Aidoann Na Aen'ne

[tr'Jeth Dabi 0]

<Title: Aidoann Na Aen'ne = Moon w/out Wings>

It didn't take long for tr'Jeth Dabi to step on some toes on the station. He started with the Ambassador Drankum, entering his private conference room without being called by him there. The Ops man would pay for his blunder.

 

 

Torate looked Jorahl up and down, not recognizing anymore than his Rihan heritage, but that made him feel a bit better knowing the Daise watching the engineering department was Romulan. A Rhaetelh [executive] running one of the other major departments could be advantages to many matters of security.

 

 

The stocky Rihan took the short-tour from Porter up to Security but didn't get to take a look into the rest of the station when a Red Alert alarmed, then suddenly stopped. Lt JG Porter left tr'Jeth Dabi in the Security area to run off and do someone else's bidding.

 

 

tr'Jeth Dabi didn't have any time to inspect the interrogation rooms, but did poke around the main security desk. He was disgusted with the way it was left… clearly the last Daise'Dheso had been chased out. Perhaps tr'Jeth Dabi would find him in a darkened corner someday.

 

 

Something was missing, Torate felt it, but couldn't put his finger on it. He took the long way to his assigned suite. He found some back passages that weren't on the PADD, knowing that they would be of use someday. He mentally mapped out all of the areas that were clearly an interception point for chasing anyone, but also noted doors that weren't secure and the non-existence of any spy-cams.

 

 

He made it to his suite, unscathed. The accommodations for an honorable Rihan were much better on ch'Rihan… even the smelly Kll'inghann ship he had spent the last six months on had better ideas about decorating quarters. The fluffy, foofy stuff in the room would be gone before he shut his eyes for the first time, but no time for that now.

 

 

The duffel dropped in the corner by the closet area, and Torate was immediately out of the suite. His stride became long, and his eyes took in every body, every hallway, and every sign.

 

 

Back in the security office, he sat firmly in the cushy chair while gritting his teeth. "Soft lloan'na," he grumbled to himself He planted his feet firmly on the floor, stood and kicked his leg out behind him, kicking the chair across the room where it smacked into the wall and immediately turned on his side. He took his sleeve and wiped the dust off the main console and brought it back online.

 

 

He shook his sleeve, relieving it from the console fluff.

 

 

The firm hands made their way to the very familiar with this sort of console, though not everything was in the same place. He set it up to his liking and starting changing passwords all over the place. tr'Jeth's information from OPS was incomplete, but Torate suspected such, considering how lax the station seemed. No one inspected the ship he arrived in, and they let him move from the portal to the CT Conference room, where he could have killed the station's Ambassador with less than a flick of the wrist.

 

 

He sent a few messages to OPS, requested for a formal meeting with the Ambassador, ordered certain items for his suite and security office. Torate started a "staples" list of security items, and a few specialty weapons. Finally, he thought about the fact that he was bending over the console housing to access this lazy lloan'na security console. His last request to OPS, not least and only last for this moment, was to request that the housing under the console be raised 8 centimeters before first shift ended and remove the piece of garbage lying next to the back wall.

 

He spent many more hours on this console, working on a new security projection for the station. The plan had to be ready when it was his time with Ambassador Drankum again. Having one's ear was a glory on his planet, and Drankum had plenty.