Meaningless Defeat

Posted on 06 May 2015 @ 12:09pm by Commander Andreus Kohl & Lieutenant Oren Idris Ph.D.

2,813 words; about a 14 minute read

Mission: Episode 08 - NIMBUS
Location: USS Nautilus - Deck 5, Holodeck 2 / USS Galileo - Deck 5, Holodeck 1
Timeline: MD -01 - 1500 hours

[ON]

The holodeck arch aboard Nautilus faded away into obscurity behind Lieutenant Commander Andreus Kohl. To his eyes -to all of his five senses, really- he was marching into the mess hall aboard a Klingon starship. The design of the room was sharp and metallic, shades of burnt umber and olive green. Each step of his uniform boots clanked against the grilled deckplates, as he approached the other man in the poorly-lit chamber.

"Thank you for meeting me here," Kohl said to announce his presence, "Like this."

"I feel like I'm in a spy holo-adventure," came the reply as Oren stepped up to meet Kohl, looking out of place in his lilac shirt and pale complexion. He'd been slightly apprehensive about using the holodeck in such a way, but with the help of an engineer he'd managed to track down and beg of, it seemed to be working. "Are you going to ask me for what we agreed on next?" he couldn't help but tease, lowering the tone of his voice to sound more gravely at the words, but failing as it resulted in his voice cracking and sending him into a small coughing fit.

Kohl tried to smile at the jocularity in Oren's tone. It was an uncommon sound to Kohl's ears. But the expression turned into something of a confused wince. "I don't know the reference," Kohl said, and he shook his head. "I appreciate you taking the time to help me out, and to arrange for your holodeck on Galileo to be configured as a holo-communicator."

"It was no trouble," Oren said politely. After all, it wasn't him sticking his nose behind a wall panel, fiddling with things while muttering Andorian curse words he thought no one would understand for half an hour.

He looked around the corridor briefly, considering the Klingon aesthetic for a moment before turning back to Kohl. "So, you said you wanted my assistance?" he said, meeting Kohl's eyes. He'd been surprised by the call, if he was honest. Not the call itself, of course, since it wasn't so uncommon for a crewmember to ask for advice when dealing with a species that wasn't their own, but the person calling. Although they'd ended their last meeting on a relatively good note, Oren would've guessed Kohl might reach out to someone else for help, perhaps one of the diplomats. The fact that he'd called him both surprised Oren and made him nervous at the same time, trying to figure out the motivations behind such a turn of events.

Doing away with anymore preamble, Kohl said, "I'm going to be representing the Nautilus in the diplomatic functions with the Klingons." He cut straight to it. Kohl clasped his hands behind his back and puffed up his chest, as if he was about to put a bullseye on it with what he said next. "I don't... understand Klingons," Kohl said. His voice cracked from the sheer vulnerability of it. "I grew up in a pacifistic society. I struggle with intuiting what Klingon warriors expect, or want... I need your anthropological insight."

"As a pacifist myself, I sympathise," he told Andreus, wanting to assuage his discomfort. After all, it probably wasn't often that Andreus Kohl actually admitted his shortcomings, especially to someone like Oren. He really must be desperate for help, the El-Aurian realised.

"Sometimes it's difficult to ignore one's own beliefs in order to empathise with a race like the Klingons, especially during a time like these...war-games. Klingons revel in coming to see their enemies and drink with them before slaughtering them the next day," Oren explained in a matter-of-fact tone. He'd always found the Klingons fascinating, but he attributed his feelings to the sheer amount of differences between their culture and his own personal beliefs.

Perching himself on the edge of the table, Kohl shrugged at Oren with his palms up. "Why do they do that?" asked Kohl in naked curiosity. "What do they get out of it?"

Crossing his arms as he considered his answer, Oren watched Kohl. "Well, they get the satisfaction of knowing their enemies, which is important for Klingons. Not only does it allow the chance to see their weaknesses, but also to see whether or not they were a worthy adversary. It's a sign of respect, of a sort," he explained with a shrug on his shoulders.

"If you're a worthy adversary, then they will gain more honor when they defeat you. If they find you weak and vulnerable, then not only is your defeat meaningless, it's dishonourable." It was one of the few things Oren truly admired about Klingons. Even they had their limits to their bloodlust.

Kohl nodded at Oren's explanation, slotting it in amid the other facts he'd learned about the Klingons over the years. "Is there-- could there be a way to use that? As an advantage?" Kohl asked. "What would happen if I presented myself as incompetent, and the Nautilus as a rust-bucket? Would they disregard us in the wargames, since our defeat would be meaningless?"

