Chapter Text
So far, this year had been filled with nothing but calamities and mistakes. Perhaps the difficulty of my captaincy of the Churchill would even out over time. The job was, as the humans say, more than I had bargained for.
Our current mission was to convey a pallet of dinatrium from Kavaria to a dismal world called IX Clarus where final processing is done. Dinatrium, like dilithium, is one of the “shadow” elements on the periodic table which are bound to a matrix of negative energy. It is utilized in the power sources of subspace relays, to name one example. Apparently, there was a severe shortage in the Federation. Hence, the assignment.
Despite my science officer having taken care of all the details, the stuff was dangerous enough that only I was allowed to sign for it, and even then, only in person.
Once that happened, the pallet was to be transported by space elevator to an orbital way station. From there, it would be physically onloaded into the Churchill’s cargo hold. Using the transporter was simply not possible due to the element’s unstable nature. In other words, it would explode.
“Um, Captain?”
Commander Simonson’s hesitancy told me I was not going to like the next sentence. I raised a brow expectantly.
“There is an elderly Romulan lady outside the office who wishes to speak to you.”
I had been born on Romulus, but was then separated from my parents when only five years old. My mind raced, trying to determine who this lady might be. My mother? But she would be only eighty or so years old; to Simonson’s human eyes she would appear middle-aged, not elderly. I pushed aside such troubling suspicions and tried to meet the lady without preconceptions.
The elderly woman had short silver hair, a slightly bent posture, and walked with an ornate cane made of black wood. She wore a simple, slightly frayed dress and chukka boots. Not at all dressed like a Romulan, I thought.
“My name is Tama,” she said, lowering her head slightly.
“I am Captain Sovak T’Lon of the Federation starship Churchill,” I said evenly.
“I’m pleased to meet a fellow Romulan so far from home,” she said, smiling.
How did she know? There were a hundred Vulcans for every Romulan in Starfleet, and it certainly wasn’t something I advertised. Perhaps Simonson had revealed it, despite it not being relevant.
I asked how I could help her; she asked for passage aboard the Churchill to IX Clarus.
“Well, the Churchill isn’t a passenger ship,” I replied. “It’s a Federation starship. It’s not my place to grant passage.”
“But you’re the captain,” she replied. “My daughter lives on IX Clarus. She can’t afford to leave—the Ferengi don’t pay her enough. And I can’t afford to travel.”
“Yes, but, you see, we’re transporting dinatrium. It’s extremely dangerous.”
The Romulan, looking fatigued, met my eyes. “I’m one hundred and seventy eight years old, Captain T’Lon. The slice of the pie left to me is exceedingly small and getting smaller every day. I’ll accept the risk.”
“Ms. Tama,” I explained, “my ship is a scout class ship. That means, it’s quite small. There’s no room for you.”
“I’m familiar with scout class ships,” she said. “I’ll sleep in the sickbay. If there’s no room there, I’ll sleep on a cot in the cargo hold. If there’s no cot, I’ll sleep on a pallet.”
I sighed heavily. The lady would not take no for an answer.
I said, “The cargo hold will be full of highly dangerous material. I’m sorry, I can’t take you. It’s against the rules.”
The elderly Romulan shut her lids tightly and struggled to speak.
“I just—I wanted to hug my daughter…one last….”
She exhaled deeply and collapsed into my arms, unconscious. I called for a beam-up and Doctor Li’s assistants carried the small and frail woman to sickbay, leaving me to stand there, regarding the woman’s surprisingly heavy walking stick. The carved Romulan letters arranged vertically spelled out Qiuu mnek’nra, an old aphorism meaning “Everyone is good.”
I sighed.
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Ensign Yerushalmi appeared bewildered.
“Me?”
“You’re the least senior officer and the newest aboard,” I stated.
“Damn, I have to give up my quarters?”
“It’s not a request.”
“But—”
“I’m not going to make that old lady sleep on a cot. Lieutenant C’Mal has offered to share her quarters with you until we reach IX Clarus.”
“Oh, that sounds like fun,” Yerushalmi noted with a flat affect.
“You’re dismissed,” I said coldly.
After the delicate transfer of the pallet of dinatrium to the cargo hold, the Churchill warped away from Kavaria and I visited the elder Romulan in her borrowed room. She was wistfully starring out her starboard window at the passing stars.
“Are you comfortable?” I asked.
“I haven’t been comfortable since I was nine years old,” she replied. I suppose the tilt of my head caused her to add, “That’s a joke.” She turned and sat stiffly on Yerushalmi’s bunk, resting her cane beside her.
I apologized, “I’m sorry about the sudden departure. Anything you need, the replicator can provide. Food…clothes…even books.”
“And medicine,” she added. “Your kind Doctor Li wrote me a prescription.”
I nodded; there was a brief, uncomfortable silence, during which she studied me serenely.
“Thank you,” she finally said, then added, “I was probably just a bit older than you when I left Romulus.”
“Why did you leave?” I asked. I had wondered how she came to be in Federation space, at the opposite end of the Alpha Quadrant from Romulus.
She closed her eyes and smiled. “I fell in love with, and married, a Starfleet officer. A captain, like you.”
“Would that not have been highly unusual for that time period?” I asked, surprised.
“Of course,” she replied, nodding. “Romulans back then were the unknown enemy, at least as far as the Federation were concerned. But when she rescued me, we bonded instantly. She was the love of my life, and I lost her soon after.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “What happened?”
“Starfleet took away her command and her ship…probably because of me. It broke her. She grew resentful and distant, and said it was a mistake to give up her captaincy. Not that she had a choice. Life was hard for us then. We were forbidden from traveling, from doing much of anything. I left my love and tried to make it back to Romulus…that was a mistake. And when I finally returned to her, she was dead. I’ve been alone ever since.”
“That sounds very difficult,” I commiserated.
“All I have left in this universe is my daughter. I want to see her before I die. It’s been four decades.”
“Ms. Tama,” I said, “I hope you realize that I won’t be able to offer you a return trip.”
“I’ll tell you a secret,” she whispered, weakly. “I doubt I’ll survive that long. It is said that we Romulans live slowly, but die quickly.”
I finished my shift, ate dinner in the mess hall, and returned to my room where I sat in bed reading a murder mystery about a Vulcan detective. But Tama remained in my thoughts. Her story was a sad one. Still, she had more family than I had.