Guess Who's Coming To Dinner - Part V

Posted on Sun Nov 30th, 2025 @ 9:16pm by Captain Robert Burke & Commander Vincent 'Vin' Salvatore & Lieutenant Marques Hunt & Lieutenant Juno Jones & Lieutenant Kyra sh'Herhrisst & Lieutenant Nelar & Lieutenant Ryssa Dari & Lieutenant JG Maël "Gideon" Beauregard & Lieutenant JG Gianna De Luca

2,420 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: EPISODE 1: SHAKEDOWN
Location: Great Hall
Timeline: MD036

::ON::

[And now the Continuation ...]

The Klingon women exchanged sidelong looks with each other as though Gideon himself were some invisible entity between them. Ursana took a long pull from her goblet of blood wine and tilted her head slightly, as if appraising him. "Gideon," she said, repeating his name half in curiosity, half in disgust. "Son of whom?"

Gideon's eyes widened. He hadn't expected to be asked that question, especially since he had never known his father. An inquiry from anyone else might've seemed normal and everyday to the man from Louisiana, but a species that prided itself in it's patrilineal heritage asking the question put him in a precarious position.

"Son of... Véronique," he said, mock-pride in his voice.

Ursana's brow lifted slightly, the scar across her collarbone tightening in the firelight. "Véronique," she repeated. "That is a human female name."

Kh'Vas, mouth full of food, turned to Gideon with a newfound expression of interest. "No male warrior claimed you, and yet you carry your place at this table."

Gideon shifted again, the chair whining underneath him. He gave a small shrug, attempting to summon some morsel of bravado, the kind his mother might've called 'fake it til they respect you'. "Ain't exactly my choice, ma'am. But I reckon I've learned to stand on my own two feet. Mostly."

Ursana nodded slowly. "You were correct: I am not a warrior. I am a historian, and have studied your people's history." She leaned forward until she could see Nelar beyond Gideon and Kh'Vas. "And I have studied Vulcan history as well."

"A most logical endeavor," Nelar replied, tipping her head slightly toward Ursana as a sign of approval. "There is much to be learned in history."

Ursana turned her goblet slowly in her hand. "Your people's history," she said at last, "is drenched in contradiction. You build empires with one hand and tear them down with the other. I have read of your wars--the ones you fight not for survival, but for ideas."

Gideon took a deep breath. "That's... one way to put it."

"I have studied your revolutions," she continued. "The Americans rising against the English crown. The Romulans parting from Vulcan. Always the same pattern--blood spilled in pursuit of freedom, and then blood spilled to protect it." She looked between them, her amber eyes alight with a combination of admiration and disgust. "You make such terrible sacrifices for such fragile notions."

"Notions are theoretical constructs," Nelar interjected. "And only as fragile as the convictions of those who believe in them."

Kh'Vas snorted through a mouthful of food. "Notions," she repeated, almost spitting the word. She cracked a bone with one hand. "The only history worth studying is that written in the cries of the dying. Everything else is vanity."

Ursana ignored her. "I have read of your World War Two," she said pointedly to Gideon, leaning in until the strong scent of the blood wine on her breath filled his nostrils. "Entire cities burned from the sky. Men built machines to kill faster, farther, colder. And yet"--her voice dropped to a near-whisper--"out of that horror came only another brief period of peace. Tell me, Gideon--son of Véronique--how do your people keep from repeating such honourless madness?"

Gideon's hand found the base of his cup. He turned it the same way she had turned hers, trying to look like a man who knew what he was doing with that kind of question. "We don't, always," he admitted. "We just... try harder each time not to make the same damn mistakes."

"Efforts are made more fruitful when supported by tangible and structured changes in philosophy and governance," Nelar stated, making a pointed note to look at Gideon as she responded. "Vulcans have been successful because of their dedication to logic and their practice of emotional suppression. Humans have not been as successful."

Gideon smiled crookedly, that easy Louisiana grin he wore when someone tried to force a truth upon him that didn't quite fit.

"Now hold on there, Lieutenant," He said, setting his goblet down with a soft thud. "Ain't sayin' logic don't have it's place. Sure does. Keeps the ship flyin', for sure keeps us breathin'. But I figure if all you ever do is sand down the rough edges, you gonna lose what makes the thing worth polishin' the first place."

Kh'Vas barked a laugh that rolled out like a growl. "You means chaos," she said. "You reference rage and lust and all the things that make your kind so entertaining"--she turned and looked directly at him--"before they die."

Gideon's eyes widened a little and then noticed a grin beginning to spread across the Klingon woman's face. He returned a careful smile and replied, "Ma'am, I was thinkin' more along the lines of love. But I can see how you'd get there."

Ursana piped up. "Love," she said softly, "is a soft thing. It dulls blades. Hesitation is anathema to the warrior's hand."

"Maybe so," Gideon said, leaning back a little, elbows on the table. "But sometimes hesitation's the only thing keepin' us from turnin' into what we're fightin'. My momma--Véronique--always used to say, 'Mercy's just courage wearin' a different coat.'"

"Wherein, I must insist, Logic appears to be your unbiased answer, swayed by neither rage, love, nor mercy," Nelar stated simply.

Gideon turned toward Nelar, his smile thinning but not quite gone. "Maybe so, doc," he said. "But I've seen logic leave a man cold when a little warmth might've saved his ass. And I seen love pull one back from the edge when reason said he was gone."

Ursana studied him like worm freshly dug out of dirt. "You speak of contradictions as though they are strengths."

"Sometimes they can be," Gideon said. "Universe is messy, people even messier. Try to clean all that up, ain't much left worth livin' for."

Kh'Vas snorted, the sound as sharp as a blade being drawn. "Victory," she said, licking a dark streak of blood wine off her knuckle. "When the ground is cleared, only the strong remain."

"Strength can be measured a number of ways," Nelar interjected. "Wisdom and restraint are often the greatest strengths of all. Avoiding battle can be the best way to survive one."

Vincent keep his head and eyes on a swivel. He liked the Klingons, that much he made clear on many occasions, but not all seemed to like him. Maybe it was the Starfleet Uniform or just that he appeared human. Regardless, he stayed in a cautious state, all the while tapping the object he kept in his inner jacket pocket. Still, he felt off, looking around every once in a while as he couldn't help but feel eyes watching him. Of course there were eyes, but he felt some specifically locked on him.

Finally, he looked over and noticed an particular Klingon couple. He recognized one, the woman, but not the other, the male. He kept his hands behind him, but his eyes were now firmly locked on the couple. Less the woman and more the man. Vincent knew what the Klingon was trying to do, show a dominance, but Vin wasn't budging. He kept his gaze, as well as his smile, before walking to the table to grab a seat. He couldn't help but wonder the couple moving as he did. Heading in the same direction. Maneuvering to the seat across from the one he was heading to. Vincent was tempted to make a sudden change in direction, head for another seat, just to see if the Klingon would adjust his direction to ensure their collision. But he kept his path, awaiting the inevitable encounter. When he reach the chair, he placed his hand on the chair, pulling it out while his eyes remained locked on the Klingon in front of him.

The Klingon did the same, but in a slightly eager way, taking his seat immediately with a hard thud as he placed his forearms on the table. The woman did the same, but in a less hostile manner. She seemed amused. Looking everyone once and a while to the Klingon she was with. Both were donned in the typical of Klingon Defense Force Uniform, sash's across their chest, donned with medals and honors. With on in particular catching Vincent's eyes. As soon as he saw it, the smirk on his face seemed to grow slightly, while his caution was set slightly at ease.

As Vincent placed his hands on the table, intertwining his fingers, he looked firmly at the Klingon across from him and just said, "hello."

The Klingon man grunted in response. His eyes didn't waiver, neither did the hard stare, as he reached for a loaf of bread. He ripped a piece off and placed it on the plate in front of him, before ripping another and handing it to the Klingon woman who promptly did the same. After taking a bite, he e chewed it eagerly, before finally speaking. "Dathoth." He mumbled before taking another bite.

"Say again?" Vincent asked, leaning in slightly.

"It's his name." The woman answered. "Dathoth. Son of Obok."

Vincent leaned back and nodded. "I see. Vincent Salvatore, Son of... Silvano." He said with a smile.

Dathoth amusingly grunted before taking another bit. As he chewed, he added with a mumble. "What a weak name."

Vincent raised a brow, still keeping to his smile and calm demeanor, as he asked. "Which one? Mine or my father?"

"Both." Dathoth chuckled. "You have a weak name. Your father has a weak name. So, you have a weak house and No honor."

The comment almost broke his smile, but he held onto it. Vincent kept his eyes locked on Dathoth, remembering what he had in his inner pocket, before replying. "Well... We'll see." He said softly before leaning back in the hard chair. "Aren't you going to introduce you companion or is that beneath you like I seem to be?"

Dathoth stopped chewing, putting the piece of bread that remained, on the plate. He narrowed his eyes, his face less amused as it was earlier, before replying firmly. "She is a Klingon Warrior and does not need me to announce her." He placed his forearms down on the table again, as he his eyes remained fierce and locked on Vincent.

"Shenas." She said softly. "Daughter of Moreth. Lieutenant Shenas. I serve on the Ha'DIbaHpIn as her Weapons Officer. Second to Dathoth"

"It is a fierce ship. One of many strong ships in the Empire." Dathoth added firmly with a devilish smirk.

"And you seem very proud." Vincent replied to Dathoth, before focusing back to Shenas. "I am honored to meet you, Shenas."

"As you should." She replied, but in a less of a arrogant way. Shenas seemed strong and confident, but didn't share her companions hostility. Perhaps it was her experience or upbringing. Maybe it had something to do one of the badges on her sash. The one Vincent recognized. "It's a great ship and one with many victories. Many songs and stories." Shenas added, smiling slightly, asking. "And you? Do you serve on a Starfleet ship?"

"The Hecate. Recently assigned as her Chief Intelligence Officer and First Officer." Vincent replied.

Dathoth let out another amused grunt as he picked up his piece of bread from the plate. "You have no honor, Chief Intelligence Officer."

"Actually..." Vincent said calmly as he turned to focus back to Dathoth. "The First Officer position would come before the Chief Intelligence one. Which means, if you think about it, I'm above you when it comes to positions."

The Klingon slammed the bread on his place and stared intently at Vincent, who kept to his smile. All the while, Vin noticed a slight smirk on Shenas face. It was quick, almost too quick to notice, but it was there. She knew something that Dathoth didn't. Or maybe they both know something, but he was far too heard headed to remain civil. He had to show dominance. He had to remain above the simple Starfleet Officer. Maybe that's why he focused on him. Dathoth knew who he was before Vincent even showed up.

Ensign Winters had been startled by the raised voice coming from Dathoth. Trying not to allow the Klingon to distract her. She made a mental note to monitor the behavior. This whole dinner would be written in her next article. And boy did she have quite the bit to write about.

Ryssa didn't strike up a conversation, but then, neither did those on either side of her. They were clearly unhappy to be dining with Starfleet personnel, and she had no desire to antagonize them by starting a conversation. At the same time, it gave her a perfect opportunity to watch the various attendees and see what she could learn.

The wiry Klingon sat next to her twisted in his seat so he could better face the Science Officer. Smaller than the Klingons that surrounded them, the ridges on his forehead were also softer, more subtle. He dragged his flagon of bloodwine along the grain of the table, slopping the thick, warm liquid across it as he did so. Leaning in, he slurred his greetings. 'You're a Starfleet scientist aren't you? he asked, then tapped his own chest. 'I am a scientist too!'

Ryssa smiled, pleased to have another scientist next to her. "What field of science are you in?"

Ignoring the chuckles and elbow-poking the other Klingons were doing around him, 'biologics! My field of study involves the ne'maH qamDu' of what you call Gamma Epsilon Six. A fierce creature, all spines and ... uh, pincers,' he struggled for the words, muddled by the bloodwine and foreign tongue. 'My name is Thor'koth of the House of Skropa. What is yours?'

[To Be Continued ...]

::OFF::

Captain Robert Burke
Commanding Officer
USS Hecate

Commander Vincent Salvatore
Executive & Chief Intelligence Officer
USS Hecate

Lieutenant Kyra sh'Herhrisst
Chief Security Officer
USS Hecate

Lieutenant Marquis Hunt
Chief Flight Control Officer
USS Hecate

Lieutenant Juno Jones
Chief Engineer
USS Hecate

Lieutenant Ryssa Dari
Chief Science Officer
USS Hecate

Lieutenant Nelar
Chief Medical Officer
USS Hecate

Lieutenant JG Gianna De Luca
Chief Counsellor
USS Hecate

Lieutenant JG Maël "Gideon" Beauregard
Chief Operations Officer
USS Hecate

 

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