Six months had come and gone since the fall of the Tal Shiar and the establishment of the Romulan Free State.
The last of the rubble from the Battle Ki’ Baratan sat in an unassuming pile on a waste vessel in the bay; waiting like any other heap of garbage to be sorted through.
He still smelled the smoke, felt the heat of the flames. He had been on leave when it happened, reading in the quiet of the early evening, when the glass in the single window of his flat exploded.
He spent ten hours on his feet, dragging people from burning and collapsing buildings. When the sun did rise, it only brought clarity to the devastation, and he spent another two days searching for bodies.
Valor earned him a medal and a promotion to Full Centurion. Only a little rusty skipper held the memories of it all now.
A little rusty skipper and him.
He ruminated, staring down at Romulus from orbit. The dark side of Remus hung in the periphery.
Commander Markot asked for him; sitting alone in the man’s office was disconcerting.
It should feel good. It meant his Commander trusted him, or at the least thought him worthy of testing. Markot undoubtedly would turn the room over. Searching for theft or bugs.
Markot called as he came into the room. The young man stood up sharply with a swift fist-to-chest salute. “ At ease, I have no need for pageantry at the moment.” The commanders eyes, dark and gleaming, appraised him. “ Tell me, how are you faring? I do not think we've spoken since your promotion,” He said.
The Commander kicked his boots up onto the desk as he settled into his chair. Markot's cranial ridges were pronounced, his brow slouched over his face, casting intense shadows over it.
"Good, good. Your mother is still tending to the Brewery?"
Tacitus wasn't used to his commanding Officers speaking with him so casually.
"She…is well, sir. This year's fruit is almost ready for harvest."
Markot nodded. “Wonderful. Now repeat to me what our mission is.”
“We are to embark to Star Base 729 to provide transportation to a Federation Ambassador.” His Commander folded his hands over his stomach. It was clinical the way he observed him, like a germ under a microscope.
“I want you on the personal security detail of Madam Ambassador Corina Ross and her aide. Make sure they’re comfortable and treated with the utmost respect, both aboard this ship and on Romulus. Do you understand?” Tacitus kept his expression hard, not betraying the thrill making his heart thud in his side.
"Wear your dress uniform. You'll take meals with us in my quarters, and you will report any indiscretions committed by the crew." Martok reached for his PADD. "I expect you to be a perfect gentleman, a Romuluan Prince of old. Do I have your word?"
Tacitus put a hand on his Honor Blade. "I pledge it on my life, sir." Martok's lips tilted nearly into a smile. "We will reach our destination in three days. You are dismissed."
He killed time during those three days by reading up on Earth. A subject once highly censored now freely available to anyone with a PADD. The night before reaching 729, he found himself lost in a maze of information, jumping from one thing to another. An article on human courtship rituals caught his attention.
"Humans will cohabitate for months or years before marriage. Some modern humans forgo marriage altogether, seeing it as antiquated."
Tacitus could not wrap his mind around this. How could you allow someone into your home, let alone your bed, without an oath or pledge of loyalty? He was doubly floored to learn that humans were more likely to procreate long before marriage.
To allow that kind of leverage to exist without a formal commitment was unthinkable to a Romulan.
Simulated morning came. The ship groaned as the docking clamps latched onto the station. The jolt sent Erein Kralus falling from the bunk above Tacitius. Soft laughter sounded from their bunkmates. The Erein was barely seventeen, fresh from the Naval Academy, and this was his first time on a real starship. Kralus grimaced as he got to his feet.
"Did you break anything, Kralus?" The younger man rubbed the elbow he had landed on.
"No, sir." Tacitus got up and opened the compartment built into the wall to retrieve his dress uniform. "We're Plebians; don't call me sir unless we're on duty." He slipped on the black long-sleeved compression undershirt.
Kralus nodded, a little abashed, and scurried back up to his bunk.
“Illomnah bhudt!” came the familiar voice of Noril, who strolled in through the swishing door, two steaming mugs of breakfast porridge clutched in his hands. Reflexively, Tacitus swatted Noril away as he plopped down on his bed. “Don’t be like that." he scolded lightly with a sip from his own mug while Tacitus secured his belt around his black trousers.
"Do you think humans smell as bad as they say?” Noril asked.
Tacitus took his mug from Noril after fastening the magenta, high-collared inner tunic. He took a long dreg of the savory porridge and handed it back. "I suppose we'll find out."
