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Tachyon

Two Can Be As Bad As One

“Two Can Be As Bad As One”

Stardate 0608.05

A Joint Log by Captain Corizon and Lieutenant Admiran

---------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The past few hours dragged on in a manner that would have Einstein begging relativity for a rain check. Tandaris sat in the science lab, tea on one side of the console and coffee on the other, as he stared into the mysterious depths of the blinking alien device behind the containment field. "What are you?" he asked for the umpteenth time. "And why are you so reluctant to reveal your little secrets?"

 

It had been about an hour since his meeting with Victria. An hour since her concern over learning of the device. An hour since he started to feel like everything was shifting around him, constantly, and there was no longer any firm ground upon which he could make a stand. Tandaris leaned back and tried to decide which beverage to drink right now. His report to Corizon was almost done—it just needed some polishing—but he was relatively sure he would wait up and present it in person.

 

The doors to the science lab gently swished open. The slow, measured steps of an individual carrying something metallic flowed across the near empty room. Tandaris closed his eyes as the light from the corridor flooded into the lab, whose lighting levels he had decreased in an effort to rest his retinas. "Ach, I thought I locked that thing," he muttered to the presence.

 

"You did," the cool voice of Captain Ah-Windu Corizon said, a smirk obviously on his face. "Sorry to interrupt you.”

 

The electrifying chill that ran down Tandaris' spine when he heard Corizon's voice served to energise him enough to swing around his chair and--at least he tried--to give some semblance of sitting at attention. "Captain. I didn't recognise your unique . . . metallic-bearing . . . footsteps?" he finished, rather like a question, as he realised that what he was saying made absolutely no sense. That was, of course, the trouble with staying up at all hours of the night.

 

Smiling, bearing his fangs, Corizon removed the object from behind his back. "No need to stand on ceremony. I thought you could probably use some of this."

 

Tandaris squinted in the dim light. "I could use anything that doesn't cause me immediate death, dismemberment, or the sudden ability to sing opera," he said. "It won't solve any of my problems though."

 

Looking at the bottle, the captain asked, "Are you Klingon?"

 

Tandaris glanced down at the semi-reflective surface of the console to examine his face. "Nope. Unless Klingons have spots these days. Why?"

 

"Well, 2309 bloodwine does have a tendency to make Klingons sing Opera, but I am not sure if it has that same effect on Trills, perhaps we should do a little scientific experiment."

 

"Ohhhh," Tandaris groaned, catching on now. "I don't know about that, sir. I've got a lot of work to do before I deliver this report to Captain Cori—oh. Ah."

 

The Dameon's face wrinkled in laughter at the Trill. "I know what's like, being in your position."

 

"You're an empath now too, Captain? I was not aware that Dameons had such a broad range of abilities," Tandaris said.

 

"Call it a seventh sense," Corizon referenced his own canine likeness lightly, though he was unlikely to take a such a comment from any other member of his crew.

 

"If we do break open the bloodwine, I doubt I would be able to count that high afterward." Tandaris motioned to the chair in the corner. Although he was rather surprised that his captain had decided to show up in the science lab at the middle of the night to share a drink with him, Tandaris was too tired to care or try to make any sort of sense from it. He figured that if he were dreaming, at least it was not a nightmare—yet. "What brings you down here to my little slice of existence?"

 

"I couldn't sleep," Corizon admitted. "It's this...mission."

 

"Mmmph. I'm sure that whatever is troubling you, I certainly don't want to know about it. For all I know you've got something up your sleeve that is both crafty and in a mucky, morally grey area."

 

"I did," Corizon nodded, his ears moving back and forth. "But Captain Sorehl thinks..." He stopped and sighed. "Well, You've got a lot on your plate too, don't you. I guess you all do..."

 

Sighing, Tandaris reached over and pressed a button on the console, telling the computer to double check the scans it had just run. "Indeed we do. That's why I'm up here at this hour trying to pry the secrets from this intriguing bauble. But, no, do go on. What does Captain Sorehl think?"

 

Cracking the seal on the bloodwine and placing it to his lips, taking a long drink of the Klingon beverage before passing it off. "That I'm overstepping my bounds—which I am. And that I've been keeping people in the dark for far to long."

 

Tandaris accepted the bottle. "Secrecy is habit-forming. If I recall, you were in . . . some sort of highly-classified tactical group . . . ATAG or something? No doubt you had to keep a lot of people in the dark, still do probably." He took a drink of blood wine. Wow. "I haven't had this stuff in . . . hmm. A lifetime."

 

Corizon honestly wasn't sure what had driven him to the Trill, but for some reason he found a certain degree of trust from the young host. "I've had it for sometime now, a friend owed me a favor...or three." Pausing, "So many things...I wish I could just forget the past...but I can't.”

 

"Yes, that can get rather annoying, especially when you build up quite a resume—not all of it flattering." He passed the bottle back to Corizon. The computer beeped at him serenely, and he sighed and turned around to address it for a moment. Then he turned back to Corizon and said, "If you're overstepping your bounds, you obviously feel that it's the only way to get us out of this intact. However, consider this . . . we could be out of touch with Command for awhile. You may need all the resources you can get, sir, and that will mean sharing information. It may be time to shed some light on all that darkness."

