An Invitation To the Soiree

Posted on Mon Apr 15th, 2019 @ 5:58pm by Petty Officer 3rd Class S'Rina Wil'I'Ams & Lieutenant Samuel Clemens XV & Petty Officer 3rd Class V'Nus Wil'I'Ams & Death

Mission: Detours
Location: The Captain's Mess, USS Hera
Timeline: Shortly after Dedjoy's Wake

Chief Inteligence Officer Lieutenant Samuel Clemens approached the VIP Quarters corridor, an actual gilded envelope in hand.

He nodded to the sets of security personnel posted at each of the quarters, and continued on to his destination: the VIP quarters #13, the room of the current Incarnation of Death.

As he approached the two mightily-muscled Klingon officers, he slowed, and nodded, with a smile.

"Good afternoon, folks. If it's not too much imposition, could one of you please deliver this note to the occupant of these quarters for me? She's likely not in at the moment, as her schedule is somewhat hectic," the mustachioed master of mystery requested politely.

The two sisters exchanged glances, then the shorter but sturdier of the pair stepped forward. "Who?" she asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion and stance moving in for the intimidation factor. "To whom do you want this delivered, Lieutenant?"

The wiry officer neatly tucked the note into his vest, and faced the two warriors squarely, in a formal stance.

"There are things that neither of you have been authorized to know." He looked them over, carefully, noting their determined looks. "You're both honorable. You honor your oaths. To Starfleet. To your families. To your world." He nodded. "I am this ship's Chief of Intelligence. As such, I control the dispersion of Command-level access to classified information. The identity of our guest is such a secret."

He pursed his lips. "If I am to answer, you must take a vow of secrecy. To break it, obviously, will be your eternal dishonor. As well as," the wily word wizard smiled a smile without a trace of humor, "formal charges from Starfleet Intel Command."

"Do you agree to the terms?"

Looking back to the other Klingon warrior, the stouter of the two nodded. "Yes, I would know, and I will swear upon my honor to maintain it. Sister, what say you?"

"I say it is a test, S'Rina. A promise of honor a security clearance does not make. The true honor is in serving one's duty and accepting that some things need not be known." The taller of the two Amazonian sisters declared, her face haughty and filled with disdain. Seeing the pleading look in the eyes of her sister, however, caused her to roll her eyes. "But you are a fool, and you have already made this bargain. As your sister I cannot allow you to pursue this course alone."

"Fine- upon my honor, I will agree and speak to no one of whom dwells within, that we have never seen nor heard, yet seems to exist all the same. Who is it, Chief Clemens?" Surprisingly, the calmer of the two knew to whom she spoke.


Sam noted the studious nature of V'Nus, for future reference, and replied, calmly, "Who you will see her as will depend upon your state of honor. Pray that it isn't Veqlargh." He sighed, and continued in his strangely-neutral Earther accent.

"She is Death. The one who takes the dead to their final destination, wherever that may be, depending on who they are, and what their beliefs of the afterlife are. Make of it what you will, but it is true. She cannot be seen by mortals unless they're near the end of life- or in other, decidedly-odd circumstances."

There was a moment where the two sisters eyed him, seeking to cleave truth from falsehood. Then they eyed one another, as S'Rina settled back into place beside her taller sister with a dismissive snicker. A cleared throat from V'Nus bit back whatever commentary she might have added, and the muscular Klingon warrior settled back into her guard position, as did V'Nus. Holding out her hand, S'Rina cocked a ridged eyebrow.

"The parcel you wished us to deliver to the occupant. Is that an order, Lieutenant?" she clarified, eyes filled with doubt and wary of a trap.

Clemens fished it back out, a faint look of regret on his face. "I suppose it'll have to be."

"Then we have our orders. We take a patrol of the interior again in a few minutes, and we will deliver your invitation, Lieutenant Clemens. The fifteenth," the Klingon warrior added slyly, pointing out that she knew just who the intelligence chief was more than mere rank or position. After all, the personnel files of everyone on board were open to any other crew member. Wagging the envelope in her fingers, Petty Officer S'Rina bared her teeth at the mustachioed mythbuster.

"Would you like a report if it disappears from the empty quarters, sir?" V'Nus asked somewhat mockingly, getting in on the fun as well.

Flashing a 1.21 Gigawatt grin at the sisters, with a waggle of his prodigious brows, Clemens replied, "Indeed, I would. Carry on, warriors."
“Aye, Lieutenant,” they said in unison, then watched him go. Once he was out of earshot, the duo conversed between themselves in their native Klingon.

“So what do you think is really in there?”

“I still say it is a test. A k’toq hunt- an imaginary children’s fright they use to test our commitment and our willingness to follow orders. Death is not a person, and it does not dwell on this starship. Only a fool would believe such a thing.”

“Agreed. I do not believe it either. So why the charade from the Intelligence chief?”

“A test, sister, clearly. Will we follow orders, will we ask questions, will we become curious and investigate on our own. It is all a game to them, sister. Just play it, stand guard, uphold your duty and our honor will remain intact.”

“It angers me that they test us this way.”

“We are not singled out for this treatment. We guard the lady Hera, now there is the Romulan woman next quarters over. There are mysteries within mysteries on this ship. Do you not remember what Hera did on DS9, on the promenade?”

“That… was… I do not know what that was. But she is a power to be respected, and she is always compliant and grateful, and she comports herself with honor. I feel proud to stand guard for Lady Hera. This is… pointless.”

“Carrying the rock seems pointless to the ant, yet the queen knows the purpose it serves. Duty is it’s own reward, my sister.”

“Always duty an honor… they are not the answer to everything, my sister.”

“They are the answer to most things. Who is the strongest, the fastest, the best fighter…. These things matter less than duty and honor.”

“In that, we disagree.”

“As have we always.”

On the last sweep of the quarters before the end of their shift, the Wil’I’Ams sisters reported to the Intelligence chief that the envelope had gone missing. While they lacked the clearance to search the security sensor logs of the room, they suspected between themselves that the Chief Spook had simply beamed the envelope out, or perhaps had another method of having removed it, but they dutifully reported that the gilded envelope of Lieutenant Clemens' request had indeed vanished.

The note read as follows:

"My dear Lady Death,

It has come to my attention that there is to be a dance event upcoming. I should very much enjoy if you would agree to accompanying me, in whatever capacity you deem appropriate.

Yours in conversation,

Samuel"

As she had been lounging and reading one of her many books on the couch, her horse Taxes enjoying some oats in the middle of the living room as well, when the letter was delivered, the pale woman looked up at the Klingon woman that had come to inspect the quarters and deliver the letter. As the guard left, she headed over to the letter and picked it up, reading it over. "Oooh... a party invite... Whatever shall I wear?" A slow smile crept across her face.

"Taxes, I have need of a gown of the finest spider silk..."