Tales of the Valkyrie:

Diplomatic Relations:

Rainbow-hued stars streaked past the viewport in the conference lounge, as the senior officers took their places around the table.

"As you are all no doubt aware," began Captain Amanda Palmer, "We are en-route to the planet Mu'Na in response to a request from their government for a Federation presence to retrieve what they have referred to in the communique, as 'our property', and will arrive within the hour. Elyse, what more can you tell us?"

Lieutenant Elyse Fisher sat forward in her chair, and began to enter commands into the glossy black surface of the conference table, bringing the wall monitor to life.

"The planet Mu'Na is a Class M planet on the outer edge of its primary's Goldilocks zone," replied the British strategic operations officer with her precise elocution. "Only the equatorial latitudes are habitable, and even there, temperatures tend to be sub-zero, with five or six degrees celcius being the hottest days of the year.

"The Mu'Naii only achieved warp capability a year ago, with formal first contact being made by Captain Strannik of the Chin'toka. He reported the planet as having a technological level equivalent of mid-twenty first century Earth, and that their achievement of superluminal velocities were, and I quote, "--more an act of Divine Intervention than technological prowess--".

"He said that culturally, while the Mu'Naii were not technically dishonest, they brought new meaning to the concepts of evasiveness and obfuscation. Additionally, he went so far as to suggest that Federation membership would be pointless as the Mu'Naii had no desire to explore the galaxy, contribute to a larger community, had no natural resources of note, and would additionally be unable to qualify for membership until they had overcome, what he described as 'severe cultural inequalities'."

"They sound like a charming people," Commander Brandon Mayer commented wryly. "Has there been any indication as to what 'our property' actually is?"

"None," replied Elyse, with a quick shake of her head. "As Captain Strannik's report stated, the Mu'Naii are culturally averse to revealing any more than is necessary about any given subject."

Palmer frowned, idly tracing her fingers along the edge of the conference table.
"Were they merely being reticent, or deliberately trying to keep things hidden?" she enquired with a furrowed brow.

"It's impossible to truly say," Elyse admitted. "Reading between the lines in Captain Strannik's report, I might be inclined to suspect the latter, but that would be applying Human cultural values to the behavior of non-Humans, so until we arrive and review the facts for ourselves, I really would not like to say."

Ahd'r I'sH'd strode purposefully along deck four toward the access room for the starboard anti-grav thruster, a large ovoid of polished sh'rsi'te tucked into the crook of his arm. His pulse was accelerated, and he could feel an unsettling fluttering in his digestive tract. He had been on board less than a week, yet already he had disgraced himself. His eyes darting about as he walked, he had the air of a predator on the hunt. Glancing about to make sure the corridor was empty, I'sH'd stopped outside one of the junior officers quarters, and reached out to sound the door chime. After a few moments, the doors slid aside.

"Ahd'r I'sH'd," said Ensign T'Natra, her voice registering a note of surprise. "May I be of assistance, Sir?"

"I nee-" I'sH'd paused, his planned speech had not anticipated having to converse with the Vulcan navigator. "I wish to speak with Ensign Campbell-Black. I understand these are her quarters."

"They are," replied T'Natra. "The ensign is currently indisposed, may I pass on a message?"

I'sH'd shook his head.

"It is a private matter, Ensign, I will come back another time," he said, his eyes drifting over T'Natra's shoulder, and surveying the suite behind her, when he saw Tilly Campbell-Black emerging from the bathroom drying her hair, while a second towel wrapped around her torso barely skimmed the tops of her thighs.

At the sight of Ahd'r I'sH'd, clad in the black leather uniform of the Pentaxian militia, Tilly's pale grey eyes flew open, and she automatically took hold of the second towel, drawing it tighter across her TRIBBLE, whilst simultaneously trying to pull it lower over her thighs without revealing to much cleavage.

"I need to speak with you," he said, his voice conveying a tone which was more an order than a request.

"Uh, please come in, Sir," Tilly gasped, before throwing T'Natra a glare, and jerking her head, indicating that her roommate should stand aside. "What can I do for you?"

T'Natra made a slight side-step, allowing I'sH'd to enter. He did so, his discomfort clear in the tension of his body.

"You extended me a kindness," he said. "And to my shame, I treated you with a disdain unacceptable to display towards the lowliest serving-wench, let alone a commissioned officer."

