The Chromus Affair Part II

"I'm not interested in arguing," April told Chromus.

"What are you interested in, Admiral?"

April craned his head back, stretching muscles in his neck, a sigh issuing forth at the brig ceiling.  "Chromus, Chromus..."  He looked at him again.  "You don't give up, do you.  You know, just when I start thinking Romulans might be changing... you come along and remind me, at least some of your kind never change.  When will you get the point?  No one's interested in playing your little games anymore!  Politics, intrigue, maneuvering, manipulating... It's all old hat, Chromus.  Give it a rest.  Now are you going to tell me why you attacked our officer?"

"I do not believe that I did."

April balked.  Now this was going too far.  "What?  Chromus, I saw the logs.  It was you."

Chromus closed his eyes for a second, impatient.  "April... You must believe me when I tell you, it was not of my doing.  My hands assailed your officer, yes... but it was not my will to attack.  I believe that I was, in fact, being manipulated.  I am practiced in the art of deception, but I am no liar, April.  I do not lie to you now.  I did not intend to attack her.  I... simply don't know what came over me."

"Who would do such a thing?  And why?"

"Perhaps you should ask the Klingons... or that traitor, Vronak."

April thought of Jurmol's strange language – the effect it had on him, the first time he was exposed to it.  If it had affected him... Could it affect others?  Had Chromus been exposed?  Vronak was.  That didn't necessarily mean anything.  It seemed a bit racist to make that comparison, based solely on the fact that both were Romulans.  But perhaps they associated for that reason.  Chromus might have been lonely for his own kind, despite his labeling of Vronak.  Rampart's father-in-law certainly was, notwithstanding the company of his daughter.

He accessed internal logs through his complant, cuing a map of Chromus' path aboard ship in the last few hours, since paying April & Rampart a visit in the conference room.  With a complant-driven thought he compared that to Jurmol & the other Klingons' whereabouts, and Ensign Sosa's as well, in that time.  No match.  But he and Vronak... A quick check of their whereabouts revealed a correlation.  They passed each other in a corridor earlier, stopped, exchanged a few words.  Very brief.  And still the question was, just what effects did that odd, symbolic-associative language have?  If any.

April took a 'walk'.  Holographic communications allowed one to peruse ship's logs, if one had the necessary level of clearance, virtually, as if one was present on the recorded scene.  In his photocom lenses, transparently laid over sight of the brig and Chromus within, he found himself in the corridor where Chromus intercepted Vronak.  Rampart was there, and one of the science officers, discussing Memiklon data, what they knew about the Shapers, and what else they could find out, in which Vronak, as a scientist, had an obviously vested interest.

Utopia.  This was what some called the Federation.  April wondered sometimes, at the archaic names men gave planets and planetary features in the early days of Earth-based space exploration (although he was unsure if men did all the naming).  For example, Utopia Planitia: That site of the once-barren Mars (much of it still barren, despite the Federation's ability to transform entire planets – the residents called it "preservation"), after which Starfleet's famous dockyard was named... possibly meant to impart a sense of the meaning "Paradise Planet" – but in Latin, meant "Nowhere Plains".

There were some who called the Federation "Utopia" – many, in fact, in disparaging sense.  And, it was appropriate – depending on the point of view – in both senses of the definition, as it was perceived.  A perfect place... an ideal society... where all of humankind's ills, which once plagued his ancestors, had been cured.  Some felt that what made the Federation so 'great', was also its curse – making it sterile, and boring.  But to give into that line of thought, even an inch, was just shy of madness.  War was murder – period.  It was criminal – the crime of a society refusing to take responsibility for itself.  The Federation had come a long way, in just the few years since outlawing war in all its forms, compared to the intense, war-ridden period preceding – the war with the Dominion, the Borg, the Klingons, Cardassians, Breen....  When the Council decreed that it would take the steps necessary to reach out, and prevent war before it could occur, wherever it might occur, the Federation had finally matured and come of age.  It had grown up.

