Observation Area, Very Late at Night

"Yes, but I can't be held responsible for your court martial after," he teased.

"Warning noted," T'Pren replied with a small smile, which turned quickly to something much less amusing. And even though her Vulcan ears could pick up the sound of anyone coming, she took a look around just in case before asking, "What is Command thinking, promoting a former Tal Shiar operative who has absolutely no history of service of any kind with Starfleet, much less service with distinction? We don't know anything about her. They're practically handing her opportunities to betray us."

"They're treating this as an opportunity to build diplomatic bridges, with the sentiment that collaboration with our allies will bring about new opportunities throughout the quadrant," he said in a tone of mock decorum.
"I believe the real reason is that the Federation wants the remains of Cardassia after Bajor grinds them into dust, building up enough trust with the Romulans with long term hopes of using them as a shield against the Klingons. That's just my intuition, however. It might not mean anything."

With her guitar balanced on her lap, T'Pren shoved both palms over her face wearily. "Hasn't everyone had enough war for one lifetime? Just about every power in the galaxy is still in critical condition and we're all fighting over a bunch of fancy rocks in empty space."

She stared out miserably at the void, studying it like maybe it would tell her what made it so worth killing and dying for. "If we're trying to get in good with the Romulans, does that mean we've completely given up on good relations with the Klingons?" Her heartrate picked up against her lower ribs. "Poor Akhil."

"I hope not. Between you and me, I like the Klingons better," he said, chewing on his lips. "At least a Klingon will stab me in the front. I have no idea what to expect here. Well, some idea. She's definitely going to sabotage us, and try to kill me. I've been sold out by Starfleet, and I know it, and I'm not sure what I can do about it. I've put in protests, alternate recommendations, and they've been ignored. It's not like I took this laying down," he said distantly, gazing out the observation windows.

The young half-Vulcan studied the Betazoid worriedly before turning her own attention out into the black with a deeply lined brow. When she spoke again, it was with a considerably softer voice. "Was it the Federation that sold you out?" she wondered. "Or was it Section 31?"

His jaw set. "I don't know yet, Lieutenant. But I intend to find out."

T'Pren's own jaw muscles worked tightly as she stared out the window, guitar left mostly unattended now on the lap of her dress. "Even when we were avoiding Federation officials when I was growing up, I always was taught that the UFP was the moral center of the galaxy. That even when it strayed, its heart was still pure. And I still believe that." Her mind drifted of its own accord to what they'd just done to Mila Tahain and she closed her eyes.

"The Federation is afraid. Starfleet is vulnerable. And Section 31 is no better than the Tal Shiar or the Obsidian Order. We can't become those Empires. Someone has to do something."

When she opened her eyes again, it was to focus them intently on Rai. "Someone with a hell of a ship."

He sat up just straight, so abruptly it caused his back to pop.
"Just what are you suggesting, Lieutenant?"

The lieutenant practically jumped at Rai's sudden movement and she quickly backpedalled, or at least rushed to explain herself. Her whole upper body turned emerald. "Nothing so drastic, sir," she promised, meeting his eyes and opening her mind in case he wanted proof. "Just vigilance. I know what happens first hand when those kinds of organizations are allowed free rein." She tried to keep eye contact, but a heat of humiliation and ancient sorrow rose to her cheeks and she frowned decidedly down at her guitar. "I watched the Obsidian Order experiment on and execute children. The Federation is better than that. Or it should be."

"I'm going to do everything I can to stop us from going to war. I believe it's preventable, but we have to find a way to get Tal'Ara off the station. We need her off before the situation with Section 31 escalates-- before I end up dead."

"Sir," T'Pren breathed out painfully at the frankness of that last statement. Despite how carefully locked down most of the half-Vulcan's emotions had been all day, there was a palpable wound at the thought of Rai dying, a mix of guilt and hurt and fear and protectiveness and loss and determination. And loyalty. A lot of loyalty.

"Is there something about her you know that I don't?" she asked quietly. "Something that makes you so certain she'll betray us?" She paused and rolled her eyes a little: "Besides the obvious fact that she's a Romulan Tal Shiar operative."

"I know she's hiding something. I can't tell what, but when I touched her hand, there was deception. She's hiding something big, and she's been thrust into this position by Section 31. I don't know what they're planning. Not yet."

While Rai spoke, T'Pren went through possibilities. That Section 31 wanted to create total galactic chaos by pitting Cardassia and Bajor against each other with DS15 in the middle and then having a Starfleet captain assassinated by a Romulan Tal Shiar operative on a station where she would then be challenged by a half-Vulcan, a half-Klingon, and a Trill.

