[Golihesh/Doctrine] Through The Looking Glass, Part 1
Clifford
“Through The Looking Glass, Part 1”
Introducing…
Lieutenant Commander Tale Gilohesh
Commander Diane Doctrine
(and her son, Toby)
==Starbase Starocca, not far from the Skorr System==
Tale stepped into the ambassador’s quarters, her sharp eyes immediately taking in the chaotic scene. PADDs were scattered across every surface, half-empty tumblers of scotch sat precariously on the edge of tables, and the air was thick with the scent of burnt hair. Ambassador Dumma was pacing back and forth, muttering to themselves in a mix of Standard and what sounded like Vulcan.
Tale herself was a striking figure, her presence commanding attention without effort. Her olive-toned skin was dotted with faint freckles, a remnant of childhood sun exposure, and her black-green hair was pulled into a messy top knot, the sides shaved close to her scalp. A small electronic device, no larger than a fingernail, was fitted discreetly behind her right ear, its faint blue light blinking intermittently. She wore a fitted blue and black bodysuit, practical yet stylish, with a small satchel slung over one shoulder. Her movements were fluid and methodical, exuding a peaceful aura that seemed to fill the room. As though she didn’t want to waste a single step.
“Ambassador Dumma?” She called out, her voice calm.
The diplomat spun around, their wide eyes locking onto Tale. “Oh! You must be the counselor. Thank goodness you’re here. I’ve been waiting—well, not waiting exactly, more like spiraling—but you’re here now, and that’s what matters. Please, sit. Or stand. Whichever you prefer. I don’t want to impose.”
Tale suppressed a smile and took a seat on the edge of a cluttered sofa. “I’m Dr. Tale Gilohesh. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ambassador.”
“Dumma, please,” they said, waving a hand dismissively. “Ambassador feels so… formal. And right now, I’m feeling anything but formal. Did you know the negotiations start in three days? Three days! And I’m nowhere near ready. What if I say the wrong thing? What if I offend someone? What if—”
“Dumma,” Tale interrupted gently, “take a breath. You seem to be spiraling already.”
Dumma blinked, then let out a shaky laugh. “Right. Breathing. I’ve heard of that. Let me try.” They took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling slowly. “Better?”
“Much,” Tale said with a smile. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”
Tale leaned back slightly on the cluttered sofa, her emerald eyes never leaving Dumma as they resumed pacing. The ambassador’s movements were erratic, their hands fluttering like birds trapped in a cage. Tale noted the faint smell of burnt hair again and spotted a singed patch on the sleeve of Dumma’s robe. Interesting, she thought. This one’s a bit of a jumble, but aren’t we all?
“Dumma,” Tale began, her tone warm but firm, “you mentioned the negotiations start in three days. What’s the biggest thing worrying you about them?”
Dumma stopped mid-pace and turned to face her, their expression a mix of panic and exasperation. “The biggest thing? Oh, where to start! There’s the cultural protocols—did you know the Tellarites consider direct eye contact an act of aggression? And the Andorians? If you don’t compliment their antennae within the first five minutes, they assume you’re insulting them. And then there’s the—”
“Dumma,” Tale interrupted again, this time with a hint of amusement, “you’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” Dumma asked, their voice rising an octave.
“Spiraling,” Tale said simply. “You’re listing every possible thing that could go wrong, but you’re not actually addressing the root of the problem. So, let’s try this again. What’s really worrying you?”
Dumma stared at her for a moment, their shoulders slumping as the fight seemed to drain out of them. They sank into a chair across from Tale, their hands gripping the armrests like they were afraid the seat might vanish beneath them.
“I… I don’t know,” Dumma admitted, their voice quieter now. “I just… I can’t afford to fail. Too much is riding on this. If I mess up, it’s not just my career on the line. It is entire planets. Billions of lives. How am I supposed to carry that?”
Tale nodded, her expression softening. “That’s a lot of weight for one person to carry. But here’s the thing—you’re not alone in this. You’ve got a team, right? Advisors, aides, people who are there to support you?”
