Sunni Day

April strode onto the bridge.  He edged down beside the command seat, hesitated at the sight of Jordan Rampart in the chair.  It felt damned weird, not being the captain himself, anymore.  "What's the delay?  Why aren't the transporters working?"

He waited.  April had an inkling of what it must have felt like, for all the admirals he'd had on this bridge, as captain... impatiently waiting on him, the captain, although they outranked him.  And he remembered how much he hated having them there, circling over his shoulder, like buzzards.  Now the shoe was on his foot.

It was Berkowitz, in the XO's chair, who spoke up:

"There's too much interference, sir.  Loop emissions are scrambling the targeting scanners."

Rampart was staring at April, giving him the strangest look.  "For the second time in a row," he finally added in a mutter, off Berkowitz's statement, with a glance at the screen – thinking of the Oniiri Vortex – then refocused on April.

"Why wasn't I informed?"  April looked at the screen.  "We'll have to take a shuttle down.  Great.  Memiklons are picky about following preset procedures.  They won't like this."  The former captain noticed the look the current captain was giving him.  "Captain?  Something on your mind?"

April was checking himself out.  An inverted scan, running from his armpadd, showed his face, how he looked, as he stood in the turbolift.  Improved inertial dampeners moved lifts from deck to deck in barely two seconds; they could route the entire ship, every deck, in ten seconds flat.  Not much time for a little pause, introspection, or break.  So he stepped in, closed the doors and put it on hold, while examining his appearance.  He had noticed it, in the mirror of his quarters earlier that day.

Damn.  His hair was thinning more and more.  He could see his scalp now, no matter how thick he grew his hair, and streaks of gray as well.  Hair treatments were common; it was easy to fix, but... why weren't Tab's nanites taking care of it?  He thought that was part of their programming.  He made a note to speak to her about it – one more item to add to the list of Stephen April's Things To Do For the Day (And Every Day).

Releasing the turbolift doors, stepping out, April noticed an all-too-familiar blond woman passing in the corridor.

"Sunni!" he greeted her, with genuine affection, happy to see her again.  Happening to be going the same way, he started walking along beside her.  "How have you been?"

"All right."

The tone of her response wasn't what he expected – not from Sunni Moon.  From the look and sound of her, she was anything but all right.  Sunni usually smiled, first thing, seeing Stephen April.  Turning frowns upside down was habit for her, and when it came to doing whatever she could to make April happy... well, that was her specialty.  Sunni was, like her name, bright – radiantly infectious with a dazzling smile, an upbeat attitude... a free spirit.  Some thought of her as 'ditzy', but April knew better.  She was skilled and intelligent – no less made it into Starfleet.  It was just her way.

Except, not today, apparently.  April studied the lean gait of the younger woman as they walked, noting the pout of her lip, blue eyes focused ahead, darting, telling her that he was watching out of the corner of her eye.  He enjoyed the sheen of her blond hair in ship's lighting.  Of all the blondes he knew, her hair was still the prettiest, even naturally straight, not curly like she used to wear it.  April waited, expecting her to offer him a status report or a joke (whatever she thought was funny) then giggle, as she used to... or utter something unexpectedly clever and insightful, concerning an area of ship's personnel or operations of which he was unaware, but which he needed to know – she was capably useful for that.  Instead, she offered complete silence, walking beside him in the passage, empty-handed.  Sunni Moon never just walked, silent like this, next to April of all people.  She used to fawn over him.  She once had a crush on him.  But now she had a... settled air, about her.  It was serious – and for Sunni Moon, very strange.  Completely alien.  They had served together long enough, that he could tell when something bothered her, even if she tried not to let it show.  She was making no apparent attempt to hide it, here, except with her steadfast silence.

"Sunni?"

"Sir?"

He had her attention, that was obvious: She was looking at him.  But she seemed distant, behind her sparkling blue eyes.  "I'd have to be blind to not see something's bothering you."  They walked a few steps.  "Want to tell me what it is?"

The look on Sunni's face told him more than she probably intended, about that idea.  She glanced away, stiff.  Was he prying?

"You don't have to," he said.  "But if you need someone to talk to, you know I always have an ear for you."

