Obvious Flaw of Death

[tr'Jeth Dabi 0]

At the moment tr'Jeth Dabi made the decision to obey Chirakis instead of the station Commander it did not hit him what had transpired. It wasn’t a decision he made, it was a knee-jerk reaction. Even his previous discussion with Jorahl did not identify why, but by then it was clear that Torate would be marked a traitor to Starfleet AND the Rihannsu Star Empire. His family would be executed for his actions. Jorahl even gave him an out to not have to witness this disgrace, but Torate could not fathom taking his own life; to him it was even more disgraceful.

 

 

 

The time in the brig was good for Torate to wrap his mind about why he made that decision. Would there be reason enough to save his family name or even his own hide? It was strange that Starfleet protocol was not being followed. Did that mean they were taking a stance, much like the Rihan, and he would wake some dawn to his execution? Had anyone been charged or recited rights? He had mentioned this to Armstrong, privately, so that it could be investigated. Starfleet was not known for breaking protocol, from what tr'Jeth Dabi had studied, and following it was something heavily beat into the brains of the academy students.

 

 

 

The Rihannsu had no such “right” giving, except the Right of Statement. He considered whether he would be given this right. Typically, it was only extended to state criminals, yet he wasn’t charged by anyone yet. He still gave thought to what he would be including in the statement before his execution.

 

 

 

The frozen position he held in the center of his cell was more of a self inflicted torment, though those that peered in may have felt it was more of a warrior's stance. He wrestled until he determined what his obvious flaw was; a flaw that will end up costing his life. He continued to try to put a precise memory on the moment that the events turned for the worse.

 

 

 

All of the new uniformed security officers kept pacing up and down the hallway, as if the prisoners were actually going to escape. They would all glance into his cell, make very brief eye contact, then quickly look down then away as if they weren’t actually looking. He knew better. They were his recruits, no matter what was said about his current position. He still felt the qualified leadership over these people, and would be soon breaking them in.

 

 

 

Or would he?

 

 

 

The click of a set of boot heels echoed down the brig corridor. Jen Spader's quick purposeful steps brought her towards the cells that were the attention focus of the hour; the officers being held for mutiny. Or whatever it was that they were calling it at the moment; no one seemed to really be able to decide. Her aim was the cell at the far end, that of the Romulan (former) CSEC; she'd gotten hold of his meal delivery for the day and held the small tray (bearing a food she didn't recognize) stable in the crook of her arm. Coming to a halt in front of the cell, she looked at the Rihan man standing stock still in front of her; she wasn't sure he'd moved since she'd last looked in on him. Cheerful sort. Brings the whole place up a bit.

 

"Lunch time!" she said, with slightly exaggerated energy, her false eyes scanning over him quickly as if judging his likelihood for trying anything funny. "Haven't the faintest idea what it is, but I guess it won't kill you. Sir."

 

She waited in silence to see if she would get an answer, but tr'Jeth Dabi did not show any reaction. Then she puffed a soft snort out through her nose. "You were talkative enough when Bean was around," she said dryly, her tone lowering, more to herself than to him, since she had a feeling he wasn't actually listening and wouldn't answer even if he was. "Must just like makin' him jump, though I can't say I blame you."

 

Looking up again at the Rihan, she shifted the tray to her other arm, waiting for a moment, and then said, "Can I ask you a serious question?" There was another short silence and then, receiving no answer, she went ahead anyway, deciding to take the silence for assent. No one really seemed to know whether he actually had any authority anymore anyway, so she supposed by any technical rules, she didn't really have to ask permission.

 

"Why me? You managed to put all eyes on me out of the gate. Not that I couldn'ta handled it if Armstrong hadn't showed up, but...well, sir, you strike me as a man who has reasons when he does things." She didn't really expect an answer, but it was a question that had been niggling at her.

 

Still getting nothing, she shrugged slightly as if it didn't matter and turned, letting the force field drop partway and stepping forward to deposit the tray of food on the floor.

 

His lightening quick reaction when the field dropped, allowed him to reach out, grab her wrist, and make their eyes meet. He spoke slow and deliberate, though holding firm, not enough to break it, which he could have done in a heartbeat. "There are three things you had better learn. One - the containment fields are twofold, one for the door, one just inside the door, so you can deliver items safely. Two - Never, under any circumstances, make yourself, your weapon, and your team, vulnerable to an attack, such as this.” He released her wrist, and stood quiet.