Dumma waved a hand dismissively. “They’re competent, sure, but they’re not the ones who have to stand in that room and make the decisions. They’re not the ones who’ll be blamed if it all goes wrong.”
“True,” Tale conceded. “But they’re also not the ones who’ll get the credit if it all goes right. And from what I’ve heard, you’ve got a pretty impressive track record. So, why don’t we focus on what’s worked for you in the past?”
Dumma blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What’s worked?”
“Yeah,” Tale said, leaning forward slightly. “You didn’t get to be an ambassador by accident. You’ve clearly got skills. So, what’s your secret? What do you do when you’re at your best?”
Dumma hesitated, then let out a small, almost sheepish laugh. “I… I suppose I’m good at reading people. I can usually tell what someone wants before they even say it. And I’m good at finding common ground, even between people who seem to hate each other.”
“See?” Tale said, smiling. “That’s a solid foundation. So, why don’t we build on that? Instead of worrying about everything that could go wrong, let’s focus on what you do best. And if something does go wrong—which, let’s be honest, it probably will—you’ll handle it. Because that’s what you do.”
Dumma stared at her for a long moment, then let out a breath they didn’t seem to realize they’d been holding. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not,” Tale admitted. “But it’s also not as complicated as you’re making it out to be. You’ve got this, Dumma. You just need to trust yourself.”
Dumma nodded, their expression thoughtful. “But what if I accidentally insult the Tellarite delegation? I’ve heard they’re… sensitive.”
Tale chuckled, leaning back in her seat. “Sensitive" is one word for it. But here’s a pro tip: if you do insult them, just lean into it. Tellarites love a good argument. Tell them their fur smells like a Ferengi’s taint and challenge them to prove you wrong. They’ll respect you for it.”
Dumma blinked, then burst out laughing—a genuine, unrestrained sound that seemed to surprise even them. “That’s… oddly specific advice.”
Tale shrugged, her grin widening. “What can I say? I’ve been around the block a few times. And trust me, if you can survive a Tellarite insult battle, you can survive anything.”
“What’s that?” Dumma asked, their curiosity momentarily overriding their anxiety.
“A little something to help you relax,” Tale said, her tone casual but laced with purpose. She began mixing the herbs with practiced ease, her movements deliberate and calming. “It’s an old Orion tradition. The tea isn’t just about the taste—it’s about the ritual. The act of preparing it, the smell, the warmth… It helps settle you. Makes it easier to focus on what’s real instead of what’s in your head.”
Dumma watched as Tale poured hot water into an earthenware pot, the steam carrying the scent of cardamom, cinnamon, and something uniquely Orion. She handed Dumma a small, olive-green cup.
“Drink,” Tale said, her voice gentle but firm. “It’ll help with that tension headache you’ve been ignoring. And maybe it’ll quiet some of those thoughts racing through your mind.”
Dumma took the cup, their hands trembling slightly. They took a cautious sip, their expression softening as the warmth spread through them. “This is… nice. Thank you.”
Tale smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re welcome. Now, let’s talk about how you’re going to handle those Tellarites.”
Tale stepped out of Ambassador Dumma’s quarters, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss. She leaned against the wall for a moment, letting out a long, slow breath. The session had gone better than expected, but Dumma’s energy was dreadfully exhausting. Still, she’d managed to get them to laugh—a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
She straightened up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, and adjusted the small electronic device behind her ear. It buzzed faintly, a reminder that she had a backlog of notes to transcribe. “Later,” she muttered, tapping it once to silence the alert.
The corridor outside was bustling with activity, as it always was at this time of day. Crew members in Starfleet uniforms hurried past, their boots clicking against the polished floor, while civilians and diplomats moved at a more leisurely pace. Tale navigated the crowd with relative ease, her jade eyes taking in the familiar sights and sounds of the station.
She’d been working here for months now, assigned to the diplomatic attaché as a counselor and mediator. The station was a hub of interstellar politics, a place where alliances were forged and broken over cups of tea and carefully worded agreements. Tale had seen it all—the heated arguments, the tearful reconciliations, the quiet moments of understanding. It was exhausting work, but she thrived on it.