Is this happening?? Tilly wondered.

"That's, uh, that's okay, Sir," she stammered. "I'm sure you were just embarrassed."

I'sH'd shook his head sharply.

"I spoke to you in a manner which I would not tolerate hearing in any officer under my command," he insisted. "Until you are able to think of me without immediately recalling the incident, tradition dictates that I am obliged to you."

"You are obliged to me?"

"I am morally in your debt and at your service," I'sH'd clarified.

"You could begin by taking me to dinner," Tilly suggested, unable to keep the words in, yet mortified for being so bold. I'sH'd looked down and away, his mouth quirking in an expression partway between a grin and a grimace.

"I am an Ahd'r, you are an ensign," I'sH'd pointed out. "That would not be appropriate. But, I would like to begin to make amends by giving you this om'ya."

Reaching out, Tilly took hold of the carved ovoid. It was shades of apple and grass green, and in the low light of the suite, seemed to be glowing slightly.

"What is it?" she enquired.

"An om'ya," I'sH'd repeated. "It's carved from sh'rsi'te -- a luminous mineral found only on Pentaxia. All dwellings have them. They serve as night lights, and are said to attract the spirits of loved ones."

"It's lovely, thank you," Tilly said, cradling the om'ya in the way I'sH'd had.

With a silent nod, I'sH'd turned and exited the ensigns' quarters.

As the doors slid closed behind him, Tilly's jaw dropped and her knees buckled slightly as she gaped at T'Natra.

"My god!" she exclaimed. "How hot is he?!"

"Given norms for Pentaxian physiology, I would estimate a core body temperature of forty eight to fifty degrees celsius," T'Natra replied stoically.

Tilly snorted.

"Just because you have to wait another three years for your next pon farr, don't pretend you don't want a piece of that," she said, placing the om'ya in the center of the small dining table. "I saw you checking out his goods while he spoke to me."

"Biologically speaking, the creation of a Pentaxian-Vulcan hybrid would be an intriguing proposition," T'Natra admitted. "I would be willing to undertake the necessary practical research."

"Ha! I knew it!" Tilly declared triumphantly. "But you can reverse your course right there, Miss T, I saw him first!"

On the bridge, Palmer stood before the command chair as the blue and white orb of Mu'Na was replaced with the strained features of Premier Yurass. He had a near-Human appearance, if one could overlook the hairless milky white skin, and deep amber eyes with vertically slit pupils.

"I'm Amanda Palmer, captain of the Federation starship Valkyrie, responding to your request for a Federation attendance. How may we be of assistance?"

Yurass scowled.
"I requested the presence of an ambassador, to discuss the return of Federation property," he said pointedly.

"I am a fully authorized representative of the Federation Council," Palmer persisted. "I have complete discretion to discuss this matter with you."

"I will speak with an ambassador," Yurass insisted. "My office will provide coordinates for transport." The screen winked back to the view of Mu'Na.

Turning from the viewscreen, Palmer sighed.

"Commander Chanos, report to transporter room two and await the coordinates from the Premier. I'll find you an ambassador. You might want to consider cold weather gear..."

Ten minutes later, checking the charge on his phaser, Bellic Chanos looked up as the doors to the transporter room sighed open to admit S'rR's, who wore a high-necked sleeveless vest and close-fitting pants of black leather, over which she wore the de-ranked sleeveless taupe cloak of a Klingon Commander. At her side, was I'sH'd, who wore his black militia uniform.

"The Captain said you needed an ambassador," S'rR's said, at Chanos' surprised expresson.

"The Premier was insistent that he would only speak with an ambassador," he replied. "She didn't inform me that the Ahd'r would be accompanying us."

"My Empress ordered me to ensure the ambassador's safety," I'sH'd pointed out. "I cannot very well do that from orbit."

Chanos conceded the point with a nod, and seeing the tetryon blaster holstered on I'sH'd's thigh, offered S'rR's a phaser. Reaching up, S'rR's pulled open the front of her cloak, to reveal a vintage Type II phaser holstered beneath her arm, its curved handle following the curve of her ribs.

"A bit more streamlined for concealment, but retro-fitted with modern components," she said, allowing her cloak to fall closed again. "Shall we get going?"