He thought he heard something from her, a whisper under her breath.  'Right', or a disgusted sound.

April stopped, eyeing her in the corridor.  "Yeoman, if something's bothering you," he said more firmly, "I'd like to know what it is."

Sunni stopped too, in deference to his authority.  She didn't exactly avoid his gaze, but didn't meet it either.  "I'm not 'yeoman' anymore, Admiral."  April couldn't quite tell, but he thought he detected a sarcastic note, stating his rank.

April blinked.  That was true.  She had been his yeoman for so long, he forgot: Rampart moved her, assigning her bridge and tactical duties, making 'captain's yeoman' a rotating position when needed.  He wondered why, but it wasn't his decision to question – Rampart was the ship's captain, now; he made those calls.

"So?" he said.  "Out with it."

"Are you giving me an order, Admiral?"

April stared at her.  Sunni Moon was usually so cheerful, perky and bubbly.  When did she turn so... dark, and cocky?  "Do you want me to make it one?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Ca – Admiral."  She pursed her lips and looked him in the eye that time, expression implying serious resolve.

April was astounded.  She never talked to him like that.  Never.  Until now.  He felt an urge to push, and force it out of her.  Bad feelings helped no one.

Nor did making it worse.  If she wanted to talk, she would.  From a professional standpoint, as long as she did her job, and wasn't a problem with other crew-members, April felt inclined to let it go, whatever it was, and let her deal with it.  She was an adult, after all.

But problems could become bigger problems, left untended.  And for Sunni Moon, of all people... April couldn't recall a time when she ever really had a problem – not one that made her behave like this.  She seemed annoyed, angry, upset... with him?  He didn't know, and didn't know why – and that did bother him.  If she didn't want to talk, it wasn't necessary.  That was her prerogative, with him.  He had his own job to do, and it wasn't to make Sunni Moon feel better, or get her to make him feel better.  Yet, keeping something bottled within, where it could eat at a person, was not conducive to one's health – and that, he could not let be.  It was irresponsible to not help another, whether or not they wanted it.  April felt he would be remiss in his duty, otherwise.

"Fine.  I don't know what's bothering you, Petty Officer Moon, but you don't have to tell me.  Schedule yourself for an appointment with Counselor B'Eryn at the earliest time.  That is an order."

Libra and April fell into a sort of debate.  Following his meeting with M'D'li, April tried to put Sunni Moon out of mind, and started going over reports and recommendations, based on available data, regarding the Memiklon Loop.  He had an idea, and wanted to test its hypothetical validity.  While on the same deck he called Libra into the Sci-Department's briefing room to consult.  There, the rugged science officer tactfully informed the admiral that his interpretation of the data was in error.  April couldn't see how, but accepted it and asked for a proper explanation.  Libra swore the explanation wasn't one a 'layman' would understand.  April felt a pang within.  He couldn't deny the sting to his pride: He had traveled the multiverse!  He couldn't figure this out?

At which point, he sat down and indicated Libra should do the same.  They were going nowhere until figuring it out became exactly what April did.

Libra sat, but didn't look convinced that such a thing was possible.

"Sir," he said, "it would be easier if you just took my word for it."

"Mr. Libra."  April's tone was firm.  "I'm not a scientific slouch.  We graduated from the same Academy.  Just explain it to me, step by step."

Libra regarded him for a moment.  Academy was one thing.  Science Academy was another.  Maybe that was what he was thinking.  It was an old story – the bane of science officers everywhere... the ones who knew what they were talking about: When they tried to explain, in their native language – terms they themselves understood, the language of science – they usually got brushed off and told to say it again in plain Standard.  But, he had been given an order.  Libra nodded.  "All right."  He moved his hand; a holodisplay lit up.

Of course, as soon as he started explaining, April realized that maybe, just maybe, Libra was right in the first place.

"This is a z-flux density variable," the science man said, "emanating on a five-nanotomita shear delay from the loop.  It defines itself as relative; it's assured to release when Memiklon approaches fifty-thousand kilometers minus apogee.  The Quincher equation says, as long as the variable is constant, and greater than or equal to ten-to-the-eleventh millisloanes in local subspace density, but within the Planck sub-scalar field-stress limits—"

April wondered if Libra was intentionally trying to confuse him.

