Previous Next

Shadows in Authority

Posted on Thu Sep 15th, 2011 @ 3:29am by Lieutenant Commander Nauket Kulvher

Mission: All Souls Descend. Season 2, Episode 6
Location: Passenger Quarters, Bajoran Freighter Diaka

It was quite the ironic feeling that filled the solidarity of the quarters where one stern Cardassian sat. Her legs crossed, right one atop the left, and her back poised perfectly at an angle resting gracefully against the dull looking chair. The space was tight, something Nauket had over the years grown out of but never forgotten. She felt strangely at home in the dismal housing of the freighter, one marked with Bajoran taste and years of hard labor. Fortunately for the once (and shortly at that) rather involved Starfleet officer, Nauket had her ways with relations concerning Bajorans. In fact the more ironic fact being that she had more close allies Bajoran than Human alone. The upper hand of her relations spun deeply in her being in the greater portion of her life.

Her left hand rested comfortably against the cool exterior of a glass of Terran Brandy atop the desk before her, while her free hand held a Starfleet issued padd containing her newly assigned stationing. Jokes were never something she was fond of, which was evident by the annoyed expression on her face. Calmly she sipped the substance and then placed it back down. Her mind was littered with thoughts that traveled closely with paranoia. She was careful, however, to never make mistakes and never assume the worst while rarely accepting the best in both those around her and that of the unknown. Still, her banishment created red flags of both a cover up and simple scapegoating.

The jokes were clearly on her either way.

In her seclusion, the skilled woman bared more than she even liked to on her own, a small sigh escaping from between her soft lips. There was simply more to the makings of the Federation than most gave it credit for. Propaganda was not only a Cardassian staple -it was everywhere, and it always would be.

There was no doubt about it, the deaths of her kind on Earth would not be swept under the rug, but having the right face on the job was something of a priority for Starfleet. It was somewhat strange that Cardassian relations were rather fond of the idea that Starfleet could bring justice to a clear hate crime with one of their own kind rather than letting her do her job, even if she was Cardassian herself. Softening the blow to the public eye would certainly not stop the problem at all, or even a little, but instead weaken their ability to get the job done at all. Somehow that annoyed her more than the deaths of three Cardassians.

Her thoughts were interrupted immediately by the sound of her door. She knew very well her arrival time was mere hours, but what she had learned of Tel Yaras, was that he enjoyed her company more than she did his. That was surely not to say she didn't enjoy it as far as simple pleasures went.

"Enter," she replied to the door. It's response was timely, sliding open and allowing little Tel to move in to the plain room. His frame was much smaller than the average Bajoran, while his young and fresh looking face gave him a unique charm that went hand in hand with the long black ponytail he sported. "I'm sure you're aware of our arrival time, Nauket," he stated casually, his walk rather laid back as he picked a string from the cuff of his red and blue outfit.

"Indeed," she replied, reflecting a slight Vulcan undertone, masking her concerns for the current situations at hand. "I am prepared to depart as soon as we arrive, old friend."

It was something of a rarity for her to display the affections of another so openly, but in time she had learned that duty was not the only thing in life one should grow so fond of. In recent years Admiral Jafania had taught her how to remain both at proper poise while still compassionate. Though she had always had an underlining compassion it was harder to see than the earths sun at night.

Her biggest challenge yet to her stability with compassion was certainly tested and reflected in the vacant eyes of sixteen year old Chaurkur Xiak, her pale, cold skin still draping her mind to this day. After all, it had only been mere weeks since faced with the smell of death once again... Some how the sanctity of safety made the common sight pang with tragedy. Nauket chose to ignore it now. Instead, she lifted her eyes to present company, speaking softly. "You won't be hearing from me for a good long while, Yaras," she stated.

One nod of acknowledgment from the small Bajoran, and he understood. "As well I should hope not," he replied, distracting himself by picking up a red band with Starfleet insignia from the desk. Nauket reacted slightly with a shift in her position. Her eyes followed him in his actions. "I've taken quite the risk in transporting you here," he added, tilting his head slightly to catch a glimpse of the woman.

"Mm, yes," she agreed, "but is it risk for you or myself that most concerns you?" The weight of her guilt reflected in her view of the insignia. It wasn't enough to shield the innocent from the violence. Nothing ever was.

A small laugh exerted itself from Yaras' lips as he placed the fabric back down. "A calculated risk, either way," he answered simply. Her disdain for sentiment was something he was very aware of, and even more evident was her strong distaste for probing a silent personal boundary. Whatever her place in the universe was now, he was not a part of it any more, at least not now. Their work relationship was come and go, like ships passing in the night - only in the darkness they executed their duties in silence.

Nauket uncrossed her legs, sitting forward, leaning her elbows on the desk and nesting her head upon the entwining fingers. "Roark Nor is like a cousin you never speak to. It's family, but it's blood is thinner than its name," she mused first, "thank you for bringing me."


Previous Next