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Description
The Warbird Melak.
Currently in orbit around G'dar III.
36 hours later.

Sub-Commander T'pal drummed his fingers impatiently on the armrest of his chair—feeling like his one hard-won victory against the Federation was being stripped out of his hands due to an overlooked technicality—befitting Senate politics of course.

Since he got the message from General Valdere, the man had nothing more to do then wait for his esteemed arrival—because blowing him off would be a very bad move.

His loyal crew could sense his anxiety and frustration to the core—many avoiding him for the time being—except to bring him updates and status reports. Repair logs and so on.

“Sub-Commander...?” The communications' officer at his new station intoned respectfully. “Our brother has arrived.”

T'pal glanced up at the view screen and saw the G'darek decloak less than a few thousand kams from his overall position.

“Send a standard greeting befitting the general and request that he come over with a limited staff—as fellow loyalists of the Empire.”

“Message is sent, Sub-Commander. Our brother is responding with a small personal attache craft—per security protocols.”

T'pal nodded.

“Very well. Request a dedicated guard and welcome committee to be sent to Bay One. I will join them down there in a few moments.”

“Yes, sir.”

T'pal surveyed his bridge one last time before getting up and going into the aft service corridor. There were very few lifts on board a traditional T'derax class warbird. And those that did exist were for cargo and food stores transfers only.

It didn't take the man long to get to Bay One—a surprisingly large and spacious area that held two rows of Nestor-class attack craft, some utility and inspection pods, and at the far end...? A smaller row of personnel shuttles.

The bay doors yawned open to admit their new arrival and everyone came to attention as a prerecorded music track was piped over the speakers time and again—to remind everyone of their origins and patronage as loyalists to the Empire and the Senate.

T'pal stood stiffly for a few moments longer—long after the general's shuttle touched down—before discovering that the egress hatch to the craft had become stuck.

Moving quickly to save face and time, the commander waved down a couple of repair techs nearby to go and assist in the problem.

The pair jumped into action, took a few seconds to diagnose the problem and then fix it within a couple of minutes to spare. A smooth operation in accordance to Romulans of the Melak's sterling reputation and caliber.

His First came over in a blind huff and saluted briefly at his commander.

“Apologies sir. I was caught in the shower again when the call came to attend.” He said—smoothing down his green and black dress uniform.

Sub-Commander T'pal almost smiled at his First's choice of words—but caught himself as he spied the general and his entourage coming towards them with brisk intent.

“Another time, First. Another time. Right now, let's greet the good general and see what he wants with a bunch of loyalists as lowly as us...?”

“—the prisoners?” The other man whispered back. “Surely, it can't be because of that. No officer of the general's reputation leaves a dedicated battle zone for something as mundane as this.”

“Battling the Federation's most vaunted ship to a standstill and killing it towards the end is no small feat, First. Surely, you must know that.” Then he smiled at the incoming officer in question and gave him a traditional Romulan military salute in passing—mirrored by all the rest in line as a matter of fact.

“General Valdere. You honor us with your presence on this most deserving of days.” T'pal said with a silky voice. “My crew and I live to serve the Empire always.”

“Returned, Sub-Commander. You have done a great deed this day. A moment that will be recorded in the scrolls of every Romulan historian back home.” General Valdere echoed with a approving smile of his own.

T'pal felt himself fill with pride at the other man's words. High praise indeed...

“What I did was for the Empire. For the Senate. And the ongoing war effort back home.” He said abruptly. “We do not need the Federation meddling in our affairs just yet. It is too soon for a full border confrontation in our chosen part of space.”

“It matters not what the Federation will do, Sub-Commander. They treat their losses very differently than Romulans as loyal as both you and I have in campaigns past.”

“Spoken in truth as always, General. I can see your reputation before you is as they say on the front lines.”

“I do not mince words, Commander. I speak them as someone who has had long years of service with the home worlds. I know what I am after when I see a prize worth taking.”

“So you got our message then—the prisoners we have captured from the Federation ship...?” T'pal began delicately.

“Yes. I would like to see them.” Valdere requested firmly—before noting the man's slightly distressed expression.

“I would not worry. I am not in the habit of claiming the spoils of one's hard-won victory—despite the stories you may have heard of me.”

“I am...relieved...General.” T'pal responded thankfully. “You have my eternal gratitude.”

Valdere clapped the other commander on the shoulder in a strong sign of support.

“You have done us a great service, Commander. Now let's go see the prizes that you have secured from us on this day.”

“Yes, General.” T'pal answered briskly—leading the way.

***

Artwork by Jetfreak-7.

