Family Matters
[USS Charon, Transporter Room]
It was hard not to be noticed. Shiarrael had garnered quite a reputation on the Charon, however as with most things her reputation was a double edged sword. On one side she was known and cursed at the ‘Tyrant’ a name in which she reveled, but there was another side of her. The crew whispered of it- it was almost a legend. The first time most saw the other edge was on Lyrilla- her elegant wardrobe less used but worn well. This time she wore a brilliant sapphire gown, the soft Tholian silk glimmered in the ship’s light. Officers stopped- often for second glances. The expressions on their faces hinted at the question on their mind “is that the Captain?” It was hard for them to realize that this vicious woman was also a woman. An aristocrat, born and bred, such things were hard to leave behind. Even for an exiled Romulan who now bears the title of ‘Starfleet Captain’
When she stepped into the transporter room the technician looked startled at first but quickly smiled and looked down at his console sheepishly. She waited quietly for Sakarra’s arrival.
Quite uncharacteristically, it had taken the young Vulcan a full 12.7 minutes to decide on her attire. And she certainly wished she had more of an affinity for diplomacy. She did not know anything but the most common courtesies where the Sundered were concerned, and it would not do to offend, considering the Charon relied on repairs here.
At last, Sakarra had opted for the most subdued of her formal robes, a dress of such deep red it seemed nearly black, with the red-golden house sigil as its only adornment. Rather aesthetically pleasing, the heavy fabric was outlining the young woman’s form from the high collar to the hips, from where it fell smoothly to nearly touch the floor. The heavy overcoat of the same color added a measure of dignity that grandfather would certainly have approved of, although the young woman mostly relied on it for an added measure of warmth.
She had given the image in the mirror a brief Vulcan frown when the next issue had presented itself - her usual on duty style of coiled braids was inappropriate, and she had never developed a taste for the elaborate hairstyles the more traditional matriarchs and their daughters still favored.
At long last, two black combs of fragrant gespar wood were pushed into soft black curls, making for a simple, practical solution. While her face and ears remained free, the rest of her long tresses fell freely to her waist, declaring peaceful intentions to anyone who had knowledge of such things. To anyone else, it would hopefully at least have an instinctual non-threatening effect.
Wrapping the heavy overcoat around her slender frame, Sakkara set out to the transporter room and was mildly surprised to find the most elegantly dressed CO already waiting.
“Good evening, Captain.” the young woman gave a courteous nod and then quirked an eloquent brow, although she refrained from commenting. It was gratifying people would hardly expect a Vulcan to wear something like this. While Shiarrael t`Rehu’s dress was certainly aesthetically pleasing - very much so, in fact -, Sakarra thought she would have been freezing throughout the entire meal.
Shiarrael nodded at Sakarra and then wasted no time stepping onto the pad. When the Vulcan joined her she nodded to the transporter technician. When the tingling brightness wore she found herself back aboard the Endless Sky, but this time the transporter room was empty save for Itsak and a lowly Romulan transporter operator. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as he stepped onto the pad with them and then grunted at the Romulan transporter operator. The trio dematerialized and when they rematerialized they were in the middle of a garden. Itsak looked at her and Sakarra “my estate on I’Rak Prime. Did you think I would serve you aboard the Endless Sky?” About half a dozen servants ran out to greet them.
Shiarrael smiled, it was thin and wary of his smirk. “I don’t know what to think. It has been long since we last spoke.” She glanced at Sakarra to gauge her reaction.
The young woman took in the scent and sight of the garden, her eyes almost automatically seeking the horizon, but it was obstructed from view by towering trees and dense foliage. Still, one could see the sky overhead turning from a shade of dark, rich blue to a pale silvery amethyst, and an unfelt breeze was rustling the uppermost leaves. That and the lengthening shadows told Sakarra they had arrived on the evening side of the planet, and she spared the people bustling to greet them a brief glance before she felt the Captain’s gaze resting on her.
Turning her serene features towards the other woman, Sakarra tilted her head to the side, mildly inquisitive about both the look and the uneasy smile on her Captain’s face.
Clearly, this development had come as much of a surprise to her as it had to the Vulcan.
Somewhere in the distance an alien bird called, rough and challenging, and the scent of sweet flowers hung in the air, mingled with nearby fresh water and the Vulcanoids standing close. It might have been pleasant, if not for the underlying tension that even a non-empath could detect without great difficulty.