"Do you think she's aware of Section 31's hand in this?" the lieutenant mused grimly. "I've been here a week and already it seems so many strange coincidences are converging on this one station in a particularly personal way." She scrubbed at her face with both hands again and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Two Cardassians from the Obsidian Order who know who I am, at least one of which was sent to start a war by assassinating an ostracized Bajoran by Section 31. A former Tal Shiar operative suddenly part of an officer exchange program who arrives and is immediately promoted, which puts her in a position to either be in charge of a heavily armed warship or a deep space station in the center of Cardassian-Bajoran tensions at any given time. Potentially maneuvering the Romulans and the Klingons against each other with a microcosm playing out here on the station where one of the few Klingons in Starfleet is assigned."

She took a deep breath and shook her head. "A promotion for you and a new ship and a potential war almost as soon as you finally start receiving a senior staff. And such a massive ship requiring so many newly graduated cadets. And Section 31 had to know that if Mila Tahain was captured on your station that you'd manage to get their involvement out of her."

T'Pren went quiet for a moment and then added hopefully, "We can at least be fairly certain they didn't count on the Orb's disruption of their plans. The Prophets, at least, seem to be more or less on our side."

"No, but Starfleet is taking it in a week, since the Bajoran government doesn't wish to handle it at this time. But, that gives us a week," he said.
He stood, and brushed himself off. The tiny half Vulcan looked up at him through her sad, ancient eyes. Still in that rich shade of blue, like a small opal nestled in space. Her small, pale hands with their faint green fingertips rested limp on the guitar. He wished she would fill the air with sound instead of thought again.
"You and I, we have some things to think about, don't we?"

"You're not alone, sir," offered the little space-opal earnestly. "If the Federation sold you out, it sold us all out. You can trust me. And Regan. And if it's between Starfleet and a Tal Shiar agent, Akhil will choose Starfleet every time. You've made it very clear that you have my back." T'Pren gave a small, sad smile. "I have yours too."

"Then, I have all I need, don't I? Let's you and I, try to sleep for a few hours. Do you think you can manage, Lieutenant? I know the quarters are bleak."

"Actually," T'Pren admitted with a combination of amusement and sheepishness, "as soon as I went off duty this afternoon I had Regan knock me out for several hours. I may try for more later, but at the moment I'm rested."

The half-Vulcan glanced down at the guitar and let her fingers find the strings again. She favored the Commander with a shy smirk. "Would you like a lullaby?"

Tal'Ara had a long day and decided to take a little stroll around the observation area, when she spotted T'Pren and the Commander.

She was still wearing her Starfleet uniform, with the Tal Shiar shawl draped over her shoulders.

She had visible bags under her eyes, as she approached them.

"Good evening, Commander. Lieutenant," she said curtly.

He was jostled from the reverie of her voice by Tal'Ara's harsh tones. It was like a quick bath of ice water to his senses.
"Good morning, Lieutenant Commander Tal'Ara. I take it you're having difficulty acclimating to the new station?"

"I am. The difference in day lengths always takes a little getting used to," she paused. "What brings the two of you out here at such an ungodly hour?"

She noticed T'Pren's guitar.

"You're a musician?" she asked, genuinely interested.

That would be her new Romulan superior standing there while she was barefoot and cradling a beat up guitar with her hair tucked behind her ears. T'Pren blanched and then flushed and then cleared her throat. Luckily Rai was there to do most of the talking.

Good evening, good morning...neither particularly applied, so she gave another shy little smile. Right up until Tal'Ara mentioned music. She went particularly opalescent then with her auburn hair and her very green skin and her fluttery blue dress.

"I play a bit," she confessed. "But I wouldn't call myself a musician."

"Dont be self-deprecating. Anyone who is even slightly adept at music is a musician to me. My father used to play the Lyre and sing to me every night before I went ot bed. He tried to teach me, but I think the creative gene must have skipped a generation," she said with a laugh.

She was slightly buzzed from a pretty heavy amount of amazing Romulan Ale, but she hid it well.

"Tell me," she asked both of them, "Where would you recommended getting a decent bite to eat at this station? I have a dinner engagement tomorrow night, after the ceremony, and I would rather not impose Klingon cuisine on my... friend."

Tal'Ara smiled. She was talking about Falten, of course, but did not want to admit that they had a date.

"That's so sweet. There's a Cardassian fusion restaurant, run by Jila Sedal. It's a little bit more gentle on the faculties than Klingon cuisine. There's always the Breen Ices. It's a small station, the choices are limited. I'm glad to hear you're settling in so quickly. Who's the friend?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her inquisitively.

T'Pren wasn't particularly looking to exchange stories about musical fathers with Tal'Ara, so instead she plucked a few strings to keep from feeling too awkward and watched Rai thoughtfully as he talked.

"You could always rent a Holosuite and choose ambiance over appetizers," she offered helpfully.