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T'aral

The Devil's Advocate

T’Aral exited the brig and made her way to the turbolift. As she did so she prepared a message for the Captain, indicating that she required a meeting as soon as possible. While it was not her desire to interrupt as Cale returned to what passed for routine, complications regarding the disposition of the creature required immediate attention.

 

Observing the interview on the closed circuit surveillance cameras stationed within the brig area, the incoming message came as no surprise to Calestorm; it was not every day that one had a...creature or being of unknown origin held in confinement. She merely nodded to Maya, the gesture conveying both understanding and that she would be on site shortly.

 

Leaving bridge operations with the young officer manning FOPS - she was pretty sure the NCO’s on duty would keep an eye on her - Crash quietly exited the bridge into the turbolift.

 

T’Aral’s lift exited on the crew deck. Although she would normally return to the Medical Bay, she had been on an extended shift and was feeling abnormally tired in addition to the normal aches and mild upset stomach which accompanied her condition. She needed rest, some comfort food, and an opportunity to let herself be weak for a while. None of that would be available in the Medical Bay; she had to return to her quarters.

 

As she stepped past the door, T’Aral’s fingers stretched and opened reflexively. While the 22C standard was held throughout Starfleet common areas, the temperature within an officer’s quarters was set at their own discretion. Given her developing needs, T’Aral only recently conceded the need to set her quarters at a more temperate 35. Making her way to her bunk, she laid back under a warming lamp and let herself relax passively.

 

Exiting the turbolift on the senior officers deck, Calestorm headed for the CMO’s quarters to update the doctor on the creature. It was a bit unusual per protocol, though allotments were made in view of T’Aral’s condition. She pressed the inset on the communications pad set into the bulkhead, chiming for admittance.

 

T’Aral tipped her head to the door. She had not expected Ensign Khora so soon, but then it was illogical not to. She had chosen Khora as her caregiver for her dilligence as much as for her understanding of Vulcan customs. She should have expected a visit the moment she was available. As she hadn’t returned to Medical it was only logical that Khora would pursue her here. Turning off the lamp, she reached over to release he door. “Enter.”

 

And Great Bird of the Galaxy...it was hot in here! The blast of heat hit Crash as soon as the entry way opened.

 

T’Aral rapidly stood. When the door chimed she was expecting someone else; showing such weakness in front of Cale could not help but be embarrassing. “Captain; I didn’t expect you to answer my page so swiftly. I will come directly to the point: the creature is sentient. It’s actions were not borne of malice, but of a need to survive. Viewing these as extenuating circumstances, we can no longer simply release the creature for study as if it were a specimen animal. It is intelligent, and all decisions regarding its disposition must be made with that in mind.”

 

I will not pass out...I will not pass out...having flashbacks to desert survival training. “Doctor, I know that you will anyways, but please include that viewpoint on your hard copy report directly as it will further aid the.....sentient creature.”

 

“As you wish.” T’Aral stepped to a reasonable distance from Cale, taking an attentive stance. “It is not that I doubt Starfleet’s dilligence. The difficulty comes from the fact that, while sentient species consistently speak of striving towards the highest of moral standards, their resulting actions fall far short of their stated objectives. I do not mean to malign any specific species: this trait is consistent regardless of species - with Vulcans being no exception.”

 

Calestorm half leaned against a bulkhead and attempted not to sweat. She crossed her arms over her chest and spoke plainly to the Doctor. “This is classified, currently only myself and the Commander are aware of the full extent of the situation beyond our orders to drop the creature at Starbase Harrington. Professor Crater is highly esteemed within the archeological field. A colleague of his was on a dig on planet M-113 a few months back and Crater feels as if some of the imagery taken from the dig resembles our...being. The creature will not be studied. Crater and his team will oversee the effort to return the creature is returned to M-113.”

 

“Why all the hush hush? Starfleet is investigating exactly how the creature came to be transported off the planet. Somewhere, our patrols were circumnavigated to say nothing of Federation regulations regarding the removal of indigenous life - should the creature be in fact found indigenous to 113, mind you - from a natural habitat.”

 

T’Aral listened quietly, nodding occasionally. The Captain was slightly in error: regulations regarding the transport of animals only applied to those found harmful to other species. Pointing that out, however, would be a distinction without a difference given the subject of conversation.