“Be gone.” Itsak dismissed the hoard of servants with a simple hand gesture. He gazed into the silver sky for a moment before turning to his guests “it has been too long Shiarrael. I am glad to see you are doing so well.” He smiled, his white teeth sparkling like the razors of a thrai. It was unsettling but Shiarrael returned it equally. He abruptly reached out and slid his hand through Sakarra’s hair “the texture, how odd.” Before he could examine it further however a hand quickly wrapped its way around his wrist.
“It may have been a long time since we last met Itsak but I had assumed that all this time you have been on the frontier your manners would have remained intact. However, they seem to have evaporated.” Shiarrael released his hand, looked at Sakarra apologetically, and then proceeded to walk through a set of beautiful turquoise flowers “what a ridiculous jungle you have grown here- what is this?” she crushed a small thorny bush under her shoe.
Odd?
The young Vulcan’s head turned slowly, her dark eyes displaying nothing but the mild reproach a mother sehlat may give an overly enthusiastic cub. But inwardly she alternated between wanting to make her displeasure over this uninvited and rude gesture known in no uncertain terms, and a quite uncalled for surge of humor. The Captain’s protective gesture had added a good amount of gratitude and puzzlement, yet for the moment Sakarra decided to leave the matter be.
“Rare among the majority of Vulcans, yes. However, it occurs occasionally in the women of my immediate family, Vaek’Riov.” she stated levelly, and there was barely the hint of a sharp blade hidden in the soft velvet of her melodious voice. Her CO’s body language was that of a woman traversing a le-matya’s territory and Sakarra found her own curiosity clamoring for attention - it was becoming obvious they knew each other well, and there was the air of two predators testing one another.
Silently as a shavokh over the hills, the young Vulcan walked through the garden, barely disturbing a blade of the thick, blue-tinted grass, always just a short distance behind her Captain’s shoulder. And just a silently, she observed.
“You have changed little Shiarrael.” Itsak studied Sakarra for a moment with an unreadable expression, but then nodded his head and led them through the gardens. Torches lined a small pavilion where a table was neatly set up and furbished with an assortment of delicate china. He beckoned the two Starfleet officers to sit before taking his place across from them.
Servants rushed in with several dishes. All of them exotic and fancy. As the table of set he looked at the pair “it must be difficult to serve the Federation.”
“As easy as it is to serve the Empire.” Shiarrael answered.
“And what of serving under her? Surely that cannot be easy.” Itsak’s gaze was now on Sakarra “she had quite the reputation in the Galae, Riov Yhisu- are you familiar with the terminology lady Vulcan?”
“No more difficult than most other ship’s Commanders I should think.” the young Vulcan gave a brief, appreciative nod towards the servant bustling about behind her, hoping it would make him either leave or at least settle down somewhat. She was accustomed to being attended to, however having a complete stranger do so, and a mildly hyperactive one at that, was enough to make the most stoic Vulcan blink.
“In fact, it is rather refreshing if one’s commander is clear about her wishes.” Not to mention that she was quite used to demanding superiors.
Sakarra let her level gaze linger on the assorted dishes for a few moments and found them interesting, if somewhat excessive for three people.
“And yes, I am familiar with it.” her eyes returned to the man across the table, a trace of mild humor shining in the dark pools. “Although her new crew has taken the liberty of selecting their own name for their Captain.”
“What is that name?” Itsak asked, his violet eyes were sparkling in the torch light. Amusement? Curiosity?
With the evening breeze having gained some momentum, Sakarra was quite grateful for the heavy fabric of her overcoat, although in the unexpected torchlight the red hues became rather pronounced, reminding the young woman of T’Khut’s fires reflecting off a dark surface.
“I am certain you are familiar with the terran concept of a tyrant, yes?”
Goodness, one could only hope these people had heard of another concept as well, notably a simple glass of water.
“You are quite curious about me Itsak.” Shiarrael’s eyes seemed to glow with each flicker of the torches. Her hands rested in her lap as she poured her gaze over the assortment of dishes “roasted hlai meat, grilled tolekrya, boiled lyhori, this is quite a feast you have assembled for only two people.” She gazed at him curiously “not that I do not appreciate such things- but this will be a waste.” One of the servants’ brought a large bottle to the table and set it down in front of the Shiarrael, she glanced at the label and then looked at Sakarra “rylhrhr- sweet like nectar and much less intoxicating then ale” she glanced at Itsak “you always had a weak tolerance.”