"By all means," Chanos agreed, moving to take his place on the transporter platform, and looking to Chief Petty Officer th'Shaan behind the console.

"Coordinates are locked, Commander," reported the Andorian as S'rR's and I'sH'd moved to stand beside the Bolian chief of security. "Energizing..."

As they materialized in an oval reception room, Chanos recognized Yurass among a group of people, and strode forwards.

"Premier Yurass, I am Commander Bellic Chanos, Captain Palmer's executive officer and chief of security. Allow me to introduce you to Ambassador S'rR's, and her security escort, Ahd'r I'sH'd, of the Pentaxian militia."

"Welcome to Mu'Na," replied Yurass. "I have transport outside which will take us to the facility where your property is being stored. It will allow you to see the sights while we discuss compensation."

"The communique said nothing about a claim for compensation," S'rR's pointed out, before being distracted by a vibration from her wrist-strap. Raising the cover flap, she scrutinized the information it projected onto her retina.

"I'm picking up a Starfleet emergency beacon twenty kilometers north of our position," she reported.

"We will be heading north," Yurass admitted. "And with regards compensation, farmland was damaged by your property, compromising food production. It is only right that the Federation compensate us for that which we have lost."

"I'm sure we'll be able to come to an agreement," S'rR's replied accommodatingly, as Yurass lead them out of the building's lobby and onto a bustling city street. It was not snowing, but the sub-zero temperature was still an unwelcome change from the constant warmth of the Valkyrie. At the drop in temperature, S'rR's could feel h'vae begin to secrete across her face and body, immediately taking the edge off the biting cold and retaining her body's own warmth. I'sH'd was similarly unphased by the cold, but Chanos began to shiver and thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his insulated jacket, while the party made their way to a parked ground-car.

The ride through the city and into the suburbs was not entirely unpleasant, but it was immediately obvious to Chanos that there was a great divide between those who lived comfortably, and those who lived in near-poverty. From the look of distaste on I'sH'd's face, he could tell that the Pentaxian officer was similarly disgusted by the conditions in which people were clearly forced to live by the elite class.

"What are those people doing?" he enquired, nodding towards a long queue of people outside a building. Unlike the visitors, they wore lightweight garments, many in short pants and with sleeveless vests, and Chanos had to remind himself that they had arrived at the height of Mu'Na's summer.

"That is the labor exchange," Yurass replied. "Do you see the hats that they wear? That shows that they are benefit claimants, and allows prospective employers to identify them easily, or for ordinary citizens to offer words of advice. You are clearly different species than Captain Strannik and his landing party, do you not have similar processes on your own worlds?"

"Not for a long time on my homeworld," Chanos replied. "Ahd'r, Pentaxia maintains a caste system, does it not?"

I'sH'd took his gaze away from the disturbing scene and nodded, grateful that the Bolian had chosen to include him in the conversation, rather than merely treating him like some mindless bodyguard.

"Yes, but employment is assured by one's caste," he replied. "All castes provide a service which benefits the others, there is an equilibrium. None have to beg for work in such a manner... Even the caste which deals with filth and the dead, are allowed the solitude of their occupation, no one would presume to tell them how to conduct their affairs."

"You disapprove of our system?" Yurass enquired guardedly.

"The Ahd'r was simply explaining that that is not how things are done on our world," S'rR's interjected quietly. "If your system works for you, it is not Starfleet policy to interfere in the culture of other worlds."

The fact that Chanos was the only Starfleet officer present seemed to go entirely over Yurass' head, and he smiled broadly.

The ground-car passed out of the suburbs and into open fields, the horizon dotted with vast wind turbines, and before long, approached a large building, where it passed through a guarded barrier before driving inside the building.

Getting out of the ground-car, Yurass lead the way through a hallway, until they came to a large storage area. In the center of the room, the wreckage of a Manta-class starfighter.

"Your property," he declared. "As you can see, its impact caused significant damage, I'm sure you can imagine the damage it caused to the farmland."

Crossing to the fighter, S'rR's pulled the exterior release for the canopy, and glanced over the interior and the ruined console. Although nothing was beyond repair, there was not a functional system or piece of apparatus.

Climbing down off the fighter, S'rR's briefly consulted her tricorder, saw that the emergency beacon was still active, and faced Yurass.