 

“Of course, there are those who are opposed to this.” Cales expression was one of distaste, directed at who exactly was unknown. “There are those officers at San Francisco Command who view the attacks on the Osiris Prime survey team as purely hostile and they are seeking termination of the creature.”

 

T’Aral nodded in understanding. “To see matters in distinct categories is, regrettably, a common trait.” To many sentient beings things were either good or evil; beneficial or malevolent. The idea that such judgements are founded in one’s own point of view was unfortunately rare in the galaxy. “Captain: I understand that you are limited by your orders. All the same, I am curious if it could be arranged for me to escort the subject to M-113. I have begun to develop a rapport with it, which would be condusive towards a peaceful resolution.”

 

Crash’s facial expression changed; every age line was visible and her visage was stern. There was no way...

 

“That is a big time negative, Doctor. Crater and his team are capable of handling the return and escort of this being to 113. If you’d like to remain with the creature during layover at Starbase Harrington and observe the preparations? That’s doable.”

 

“That is an acceptable course of actions, at least initially.” It was rare for any Starfleet officer to be granted any request without conditions or modifications. T’Aral knew that she was no exception, and that compromise to accomplish at least some part of her intentions was far more logical than to demand all and ultimately obtain nothing.

 

With an effort she relaxed and her expression softened. “Doctor, it wouldn’t be very wise to authorize such an off the books escort mission, your current condition aside.”

 

T’Aral’s eyebrows jerked up sharply. “Captain: I am quite able to assess my condition. I am currently capable of functioning as effectively as any equivalent Starfleet officer - I am not hindered in any way.” She kept her voice steady, forcing her body to remain relaxed. The last thing she intended was to begin a battle of wills with Cale. Rank alone established the outcome of such a conflict as a foregone conclusion, and this time the Captain was well within her discretion.

 

Crash decided to engage diplomacy and devils advocate skills, saint and ministers of grace defend them. Sure, a lot of people considered her the ‘shoot first and ask questions later’ type and the reputation wasn’t entirely unfounded. What was often overlooked was her Southern heritage and therefore, the inborn ability to turn on the charm - and the diplomacy - when needed. “Doc, this creature has already demonstrated it is quite capable of killing, maiming. Yeah, ah know the circumstances weren’t ideal and the poor thing was basically treated poorly what with being snatched from 113 and ending up dumped on Osiris. How can you be sure this being won’t revert, won’t turn on you? What if it hurts the baby? What if you lose the baby?”

 

T’Aral suppressed the need to sigh; Cale meant well, even if her presumptive nature was getting the better of her. “First: the proper coloquial term is ‘babies’. Ensign Khora has detected two distinct and effectively equal developing embryos. Second: you are proceeding from an illogical premise. It is my wish to see to the creature’s well-being as a matter of principle. This should not suggest for a moment that I trust it. I shall seek to maintain defensive screens and security officers between myself and the subject at all times. Third: I could also bring up the fact that my research suggests that the creature requires iron-based hemoglobin in order to ‘process’ its victims. Vulcan blood chemistry is based on copper; so although it is clear that the subject’s camoflage talent works on Vulcans as well, I should be functionally immune to a feeding attack.”

 

Crash tramped down on the desire to exhale loudly in exasperation through her nose. Perky and determined Vulcans. What’re you gonna do?

 

She regarded the Doctor quietly, hazel-green eyes intent. Her mind involuntarily recalled a moment in time when a peer had taught her that there were going to be moments when a commanding officer needed to recognize when to ‘let it go’, to let a subordinate ‘do their thing’, so to speak.

 

Her people were capable. And maybe it was a safe bet to have a Starfleet representative riding shotgun with Crater’s team as the creature was relocated. The team were civilian contractors with the Federation, not Starfleet officers.

 

“Permission granted, Doctor. Myself and Commander Wesley will clear this with Professor Crater as well as Harrington Base Command.” She raised one finger to emphasize her next statement. “We’ll also expect updates, and if anything remotely hinky goes down? You let those Security grunts do their job and protect, hear me? No heroics.”

 

T’Aral’s eyebrow twitched a final time. “Captain: when have you ever known me to engage in ‘heroics’?”

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