“And you’ve always had too strong of one. Whether it is your Komerek matches or the bottles of rhennish you indulged yourself in. It is very surprising that you haven’t burned a hole through your gut sipping that acid.” He stood up, reached across the table, and grabbed the bottle. Popping off the lid he filled his glass and then the others. “So you have children now, with a hevam no less. Not that it surprises me. You have been rebelling against your parents ever since you slipped out your mother’s womb. Never any concern about your house or clan- always about Shiarrael” he looked at Sakarra again “she is indeed a tyrant- especially towards her own kin.”
This was quite obviously an old argument, picked up where it had been left off. Still, Sakarra could not help but raise an ever so lightly amused brow at the Vaek’Riov’s last statement “While I cannot comment on my Captain’s past, I believe I should point out that the bestowing of a ’nickname’ as it were indicates a certain amount of affection, at least where Starfleet crews are concerned. If the nature of the name also implies a certain … dread … one may safely assume it was chosen to emphasize that the Captain in question prefers an efficient crew.”
The young Vulcan gave the beverage a critical look and decided that no matter how high or low the tolerance of the two Rihannsu, hers was certainly going to be put to the test. And she was not merely thinking of alcohol at the moment, although that particular issue was at the forefront of her mind. As the sweetness of the rylhrhr reached her nostrils, Sakarra had to suppress a small sigh. It was vaguely reminiscent of pla-savas, although without the tart note, and she would have to be most careful not to … overindulge.
“Always concerned about me” Shiarrael mocked. She resisted the urge to sigh remembering vividly the testy argument they had when she was still in the war college. “Though, I am glad to see you are doing so well” she looked at the selection of courses and sliced herself a small piece of the roasted hlai and took a forkful of the boiled lyhori.
Itsak’s hard expression softened. He sliced a piece of the hlai meat but instead of placing it on his plate her pushed it onto Sakarra’s “try, it is a specialty and one of my favorite dishes.” He sliced himself a piece and gingerly bit into it as his eyes lingered on the Vulcan.
He had to know. It was one of the few things most people actually did know about Vulcans. So either he was deliberately trying to offend, or it was a playful way of gauging her reaction. The latter, Sakarra had an abundance of experience with, although mostly with humans.
For just an instant, the shadow of a smile played across her serene features and then she inclined her head as gracefully as a matriarch who has been offered a new house by her devoted family but declines in favor of the one she is accustomed to. “It is most gracious of you that you would wish to share your favorite, Vaek’Riov. However, there is a high probability it will not agree with me, even if my personal preference were not a vegetarian diet.”
“Humor me.” His eyes narrowed at her plate “Vulcans- creatures with no sense of flavor. The lack of taste as true as it is to their lack of emotion. They pretend to be without- such a perverse custom. Dare you reject my hospitality?” Itsak’s expression was now as dark as his tone.
Shiarrael dropped her utensil onto her plate and glared at Itsak but even she had some curiosity. ‘How will Sakarra react?’ She wondered. Though her eyes focused on her cousin, her periphery keenly watched the Vulcan helmsman.
“Humor you.” Sakarra’s voice was still as calm and cool as the breeze, and her deep, dark eyes rested on the Vaek’Riov’s expression with the emptiness of a desert night before sunrise. One accustomed to desert nights might have known that at this hour, the merciless sun was not far.
Slowly, the young Vulcan stood up, causing the little servant to back up rather hastily, and let her fingertips rest against the expensive tablecloth as lightly as a fallen leaf. “I had assumed it was not your intention to offend one you had invited to your home. If that assumption was incorrect, I should appreciate you clarifying the matter.”
She did not bother to point out the absurdity of his other statements, they were clearly designed as further insults and therefore not worthy of comment.
Itsak stood up and looked down the bridge of his nose at the Vulcan. He was angry and did little to hide it. He focused a hot glare at Sakarra, a sharp look that outlined the dramatic upsweep of his inky black brows “sit down and eat Vulcan.” His hands twitched as he tugged on his belt. The servants were frightened, terribly so, they stood back anticipating something awful. He waited silently, his eyes watching Sakarra like a predator would its prey.
Not exactly a clear answer, but an answer all the same.
“An order, Vaek’Riov?”
Sakarra was aware of her Captain tensing beside her and it was the only reason that she had not already made her own position clear beyond any chance of misunderstanding. The glare resting on her tugged at something, something vaguely familiar, and she kept her eyes fixed on it, even as the heavy mantle slowly slid off her shoulders and rustled onto the chair behind.