Oren made a face as he considered it. "Honestly, I don't think so. This isn't real war and Klingons, for all of their supposed primitivism in manners, are far from stupid. They wouldn't fall for something like that," he explained, then reconsidered. "But, during battle, if you allow yourselves to be weakened enough to appear dead in the water, they might ignore you."

He shook his head then. "But we're here to discuss Klingons, not battle tactics. As far as representing the Nautilus goes, and in general with them, really, it's best to appear firm and honest. Don't mumble, don't...what's that expression? Beat around the shrubbery?" Narrowing his eyes, Oren pondered the correct phrasing.

Since Kohl didn't know the aphorism Oren was referencing, he focused on the content of Oren's words. As his thoughts crystalized, Kohl clapped his hands together and stood upright from his perch. He stepped away from the table, and he said, "Appear firm. Appear honest." He laughed briefly. "I can do that. I fake that every day."

Oren raised an eyebrow, unsure if it was a confession or not. One part of him was extremely happy to know that he was right about Kohl the entire time. The man was, indeed, a faker. He watched his movements for a moment, blinking. "Right..." he trailed off. "Then dealing with Klingons won't be so difficult for you," Oren pointed out. "Hopefully they won't catch on."

A knit formed in Kohl's brow and he winced at something in what Oren said. Kohl began to pace across the chamber. His gait was slow, but there was a steady rhythm to his footfalls. "What would happen if they did catch on?" Kohl asked, and there was an undercurrent of urgency to his question. "Do Klingons take offense to bluster?"

"They won't so much take offense as use it against you," Oren explained, crossing his arms over his chest once more. "This diplomatic visit is as much about scouting out the enemy as it is about diplomacy for Klingons. They'll be sniffing out every weakness in you, the ship and Starfleet the entire time," he informed him. Klingons weren't like Federation citizens, they didn't have an 'off' setting inside their brains where they could just not be warriors anymore the way Starfleet officers could be mere civilians in certain company.

"Every conversation is them gauging your reactions, sizing you up. That's how they regard their peers, so other species are no different. They're not as upfront as they'd like people to think," Oren continued. Although he'd briefly toyed with the idea of not giving Kohl much necessary information, he knew that, if things went south during the diplomatic portion of their new mission, he wouldn't be able to sleep at night. He was having trouble sleeping at it was.

"Are there any tells common to Klingon bravado?" Kohl asked, as he continued his pacing along one side of the chamber. In an undertone, he remarked, "(I know, that's probably a horribly generalized thing to ask.) But are there any subtle behaviours unique to Klingons who are working hard to deceive?"

"No," Oren said simply, a little surprised at the question. It was a horribly generalised thing to ask. "I'm afraid that, as a pacifist, war and tactics never really interested me beyond their social and political consequences," Oren admitted. "But I believe that, as with all other species, nothing short of a telepath can really tell when a person is deceiving you." Oren himself had a hard time knowing whether someone was outright lying or simply telling a half-truth, but he imagined someone of his species growing up among their own kind would be much more skilled in weeding out liars.

Watching Kohl pace, Oren couldn't help but feel sympathy for his situation. It would have to be difficult for someone of his pacifistic beliefs to engage with Klingons in such a way as they were about to in the games.

"I understand that dealing with them will be difficult for you," he voiced, resting his hands in front of him as he continued to observe Kohl. "It's difficult to accept a species that prides itself on death and suffering."

Kohl stopped where he was pacing and stared at a dirty bulkhead. "I think it's the pride that's the most difficult," Kohl said thoughtfully. "I can almost imagine the desire for death or suffering in others, but I can't imagine pride in it. ...But it's not just Klingons. Dealing with any people has been problematic for me." There was a certain weight to what he said, especially given how problematic Kohl's own interactions with Oren had often proven to be.

"Maybe it's because you fake being firm and honest everyday," Oren said with little hesitation, watching Kohl carefully. Despite the fact that most actions from Kohl set his teeth on edge, Oren couldn't deny his basic instinct to reach out and be compassionate. Although Kohl's complete obliviousness to his own privilege and good fortune annoyed him to no end, Oren knew he felt no personal hatred towards the Argelian. He felt no hatred at all, really, but instead a rather intense dislike, fueled by a moderate amount of jealousy that Oren would deny existed with his last breath.

Hearing those words said out loud, hearing them said by Oren, it brought a scoff out of Kohl. "That's not what I do," Kohl said. His affirmation was matter-of-fact, but he continued to stare at the wall when he shook his head. His timbre took on a sense of discovery, when he said, "It's more like... I've lost my sense of place on the ship, in our community, and so I'm trying all the time to be likable, because I can't feel what people think or feel about me. I can't intuit it anymore. Not for the past few months, at least." He shook his head again, not sure where he was going with this.