Chromus' 'suggestion' would have struck him as downright insane, from a born-and-raised Federation citizen – cruel and insensitive.  The opposite of enlightenment.  How could anyone wish such evil on others?  April wondered if Chromus clung to Romulan imperialist traditions, the notion of superiority, simply because he was Romulan... one of the old school of thought.  Many Romulans still felt they were better than everybody else.  Yet he had to ponder before arbitrarily labeling Chromus insane.  April wasn't one to apply such labels, until and unless it made sense – if the shoe fit.  Chromus had that clever advantage of 'Romulan logic', where the means seemed perfectly acceptable – but the ends did not justify the means, in Federation eyes.

Very few absolute absolutes existed in the universe – at least, theoretically.  While Stephen April couldn't live long enough to test and validate every instance of that theory, he had experience, enough to know that it surpassed theoretical foundation and broached the level of practical fact.  The assumption itself bore merit.  Anything seemed possible, with skills, knowledge and perseverance.

Grapevine had it Stephen April knew everything.  In fact, he didn't.  Anything shy of infinity was far less than the sum total – which was to say, it might as well have been zero, by comparison.  Translators translated anything as a rule.  That didn't mean one always understood what was being translated.  Communicating with a mathematical abstract, for instance... It interceded the art of the impossible (if not wrote a new definition).  The abstract had a name: Fibonacci.  "His" language of communication left the realm of organic intuition, and bent the minds of those attempting the dialogue.  One had to learn the "language" beforehand – and that required decades of communication in itself, for a single person, or a small army of interpreters... coupled with potent computers.

Nor did that did mean one always heard what was being translated, the first time.  If one was distracted, one might miss what was said.  Such was the case when Rampart heard Chromus speaking to the Romulan scientist, Vronak – his father-in-law.  A status update from the bridge distracted Rampart.  Berkowitz informed him that they had arrived at the coordinates for Memiklon transporter range.

Vronak's expression, and reaction, told Rampart he had missed something.  Vronak coldly regarded his fellow Romulan, turned and strode away.  Rampart watched him go for a second, then eyed Chromus.  "What's that about?"  He could have backtracked his armpadd log, and read the translated transcript, but waited to hear what Chromus would say.

"I informed him of what he is," Chromus replied, calm – but he scowled, dark eyes smoldering in disgust at the retreating Vronak.  "I called him a traitor."

April felt hairs twinge on the back of his neck: A reaction when he expected confrontation.  A traitor.

"That's what I expected," he addressed the Romulan in the brig before him.  "Blame it on someone else, Chromus – like a kid caught with his hands in the cookie jar."

Chromus watched him; he must have deduced the source of April's brief, quiet lapse.  "Your idealistic naïveté, so typical of the Federation, blinds you to what you do not wish to see, April.  Perhaps my world and the Klingons' will become part of your Federation one day... perhaps soon.  But you cannot change what millennia of sociogenetic disposition have made us."

"Then why shouldn't I believe it's you?"

"Because I am telling you so."

"I told you, I saw the logs.  You haven't changed.  You're accustomed to dealing with figures of clout and authority... ministers, ambassadors, military leaders... heads of state.  You didn't like being relegated down the totem pole, having to sit there with a Starfleet lieutenant, dealing with a subordinate.  You became agitated and attacked her."

"If I was capable of doing so, Admiral, why would you allow such a thing?  As you have fondly illuminated to me in the past... on more than one occasion... Starfleet security measures prevent attacks upon one's person aboard Federation starships.  How, then, could I have attacked her?"

"Good question.  Why don't you answer it."

"I do not have an answer."  Chromus paused, added with an understanding tilt of his head, "Nor... an accomplice...?  But if you wish to entertain theories relating to... intrigue?... then I will be happy to oblige you in turn.  Certainly you have no wish to frame me, do you...?"