Description
The Warbird Melak.
Currently in orbit around G'dar III.
36 hours later.

Sub-Commander T'pal drummed his fingers impatiently on the armrest of his chair—feeling like his one hard-won victory against the Federation was being stripped out of his hands due to an overlooked technicality—befitting Senate politics of course.

Since he got the message from General Valdere, the man had nothing more to do then wait for his esteemed arrival—because blowing him off would be a very bad move.

His loyal crew could sense his anxiety and frustration to the core—many avoiding him for the time being—except to bring him updates and status reports. Repair logs and so on.

“Sub-Commander...?” The communications' officer at his new station intoned respectfully. “Our brother has arrived.”

T'pal glanced up at the view screen and saw the G'darek decloak less than a few thousand kams from his overall position.

“Send a standard greeting befitting the general and request that he come over with a limited staff—as fellow loyalists of the Empire.”

“Message is sent, Sub-Commander. Our brother is responding with a small personal attache craft—per security protocols.”

T'pal nodded.

“Very well. Request a dedicated guard and welcome committee to be sent to Bay One. I will join them down there in a few moments.”

“Yes, sir.”

T'pal surveyed his bridge one last time before getting up and going into the aft service corridor. There were very few lifts on board a traditional T'derax class warbird. And those that did exist were for cargo and food stores transfers only.

It didn't take the man long to get to Bay One—a surprisingly large and spacious area that held two rows of Nestor-class attack craft, some utility and inspection pods, and at the far end...? A smaller row of personnel shuttles.

The bay doors yawned open to admit their new arrival and everyone came to attention as a prerecorded music track was piped over the speakers time and again—to remind everyone of their origins and patronage as loyalists to the Empire and the Senate.

T'pal stood stiffly for a few moments longer—long after the general's shuttle touched down—before discovering that the egress hatch to the craft had become stuck.

Moving quickly to save face and time, the commander waved down a couple of repair techs nearby to go and assist in the problem.

The pair jumped into action, took a few seconds to diagnose the problem and then fix it within a couple of minutes to spare. A smooth operation in accordance to Romulans of the Melak's sterling reputation and caliber.

His First came over in a blind huff and saluted briefly at his commander.

“Apologies sir. I was caught in the shower again when the call came to attend.” He said—smoothing down his green and black dress uniform.

Sub-Commander T'pal almost smiled at his First's choice of words—but caught himself as he spied the general and his entourage coming towards them with brisk intent.

“Another time, First. Another time. Right now, let's greet the good general and see what he wants with a bunch of loyalists as lowly as us...?”

“—the prisoners?” The other man whispered back. “Surely, it can't be because of that. No officer of the general's reputation leaves a dedicated battle zone for something as mundane as this.”

“Battling the Federation's most vaunted ship to a standstill and killing it towards the end is no small feat, First. Surely, you must know that.” Then he smiled at the incoming officer in question and gave him a traditional Romulan military salute in passing—mirrored by all the rest in line as a matter of fact.

“General Valdere. You honor us with your presence on this most deserving of days.” T'pal said with a silky voice. “My crew and I live to serve the Empire always.”

“Returned, Sub-Commander. You have done a great deed this day. A moment that will be recorded in the scrolls of every Romulan historian back home.” General Valdere echoed with a approving smile of his own.

T'pal felt himself fill with pride at the other man's words. High praise indeed...

“What I did was for the Empire. For the Senate. And the ongoing war effort back home.” He said abruptly. “We do not need the Federation meddling in our affairs just yet. It is too soon for a full border confrontation in our chosen part of space.”

“It matters not what the Federation will do, Sub-Commander. They treat their losses very differently than Romulans as loyal as both you and I have in campaigns past.”

“Spoken in truth as always, General. I can see your reputation before you is as they say on the front lines.”

“I do not mince words, Commander. I speak them as someone who has had long years of service with the home worlds. I know what I am after when I see a prize worth taking.”

“So you got our message then—the prisoners we have captured from the Federation ship...?” T'pal began delicately.

“Yes. I would like to see them.” Valdere requested firmly—before noting the man's slightly distressed expression.

“I would not worry. I am not in the habit of claiming the spoils of one's hard-won victory—despite the stories you may have heard of me.”

“I am...relieved...General.” T'pal responded thankfully. “You have my eternal gratitude.”

Valdere clapped the other commander on the shoulder in a strong sign of support.

“You have done us a great service, Commander. Now let's go see the prizes that you have secured from us on this day.”

“Yes, General.” T'pal answered briskly—leading the way.

***

Artwork by Jetfreak-7.