared before I could block it . . . " she replied. "Is that all for real? She asked.
"Didn't mean to surprise you like that, but you know how excited I get about my work," Tarik said, smiling. "Only one other thing excites me more," he continued, grinning broadly as he watched her flush.
She giggled softly., and gazed at him. "And just what would that be?" she asked. A mischievous glint entered her green eyes.
"I think you know...or you'll find out later!" Tarik said as he made a grab for Kassia, who playfully danced out of the way. "Yes, it's all for real. A prototype has been tested in a battle near the edge of the Gamma Quadrant with a race called the T'rais. It performed quite well by all accounts, but one battle is not proof of concept. Not only our enemies but many of our friends would kill to have this advantage. I need your assurance that you will speak of this to no one--not even Troy. Chances are your only involvement in this project will be what you read from me, but my blocks are imperfect. So I'm counting on your integrity and I know I won't be disappointed."
"Of course, you won't . . . I won't say a word . . .," she replied, gently caressing his face. "there have been times, as a psychic I have had to hold my tongue or alter the future to something undesirable . . . ."
"Thank you," was all Tarik could say. "Now, there was another matter...a man claming to be my grandfather contacted me a few days ago, before I left for Morristown."
"You're grandfather?" she asked with surprise?" Concern went into her green eyes.
"Yes. I was just as surprised; I have never met the man, so I don't know what to expect, or even if I can trust him. He could really be my grandfather and really be trying to find out what became of his daughter, he could be a Tal'Shiar agent posing as my grandfather, or he could be a con artist. Or he could be any combination of the above. I have my agent on
Vulcan investigating the matter; he's been attached to my family since before I was born. Hopefully he'll let me know something soon."
"Give me your hand . . " she asked tenderly, as she reached for him.
Tarik didn't hesitate as he took her hand in his.
She closed her eyes and focused on the message he had gotten earlier in the day. As she directed her mind toward the sender of the message she allowed her psychic mind to take over . . . She took a sharp breath it . . . She broke the connection and looked Tarik directly into his dark eyes . . . "Its him . . ." she said. "Your grandfather is looking for you . . ."
"How--how did you figure that out?" Tarik said, astonished.
"I can see him . . ." she replied simply, still holding onto the vision.
"I still don't understand...from what my parents told me they left Romulus years before I was born. He'd likely not even know I existed!" Tarik said.
"I wouldn't count on that . . ." she replied. "On occasion, blood is thicker than water . . ."
"Possible," Tarik said. "In fact, very likely. Bloodlines are a lot of the reason why the Romulan Empire has taken so long to become reconciled to the Federation. Had the warfare in the past only occurred between Earth and the Empire friendly relations would have been established over a century ago. But our connection to Vulcan breeds a lot of resentment and even envy amongst the noble classes. And being the only pure Romulan currently serving in Starfleet has drawn me some attention," he continued, grimacing. The dissident Romulan press on Vulcan had lately alternated between painting Tarik as a traitor to his race and a hero for the ages.
She went to him and gently caressed his face. "I can't tell you exactly what what your grandfather wants . . . the vision isn't clear enough . . . But it IS your grandfather . . . Of that I'm certain!" she replied.
"Then my course of action is clear. I'll contact Sotok and let him know to extend the full courtesy of the estate to him," Tarik said.
Kassia smiled hesitantly. "You're concerned, aren't you?" she asked.
"I'm always concerned," Tarik replied. "The man may be my grandfather but that doesn't mean he isn't working for the Tal'Shiar--it's not unheard of! I don't want to place Sotok in a position he can't handle." Sotok, Tarik's representative on Vulcan, was an accountant by training and nearly two hundred years old.
Kassia grabbed Tarik's hand again, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She focused on the grandfather once again. "He's not working for the Tal'shiar . . ." she said. "He wants to know that you are doing well . . . Family means something to him . . ." she explained.
"I'll take your word for it. I'm sorry to doubt, but after what happened..."
"I understand . . ." she said with a gentle smile. "You don't have to explain to me . . ." She caressed his face as she looked into his dark eyes.