And then she nearly laughed. She hid it behind a stare that would have done her mentor proud, the level air of one resting within herself. But for the fraction of a second, it had been there, flickering across her features like a trick of light.
Slender hands reached into the long tresses that had drawn such curiosity earlier, and twisted them into a braid.
“By your leave, s’thora.”
She did not look at her Captain, but courtesy required she ask permission before responding to this offense.
“Klee-fah, Itsak tr`Sahen. I must decline.”
With casual grace Shiarrael lifted her utensil and stabbed the oily slab of meat on Sakarra’s plate. Pulling it to her lips she took the morsel whole- she chewed slowly, methodically.
Itsak’s gaze was now on her. When she finally finished chewing the slice of roast she swallowed and smiled “delicious, truly, my compliments to your chef.” She looked at Sakarra “forgive her; she is not familiar with our customs- however.” Her expression darkened and became rigid like a storm cloud “there is no excuse for your behavior. Your father is thaessu and I know you are familiar with their customs.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, just enough to add an edge to her comment “I know you do not care, but if you continue on I will soon become offended.”
To say that Sakarra was astonished by her Captain’s… creative intervention would have been a mild understatement. The statement that she was dealing with another Vulcan hybrid however came hardly as a surprise.
Slowly, the young woman returned to the posture of comparable ease, head inclined ever so lightly in her CO’s direction, hands clasped loosely behind her back. Her half closed eyes however remained on the man across the table.
Itsak was infuriated at the mention of his father. His hands tensed but instead of reaching for his honor blade he turned around “I have matters to attend to. Enjoy your meal.” He walked away, a pair of servants rushing after him as he went.
Once he was out of sight Shiarrael looked at Sakarra “forgive me, I did not expect him to be so hostile. He is not fond of his Vulcan ancestry.”
Her eyes were sympathetic “his father abandoned him to return to Vulcan and our grandfather sent him to live with us. I am glad you have self restraint- Quentin needs time to repair the ship.” She grinned, it was a playful expression. “Sit down and try some of the tolekrya- my own grandfather, tr’Rehu, not the other fool, loved this vegetable- it is especially good when roasted carefully with salt and little else. However it should not be eaten raw- very uncomfortable night for those who do.”
Sakarra gave a courteous nod and gracefully slid back into her seat, pulling the coat back over her shoulders.
“He may not be fond of it, however he cannot hide it” she murmured quietly before selecting some of the vegetables her Captain had pointed out. The scent was certainly agreeable.
“Abandoned?” the young woman could not hide the timbre of surprise in her voice as she pondered this revelation “Quite unusual, unless it was by wish of the lady in question. And I must commend you on your unorthodox, if effective approach on diplomacy, Captain. Please accept my apologies if my ignorance of your customs has created this… situation. ”
“It was not your fault, it was mine. I never expected him to be so…” she paused for a moment, sliced a piece of meat, slipped the juicy morsel into her mouth as she thought on her words. When she swallowed she continued her thought “angry. Why his father returned to Vulcan I do not know, it was not something I was privy to. Though I do not believe it was at his mother’s request. She was quite distraught and later died.” She sighed and slid her plate away full. One of the servants rushed forward and lifted the plate out of Shiarrael’s way “he was always restrained when we were children- always responsible. His behavior tonight is different.”
This at last caused two elegantly arched eyebrows to climb considerably.
“I see.” Sakarra had tried the tolekrya and found it even more agreeable than expected, but after savoring the flavor and texture as was due to something so carefully prepared, she replaced the fork as well and steepled her fingers under her chin.
“The anger is not surprising, then, Captain. Such behavior is most unbecoming a Vulcan and in ages past would have been considered sufficient reason for the offended house to declare feud, if the matriarch decided so. However, without any further knowledge it would be pointless to speculate. Perhaps this is merely proof that Vulcans are as prone to become victim of our passions as our distant cousins.”
The wind had picked up considerably by now and sent the torch flames flickering, throwing patterns of light and shadow over the two women sitting at the table laden with opulent food.
“And perhaps this anger that surprised you so will give you an understanding of why we chose to live the way we do. Because if what I’ve seen is indeed the heritage left to your cousin by a Vulcan, this was little more than a harmless flare of annoyance.”
