Court in Session

[Sorehl 0]

The following is a joint log between Admiral Day and Captain Sorehl, taking place on the DS9 recreation deck just before Excalibur's departure for Earth and Sorehl's disembarking for Empok Nor.

 

Admiral Wayne Day groaned as the glowing yellow ball bounced just beyond the reach of his racquet. He sighed softly as his inertia carried him upward to the dark wall of the zero-G court. Day pushed off with his ungloved hand, drifting back toward the Vulcan below him. “In short,” the admiral repeated, “you don’t trust them.”

 

Sorehl stretched himself toward the service area, which reasserted gravity in that limited square and let him step down. He reached out with his left hand, prompting the yellow ball to change direction and guide itself to him. “The Vorta are seeded with a genetic level of mistrust,” the Vulcan responded, “even among themselves. We would be wise to emulate it.”

 

Day floated against the rear wall, smoothed his blue jumpsuit, and positioning himself between two horizontal lines. “And yet they’re letting us increase our access to the quadrant,” he noted.

 

Sorehl bounced the ball once against the gravity plate. “Make no mistake, Admiral. The Vorta do not trust us.” He bounced the ball again. “But their need outweighs their misgiving.”

 

Day paused, thinking. He stuck out his chin and nodded, indicating he was ready for the next service.

 

Sorehl obliged, striking the ball with a loud 'thwock'. The glowing orb streaked away.

 

Day pushed off from the wall, surging forward. Having closed the distance, the ball came back at him quickly. He hammered it toward one of the side targets, feeling his momentum change slightly. He watched his opponent dart past him in a graceful gray spin, connecting against the rebound and sending it careening off one of the far walls.

 

Day gained the upper hand only a few volleys later. Still, he paused to take a quick breath. For all his public reserve, Sorehl was obviously less restrained on the court. Day wondered, had the former tactical engineer picked up a competitive streak during his rise to command or was it just a by-product of working with so many Klingons? Fortunately, Wayne had his own half-Vulcan heritage to draw upon; he could hold his own. He could almost make out a trace of perspiration on his chief engineer’s brow.

 

Gravity seized his feet as Day glided into the service square. He snatched the ball from the air and bounced it. “Are you thinking we’ve made a mistake?”

 

Sorehl was just drifting into position. He eyed his fellow command officer briefly. “No,” came the even response. “The Vorta granted this dispensation knowing it would be of mutual benefit. It is in both our interests to contain the renegade threat.”

 

“And after that? When they don’t need us?”

 

Sorehl steadied his drift against the upper wall. “Difficult to say. The Federation is an aberration in their two millennia of history.”

 

Day spun the racquet in his right hand. “Because we won.”

 

“Which should not make us overconfident,” Sorehl quickly cautioned. “Their strength is entirely undiminished in the Gamma Quadrant. If the Vorta are indeed the new stewards of the Dominion, we must not give them reason to think we are a threat.”

 

“We aren’t. Surely they can see that?”

 

If possible, Sorehl’s tone grew even more serious. “We exposed their gods to biological terror. They have reason to doubt us.”

 

Day tapped the racquet against his chin. “I have to admit I was relieved not to involve the Founders directly.”

 

Sorehl nodded. “They are indeed a less… predictable element. The Vorta may resort to Machiavellian strategies, but their motivations are straightforward. I regret I was unable to offer counsel during your interactions with Semil.”

 

“Might be just as well,” Wayne offered. “I understand you have some personal history.” Sorehl opened his mouth to object, but Wayne cut him off with a wave of his hand. “You don’t have to say it: logic alone governs your actions. I’m just not sure Semil feels the same way.”

 

Sorehl broke eye contact, tugging at one knee of his gray jumpsuit.

 

“Alright,” Day relented, changing subjects, “enough business. I’ve only got an hour to beat you, or we’ll both miss our rides.”

 

Sorehl glanced at his chronometer. “Then we best hurry. Who knows how many games it will take?”

 

Day didn’t even look over his shoulder. He just smiled and served.

[Sorehl 0]

A glimpse of the setting...