MSPNPC Da’al Ypartin – Consequences and plans
jkpbem
(( Prime minister’s official residence, Vman – Da’al capital city ))
Ypartin watched the sun’s shadow play behind the tall buildings of Vman’s commercial centre, squinting as it cast vaguely rectangular segments of the city into strips of alternating darkness and light. The back of his neck had been aching for days, and the way the pain was spreading outward into his shoulders mimicked the way misfortune had spread throughout his life in the past week.
In the days that had passed since Zeneth announced she’d reached out to the Federation, Ypartin felt as though he were seeing his people, his planet, even himself, with new eyes. The Da’al were facing an existential crisis, one from which they’d been shielded by their leadership. By Ypartin himself. As increasingly frantic reports came in from their outer colonies, warning of the Klingons’ imminent arrival, Ypartin had been forced--no, that’s not true--Ypartin had chosen to place a communications blackout between the homeworld and her territories beyond the stars. It should have been a difficult decision, but it was surprisingly easy. He was also amazed at how quickly those on the homeworld returned to their normalcy, distracted by issues relating to the recent harvest, a new calculus for infrastructure taxation, and a whole host of other unimportant domestic issues. The colonies were barely one day’s worth of news.
Such was the nature of colonies. They were always the first to fall. Always the first to be handed over. Sacrificed for the good of the metropolitan state. Ypartin wondered if the Klingons would accept them, along with a guarantee that the Da’al would remain within their own star system, as a fair price for being left alone. The cold, detached, calculating leader that he’d become over the last five years thought it was an acceptable price to pay. To Ypartin, the Klingons were just another faction to bargain with; another threat to his leadership that could be ameliorated indefinitely. In this case, the balm was their colonies. The Da’al would survive their loss. Ypartin would survive their loss.
He had already started drafting the announcement he’d make, commemorating those whose lives were lost in an unprovoked and completely unexpected Klingon offensive. He’d perform all of the correct ritual gestures to please the various religious and cultural factions, and announce forthwith the construction of a permanent memorial to those Da’al heroes who were taken during the Massacre of the Colonies.
Then, Zeneth had informed him that the Federation had indeed received her clandestine call for help, and that a ship was on the way. No one else knew of this; he’d made Zeneth swear that all communications and conversations regarding the Federation would be kept in the strictest of confidence. Despite everything, he still trusted her to keep her word. But the entrance of the Federation into this crisis presented Ypartin with a conundrum. How could he frame the story? How could he ensure that this action, which for five years he’d promised he’d never take, would work to his advantage? He knew he could survive the loss of their colonies to the Klingons, but could he survive their deliverance by the Federation?
Ypartin’s desktop monitor signaled the arrival of a new message. It was Zeneth, letting him know that the Federation ship was in range, and it was time to make contact. He acknowledged the message and tucked in the tails of his tunic. As he made his way from his official residence to his offices in the opposite corner of the governmental complex, he knew that everything would be decided within the next few minutes. Not just the rest of his political career, or his life, but the way history would assess his legacy for centuries to come.
(( Prime ministerial offices, Vman – Da’al capital city ))
Zeneth was already there when Ypartin arrived. On his massive, ornately carved desk, the one at which sixteen decades of prime ministers had carried out their official functions, the desktop monitor was activated, the emblem of his government rotating slowly.
Ypartin: ::adjusting his tunic:: How is this supposed to work, Zeneth? Do we wait for them to contact us? Or am I supposed to contact them?
Zeneth: response
Ypartin: Don’t take this as a lack of confidence in your abilities, Zeneth, but are you absolutely certain that this communication will not be traced?
Zeneth: response
Ypartin: All right. ::takes his position behind the desk:: Let’s get this over with.
((OOC: We can do the conversation in a new scene, once the chronology lines up shipside.))
TBC
MSPNPC Ypartin
Da’al prime minister
as simmed by
Ensign Yogan Yalu
Helm Officer
USS Resolution NCC-78145
Justin
D238804DS0
Night, field of stars above us. I pick one and name it for you, and all who are to come.