 

Spader hissed with pain as he grabbed her arm and she quickly angled her body to take the pressure off the joint and place herself between him and the half-powered force field. He was quick, she had to give him that, and he of course had a point. Two points, really. One, she had left him an opening because she hadn't thought he'd try anything -- which had been partially intentional, to test the theory -- and two, he knew the systems on Aegis far better than she did. Grimacing, she looked up to let her gaze scan his without blinking. "What's three? Sir."

 

 

 

He moved slowly now, lifted the jostled food tray from the floor and peeled it open. He started digging in, stuffing his mouth, while lacing his goatee with some of the food. With a mouth full, he looked back to her and said, "Three...," and took another bite. "Never, ever make me wait for my food."

 

Torate observed her reactions, thinking: So, is she brazen to stand there still talking? Or will she run with a tail between her legs?

 

 

Spader's eyebrows went up slightly at the sudden moment of levity. "I'll keep that in mind. Sir." She folded her arms and watched him eating for a moment as another silence stretched between them. "Not a conversational sort, are you?" she asked wryly, shaking her head and glancing back at the force fields behind her.

 

 

With a gross mouth full, "What do you really want to know?" He finished his food and dropped the tray by the containment field that remained half up.

 

 

Spader smiled faintly, turning to continue keeping her body between him and the exit. "I have a feeling you heard me the first time. I'm curious what's going on, sir, since you went and put me in the thick of it." She knew she was treading a bit of a line here, but she had kind of pegged him as the sort who would let her know when he felt someone was making a nuisance of themselves.

 

 

"Because your training has begun." He was taking in her reactions. She didn’t seem to waiver after he grabbed her; and could tell she was processing everything. He liked that, but wasn’t about to relinquish that information.

 

"My training?" Spader gave him a mildly puzzled look. Admittedly, Starfleet Academy probably had its weaknesses in a Rihan's eyes, but she still felt she knew what she was doing.

 

 

 

"Did you expect your Starfleet to teach you everything about this post?” His stance was frozen again, but continuing the discussion. "I've heard you talking to every prisoner. You need to learn that they... we are in here for a reason."

 

 

 

Spader flushed slightly, straightening at the implicit accusation. "I'm aware of that -- but it isn't easy to figure exactly where everyone stands here. You're all supposed to be traitors, but the first thing I saw coming in was you giving orders and Bean following 'em. Hard to find a balance when the instinct is you're still dealing with an officer." She shook her head slightly. "Sorry...sir...but it may seem simple from this side of the force field. Out there..." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "It's a weird business."

 

 

 

His brow ridge turned into a sharp "V" while he frowned. Instinct? Officer? UNIFORM! He saved the thought for later, and responded to this midshipman. "Were you asked to figure everyone? It seems to me that you are attempting to be an investigator, more than a security officer." He was trying to get the point to her to leave this one alone and not figure it out, but he more wanted to interrogate her, his instinct.

 

 

 

Spader smiled faintly and let her eyes drop. He had a point. She liked to know what was going on, who the players were and what the game was, and maybe as a grunt that made her out of line. "Just trying to stay ahead of the curve is all," she said quietly.

 

 

 

"I suspect that you will be the," he paused, trying to find the right word. "The floor buffer of the grunter. I'm sure Armstrong will keep you on your training."

 

 

 

His phrasing bore the mark of someone who hadn't grown up speaking Standard but Spader got the gist. Keep your nose clean and don't get above yourself. Fair enough. Between her meeting with Porter earlier and this discussion now, she had some sense of these people, enough to satisfy some of her curiosity, and she could keep her head down if necessary. But the idea didn't thrill her. "Understood."

 

 

 

She looked at him for a moment as if expecting something more, but no more conversation was forthcoming. Shrugging slightly, she turned and walked through the still half-open force field, letting it snap back to humming existence behind her.

 

 

 

Alone with his thoughts again, he put it together. It was very clear now, his mistake, no his obvious flaw was right in front of him.

 

 

 

He responded to the uniform, he always had. His concentrated training with the Rihanssu, the weak training of the lloann'nae, both had something in common. Officers were trained to respond to brass, other officers, but not civilians. His training, now his grave, was what made him defy the true chain of command in the heat of battle.