Shiarrael stood up. She could smell the sweet perfume of flowers as a heavy gust carried several petals across the table “let us return to the ship” her eyes studied the surroundings, the flickering torches creating a tapestry of shadows on her face “I do not feel comfortable here. It is too much like home.” She looked down at her helmsman “and there is an old saying among my people Sakarra. Perhaps we are not tepid and cautious as our cousins but ‘certain it is and sure: love burns, ale burns, fire burns, and politics burns. But cold were life without them.’”
“With the possible exception of politics, I would have to agree, s'thora.” the young Vulcan stated levelly as she moved out of the chair in one fluid movement and gave a courteous nod of thanks to the attending staff.
“Yet as you yourself observed once, the Vulcan sun burns hot and bright, and it knows no mercy.”
Almost languidly, Sakarra picked one of the petals out of the air and looked at it for some long moments. “What is it like, to have a place like this and know it to be home? To never be cold under a gentler star?”
She became aware the poor servants were watching her with strange looks on their faces and set her features from the deeply thoughtful expression to the appropriate calm.
“You are quite correct, Captain. It would seem it is time to return.”
She released the petal and it tumbled away into the darkness, carried by another gust of cool and fragrant air.
A smile was Shiarrael’s only response to Sakarra. She held some affection towards the young woman. Not so much for similarities- the two were quite different, but perhaps an old question, one as old as the ancient halls of her home world. If S’Task had not led the sundered from Vulcan- is this how my people would be? A whimsical rhetorical bit it was but nonetheless fascinating. As she pressed her commbadge she grinned, ‘how much I have learned this year.’
Mishpacha Part I
"The hatred of relatives is the most violent." - Publius Cornelius Tacitus
[I'Rak Prime, Vaek'Riov Itsak tr`Sahen's estate]
"You don't look pleased, Itsak." Hanaj smiled, the bright orange glow of the fire reflected off his soft features tinting his olive skin a slight shade of amber. As the dancing flames flickered in his eyes Hanaj watched his commander. It was hard not to wonder what thoughts were flowing through Itsak's mind- the man was a closed book. His emotions and reactions varied as much as the winds of I'Rak Prime shifted directions, but Hanaj found the mystery refreshing. He enjoyed surprises and he enjoyed challenge. Working for Itsak all these years had given him both. "I assume the meeting with your cousin went foul?"
Blue- a vibrant blue liquid shifted casually in the crystal glass as the Vaek'Riov twisted the shimmering thing in his hand. He watched it absently- his mind focusing on Hanaj's question. He had broken his facade, allowed the Vulcan to rile him- he had gone too far. Finally he stopped toying with his drink and sipped the luscious poison "have I spoken of her much?" Itsak wondered aloud. He shifted his violet gaze and looked at Hanaj, one of the few officers in the Galae he trusted with his life.
"Shiarrael?" Hanaj smiled, his teeth were white as ivory and sharper than any Kaleh Itsak had ever seen. He stepped forward and rested a hand on the back of Itsak's chair "twice that I can recall. Once when we were on our first assignment and you had been sent to find her when she abandoned her home and once again, recently, when she had been exiled."
"Yes," Itsak whispered, he remembered now- that night.
Water beat on the windows. The estate was dark save for the random flashes of lightning that illuminated the interior. Thunder rumbled often shaking the stone walls. He waited, and waited. Finally another rumble shook the walls but it was not thunder. The main doors burst open and a cloaked figure slowly crept in. It was then when the room illuminated. Standing next to Itsak was a tall proud Rihannsu woman. She would have been beautiful had her face not been decorated by a scowl. Servants rushed in but instantly seeing their mistress in a foul temper they bowed and scurried away to the safety of other places. "Shiarrael" the woman's voice echoed deeply through the ancient and cavernous halls "what have you been doing?"
Two hands reached up grabbing the edges of the cloak's hood and pulled them tighter "I have been out studying with my friends." A voice replied, the tone defiant as her face was hidden beneath the grey shroud of the cloak's hood.
"Do you think I believe that Shiarrael?" Lady Nhasaen t`Rehu was a fearsome woman. She had served in the Rei'Krannsu for five decades before retiring to her estate. Itsak watched her in wonder at her grace and sheer tenacity. Nhasaen's right hand reached over and grasped the wooden railing. Slowly she walked down the steps "you have been fighting again, haven't you? That thuggish Komerek!" She was seething "how dare you defy me when I told you to stop? Do you want house Rehu to be known for such things? What would your father think? Or your grandfather- Elements bless him!" She stopped on the last step and turned to look at Itsak with a terrifying expression "go remove her cloak; I want to see her face."