"Frame you?"  April wanted to laugh and snort with disgust at the same time.  "Absolutely not.  That's pretty weak, Chromus.  Especially from you."

"You believe you're prepared for anything, don't you?  Your Federation is so advanced, and so powerful..."

"Get to the point."

"You are idealistically constrained.  This vessel is a weapon of mass destruction.  But you refuse to take advantage of it."

Inside, April recoiled, aghast at the suggestion not beneath this man.  Chromus had his reasons, of course.  But April saw it as only a diversion from the reason April was here.  "I don't want to hear that kind of talk, 'Ambassador'."

The bald Romulan turned, fostering April with his trademark dark glare.  For once, he was still for words.  "Have I missed something, Admiral?"

April blinked, remembering.  Chromus was no longer an 'ambassador' – a delegate, yes, but of a different sort.  And he remembered... that this was not the first time he had forgotten.  Earlier, Rampart had pulled him off the bridge.  In the Ready Room, the first line out of the Captain's mouth was: "Admiral – We did talk about this, if you remember."  ["Sunni Day" Part 1.]

April had been finding it difficult to concentrate.  His focus kept wavering, sliding between conversations and people at hand, and memories, recollections, daydreams of preceding days and events... or nothing at all.  His memory was faltering.  And if it was faulty, then it was failing.  He didn't seem to have that problem, now, but... Could he afford to go down to Memiklon in that condition?  He made a mental note to contact Tabatha Brisk, the moment he left security – assuming he would not forget.

"I'm still waiting," April reminded.

"Perhaps it is this new planet you've discovered.  These Memiklon stipulations – the demand for privacy from detailed sensor scans.  I suggest that it's preposterous for the Federation to agree to it.  If they have nothing to hide, then what are they attempting to hide?  The Klingon's newfound 'language'... inspired and originated from the very planet beneath our feet, yes?"

"Not exactly."

"Regardless, it is an alien influence.  Perhaps they are to blame.  You could find out.  Will you?  I so rarely give my word, April.  But it is given.  I also still await your answer: Are you interested in truth?  Ask them."

April exhaled through his nostrils.  He had told himself he was not going to let Chromus get him into one of these conversations, but the Romulan managed it anyway.  "You're grasping, and you're trying to manipulate me.  I won't be played for a fool, Chromus.  My decision stands."  Without another word April spun on a heel and strode out.  Leaving the brig, he noticed Gabriel Booker standing inside the door.

"Lieutenant, I want you to detain the Klingon scientists.  Make sure the one called Hon Jurmol stops sharing his... 'language', he discovered, until we've investigated it fully."

"Yes sir."  Booker waited until they were outside the brig to voice what was on his mind.  "Admiral..."

"Yes Lieutenant."

"I couldn't help but overhear, and I admit, I'm curious: What is an 'El-Twenty-One'?"

"It's a procedure developed on Elba Two, for dealing with violent criminals.  It eliminates violent impulses."

Booker nodded, but only half understanding.  "Sir, not that I have a problem with reducing violence... but are you sure that's the right thing to do?  Are we charging the Romulan as a criminal?"

"He attacked a woman, Mr. Booker.  You don't think that's a crime?"

"I come from a more rough-and-tumble side of life, sir.  I thought it was just a 'diplomatic disagreement'.  How is Lieutenant Crimson, by the way?"

"She'll live.  But he roughed her up pretty severely."

"I think some things should be overlooked and forgiven, if it's not a repeat offense," Booker opined.

"Noted, Mr. Booker."  April strode back out the way he came.  That was pretty audacious, but April took it into consideration.  Apparently it wasn't enough, and Booker didn't like how things worked on the Arcadia: Later, April learned just how strenuously Booker objected.  The security chief requested a transfer to the next available ship.  April was disappointed, but it was just as well: He didn't want anyone here who didn't want to be here.  Unfortunately, Booker was not the only one... though not for the same reasons.