"We'll have this beamed aboard the Valkyrie immediately, Premier, as well as providing you with food rations and medical supplies as compensation for any inconvenience and impact to your agricultural economy," she said. "We will also take the pilot. Take us to them now."

Chanos looked through the cell door, and barely recognized the face which stared back at him with grateful recognition. Barely three months ago, he had stood beside Ensign Todd Mitchell in Captain Palmer's quarters, and he had been the very image of a properly presented Starfleet officer. Now, his formerly regulation-cut hair hung over the tops of his ears, and his cheeks were covered by an unkempt beard. His uniform had numerous snags and rips in it, and the once-deep cinnamon undershirt which identified him as a flight officer, was now a filthy mud brown.

"Apologies for the condition of my uniform, Commander," Mitchell said, standing at parade rest. "The local laundry doesn't give the best service, and facilities here are -- somewhat limited..." He turned, indicating the metal sanitation unit in the corner of the cell, combining a small drinking fountain and latrine.

"Have you been mistreated during your incarceration, Ensign?" S'rR's asked, breathing through her mouth to try and reduce the stench of the place.

"I nearly made some new friends in the shower," Mitchell replied. "But Stabby always had my back."

"'Stabby'?" S'rR's repeated, an eyebrow raised.

Mitchell flicked his right wrist, and from within his sleeve, a crudely made shank dropped into his palm, which he held up.

"No ma'am, I haven't been mistreated in any way. More frequent meals would have been welcome, but as they say, 'When in Rome'..."

"How did you wind up here?" Chanos asked. "I understood that Captain Palmer arranged for you to transfer to outpost Hope One."

"That's right, Commander," Mitchell replied. "Things didn't work out for me there -- clashes of personality -- and I was re-assigned back to Federation space.

"My fighter was caught in an ion storm, and I was swept into the planet's gravity field. I managed to keep the fighter from coming down in the city, and used the emergency transport to bail out before it impacted in the fields. Next thing I knew, I was being placed under arrest and brought here."

"Very well," S'rR's acknowledged, before turning to Yurass. "Premier, if you would be so good as to open the cell, we will take Ensign Mitchell, return to the Valkyrie, and leave Mu'Na in peace."

"What will you give us in exchange?" Yurass demanded. "He is responsible for considerable damage to our agriculture, and is serving a sentence for that."

"You've already been given food and medical supplies to compensate for that loss," Chanos pointed out. "Any further compensation will have to be discussed with the Federation Council to be determined and evaluated."

"Commander, you can't leave me here!" Mitchell insisted, a note of panic creeping into his voice.

"Might I make a suggestion?" S'rR's interjected.

Chanos turned, his brows drawing together, and he was about to open his mouth to speak, when he saw I'sH'd, standing by S'rR's, subtly shake his head: a gesture for him to remain silent.

"If the Premier were to see fit to release this prisoner to the custody of his senior officer as a favor to me, I would be glad to arrange a diplomatic audience with the Empress of the Pentaxian Dynasty," she proposed.

It took all Chanos' discipline not to laugh out loud. He was well aware of the reputation of the Empress, and he had no doubt that the attitudes of Yurass and the Mu'Naii would not fare well with her notoriously mercurial temper.

"You would do that for us?" Yurass gasped in awe.

"After everything I have seen here, it would be my pleasure," S'rR's replied sincerely.

"In that case, I shall indeed remand the ensign into your custody," Yurass replied, swiping a plastic card over a reader by the cell door. The locks retracted, and the door slid open. "Ensign Mitchell, you are hereby on probation and forbidden from returning to the surface of Mu'Na. If you ever return, you shall be arrested and returned to custody to serve the remainder of your sentence."

"I understand, Premier, and accept your terms," Mitchell replied, leaving the cell and moving to join the group.

Reaching beneath his cold weather jacket, Chanos tapped his comm badge.

"Valkyrie, four to beam aboard."

As they solidified aboard the Valkyrie, Chanos turned to Mitchell.

"Report to the conference lounge, Ensign," he said. "I shall inform the Captain of your arrival on board."

"Aye, Sir," Mitchell replied, stepping off the transporter platform and heading for the door, before I'sH'd spoke.

