NationStates Jolt Archive

“Your move.”

From behind his side of the three-dimensional chess set, Praetor T’rel wrinkled his nose and looked up at his lifelong friend and Chief of Staff with a dubious look that he hoped masked his total lack of knowledge regarding this game. “That’s your move?” he scoffed mockingly, flexing his fingers over one of the levels of the board and glancing between his own pieces.

Ejiul Dhiemm Dhivael T’sak, Admiral and Chief of Staff for the newly-formed Dominion Fleet, rolled his eyes and grinned at his friend’s stalling. “Just make your move, alright?”

T’rel glanced across the table with a dry look, and purposefully moved a bishop from one level to a lower level, taking one of the Admiral’s rooks. “Ha!” T’rel said triumphantly, leaning forward on the table with both hands gripped in fists. “What say you to that?”

T’sak took a moment, reached out a hand and moved his Queen one level. Then he leaned back in his chair and looked at T’rel. “Checkmate,” he said simply.

T’rel blinked, and then looked again at the board. “Fvadt, I didn’t see that,” he admitted humbly, rubbing his short hair.

T’sak chuckled and shook his head, reaching out one hand to the table and pushing a button built into the marble. The table distorted momentarily as holographic projectors readjusted the board to its original set-up. “Y’know, one thing I never understood,” the Admiral noted with amusement, “is how good you are at playing the intergalactic political game, and yet you are completely horrible at chess.”

T’rel shrugged with a smile, leaning back in the seat and relaxing his posture. “Selective memory?” he offered half-heartedly. The two men laughed.

The Affairs of State are often a complex and time-consuming affair, particularly in the aftermath of a military takeover. The Unroth Colony which now formed the basis of the New Romulan Empire was still under military curfew as local civilian administration was adjusted to the fact that they now represented a sovereign nation. In the near future, T’rel intended to hold a referendum among the new citizens of the Dominion to ensure his leadership had legitimacy – he was trying not to think about what happened if he lost – and, despite support for his cause being apparently high, the ground forces of the Romulan Military were still putting out the occasional fires and sweeping up after the odd bomb explosions by disaffected citizens unhappy with the military control of civilian affairs.

However, very occasionally there was a lapse in which nothing needed to be done, no crisis seemed to be immediate and there were no decisions to be made. This meant that, for the first time in a while, the Praetor and the Chief of Staff could sit down to their formerly weekly chess game whilst waiting for the Tanaran diplomatic entourage to arrive.

T’sak made the first move, delicately placing the piece down on its new square despite its mere holographic construction. “So, are we intending to ask them for help with Operation Wing Flare?”

T’rel smiled as he moved his own piece with very little thought behind it. “I am considering the idea,” he said, sitting back to await T’sak’s response. “Our current forces are small, and although we are gaining more people and sometimes vessels from defectors to the north, we need a basis for our own infrastructure as soon as possible.” T’rel reached across the table a picked up a glass of water. He brought it to his lips and sipped thoughtfully. “It also may show the warlords to the north that we do mean business,” he added.

T’sak moved his own piece, considering the various implications. After he had moved, he looked up at T’rel. “That may mean one or two of them come after us,” he said with a raised brow.

T’rel smiled, moving a bishop across one level. “That is why I intend to discuss the other matter we spoke about.”

T’sak hesitated briefly in making his next move, formulating words carefully in his mind. “My old friend, you know I respect and agree with your views in most cases-” he began diplomatically.

T’rel smiled. “And you know I prefer you to speak straight, my old friend,” he said, looking at T’sak. “What’s on your mind?”

T’sak tilted his head a little in a vague sign of apologetic admission. “Inviting foreign military vessels into the system, I fear its going to make us look like a puppet government of aliens.” The Admiral looked directly at T’rel. “If we wish to reunite the Empire, it has to be done primarily by Rihannsu hands and, regrettably but required, with Rihannsu blood.”

