nexus_sages | (no subject)

"I hope we never do" is the wrong attitude to keep you out of a war. That's a Warrior of the Chozo telling you that. My people knew peace for so long most historians assume they were pacifists.

*If Jim is paying close attention, he might think to wonder what record was left of the Chozo's enemies, to challenge or support that supposition.*

Internal politics? Your government is arguing with itself about an appropriate stance on foreign relations?

Jim frowns a little, giving her a puzzled look. "Hoping there isn't a war and being prepared anyway aren't mutually exclusive, are they?" Otherwise he can't see why she'd have a problem with that. "What's the Chozo take on it?"

He hesitates before he answers her other question, considering his words carefully. The fact that Admiral Marcus was the root cause of Khan's rampage is classified, and while that probably means little here, he feels duty-bound not to reveal privileged information regardless of the circumstances. