A Traveller In The Dragons Den

Posted on Wed Aug 15th, 2018 @ 12:09pm by Captain Remas McDonald

1,044 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: S1:3: Myriad Problems
Location: Remas's Ready Room
Timeline: MD 1 23.45

“A mission of peaceful exploration is one thing, but the means by which you intend to do it...huum. No.”

Abborax turned from inspecting the shelf of discarded CO2 scrubbers that were the latest addition to the travelling carnival show called ‘Remas’s Private Exploration Expo’. Remas was perched on the edge of his desk, a glass of something amber in his hand that he had been nursing during what Abborax had coined ‘preliminary negotiations’.

“Warp travel is safe, more so now after a century of work put into understanding the fundamental relations between gravity and subspace. The Traveller spent half a year in dry dock getting her nacelle’s refitted to modern Federation environmental standards,” Remas explained.

“It is not the impact on the local stellar medium the Myriad are concerned about, Captain McDonald. To you warp travel brings together disparate peoples, with different ideas, and alien modes of thinking. What is one thing to you, is another to me. Where you see connection, the Myriad have only seen discourse and conflict,” the porcelain figure of Abborax shook his head. “So the notion of a warp capable starships parading through our space, regardless of your good-natured intentions, smacks of a threat to a thousand years of prosperity.”

He held up a hand.

“That is not to say there cannot still be harmonious relations between you and the Myriad. We control access to a large network of interstellar relays that are able to transmit matter from one node to another node in the network instantaneously. No need for warp travel, or the time taken to traverse the space between. We could arrange passage for you and your crew on board a Myriad vessel to facilitate your mandate of exploration, but your vessel we cannot permit to leave this system.”

Remas thought about this.

“That doesn’t sound like a tactic for negotiations Abborax, it has the flavour of a threat to my ears.”

“Indeed, a threat levied at the Myriad. You bring with you ideas and modes of thinking of a completely alien galaxy. No one from the Spheres, Inner or Out, has ever been able to breach the Barrier that enshrouded your home. But we can watch, and we listen. We know of the wars your people fight, wars that have spanned the entire galaxy. Yes, we know of The Dominion, the Borg. Enemies you would have met had you not access to warp drive. The ability to travel far takes beyond what you have any right to know,” he gestured around the room. “You are here alone. You represent a nation-state that cannot back you up, or send reinforcements. You could be in no weaker position of bargaining were you one of the primitive spacefarers whose trinkets you decorate this room with.”

He then smiled.

“That still does not mean you are without bargaining power. You have a cultural database, the sciences of your Federation and Starfleet. The means by which you crafted a device to escape your home galaxy, and one assumes one day use as a return,” Abborax’s smile turned predatory. “That alone might be enough to grant you aid from the Myriad, instead of our ire.”

“Subtle,” Remas said, his lips pressing into a thin line. “As a brick, as we say. And should I choose not to grant you that particular branch of the tree of knowledge?”

“Then the Myriad would need to reevaluate what position we should bargain from. Right now we are on speaking terms, cordial. Should we be spurned, on the other hand...well,” Abborax’s eyes grew brighter, and his smile turned icy cold. “Civilisations do not anger us twice.”

Remas sipped his drink, nodding.

“And do you find threats work for you?” Remas asked.

“You are alone and no match against the assembled might of the Myriad, as I said you are in a poor position to bargain. I would have thought a member of adar’Rishal would be used to being in such a bind as this,” Abborax stated.

“Use to doesn’t mean we have to like it,” Remas said slowly.

“Huum, true. But then not all new experiences can be pleasant. You are Rish, you will adapt,” Abborax turned back to the display shelf of spent scrubbers. “I can see you need time to think of this matter. I will not broach the subject of your reptile crew member joining my vessel, as I feel you will find it sour on your tongue. Think of what I said, and tomorrow we will come to an arrangement. One way, or another.”

He turned to Remas once more and smiled.

“Spend the night thinking about what I said. Talk to your crew, to your wife. Think of what you have to lose, and what you could gain from being a friend to us. I will return in twelve hours, have your answer then.”

And then the proxy grew still, stiff, and the lights in its eyes grew dim and shuttered completely. Abborax’s presence had left the chamber, leaving behind the hollow sweet talking shell it had been utilising. For a moment Remas looked at the figure, which still bore the snide expression of superiority on its face. He looked around the room, his eyes lingering on the spent CO2 scrubbers that still bore the angular kanji script of the Japanese Aerospace Exploration Agency of the 21st century.

Each had been spent in the pursuit of something greater than a momentary gain in national prestige. Each cartridge had fueled the breath of a dozen men and women on the months-long voyage to the moons of Saturn. Each one represented the risk of the disaster compared to the rewards of success.

Sometimes, going against the common sense of all was the only way to proceed.

He reached up to tap his combadge and then stopped. Abborax had shown some shockingly detailed understanding of how the Traveller's systems worked. He’d not put it past the fellow to have a tap into the internal comm network. He stepped from his office, sealing the door behind him with a physical deadbolt, and eyed the bridge crew.

“I need a runner to get a message about,” he said. “Whose feeling spritely?”

 

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