"So? What's wrong with not intuiting what people feel or think?" Oren asked. To him, it sounded like heaven. Whenever he was missing something in a conversation, he knew. It didn't happen all the time and he didn't know exactly what caused it, but whenever he happened, he couldn't help but want to know more. And people told him. They told him things they probably wouldn't tell other strangers and sometimes he couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed. He knew more about some members of the crew than he ever wanted to know.

But if it helped them share the burden, he didn't feel right complaining or shutting them down whenever they spoke.

The idea that not only did Kohl care what people thought about him, but that he also believed they didn't like him and that he had to make an effort sounded ludicrous to Oren. Did Kohl not see how others regarded him? Even on a professional level, he seemed to be given certain privileges for no reason besides his personality and, as it seemed, his ability to fake things. To Oren, he seemed to have lost in place in reality, not the Galileo.

When Oren put it like that, Kohl wasn't sure he had an answer. Kohl was accustomed to feeling connected easily with the people around him, and as much as it was a shame to lose that feeling, had that loss of feeling impaired him in any way? He still managed to have friends, he still managed to advance his career. Why did he so need that feeling, which was only starting to return in feeling instances?

Kohl stopped his pacing. He closed in on the dining table again, and he perched itself on its edge. He braced his palms against his knees and he tried to speak in terms Oren would understand best. "I come from a hedonistic culture," Kohl said. "The whole point of conversation is to tease out the aspects I find attractive about you, and let you tease out the aspects you find attractive about me, and we learn a new way of exchanging words that becomes a seduction unique to our true selves." --Kohl closed his eyes, and a sigh escaped his lips-- "Without that feeling of connection, communication is simply... exposition."

"That's usually what communication is," Oren said simply, wondering when this turned into a counseling session instead of professional consultation. He wasn't sure what to say. As much as he sympathised with Kohl's problem, he didn't understand it. Oren didn't have his own culture so growing up in one and then being thrown into another wasn't something he had experienced. If you grew up without a culture of you own, all cultures were other cultures, other societies. Jumping from one to another had always been easy for Oren. What little of Bajoran culture had been imprinted on his at a young age had worn off, decades later. Even on Bajor, his own household had its own set of rules. Looking back on it, Oren was almost certain it was his parents' intention to make him like this. Not letting him engage in Bajoran ritual, dress in traditional Bajoran clothes, it was as if it were part of a plan to make Oren a anthropological blank slate, if such a thing could even exist.

"Accepting that others do not view communication as you do is an essential part of opening your mind to other cultures, even if it makes you feel awkward and uncomfortable," Oren explained. "Klingons might be gruff and physical and violent, but to them, that's normal. The fact that two or more cultures from different planets and societies can even interact peacefully is nothing short of a miracle."

"But it requires effort on all sides. Sometimes understanding another culture is impossible, but you don't need to understand them to accept them. You just need to respect and honour that difference and expect them to honour yours."

Kohl nodded at that, catching the circling in the conversation back to where they started. "Yes," Kohl said, and he nodded again. "Yes, I think I can manage to do that much."

"I'm sure you can," Oren said, still eyeing the Argelian. "And if not, you can always fake it," he added, his tone teetering somewhere between playful teasing and mocking, but it was difficult to tell which it favored. Even Oren himself wasn't completely sure. Perhaps both.

In either case, Oren's words brought a thin-lipped smile to Kohl's face. Given what Ellsworth had told Kohl, Kohl could only assume that Oren meant it in the most pejorative way possible. The smile most certainly didn't reach his eyes or his tone of voice. "Thank you, Idris," Kohl said, and he only looked at Oren long enough to say those words. Afterwards, his gaze shifted over to consider the bulkhead. "You've given me much to consider. I appreciate your time."

"And I appreciate you valuing my expertise enough to ask for it," Oren said, his voice betraying its sincerity this time. Although he knew his and Kohl's relationship was rocky, mostly by his own doing, Oren was still glad that Kohl valued Oren's knowledge.

Kohl looked Oren in the eye, looked right at him. The words of appreciation softened his look, certainly kept a scowl off Kohl's lips. Kohl nodded once, and he said, "Computer, end program," which caused the holographic image of Kohl to vanish from Galileo's holodeck in a whisper of dispersing photonic particles.


[OFF]

Lieutenant Commander Andreus Kohl
Executive Officer
USS Nautilus

Oren Idris, Ph.D.
Archaeologist/Anthropologist
USS Galileo

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