Rebellion

Posted on 11 Apr 2020 @ 5:54pm by Commander Rhyan & Commander T'Kesh

2,757 words; about a 14 minute read

Mission: Empty Creche
Location: Guest Quarters, Starfleet Medical Headquarters, Earth
Timeline: ED3 0900

Rhyan was frustrated. Twenty-four hours had nearly passed, and Starfleet Intelligence had still not responded to his request for a meeting with Admiral Ashcart. There was no logical reason for why they should deny him the opportunity to speak with his former commanding officer, other than to frustrate him. Which, given his history with Commander Ferguson and Ensign Marshall, was a distinct possibility. He did not like the covert nature of intelligence very much; it did not speak to the tune of the ideals that Rhyan considered the Federation to be founded upon.

And yet, here he was, trying unsuccessfully to cut through the immense layers of red tape associated with Intelligence.

“Dammit,” he exclaimed as he threw the padd in his hand across the room where it collided against the wall of the modest living space. Another communique gone unanswered. As metal collided with metal, the room echoed loudly. His outburst did little to ease Rhyan’s annoyance; in fact, he became even more angry with himself for letting his emotional control slip once again.

Rhyan allowed himself a few moments to calm down, closing his eyes and trying to remember the breathing exercises his grandmother had taught him on Vulcan over a decade ago. He inhaled, held the breath, and then exhaled while imagining all of his emotions being carried away on the expired air. After a few attempts at the exercise, Rhyan realised the futility in continuing and opened his eyes.

“Vulcans really do believe in illogical non-sense,” he said out aloud to himself, feeling no guilt at chastising his people for their antiquated, and often illogical, practices.

As he was about to step up from his chair and retrieve the abandoned padd, the door chime to his temporary quarters alerted him to a visitor. His mind immediately began to ponder who would be interrupting his rest; he very much doubted that Lucy had allowed Aeryn to leave the confides of her medical ward so soon. Although her condition was improving, albeit with slow progress, Lucy had still deemed the lieutenant both a critical patient, and an infection risk to the general population. For those reasons alone, Aeryn would not be leaving Starfleet Medical Headquarters for some time.

The commander’s hopes were raised when a new thought entered his head, was Admiral Ashcart himself behind the closed threshold? As of this morning Rhyan had send no fewer than ten communiques to Starfleet Intelligence requesting, and at times demanding, an audience with Ashcart. Perhaps this had flagged up a level of urgency with the admiral and he had chosen to visit Rhyan on his own turf. Or, at least, his temporary base-of-operations within Starfleet Medical.

Rhyan stood up from the chair and approached the doorway, tapping the small control beside it to disable the locking mechanism and then doing so again to command the door to open. When it did, the person standing there was the last Starfleet Officer he ever expected to see.

In front of him was a Vulcan woman aged in her fifth decade. Her hair was as black as coal and cut in the traditional style of her people; a style, Rhyan realised, he chose not to follow himself, choosing instead to allow his naturally lighter locks to remain short and dishevelled. The woman’s skin was the same shade of olive-green at Rhyan’s, however, and she wore a Starfleet uniform that indicated her field of operation was with Intelligence. As with most Vulcans, Rhyan excepted, her face was neutral and gave away no indication of emotion. Her grey eyes, the exact same shade as Rhyan’s, gave away nothing to the younger Vulcan.

Unfortunately, he knew this woman well. Too well.

“T’Kesh,” Rhyan said, coldly.

The woman standing in the doorway did not react to Rhyan’s unfriendly greeting. As with most Vulcans, she did not flinch at the outpouring of emotion. Instead she spoke in the cool, almost mono-tone style of her people. “Is that any way to greet your mother, Rhyan?”

“I have nothing to say to you, commander,” Rhyan commented, his hand flinching over the door controls as though he were about to shut the threshold in his mother’s face. Despite the animosity between them, something stopped the science officer from doing so.

“I see you have done nothing more to educate yourself on emotional control, son.” T’Kesh’s words were equally as cold, although through a lack of emotion than ill-feeling towards Rhyan. As silence threatened to fall between them, she continued. “Your statement leads me to believe that you, in fact, have a lot that you wish to say to me.”

T’Kesh’s presence at Rhyan’s quarters did little to help with his frustrations. Ignoring the fact that their relationship had been strained from the very day Rhyan learned to talk, T’Kesh’s actions at Starfleet Intelligence had been directly responsible for many of Rhyan’s recent problems; first and foremost, the reassignment of Jon Marshall to the Redemption at the outset of her previous mission. T’Kesh was directly culpable for Marshall’s actions against himself, Daniel Sutherland and Jody Scott during their recent altercation with the Ee Hybrid.