"Wait," he said, turning to face Chanos. "My quarters are just across the corridor. Let the boy get cleaned up first, so he can face the Captain with pride. I need to return my blaster to the ship's armory, so he will have a few minutes privacy."

Chanos considered the proposal, then nodded.

"Very well. Report to the conference lounge in ten minutes, Ensign."

"Aye, Commander," replied Mitchell, as the group left the transporter room. Reaching out, I'sH'd tapped an override code into the door's control console, then turned to head down the corridor towards the turbolift. Inside, Mitchell yanked off his boots, hastily pulling off his uniform jacket, shirt and pants, and stuffing them into the replicator slot.

"Computer, repair and refresh," he said, tabbing the recycle control and watching as his uniform de-materialized, reappearing seconds later, neatly folded, and completely repaired and cleaned.

"Computer, replicate one Philips-Gillette sonic razor," he said, shaking out his uniform. "Activate sonic shower, maximum intensity," he shouted, snatching the razor as it materialized, then running toward the bathroom in his socks and underwear. Standing in the shower stall and gritting his teeth as he was bombarded with high-frequency soundwaves, Mitchell activated the razor, and deftly drew it across his face, shearing through the months of beard growth and achieving a parade-perfect shave within seconds. Jumping out of the shower stall, he pulled on his uniform pants and undershirt. "Computer, replicate three CCs of hair-fixative, and a hand towel" he said, jamming his feet into his boots, and pulling on his uniform jacket. A small dish of clear gel and a folded grey towel appeared in the replicator slot, and Mitchell quickly spread it across his palms, before running his hands through his hair. It was still longer than he preferred, but he at least looked presentable. Putting the shaver in the replicator slot with the empty dish, and wiping his hands on the towel, he thumbed the recycle control and exited I'sH'd's quarters, briskly making his way down the corridor to the turbolift.

"Deck one, main corridor," he said as the doors slid closed.

As the doors opened, Mitchell sprinted for the conference lounge, barely entering the room and taking a seat at the table, when the doors opened again, and Captain Palmer walked in. Immediately, Mitchell jumped up, standing to attention.

"Ensign Mitchell, reporting as ordered," he snapped formally.

"At ease, Ensign," Palmer replied with a dismissive gesture. "Welcome aboard, take a seat."

"Aye, Captain. Thank you," he said, sitting down as Palmer took a seat at the head of the table.

"Well, Ensign, fate seems determined to keep bringing you to my attention," Palmer said, quickly scanning through her PADD. "Commander Chanos has brought me up to speed with the circumstances of your presence on Mu'Na, and Commander Bowen and Lieutenant Fisher are replicating the supplies as we speak."

"I'm sorry to have caused any trouble, Captain," Mitchell said, but Palmer shook her head.

"It's no trouble, Ensign," she assured him. "We're not stranded in the Delta quadrant with replicator use under rationing. From what the Commander tells me, there are people on the surface who will appreciate a solid meal and medical assistance. No, the question remains, what to do with you...

"Three months ago, you were assigned to the Valkyrie as the new helmsman, although I arranged a transfer for you to remain an active fighter pilot."

"Aye, Captain, I was very grateful for your intervention," Mitchell said. "Things -- just didn't quite work out..."

Palmer chuckled briefly.

"The first time I met Admiral Kane, I propositioned him," she said. "First impressions are not always everything. Following your transfer, Ensign T'Natra has been promoted to senior navigator, and I am not one to give with one hand while taking away with the other."

"As I said during my first interview, I am a Starfleet officer, and will do any duty I am assigned to the best of my ability," Mitchell assured the Captain. " I am a pilot, but I've had a lot of time to think, and realize now that performing another role would not make me any less a pilot, and as you said, this is a Nova-class vessel, without any fighters on board."

Palmer smiled.

"I'm pleased to see the change in your attitude, Ensign," she said. "But, it so happens that we do now have a Manta-class fighter on board, and I'm told it is fully repairable. I've also been going over your Academy record again, and I'm sure you will be capable of getting it working again.

"We were recently in a situation where a fighter would have come in handy, and I would like you to remain on board in that capacity. Outside of combat situations, I'm sure you could be helpful in main engineering and you would only be a turbolift away from the shuttlebay, should the circumstances arise."

Mitchell smiled.

"It would be my pleasure, Captain."