"Thank you again," Tarik replied. "Once things get settled here I'll see about paying him a visit. Have you been to Vulcan before?"
She shook her head. I've never been put of the Briar Patch," she replied.
"You're in for a treat then. There's a lot about Vulcan that's very beautiful, despite its reputation as a desolate place. Thousands of years of culture and art as easy to obtain as loaded dice in half the casinos on this station! We're definitely going!"
She smiled brightly. "Sounds like it could be quite an experience," she replied."
"Oh, yes!" Tarik said, excited about his home for the first time in many years.
"And maybe, if one of these days I ever remember my homeworld we can go there, though I doubt I would know what to show you!" she laughed. It astounded her that she remembered so much of her own life except her early years. It was as if they had been blotted from her memory. The closest she had ever come to remembering was as a child, she had had horrifying nightmares, only she never remembered them upon waking. Soon, even those faded. Replaced by new traumas, she imagined. Though she had always thought they would surface one day . . . But it hadn't happened yet.
"Then we'll just have to discover it together!" Tarik said, laughing. He knew how much she longed for information on who her people were and from where they had come. One of these days, time and duty permitting, I'll have to see what I can learn about that, he thought--knowing that his thoughts weren't necessarily to himself.
She smiled, took his hand in hers, brought it her her cheek and leaned into it. She sighed and closed her eyes.
Tarik pulled her closer to him. "Computer, dim lighting to twenty percent," he said.
As the lights dimmed, she looked into his dark eyes. "So, you have me . . . My heart, my body . . ." she said with devilish glint in her eyes, "And my soul . . . What are you going to do with me?"
"I'm not sure I know what to do with your soul," Tarik said with a twinkle in his eye. "I prefer my soul broiled with lemon juice, or maybe malt vinegar..."
She laughed and grabbed her wine glass, finishing the contents. She sighed and curled closer to him. Suddenly, images from Kitty's memory entered her mind and she shuddered. Quickly, she pushed them away, only to be haunted by her own memories. She tried forcing those away as well as she concentrated on how Tarik felt beside her.
Tarik finished his own drink as well. "Of course, I don't like a whole soul--that's too much even for me. Just a fillet of soul is all I really need..." he said, suddenly feeling very goofy. Andorian mead always did that to him...which is why he requested it. He needed to step out of his own mind for a while.
She could feel the mead working in his system and almost wished she had picked something stronger. The feelings and memories that continued to linger on the outskirts of her mind were waiting to come back and take a foothold within her. She was quiet, not knowing how, just yet, to keep the memories away.
"Hmmm...perhaps now isn't the time for bad fish puns," Tarik said, taking an intent look at Kassia. "Perhaps something stronger is needed!" he said. "Computer, play Earth composer Igor Stravinsky, selection 'L'Oiseau de Feu.'" Tarik ordered as he took Kassia in her arms.
Tarik kissed Kassia passionately as the ancient composer's story of an even more ancient Russian tale of life, death, and rebirth unfolded. Eventually they made their way to Kassia's private chamber.
Troy entered his and Kassia's quarters with the image of a woman on his mind. He had never seen her before, but knew that she was a Commander based on the pips on her uniform. She had been stunning and he had watching her for several hours. She had arrived pretty late and had stayed for a couple of hours. He remembered seeing the sadness in her eyes as she drank and listened to the music she had selected. But as she drank, she began to smile and seemed to be able to live. He'd never felt drawn to anyone before, but he kept his distance. He just did his job and served her drinks. She had left an hour before his shift ended and he had found himself wondering if she had made it to her quarters safely. He wondered if she was new to the station or one of the many officers just passing through as of late.
Now that he was home, he would do his nightly ritual. He would take off his jacket, get himself a drink and then check on Kassia. He took off his jacket and laid it on the back of the couch and headed to the replicator. There he ordered himself a Tarerllain Tourass, which was a type of tea. As he went to the couch to sit and drink, he immediately noticed two commbadges sitting side by side on the coffee table and two empty drinking glasses beside them. With a sly smile, he sipped his warm drink. He wouldn't be checking on his sister after all.