T’rel smiled. “And it will, my friend, it will,” he reassured T’sak. “However, in the short-term, we are nothing more than a single system that has declared itself independent. The warlords to the north are countless times more powerful, and we need to ensure our own defence whilst we arrange our future plans.” T’rel sipped at the water again. “And that means, in the short-term at least, defence by foreign allies.” The Praetor shrugged. “The Tanaran Empire is a friend of the Rihannsu, and has taken in many of our people when the Star Empire lost its way. We owe them respect at the very least.”

T’sak nodded, turning his attention back to the game. “You make many good points, my friend,” he said, “and you know I will follow where you lead.” The Admiral than made his move. “Checkmate.”

T’rel clucked his tongue in an irritated fashion. “Damn,” he said.

T’sak looked at him in surprise. “English?” The Admiral asked curiously.

T’rel shrugged. “It’s one of the more common languages among the Terrans,” he said, looking back at the chess game. “It’s probably going to come up a lot, and I figure Rihannsu is not a language they speak a lot.”

At that moment, an aide stepped through a side entrance and stood to attention by T’rel’s side. “Praetor, our foreign visitors have arrived at the spaceport.”

T’rel smiled, motioning to stand. T’sak did also. The two shared a momentary glance. “Well, old friend,” T’rel said with a smile as they turned for the door. “Let’s go and make history.”

The two left the room and headed for the State Room of the former Governor’s Palace to await the arrival of the Tanarans by military escort.

The Lady Scholar Lashima R'ihu Vol'Skihar - her rank as Scholar yet so new she didn't always remember to answer to it - still couldn't believe that the Empire had sent her off in the newest Battle Cruiser to come from the Fenngard Naval Yards Heart of the Storm had finished her last trials just a week ago, in record time and with record marks to Captain and crew. Then again the Captain, Warmaster & Scholar Harr'llun ah'tah mah' Noh Varrr'nn, was legendary. He'd served in the forces of his people, the Xa' Cz'inni, for nearly three hundred years, served in the Tanaran Navy for another three hundred and quit cold because he didn't want to be promoted beyond Captain in rank. He'd joined the Explorers Guild, doing that for another three hundred and now was back in uniform, so to speak, though the fur covered Xa seldom wore enough clothes to qualify as anything a Human or a Rihannsu would consider a uniform. The various harnesses he draped about himself did mange to hold his weapons -and incidentally his rank insignia - and that was all that mattered to the notoriously informal Xa' Cz'inni race.

He'd assembled the entire crew to welcome her aboard in the Heart of the Storms main auditorium (http://www.atddm.com/auditorium1b.jpg) with all ceremony, reassuring her that the Tanaran Navy's newest war-starcraft would uphold not only the Empire's honor and dignity, but hers as well. His pelt's striping was more pronounced than his even- more- famous- than- he’s mother, The Lady Mm’rrr’ll, and he looked far more like most perceived his race to be – evolved felinids, or Moreau – The Xa’ Cz’inni, however, were neither.

Lashima thrust those memories aside as the Transporter engaged – she and her entourage shimmering out of existence in the Heart of the Storm. She was bringing only two with her, Doctor Brianna Carson, and Loki. Between the two of them, she felt she didn’t need any more. For this was some sort of obscure, incredibly elaborate trap - if those two, and her own considerable skills, couldn’t keep her alive then she didn’t deserve any consideration from the Ruling Passion. Not that she, or those in the Tanaran Empire who’d named her Llairhi, Ambassador, in anyway believed it was, but if one were prepared for any eventuality …

When she could see again she looked discretely but eagerly about. Her family had fled from the disaster the Rihannsu Empire was becoming two generations ago, and she was curious, but certainly didn’t want to seem as if she were gawking. Thusly, Lashima confined herself to a quick sweep before stepping down from the Transporter’ pad, with Loki and Dr. Carson a decorous pace behind.