Rhyan felt himself beginning to clench his fists.

“I’ll rephrase my statement then,” he said, allowing his anger to bubble towards the surface. “I have nothing to say to you that you would like to hear.”

“I also believe that to be a false statement.” T’Kesh allowed herself to push past Rhyan and stepped into his temporary quarters. The room was sparse, with the notable exception of a few padds scattered across the room, including the damaged padd now situated on the floor beside T’Kesh’s feet. Rhyan’s uniform jacket was also crumpled on the floor beside the unmade bed.

T’Kesh allowed herself to inspect the room for a moment, before continuing to address her son. “I see that Starfleet has done little to discipline you.”

“Get out!” Rhyan shouted, angrily. He picked the broken padd up off the floor, and then started to physically push his mother out of the room. T’Kesh resisted, and succeeded, likely owing to her pure-bred Vulcan heritage. Rhyan, being part Romulan, had always been inferior in physicality to his Vulcan brethren.

“I am sorry Rhyan, but I cannot. I am here on official business and, as I outrank you – on seniority only, it seems – I am ordering you to desist with your futile attempt to remove me and listen to what I have to say.” T’Kesh cocked her head in a manner so many Vulcan’s did when they were being inadvertently patronising and waited for Rhyan to calm down.

Realising that he was not going to win against his mother, Rhyan stepped away and turned his back on her. He used the moment to pick his grey and black uniform jacket up off the floor and pulled it on over his teal undershirt. He repositioned his comm badge from the undershirt to the jacket but refrained from zipping it up in that moment; he took a small amount of gratification in remaining unkempt in the presence of T’Kesh.

Without turning back around to face her, he spoke. “I will never forgive you for Jon Marshall.”

Rhyan couldn’t see his mother, but he imagined that her face remained as neutral as it had done when she had greeted him at the door. As far as Vulcans went, she earned a gold star for her ability to control emotion. He knew, from her actions when he had been a child, that her only disgrace in life was never having trained him to have the same level of control as her. That was why she had dispatched him from Earth to Vulcan when he had been ten Earth-years old, to force more of her infuriating culture on him.

He felt his nails begin to dig into the palm of his hand.

T’Kesh did not move when she continued to speak. “Ensign Marshall was one of my best officers,” she said, matter of fact. “What happened to him was a loss to Intelligence, and Starfleet.”

“What happened to him,” Rhyan hollered, immediately turning to square up to his mother, “was his own fault. And he deserved what happened to him! How dare you place an operative on my ship and order him to subvert my authority and put my crew at risk!”

“Might I remind you, commander, that if you had only handed over the Ee Hybrid when…”

T’Kesh did not get an opportunity to finish her sentence as Rhyan stepped immediately in front of her and interrupted. “That hybrid is the most dangerous thing in the quadrant right now! You seem obsessed with capturing and weaponizing it. Trust me,” he paused, allowing a moment for what he had already said to sink in, “you will never turn it into a weapon. The hybrid needs destroyed.”

“Intelligence would care to disagree with you, commander,” T’Kesh said calmly.

“I’m sorry,” Rhyan said, feeling his nails dig into flesh. “The only Intelligence operative to ever come in contact with the hybrid is now dead. Or worse. How long before you realise it is not worth pursuing?”

“I believe we are deviating from the purpose for my journey here,” T’Kesh said, prompting her to step away from Rhyan. He could see her eyes darting around the room, implying she was continuing to inspect them.

Rhyan used every ounce of control he had to calm himself down. However, the more he tried, the more he failed. “Just say what it is you came to say, and then leave,” he uttered through clenched teeth. He refused to look at her anymore.

“Before I do,” T’Kesh said, “I would like to make one observation.”

Knowing there was little he could do to stop her, Rhyan remained silent in the hopes that his mother would get her speech over with and leave. His body language reflected this as he stood with his back half-turned on her, his eyes looking to the empty wall and his fists remaining tightly clenched. He awaited her comment.

T’Kesh sighed, a rare expression of her inner thoughts. “I think it is about time this rebellious nature of yours, Rhyan, is quashed. Ever since you were a child, you have shown an unsettling trait of believing yourself to be correct despite the protestations of others. I suggest, should you wish to see your Starfleet career to continue unhindered, that you accept the chain of command and learn to keep your illogical opinions to yourself.”

“Is that a threat, commander?” Rhyan asked, aware of the implication of her words.