As she passed a large viewport, she paused, her gaze drawn to the stars beyond. Something felt… off. The usual hum of the station seemed quieter, almost muted, and the stars outside flickered faintly, as if seen through a thin veil. Tale frowned, her hand instinctively reaching up to touch the device behind her ear.
“Strange,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. She’d seen anomalies before—this was deep space, after all—but this felt different. It was as if the universe itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
Shaking off the odd feeling, Tale continued on her way. She had a meeting to prepare for, and no time to dwell on cosmic mysteries. Still, the flicker of unease lingered at the back of her mind, like a shadow she couldn’t quite shake.
Making her way through the promenade, she nodded to a few familiar faces. There was Ensign Patel, who always stopped to chat about the latest holonovel she was obsessed with, and Lieutenant Commander Grax, a gruff Tellarite who secretly had a soft spot for Tale’s tea (and told her the best insults). She even spotted Diane, deep in conversation with a Vulcan diplomat. Diane caught her eye and gave her a subtle nod, which Tale returned with a small smile.
Her destination was the station’s arboretum, a quiet oasis tucked away from the chaos of the promenade. It had become her favorite spot to decompress after a long session. The air was always fresh, filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the soft hum of the station’s environmental systems. She found her usual bench beneath a towering tree with leaves that shimmered like liquid silver and sat down, letting the tranquility wash over her.
Tale pulled a small PADD from her satchel and began jotting down a few notes from her session with Jorran. Her thoughts wandered as she wrote, reflecting on the ambassador’s progress and the challenges that lay ahead. She was interrupted by the soft chime of her device.
“Dr. Gilohesh,” came the voice of the station’s computer, smooth and efficient. “You have a meeting with the Betazoid delegation in one hour. Shall I prepare your notes?”
“Yes, thank you,” Tale replied, tapping the device again. She leaned back against the bench, closing her eyes for a moment. One hour. Just enough time to finish her notes, grab a cup of tea, and brace herself for the next round of whatever fresh hell awaited her.
As she sat there, the odd feeling from earlier returned, stronger this time. The air seemed to hum with a faint, almost imperceptible vibration, and the leaves of the tree above her rustled as if stirred by a breeze that wasn’t there. Tale opened her eyes, her gaze scanning the arboretum. Everything looked normal, but the sense of unease remained.
“Get it together, Gilohesh,” she muttered, shaking her head. Still, as she gathered her things and headed for the exit, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to happen. Something big.
As Tale stepped back onto the promenade, she spotted Diane near one of the food vendors, sipping a cup of what smelled like Andorian spice tea. Diane’s cerulean eyes locked onto Tale’s, and she raised her cup in a silent toast.
By the time Diane had taken a second sip of tea, Tale had already come over to get one of her own. “This one is on me also,” she told the proprietor. “How is Ambassador Dumma today?”
“The usual,” Tale replied with a wry smile. “Ambassador Dumma is… a lot. But I think we’re making progress.”
Diane nodded, her expression thoughtful as she lifted her cup. “Good. We’ll need them at their best for the next round of negotiations.” She paused, her gaze drifting to the viewport behind Tale. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
“Feel what?” Tale feigned ignorance to what she could feel churning in her stomach.
The blonde woman’s head tilted a few degrees causing a stray bit of hair to fall out of place. “I think you know what I’m talking about,” she answered in a cryptic tone, while brushing the stray lock of hair back to its proper place. “It’s the vibe. Something is going to happen… for good or ill, I can’t tell just yet… but some shit is about to go down.” Her eyes went from Tale’s to the viewport scanning the vista for some, as yet, unseen omen.
“The something is off,” Tale agreed. “But, how much weight can we put into vibes? I suppose we shouldn't be borrowing trouble based on cosmic auras.”
Diane offered only a shrug, “It depends. Some cultures trust vibes completely, some require more evidence.” She took another sip of her tea as she turned to face her friend once more, “At the very least, since there’s more than just one of us with this foreboding feeling, we should be wary.”