She knew her hairstyle was more Vulcan inspired than anything the Rihannsu wore, but she felt it gave her an extra inch or two, and a more mature air. She was young for the honor of being named Ambassador, Lashima knew, and she was intent on making sure she was very careful not to reflect anything but the best light on the Tanaran Empire.

http://img389.imageshack.us/img389/1182/lashimahr4.th.jpg (http://img389.imageshack.us/my.php?image=lashimahr4.jpg)

http://img223.imageshack.us/img223/9915/bcarrj7.th.jpg (http://img223.imageshack.us/my.php?image=bcarrj7.jpg) and http://img362.imageshack.us/img362/5196/lokisw6.th.jpg (http://img362.imageshack.us/my.php?image=lokisw6.jpg)

Sub-Commander Ch’sel was commanding the platoon of Romulan Ground Forces Infantry that had been selected for the task of honour guard. The announcement that the Tanaran cruiser had entered orbit had interrupted a lengthy game of cards that the troops had been engaged in – the Dominion government had not been entirely sure when the Tanarans would arrive – and a hasty clearing of the deck and a climb to stiff attention was accomplished a few moments before the Tanaran delegation arrived on the transporter platform.

Ch’sel stepped forward from the end of the line of soldiers, turning smartly on his heel and barking an order at the group. The platoon saluted to the Tanaran group before being allowed to stand at parade rest, and Ch’sel turned to the woman at the head of the Tanaran delegation and saluted once again. “Madam Ambassador, I am Sub-Commander Ch’sel of the Dominion Ground Forces Infantry,” he said in a clear and precise tone. “It is my task to escort you and your entourage to the Praetorial Palace where our Head of State awaits your pleasure.”

The platoon filed out, providing a protective screen for the entourage on both sides as the exited the Spaceport and walked across the brief open expanse to an armoured limousine vehicle sandwiched between a pair of APCs. After the Tanaran delegation was safely onboard the limousine, the platoon split and climbed aboard the personnel carriers. As the convoy began to roll off, Sub-Commander Ch’sel held his hand to a communication piece sitting on his ear and spoke loudly over the rumble of the engine. “VIPs are rolling, units stand-by along route Alpha.”

The three vehicle convoy rumbled out of the spaceport as a pair of Scorpion fighters settled into an escort pattern five hundred feet above, scanners reading the terrain ahead for possible insurgent activities.

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The Praetorial Palace, formerly the Governor’s Palace of the Unroth Colony, maintained a large state-room that had been used for local and intergalactic affairs of state within the structure of the Romulan Star Empire. This room had been subjected to a hasty defence upgrade from its already well-defended position, now having a platoon of soldiers on protection duty around the doors at all times. The windows similarly had been subjected to extra armouring, and could be sealed with tritanium shutters if the possibility of attack was suspected. This room, adorned with the flag of the New Romulan Empire, now constituted the Praetorial State Room to be used for high-level intergalactic affairs.

Praetor T’rel stood at one end of the large, rectangular room that faced opposite the main doors through which the Tanaran delegation would enter. The length of the room was interrupted by a large twenty-place table and accompanying furniture that stood in the middle of the room. Where T’rel stood, there was a raised platform and a podium from which speeches could be made when the room was otherwise used for larger affairs. With the Praetor stood Admiral T’sak, fully adorned in dress uniform and medals, along with Ground Forces Chief of Staff General Ch’riem, three junior members of the Chiefs of Staff and numerous governmental officials appointed by T’rel. They stood patiently as they were informed that the Tanaran group had arrived at the palace and awaited their arrival.

“What’s her last name again?” T’rel muttered to a nearby official, running through the communiqué they had received confirming the visit of the Tanaran delegation.

“Vol'Skihar, your Excellency,” the aide whispered back. T’rel nodded in thanks and rolled the name around his mouth for a moment, anxious not to make a faux pas from the very beginning.

T’sak fidgeted briefly with his collar, glancing at the Praetor. “I hate formal occasions,” the Admiral muttered.

T’rel glanced briefly at his friend and smiled slightly. “We’ll find something for you to blow up later,” he said humorously.

“Would you, please?” T’sak asked in mock hopefulness. T’rel opened his mouth to respond, but stopped pre-sentence as the main doors opened.