Despite what the old Imperial dogma used to spout, the glorious Star Navy was incredibly dull. The Dominoin war provided a reprieve. Outside of that, most ships partook in routine missions. Patrolling the border, delivering supplies to colony worlds; if you were lucky, you might run into a Mnei Kreh ship. Although Tacitus had yet to have a proper duel with a pirate. Much to his dismay.
It was rare for most to leave the ship, let alone speak to an off-worlder in person.
"I suppose we'll find out." Tacitus shrugged on the outer tunic before grabbing the magenta sash.
Noril watched him struggle with it before putting their mugs on the ground. " Who taught you how to tie a sash?" He mused, getting up to help. "It's like watching a Verrule hump a rock." Tacitus flicked his friend’s ear. “ Don’t tease me, I’ll evert!” Noril cried loud enough for the other men in the room to look at them. Tacitus pinched his nose as Noril wrapped the sash around his waist, knotted it, and draped it over his shoulder.
"Your pin, your communicator, your Honor Blade." Noril listed each item as he hastily secured them to Tacitus, who tried to wrestle away from him. The others in the room were openly snickering now. "Stop pestering me like my mother!"
Noril cocked his head to the side. He was rather effeminate looking, with his softer ridges and large, round eyes. " I resent that statement." Noril adjusted the sash and the Emblem pin.
“Stand up straight, come on, act like you’re a 198 CM.” Tacitus stood to his full height with his hands clasped behind his back. “ 198.12 CM.” he corrected with a smug smile, poking the top of Noril’s head.
“I’ve got it where it counts, Farm Boy,” Noril replied with faux annoyance before handing him his mug again. “Elements, you’re really doing it.”Noril stepped back to take in Tacitus.
“Climbing your way to Commander I bet it’ll be easier now that things are changing. You probably won’t have to kill anyone!” He clapped Tacitus on the shoulder.
Tacitus regarded himself, gazing at the sleek black uniform.
Things certainly were changing.
It was far too bright, cold, and dry on 729. Every surface was a glossy bright white that made the blood pound behind Tacitus's eyes. Markot walked alongside him; his boots kept squeaking on the overly polished floor. "I neglected to ask earlier: how is your father?"
Tacitus straightened a fraction. "He is contemplating buying another plot of land to grow soah." He was rarely asked about his father. It raised his hackles and for good reason. Commander Markot's stoicism broke, his brows raised in surprise. "Soah? Since when is soah legal on Romulus?" his surprise was genuine.
"It has fallen to a restricted status. The Medical Consulate has promising research regarding its use to treat Tuvan syndrome." Markot pursed his lips. "Perhaps I have spent too long off-world."
The Turbo Lift took them four decks up, where they were directed to wait in a small lounge outside one of many conference rooms. Markot inhaled sharply and followed the scent to the refreshment table near the viewport. "I believe it's coffee, sir." While Tacitus could not read Federation Standard, he did recognize the word printed on the menu card. "It's a caffeinated Earth beverage."
Markot poured himself a cup. "You've been studying. Very good." Tacitus followed his Commander’s lead and tried the drink. Finding it more bitter than expected. "They're a curious species." He replied. "They are extremely informal about a great many things, and I'm uncertain how to feel about it." Markot smirked. "I believe this is the most I've heard you speak."
Tacitus locks up as he often does when someone points out any deviation from his usually quiet nature. He pretends to drink more when the swish of the conference room door alerts him.
His grip on the metal cup tightened. A single human woman had stepped out, and the air vanished from his lungs. "You must be Commander Markot." Her voice like a rain drum. "I'm Ashni, The Aide to Ambassador Corina Ross."
Long hair, so black it shined blue, fell like swaths of silk down her back. Her dark complexion complemented green- blue eyes lined with long lashes. Tacitus thought of storms brewing on the horizon of a crystal clear ocean. He thought of childhood stories told on the eve of a hurricane.
"Lady Ashni, It's an honor to escort you," Markot bowed slightly. " This is Centurion Tacitus." he became acutely aware of the crushed cup and the hot liquid spilling over his hand. Tucking it behind his back, he saluted.
She smiled brightly, dark red lips spreading to flash white teeth. "It's wonderful to meet you both. The Ambassador will be ready to depart soon; please make yourselves comfortable." Turning on the thin heels of her boots, she disappeared back into the conference room.
Commander Markot and Tacitus shared a glance. Amusement colored the older man’s expression. He reached and took the ruined cup from Tacitus. "Try to contain yourself, soldier. We're still on duty."
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