An audio com-signal interrupted.  "Admiral April, you're needed in Security."  It was Berkowitz's voice.

April frowned.  Security?  That was a matter for Rampart's handling, now.  "What is it?"

A bitter note betrayed itself in Berkowitz's tone.  "The Romulan—"  She said it distastefully, not 'Vronak', or 'Vor'ana', which told April which Romulan she was talking about.  "—attacked Alex in Conference Room One."

"Attacked?  Alex Crimson?"

"On my way."  April got up, heading for the door.  "Sorry, Mr. Libra.  I'm fascinated.  Send me a report; I'll read it."

April and Rampart were going over Memiklon data, hammering out final details with Lieutenant M'Rrai in the room.  A chime came at the door – an unauthorized identity, requesting admittance.  Rampart checked his armpadd screen, made a face and tapped permission.

The door opened.  In walked a Romulan.  A bald Romulan... shiny black eyes fostering a hard, dark glare.  April recognized him, instantly sitting up.

"Chromus."

The black eyes flickered, darting to notice April's rank insigne.

"Admiral."  Shade pooled in the center of his forehead, between the V-shaped ridges, no matter which direction he turned – as if he was dirty, and permanently stained.  And he was.  It made his brow appear perpetually furrowed.

M'Rrai's ears leaned back, green eyes wide.  Black fur twitched on the Caitian's head, lifting; a pitched vocal rumbled in his throat.  Chromus pretended to notice M'Rrai for the first time, mouth quirking in a provocative grin.  Everyone on this ship for the last several years knew the former Romulan ambassador.  Chromus eyed April and Rampart, putting the Caitian beneath him.

"Mr. M'Rrai, I think we have all we need.  You're dismissed," April said, before it got out of hand.

"Yess, sir," M'Rrai hissed, tail batting as he left... eyes not leaving the Romulan until he was out.

"I see some things do NOT change," Chromus said, regarding the Arc's two senior officers.  "Unless you inhabit the Federation."  He knew April.  Apparently he knew Rampart, too: He looked at Rampart, said, "I admit, I was curious what became of you after departing Romulus.  Do you still take Romulan consorts?"

Rampart ignored the barb.  "What do you need, Chromus?"

"Must I remind you that I am the Romulan—"  The slightest, slightest delay preceded the next word.  "—Republic's representative on this ship, and not that... scientist?"

"No, you didn't have to," Rampart said.  "But now that you did... Thanks."

"Why am I not being included in these deliberations?"

"Deliberations," April repeated, glancing at Rampart.  He had not known Chromus was here; something else Rampart failed to inform him about.

"Well, Chromus, I know you," Rampart said.  "Since you like nothing less than the honest truth, you haven't been included, because it isn't necessary.  This is a scientific mission, where I'm concerned.  You want to get into the politics, take it up with Admiral April here.  But... politics aren't your concern anymore, isn't that right?"

April had missed something; out of the loop, he sat this one out, listening and picking up clues, trying to read between the lines.

"I'm surprised at you, Chromus," Rampart said.  "You're keen on precision.  Did you forget that?"

Chromus stood silent, staring cold, hard.  Rampart returned the gaze, unflinching.  He had dealt with this Romulan before.  Chromus' views were not unknown to him.  He saw the new generation of Romulan leaders as usurpers, traitors to the Romulan way.  Like some other Romulans, he stubbornly refused to let go of the old traditions and school of thought.  If he had his way, Rampart was sure, a flotilla of Romulan warbirds would be circling Arcadia this moment, cloaked, ready to strike.  Had he still been their ambassador, that might indeed have been the case.

But he wasn't.  He had made his views clear, without trying.  That cost him his bargaining chips with the new leaders.  Thanks to the influx of Federation technology into Romulan society, the current leaders could maintain their position without fear of reprisals from the diehards or former Tal Shiar.  No more plotting and manipulation, holding loved ones hostage or secret assassinations.  Romulus was a level playing field, with a new set of rules.