Itsak nodded hesitantly and walked down the steps past Lady Rehu. When he reached Shiarrael he grabbed her cloak. She fought him as he tried to pull the hood off; finally, she shoved him back and slammed her palm into his face. Itsak recoiled and fell backwards against the first railing. He covered his nose as a river of blood began to stream forward.
"Shiarrael!" Nhasaen shouted loudly but the retort from Shiarrael was louder.
"No! Everything has always been about following in father's footsteps. I don't want that, I never have! You're right, I've been in another Komereck match- and I won!" She pulled the draw string out of her cloak and let the soaked thing fall to the floor. Her face was bruised and bloodied "I enjoy it and I don't need your permission!" She spun and darted into the driving rain.
Nhasaen shivered in rage "how dare you be so insolent!" She looked at Itsak "go after her and bring her back!"
Itsak stood up, wiped the blood onto his uniform, and ran into the rain after his mad cousin. Thunder and lightning rippled through black clouds obscured by the darkness of light. He ran towards the large gardens shouting her name. It seemed almost futile- where could she be? Tendrils of lightning spread through the clouds feverishly as the rain and wind picked up. Suddenly he recalled one spot that Shiarrael enjoyed as a child- her grandfather's garden. Running up the hill he made his way towards the bench that now stood in its place. Sitting there in the driving rain was Shiarrael. She looked up at him with her mother's feral expression. He frowned "what are you doing? Are you insane? Your mother will be furious."
She scoffed and turned away. The lightning illuminated her features- she was no longer that little girl but she still acted like a child "I don't care- let her fume. It's all she ever does when she's not terrorizing the help."
"Why are you so rebellious? You have everything!" Itsak gritted his teeth, blood still dripped from his crusted and soaked nostril.
"I have everything?" Shiarrael echoed mockingly "what do I have? I have a legacy I am expected to follow- I have no life! I have no freedom! At least you can choose your path in life!"
"How can you be so selfish?! Freedom! Who has freedom in this universe?" He reached out and grabbed her arm "now go home!"
She pulled away "no! I want my OWN life. You don't understand!"
"Because I am half Vulcan?"
"No- not because of that- it's because you've never been imprisoned by expectation!" She pulled free of his grasp "screw my father and screw you Itsak!" She turned and sprinted towards the forest.
Itsak started to chase but he simply stood there watching her silhouette move closer to the forest with each flash of thunder. "Expectation?" He stared ahead, silent; no one ever expected anything of him. No one cared enough. "I envy that Shiarrael" he whispered into the stormy night.
The sound of shattering crystal shook him from the memory and he realized he had dropped the glass of ale. He started to push out of his chair to gather the shards but Hanaj's hand grabbed his shoulder "let the servants deal with it Itsak." Hanaj grinned "you seemed to have been lost in thought?"
"I was simply recalling the first instance you mentioned, nothing more." Itsak leaned back in his seat and pushed Hanaj's hand away "the meeting was sour. I must find way to patch this matter. It will be inconvenient if she suspects something amiss."
"So it would." Hanaj agreed slowly returning his hand to his side "she has children- those half-breeds. Why not give her a gift for them? There are plenty of fvai running loose on this estate. Surely they will enjoy such a gift?"
"Yes, I suppose they would." Itsak had forgotten about her children- half-breeds. Like him. "Have the servants find the tamest and I will personally deliver it to the Charon via shuttle." He smiled at his friend "you are more thoughtful than I expected."
"I am clever. Thoughtful? Likely not." Hanaj smirked "which ships do you want me to have follow the Charon? I hear the Vulcans already arrived."
"Any four will do- we will also pursue them aboard the Endless Sky." Itsak said, his voice growing an edge "and that Vulcan rabble is no concern to me."
"And what is it the agency thinks they will lead us to?"
"A prize." Itsak replied coldly "tend to these matters Hanaj. I will remain here until the shuttle is ready."
"Ie, Rekkhai." Hanaj bowed and left.
Alone in his room Itsak's mind focused on another matter; it was neither Shiarrael nor the agency that now dominated his thoughts. He could smell her scent, taste her almost, and fell the softness of her hair. That Vulcan woman- he wanted her- she aroused him like no other. It drove him mad that he couldn't simply take her- not yet at least.