 

Nodding he took the bottle to his lips, "Sorehl said the same thing...in his own...logical way." Then, taking a swig of bloodwine, he added as an afterthought, “And don't call me 'sir'.”

 

Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was the difference in personality traits—Corizon's aggressive, controlling way of doing things in contrast to Tandaris' introversive style—but Tandaris thought that he was being rewarded with a glimpse into the burdensome life of his commaning officer. "You only feel so burdened because you aren't sharing the burden around. I know what it's like to try and stay in control of everything. But . . . I know what it's like. Admiran's fourth host, Gazrin, was in a sticky situation quite similar to yours, where he had to overstep a lot of boundaries. Nothing of your scale, but still, the only way he managed to resolve the situation was finally to trust in the other members of his group."

 

Corizon took another swig before passing the bottle back. "Indeed. It's hard for me to...to trust anyone." It took more effort to admit that than Corizon had expected.

 

"The universe would be a better place if people would just trust one another a bit more," reflected Tandaris as he stared into the bottle in a fit of philosophical fancy. "Alas, were it not for the lawyers...."

 

"Or the Politicians..." Corizon mused. "I've spent the better part of the last decade fighting their wars."

 

"Quite. When was the last time we went exploring just for exploration's sake?" Tandaris asked. "That's why I joined Starfleet. Fighting always gives me a stomach ache, anyway." Or maybe it was the wine.

 

The computer beeped twice more, and Tandaris absently handed Corizon the bottle so that his hands would be free. "Hmm," he said as he stared at the results.

 

"I don't know," Corizon said weakly, "I want to blame it on the Dominion..."

 

"That's odd. How could a gamma spike like that go unnoticed by our sensors?" Tandaris asked. Then his attention reverted to Corizon. "What? Oh, yes, the Dominion. It's their war we're fighting now, really, their enemy. Their quadrant. But we're here now."

 

"Sometimes I wonder if we shouldn't just..." He paused lifting a half-drunk eyebrow, and the opposite ear. "Gamma spike?"

 

"Mm, yeah. It looks like our little friend here has been busier than I first thought. I thought the gamma radiation was just cover for encoded transmissions. Now it appears I was wrong—or, more likely, half wrong." He nodded to a screen on the console. "I've been wondering how the device has been getting its orders. Radio transmissions just don't cut it across light-years. The gamma radiation there . . . it's not just cover. It's a byproduct."

 

"Wait...the device?"

 

"Yes, the—oh." Tandaris had completely forgotten that Corizon was not yet up to speed. He quickly summarised what he had learnt since Corizon had charged him with this task: the gel-paks, the device, its transmissions, and then his meeting with Victria. "I was careful not to share potentially classified data with her, but she sounds concerned and wants to know more. I told her to talk to you. But I think she could help."

 

Nodding somberly, and offering the bottle. "Dear gods what have we gotten ourselves into..."

 

Taking the bottle, Tandaris gave a half-inebriated smile. "I have a feeling that this is only the beginning. When we get to . . . to . . ." he could not remember where they were going, but he was sure it was important, ". . . that place, it'll be different from whatever we expect."

 

"The Expanse," Corizon smirked.

 

"That's it," Tandaris said. "Riddled with all sorts of subspace--subspace!" He sat up straighter, and the words came out of him as if they were evaporating from his lips. "The device's gamma radiation is a byproduct of undetectable subspace transmissions via microwormholes. Why couldn't I see it before?! We can jam it by simply remodulating the containment field to block the wormholes from forming." Then frowned. "Unfortunately . . ."

 

Blinking, "Unfortunately?"

 

Tandaris handed him the bottle. "Well, even if we block it, they'll still know where we are and everything the device has already transmitted. Plus, if Victria's concern is any indication, I doubt that this will be a permanent solution. As long as it is on board, it will doubtless pose some sort of threat. The containment field may jam it for some time, but there is no telling what other capabilities it has."

 

"You know," Corizon took a drink. "I should order you to chuck that thing into space. But for some reason...call it that...seventh..hic..seventh sense. It might just come in handy."

 

Tandaris said, "Ah, so that's why I haven't been keelhauled yet," as if in revelation.

 

"That'd be incredibbly difficult to do in space," Corizon replied, slurring his speech.

 

"You'd find a way. Hey," Tandaris pointed at the bottle, "we need to end the night . . . on . . . a . . . a good note, eh?"

 

Corizon nodded, "What do you have in mind?"

 

A toast. Care to do the honours, oh captain, my captain?"

 

Drawling himself up slightly, Corizon took the bottle into the air. "To bringing darkness to the light, to us not going crazy. And to doing some real exploring once and while..."

 

Tandaris nodded. "Here here," he affirmed.

 

Corizon took a long drink, then handed to bottle to Tandaris. "Have the rest," Corizon smacked him on the back, the bloodwine brining out the inner-Klingon. "You've earned it."

 

The air knocked out of him, Tandaris paused to catch his breath before taking the bottle. He stared at it for a moment, then tipped his head back and emptied the remaining blood wine. Smacking his lips together, Tandaris read the label over. "2309," he said, and his eyes glazed over with memories. "That was a good year."

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