Tale chuckled, but there was no real humor behind it. “That tracks.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the heft of Diane’s words hanging in the air. Tale’s fingers drummed lightly against the edge of her cup, her mind racing. She hated this feeling—the not knowing, the waiting for the other shoe to drop. It reminded her too much of her early days as a counselor, when every session felt like walking into the unknown.
“This is usually when you spill the scuttlebutt and tell me what I don’t already know,” Tale traced her finger idly around the edge of the PADD in her arm.
Diane looked up from her now empty cup with an uncharacteristically neutral expression, “I hate to disappoint you, you know that, but I've got nothing… and you have no idea how frustrating that is.”
Tale let a soft exhale out. “I understand, don't let it bother you,” she said with a little shrug of her shoulders. “Perhaps there actually is something in the air that is making everyone clam up. Although, it certainly hasn't made anyone I've handled less manageable.”
Before Tale could respond, a familiar gravelly voice cut through the hum of the promenade. "There you are, Gilohesh! Doctrine!" Lieutenant Commander Grax stomped toward them, his broad Tellarite frame parting the crowd effortlessly. His usual scowl was deeper than usual, the ridges on his nose twitching with barely contained agitation. "Been looking all over for you."
"To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Grax? Did someone finally take you up on your offer to arm-wrestle for replicator rations?"
"Ha!" Grax barked, though his expression remained stormy. He jabbed a thick finger toward the observation deck. "You think this is funny? Tell me you've seen the readings from sector seven."
Diane’s eyes narrowed as they bore into the Grax. It clearly bothered her when someone had information that she hadn’t acquired yet, especially when that person wasn’t a member of the Intelligence community. She cut right to the point, “It’s not funny in the least, Grax, what’s been found in sector seven.”
The Tellarite’s nostrils flared. Tale watched with mild amusement, but to his credit, he didn’t back down. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Intel girl?” he snorted in a piggish way, deliberately wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Maybe if your spies were worth their salt you wouldn’t be asking me.”
“Your salt isn’t worth the dirt you dig through to get it. I wouldn’t use it on my food if it was the last salt in the galaxy,” she sneered back. “You don’t want to help? Fine. Wait until the next time you need anything from me.” She knew the game Grax started and was more than willing to play it.
Grax let out a disgruntled little cough, clearing his throat. “Stoffels, in the science lab, has been tracing some gravitational disturbances out for the past three hours,” he shook his jowls. “Whole sector’s warbling like a drunken Klingon at last call.”
“What would that mean?” Tale looked at Diane with confusion. Grax might as well have been speaking in tongues, Tale wasn't too proud to have admitted when she was out of her depth.
“Sounds like a job for the science department,” Diane told Tale, “Gravitational disturbances could be anything,” she continued to explain, “They could be simple EM emissions from a nearby star’s sunspots, it's a very generic term. The science folks watching should be trying to detect what kinds of particles are involved. That would give a much better clue as to what’s causing the disturbance and what kind of problems it could cause.”
“Bah! Sunspots!” Grax looked at them both like they were complete idiots.
He tossed them a data PADD, pressing his grimy fingernail against the display. Even to Tale it was clear the quantum fluctuations looked like something bizarre was about to happen. “Is that space time about to collapse or open?” Tale tilted her head to look at the PADD in Diane’s hand better.
Diane eyed Grax angrily after checking the data presented on the PADD, “You should have started the conversation with this.” Her eyes flashed to Tale to offer an explanation but…
The station shuddered violently before she could finish. Overhead lights flickered as a deep, resonant hum vibrated through the deck plates. Tale's implant sparked a white-hot warning behind her ear - her body's own early alert system screaming to life.
Diane slapped the PADD back into the Tellarite’s chest, she didn’t care if he took it or not. “We have to get to the Main Control,” she told Tale while tossing away her empty beverage cup. She started purposefully heading in that direction.
Tale opened her mouth to mediate when—
The deck plates heaved violently. Lights stuttered as a subsonic groan vibrated through Tale's bones. Her neural implant fired like a live wire behind her ear, the pain sparking purple across her vision…
TBC…