So Romulus did what foreign powers liked to do, these days, with avenues open to the compassionate Federation, willing to take in their wretched masses: They sent him to the UFP, to get him out of their hair, under the title of liaison – his duty, nothing more than to send information back to Romulus, as much as the Federation legally allowed, if it should interest Romulus.  Chromus and his kind were obsolete.  Chromus knew it, and he hated it – and he was here because of it.

"You can read the reports when they're available," Rampart said.  "Unless you have something valuable to offer, like 'that scientist'?" he added, indicating the discussion was closed.

The former Romulan ambassador turned and, as much as a Romulan of his ice-cold, settled nature could, he stormed out.

April grunted.  "He hasn't changed."

"Maybe for the worse," Rampart sighed.

April eyed Rampart.  "Why didn't you tell me he was onboard?"

Rampart, reaching to reactivate his armpadd's holoprojector, paused.  He shrugged.  "I didn't know you wanted to know."

"Chromus and I have a... 'past', together."

"I was aware of that.  But so do other admirals and the like.  We're in the same fleet... It's not unusual to cross paths."

Rampart was right.  April saw how this could become a difficult situation, if he let it.  He was used to being in charge, having full run of the show.  By policy, Rampart was not technically obligated to share every scrap of information with him – who was onboard, who might be coming aboard, leaving, their reasons for doing so... unless it impinged on April's domain, the broader scope of exploratory operations and deployment of the Quantum Fleet.  If it was particular to the ship alone, then April didn't 'need to know', no matter if it concerned individuals he had met or knew.

It could become difficult... if he let it.  So, then, the choice was his, to not let it.  He made that choice, and reminded himself that he would have to keep reminding himself, to keep that in mind.  He wasn't the captain anymore.  He was an admiral, with different responsibilities.

They finished their task.  "How you getting down there?" Rampart asked.

April looked at him, surprised.  "I was going to beam down.  Why?"

"Sir, I have to say... you're admiral, and I'm captain, but I still fill the role of exec – right?  I mean, we have that understanding..."

April knew where this was going.  He heard similar arguments from every first officer who ever served under him, when their CO was heading onto an unknown planet.  "Why?"

"Fibonacci and the Wembahdnaw—"  Rampart looked uneasy, trying to get out words, but gave up.  "—laid this technical spiel on me, I couldn't repeat it now if my life depended on it...  Basically, they expect problems.  Loop residue can destabilize verterium cortenide, fry PT conduits, and scramble transporter signals."

April frowned.  "You're certain?"

Rampart said, "They're certain.  Libra and Walker confirmed it."

April heard the note of doubt.  "But you're not convinced...?"

Rampart shrugged and sat on the edge of the table near April.  "I'm no crazy scientist—"  He paused.  "Did I say crazy?  Sorry; I didn't mean that – I don't know half of what the scientists on this ship know, and I was never as good as the engineers... but what ties me is... How do these Memiklons use warp drive, if we can't?  Did you see the scans on their ship?"

April gave him a sharp look.  "You were ordered not to scan their ships."

"Well, no sir, we didn't, but some of the data showed up on passive sensors..."

"Oh.  I see.  No, I didn't.  Should I?"

Rampart opened his mouth, but apparently April beat him to it.  A blue-screen popped into midair, datablocks arranged neatly, with complementary graphics.  April's gray eyes darted in the blue glow on his face, taking it in.

"I'm tied," Rampart said, "but... you fought in the Cardassian war, sir."  April nodded without comment, studying the figures.  "Remember how they blocked scans with subspace fields?"  April's head lifted as he saw Rampart's point.  "Made me think of that."

"Hmm," April mused, contemplating.  "Well, they are a secretive people," he said.  "They don't trust outsiders yet.  For all we know, they might use zeryon waveguide systems.  It wouldn't show up on any passive scan."

"Or they could be hiding something."

At a thought, April sent the holoscreen away and looked at him.  That was a serious thing to say.  "What are you getting at?"

"I'm..."  Rampart thought about it, put up his hands, shook his head.  "Nothing, sir... necessarily.  I just don't... know if we should trust them, either.  I'd feel better if I knew they aren't trying to hide something."

"Like what?  What do you think they could be hiding?"

"I don't know.  Which is the point, Admiral."

April thought.  "We may know soon.  Time's running out.  What do you recommend?"