I, Captain

[Chirakis 1]

I, Captain

 

I and my bosom must debate awhile,

And then I would no other company.

~HENRY V, Act 4, scene 1

 

 

“Just what the hell happened on TKR-117?” ~ Roberts, in interrogation.

“I am not sure.” ~ Chirakis, facing him.

 

The Captain had moved exactly twice in the past 12 hours: once to thank the orderly who brought her meal, and once to turn her back to the door and take her customary stance at the viewport. Twice she had been asked to receive company, and twice she had declined without turning or moving from her position. House arrest in a “sterile” suite had given her time to think, and she was taking full advantage.

 

“You’re ‘not sure’?” ~Roberts

 

She should never have left the station - protocol be damned. She didn’t belong at an archaeological conference, wasting time in idle chat in cocktail parties and suffering the endless drone of over-zealous scientists. Her mission was to protect the station and this area of space. She should have been here. She should have faced the adversary. She would have cursed it in several languages, some well-known and some lesser-known. She and Roberts would have strategized, spared the station to some degree, and perhaps saved the lives that had been lost.

 

But thoughts such as these only served to drown the one already sinking in regret, to complete the inevitable descent into perdition. Too many lives… gone. Six is too many. One is too many.

 

“Doctor Nagi called to inform us that you had gone ‘missing.’ Where the hell were you?” ~Roberts

“I walked into the excavation, down twelve levels.” ~ Chirakis

“How in the hell did you get down 12 levels? Nagi's team has only opened up 3, at best.” ~Roberts

“I have no idea.” ~Chirakis

 

The adversary had called herself HoD. She claimed to be of the House of GhoragH of the Supreme House of Ghorr….

 

How dare she dishonor that name.

 

It could have been a clone, or so Roberts said. Kirel would have chosen a different word, one not as generous, one unutterable in respectable company, a Klingon word of abomination.

 

And yet, if this HoD was a clone it was cause for deep concern. Where there is one there are most certainly others. And if not a clone, then….

 

“I saw...and heard. And now it’s confirmed by DNA.” ~ Roberts

 

The impostor knew Roberts. She knew the full layout of the station, and from what Kirel had seen from Drakkor, the superior vessel had picked at the station, taking it apart, piece by piece. She knew its complement and called their Romulan allies “scum.” She knew of Kirel’s affiliation with the House of GoragH - something not widely known. She knew the station too well. She knew Kirel too well….

 

“...it’s confirmed by DNA.”

“...it’s confirmed by DNA.”

“...it’s confirmed by DNA.”

 

“Where was Missouri in all this?” she sighed desperately into the void. “Where was Iowa? Why did no one come to their defense? And where are they now? Why are they not here?”

 

"Thytrin." ~d'Ka, Sindar telepath, to Chirakis, from Missouri

 

Her head jerked up at Captain d’Ka’s psionic intrusion.

 

"Communication with the station is tenuous at best. We have only now been informed of the attack. Missouri is en route.” Missouri's captain paused, as if in pain. “Your anger is... formidable."

 

“My anger? My… anger?” She sucked in a breath. Every word was strained as she spit them out in rancor while she paced the room. “The station is torn… apart! The station is still vulnerable... with little defense! Crew… are missing. Crew are...dead! And you! You... question... my... anger?”

 

A solid, deep thrum echoed with the impact of her fist on the viewport. Her contact with the security field sent off a proximity alarm that sent a delicate vase crashing to the floor. Security burst through the door. Two checked the suite for intruders while a third swept her person and the area for communications devices. After several minutes of inspection they were gone, the alarm was reset, the door was secured, and Kirel once again stood in silence at the viewport with one throbbing fist and a bondmate with exceptional patience.

 

“Show me where you were, thytrin.”

 

“I don’t know where I was!” she countered in frustration. “A different place? A different galaxy? Kahless, how can I possibly show you?"

 

Kirel felt what could only be described as a sigh. It was followed by an inexplicable calm that led her to sit for the first time since her incarceration.

 

“Thytrin,” he began again, calmly, “picture in your mind the configuration of the stars. Allow me access.”

 

The stars….

 

“I know this place,” replied d’Ka after a moment of study. “When I was a child, my mother told us - my siblings and me - stories of a powerful race that was, sadly, misunderstood. The stories were allegories, meant to teach us to be patient and slow to judge, and to understand that those who are powerful may be fearsome but are not necessarily to be feared.

 

“There was a holographic image on the ceiling of our bedchamber. It moved from sundown to sunup, as any galaxy moves. Its configuration was exactly the same as the configuration you are showing me. That powerful race of which my mother spoke is supposed to be fictitious. They are known as the Daoine’eile. What I see in your mind, Kir’el, is their home galaxy.”