((Starbase 118 - Janul’s Quarters))
On Ops, most prisoners were temporary. Since the base didn’t boast any sort of permanent prison, there was no reason to really hold prisoners on a permanent basis. Fortunately, for the most part, the brig was used for very minor reasons. Sometimes, however, some prisoners were there longer than usual - for a variety of reasons. In those cases, or rather, in that particular case, the prisoner had been given a set of quarters and was kept under guard.
When Alora had been placed on Ops as her latest assignment, she had taken some time to review the previous and
most recent missions. The Cult of Molor had been a threat - was still a threat, but there was still someone on the base who had proved to be an interesting pawn in that little game.
His name was Janul.
During the course of her reading, she’d found him mentioned quite a few times, particularly in connection with their captain turned commodore. That had driven her to curiosity, and found herself making arrangements to meet this mysterious Klingon. Nodding to the officers who remained diligent at their posts, she stepped through the doors once she was given access and immediately turned her gaze to the man in question.
He was tall. Extremely tall. Taller than Tony, and that man was already on the list for tallest men she’d ever met. Now Janul was added to that. As her gaze traveled upward, she wondered how easily it would be for him to simply walk through those doors and escape. She knew he wouldn’t. From what she’d read, he’d been a willing prisoner, turning himself in, though she wasn’t sure any punishment from the Federation would be justified. She supposed they would see come time for the trial.
Despite everything, a smile immediately lit up the scientist’s face. She was always ready with one, a habit, or perhaps a natural inclination that refused to be dissuaded upon meeting someone for the first time. Her first words, however, were not the typical greeting.
DeVeau: Computer, disable universal translator.
Computer: Universal translator disabled.
DeVeau: nuqneH, Janul.
Alora was always on the lookout for opportunities to use the languages she had learned. Every day, she had the computer switch between them, forcing her to keep fresh, but actual conversations with actual people were far more desirable. And fun. Even if that person was technically a criminal.
Janul had been on his way back from the replicator with a glass of bloodwine. At least, to him it was glass. To his human friends it was more like a four pint stein. His door had opened, and he had growled under his breath. Probably Starfleet JAG coming to ask the same questions over again. But no, it had been a tiny science officer that he’d never met before.
As she addressed him in Klingon, he took a deliberately noisy slurp from his drink.
Janul: And you are? ::He grunted, his voice like the threat of a landslide.::
DeVeau: Jih am sogh ra'wi' Alora DeVeau. (I am Lieutenant Commander Alora DeVeau.)
He stomped his heavy-footed way towards one of the pair of sofas, before dropping into it. He thudded his booted feet onto the coffee table and drank some more. He was a willing inmate in his own quarters, subject to Federation Law based upon their opinions and decisions of his actions, but he was in no mood for the pointless prattling of a science officer.
Alora arched an eyebrow.
Janul: What do you want, Commander? ::His growl emphasised the rank.:: Spit it out. Or get out.
The woman chuckled softly. As big as the man was, she was not intimidated, probably thanks to some foreknowledge of events before coming, as well as to the fact that he’d be in big trouble if he tried to do anything to her. And honestly, the bigger they were, the harder they fell.
DeVeau: I wanted to talk to you about Sal Taybrim.
That caught his attention. And his interest. He put his feet down, and sat forwards.
Alora crossed over and plopped down into an armchair, one leg crossing over the other and hands lacing as she rested them upon her belly. She studied the man through droopy lids, a smile still playing over face .
DeVeau: I don’t know if you heard, but he’s been promoted to Commodore.
Janul huffed at that, taking a swig of his bloodwine.
Janul: Commodore. ::He bared his teeth.:: He should be an Admiral of your Starfleet at least!
DeVeau: I’m fairly new to the station and was not here when people were dealing with the Cult. However, I have taken time to review the facts. In the records, and in your witness statement, I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed particularly...respectful of our captain.
Janul bared his teeth once more, only this time it was accompanied by a low rumble. Like gravel and small rocks beginning to move before an earth slide. To most it had a menacing sound about it, to a select few it was recognised as a chuckle. And the bared teeth about as close as you got to getting a smile from the ever blunt and grumpy warrior.
Janul: Captain Taybrim is a fine warrior. We have fought and bled together, even side by side. ::He sat forwards a little, banging a fist against his thigh.:: We have slain Targ together, in the glorious hunts of Tumar!
Thinking back to the hunts there, Janul knocked back the rest of his stein - almost two pints still - in one go. Satisfied, he let out a long, low belch before standing. That had been his second of the afternoon, about eight pints to a human. It would take many more to put Janul onto his back. He made for the replicator, having the stein refilled.
Janul: Bloodwine, Commander?
DeVeau: Yes, thank you.
But only a little. Alora knew she was a lightweight, and she was not going to take any chances at becoming inebriated. Still, it would be rude not to accept. She took the smaller mug meant for her and lifted it toward him before sipping at it.
He returned to his seat, thumping down onto it and putting his booted feet up on the table once again. He eyed the contents of his stein appreciatively. Replicated as it may be, it was a fine year of vintage bloodwine. He had a bottle of the real stuff stashed somewhere.
Janul: 2387. Good year for bloodwine. ::He scowled at her then, his eternal glare shining forth fully as he spoke.:: You have yet to tell me what Captain Taybrim’s promotion has to do with a prisoner of the Federation.
DeVeau: You have yet to tell me why a prisoner of the Federation would hold Captain Taybrim in such high regard.
Another slow slip followed and a single eyebrow arched at him from over the rim of the mug.
Janul: Captain Taybrim is an honourable man. My first mission after being assigned to your security department was to a mining facility owned by the Orion Syndicate.
DeVeau: I see.
Alora didn’t add much, she wanted to hear what the klingon had to stay. As she let the silence encourage him, she took another small, careful sip of the bloodwine, careful to keep it low and slow. Not too much, and not too quick.
Janul: Over seven hundred slaves were rescued. ::He almost spat the word ‘slaves’ as he gripped his stein tighter.:: Along with some of the station's crew. The pilot, Zohan and the Commander with the different eyes were among them.
Lt.Cdr. Arturo Maxwell
Chief Tactical Officer
Starbase 118 Operations
Lt. Cmdr. Alora DeVeau
Chief Science Officer
Starbase 118 Ops