Situation Resolved

[Chirakis 1]

Situation Resolved
Chirakis

Kirel ignored the frisking guards and the disruptor focused on her midsection, preferring to scan the stark surroundings of RSE Antius’s transporter room and the guards who seemed to believe she was a threat to the universe.  She did not expect a cordial welcome, but why this?

Because she found it hard to believe that a Romulan transport would come with the skeleton crew that Dr. Pavilion found, Kirel transported unannounced.  There’s nothing like a surprise visit to find out exactly what’s going on.  Of course, they could have killed her as an intruder, but that was unlikely because they were in Aegis orbit, and killing a Starfleet captain is frowned upon.  So she survived—unfortunately for them.

The transporter room itself was no different than most Romulan starships, except that the transporter console was rigged with extraordinary technology that spoke more of warship than transport vessel.

The guards were young, fit, and trained beyond the norm, especially for a transport. In fact, she could not imagine this crew manning a transport at all; the very thought was not only laughable, but ludicrous—a waste of training and expertise.
They spoke in high Rihannsu, either to impress her or because they assumed she would not understand. As for the lieutenant in charge, a subtle curving line creased his forehead as he spoke.  Only once before had she seen such a crease, and that was across the brow of EnRiov Keshir tr’Aldani of the Tal Shiar. Though the young man wore no insignia other than that of Antius, the way he moved, the protocol he followed, and his general demeanor screamed Tal Shiar and raised her suspicions regarding the real purpose of this ship and their demand for the crew of Ma’ev. 

Eventually they escorted her to their commanding officer as if she were a captive: two on flank, one behind, and the lieutenant in the lead.  She forcefully suppressed a smile for the sake of her young escorts who took their duties much too seriously. The only thing missing were the shackles.

They marched in step from one corridor to another, to another, to another, until they came face to face with the captain.  Suddenly a large piece of the puzzle slipped into place. 

The crew knew him as Riov n’Ear.  Kirel knew him as  Arrain Merrok tr’Errhr—skillful, cunning, unpredictable, and known for twisting orders to his liking.  In the early days of her SI-5 career, the failed Tal Shiar candidate had fallen into her hands—either by chance or a quirk of fate—when she surprisingly chose to save his life.  How he rose to the rank of captain was anyone’s guess, but Kirel chose not to speculate.

Several inches taller than she and more fit than she remembered, his stoic expression changed slightly when he saw her.  
“Leave us,” he said to the guards, without a glance.  When they began to object, his expression turned deadly and a sharp, “Leave. Us,” forced their retreat. 

Merrok turned, entered his office, and immediately approached the bar to grasp a bottle of vintage ale, one of the best available prior to the devastation of ch’Rihan. 

“Such idiots,” he growled as he poured. “Much too young. Incredibly naive.  Hhakhno!  So….”

“...over enthusiastic?”

“Definitely,” he snorted, forcefully sealing the bottle as his lips pursed. He handed her a glass and raised his.
 “So, you are a captain now.” 

“As are you.” 

“We must celebrate! Ei e'hraaintuh na'hwiufvteh, emeihet!” His glass was empty in an instant. She took her time, judging his every move.

“And I see that you are still with Starfleet Intelligence.”

“I am.”

“So what brings you here? Your doctor....”  His fingers snapped, trying to recall her name.  

“Pavilion.” 

“Yes.  Yes, Dr. Pavilion. She was here. She cleared the ship for radiation.  What else could you want?”  He shrugged with a smug expression.

“Other than a glass of your excellent ale?”

He chuckled lightly, but his expression remained the same.

“I believe you know,” she said, watching for his reaction.

“I know?” He poured himself another glass.  “What do I know?”

“Oh, many things,” she said casually.  “Where would you like me to begin?”

His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed a bit. His smug expression dissolved while he eyed her through the glass.

“Tell me why you are here, Captain,” he said somewhat casually, but directly,  “and remember that I am in command.  This is no game.  Why would the Chief of Security and an SI-5 operative pay me a visit, when there is no need.”

“Why would I think this is a game?  I am here to find out why you are here, why you insist on taking the crew of Ma’ev, and why you came with a complement that is clearly Tal Shiar.”

He sighed into a grunt and gave his glass a bit more consideration. “Ch’Rihan changed many things, Kirel.  The Tal Shiar were in need.  We were available.  And,” a sweep of a hand took in the crew, “we are here, to carry out their orders.  If you insist on blocking our ability to function, I could have you executed on the spot for disrupting a mission of the Romulan High Council.”

“Oh, I have no doubt that you could.”  She shrugged.  “But you won’t.”  

“And why wouldn't I?”

“It would not further your goal.  You want the crew of Ma’ev.  My death would destroy that possibility.  You would not have the crew of Ma’ev or any of their reports.  You would never leave orbit because our commanding officer would not allow it.  And… the High Command would hand you over to the Joint Allied Council on the charge of murder.  Should I go on?”

Merrok stared. He did not reply.
 
“Alternatively,” Kirel continued as she set her glass on the bar, “I know a great deal about you,  your ship, and your crew.  I am sure you would prefer to keep that private.”

He seemed to soften. “In exchange for..?”

“The radiation generator.”

“The… what?”

Merrok was never very good at evasion, which is why the Tal Shiar rejected him.  He had a tendency to speak before thinking, and his eyelid ticked when he lied.  It was ticking now, and his face flushed as she continued to back him into the proverbial corner.

“The targeting radiation generator you are using to ensure that Chairo does not receive permission to take the crew of Ma’ev.”

They locked eyes for a long moment. Without turning, he grabbed a knife from his desktop.  It gleamed in the room’s subtle lighting as he turned it over, sending a flash of light across its blade.  Kirel assumed a more defensive posture and raised a questioning brow.

“Again you bring me to checkmate,” he said, still watching the blade flicker, admiring it as though it were a precious jewel. “It is no wonder that SI-5 still has you in their confidence.”

Slowly and methodically he grasped its hilt, turned it and made a clean, even slice across his palm. He handed it to her; she responded in kind, then they clasped hands.  As their life blood mingled, Kirel hoped her inoculations were current. She would check with Dr. Pavilion when she returned.

Several minutes later she stepped from the CnC transporter and placed a fairly small box next to Commander Coleridge.  “Situation resolved, Commander.”

“Well done,” he said as he examined it, “but it seems like we’ve run out of time. Unless there has been news.”

“They will have to be patient, Commander. And Antius will be very patient.”