“An observation,” she answered. “There are many within the ranks of Starfleet who disapprove of your assignment as executive officer on board the Federation flagship. Admiral Ashcart cannot protect you forever.”

“That is old news, T’Kesh.” Rhyan was aware that his appointment to the Redemption was only at Ashcart’s insistence. With Ashcart now reassigned to Earth, Rhyan had lost the only person who could protect his place within the Redemption crew. This was especially true now that President Zal was dead. He was slowly losing all the friends he once had within the chain of command.

T’Kesh shifted on her feet. “You were a fugitive from Starfleet for nearly a year, Rhyan. You were solely responsible for the Redemption falling into Sixth Fleet hands. You constantly fight against Starfleet Intelligence regarding research into the Ee, and in particular the Ee Hybrid. Starfleet know that the Ee Hybrid used to be your mate.”

Rhyan laughed. “My mate?” he said, angrily. Was that how T’Kesh and the rest of Starfleet viewed his relationship with Sarah Kaminski. “Is that what their problem is: they think I am protecting the hybrid?”

“Intelligence does believe that you have a conflict of interest regarding this issue,” she answered, bluntly.

He turned to face his mother directly, locking his eyes with her. Rhyan spoke more assertively, and angrily, with her than he had ever done so before in his life. “I want to make one thing clear to you, mother. That thing is not Sarah Kaminski anymore. She died on Romulus nearly two years ago, and nothing I can say or do now will change that. What that thing is, is a one-person killing machine. I want nothing more than for it to die, horribly, and stop using the face of the woman I loved for nefarious purposes. Do. You. Understand. That?”

For the first time in his life, Rhyan thought he could see genuine surprise in his mother’s face. It lasted for a mere moment, but it had been there. Once she had composed herself, she responded to her offspring as coolly, and calmly, as ever. “Your words say one thing, Rhyan, but the tone that you take belies your true feelings.”

Rhyan felt the warm sensation of blood trickling down to his knuckles and dropping onto the floor. “Tell me what you came here to say or get out.”

T’Kesh stood for a moment in silence, perhaps deciding whether to continue tormenting Rhyan or give him the news she said she had come to deliver. Thankfully, she appeared to choose the latter. “I wanted to inform you that Admiral Ashcart will see you tomorrow at 1230 hours. He is currently,” she paused briefly, “indisposed.”

“It took you to come here and deliver that news in person, rather than to respond to one of my communiques?” Rhyan asked, angrily. He was beginning to tire of his mother’s games; the same games she used to play with him when he was a child. Like the time she refused his request to visit his childhood friends until he showed emotional restraint over the issue. Needless to say, Rhyan did not see his friends that day.

“On this occasion I believed that you would appreciate the personal touch,” she answered.

“You thought wrong.”

“Perhaps I did,” she said, turning towards the open door. At first Rhyan thought she was going to leave without saying anything more, but T’Kesh stopped herself and spoke again. “Of all my faults, my biggest one is the belief that you have the capacity to change, Rhyan.”

“It appears we have the same fault, then,” he said coldly in response. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she continued to linger at the threshold to the room. The atmosphere between them could have been cut with a knife.

Another beat passed before either of them spoke.

It was T’Kesh who broke the silence. “It does give me gratification to see you as the executive officer of the Redemption.” Once she said the words, she stepped through the doorway into the corridor. “Live long and prosper, my son,” she added, without turning to face him. A few moments later and the sound of her footsteps disappeared down the corridor.

Rhyan stood there for a moment, threatening to succumb to the plethora of emotions that T’Kesh’s appearance added to an already volatile combination. He didn’t know how to react or respond to everything that she had said. All he knew was that he was more alone now than he had been in years: Sarah and Elesa were dead, and Ashcart was now pinned behind a desk at Starfleet Headquarters. His only hope now was that Aeryn would pull through and he could at least have Zal by his side as he tried to prepare for the oncoming storm.

Eventually, fearful that grief would win out, Rhyan allowed his frustrations to take over. He smashed his hand against the wall, splattering the green blood that had been flowing from his palm over its surface. Watching the blood trail down the metal bullhead, Rhyan paused for a moment and tried not to think about the figurative, rather than literal, blood he had on his hands. T’Kesh had irked him, perhaps more than he even knew in that moment.

Rhyan, now more than ever, needed a friend.

OFF: Something I have been meaning to write for a while, so thought it would help bridge the gap between ED2 and ED4. Currently working on a JP with Chris to kick-start Rhyan returning to the Redemption. I have been loving the enthusiasm recently, and definitely finding writing a good escape from the hospital and current events! Keep posting people!

 

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