The platoon filed in on either sides of the entourage, fanning out and standing to attention before smartly saluting the Praetor. T’rel returned the salute out of habit and stepped down from the podium, walking up the room to where the Tanaran delegation was standing. He smiled warmly as he approached, and bowed politely at the Tanaran Ambassador. “Jolan Tru, Lady Scholar Lashima R'ihu Vol'Skihar,” said the Praetor in a civil tone. “My name is T’rel. I hope your journey here has been pleasant and without distress.” He turned briefly to the delegation standing by the podium. “May I introduce Admiral T’sak and General Ch’riem of the Dominion Military High Command, Commander’s Ch’fal, T’saro and T’jal also of the High Command, and my official advisory group.” T’rel then listed the various names of the officials standing there.

The Praetor turned back to the Tanaran entourage and smiled again at Lashima. “I must apologise, Lady Scholar, for the high security in bringing you here, but we are still engaged in securing our position against those who favour the previous administration of our Empire.” The Praetor politely motioned to the large table, whereupon servants entered from side-doors as if on cue and proceeded to provide basic refreshments for the meeting. “Please make yourselves comfortable, we have much to discuss.”

“It is my task to escort you and your entourage to the Praetorial Palace where our Head of State awaits your pleasure.”

"I am pleased to meet you Sub-Commander Ch’sel. I am sure we are well guarded by you and your men." She complimented him as they passed the Romulan soldiers. Her voice was a light but warm soprano.

Lashima and the two how accompanied her could see the trace evidence of the New Romulan Empire's birth pangs, though it also looked as if repairing those 'pangs' was proceeding apace. All three of them looked about with discrete glances, but every thing they observed was thoroughly memorized and filed away for later discussion.

Though some observances were passed around between them as the armored luxury transport headed for the meeting site.

"The protective detail personnel are combat veterans; they aren't some showpiece unit." Loki stated without preamble, keeping his voice low. Not anything close to Cadre, but then again very few were. And Cadre Captain Loki would know for he'd started out like every Cadre, a basic Tanaran Marine private, and then was shanghaied into the Cadre when he proved to have the rare combination of abilities that they looked for. Out of well over six billion Humans in the Empire, less than 60,000 - far less than .001%, had the necessary natural abilities not just desired, but absolutely required to be a Cadre prospect.

He'd ended up a Captain before going inactive - no Cadre ever actually retired, they were just allowed to go inactive, though most never left – dieing in actions that none but the Cadre had any hope of succeeding at or transferring to the training units when the ravages of time or injuries made taking the field no longer possible. He'd spent over forty years active, and given the extended lifespan of a prolong recipient, might chose to go active again in another thirty years or so.

“They have given us a show piece unit only if they were wanting to insult us, or so I think my grandfather would have said.” Lashima replied “But I also suspect that their insurgents are rather more active than they are willing to risk our safety with.”

“There are so many fascinating comparisons to the ancient Nipponese culture back on old Earth” Brianna commented.

“Or to your Novan culture” Lashima replied with a laugh.

Doctor Brianna Carson was in fact not fully a Citizen of the Tanaran Empire yet. She had emigrated from the Celestial Imperia just a few years ago, a rare occurrence, but the reputation of the Empire’s medical schools and research organizations was second only to the near mythical status of the Xa’ Cz’inni Academies of the healing Arts.
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“I must apologize, Lady Scholar, for the high security in bringing you here, but we are still engaged in securing our position against those who favour the previous administration of our Empire. Please make yourselves comfortable, we have much to discuss.”

“Jolan Tru T’rel. Please call me Lashima” Her Rihannsu had a gentleness about it, any harsher sounds softened into a more liquid tonality. She made an old fashioned, formal obeisance to him with flowing gracefulness. She then greeted Admiral T’sak and General Ch’riem and the others, careful to include their names, her smile bringing out her dimples. She introduced her own companions before they took the seats awaiting them “Physician and Healer Lady Brianna Carson of the House of Carson, and Cadre Captain Loki.”

Loki and Brianna murmured that they were honored and pleased to be introduced to such a notable group.

“The stars themselves weep when one’s back is rendered brotherless, but better open to the lash of Fate than a brother’s blade.” Lashima quoted an ancient Rihannsu proverb, rich with the acknowledgement of the current situation, and the pain it brought to all involved. She hesitated, unsure if the old ways of breaking bread and acknowledging guest right had fallen out of favor.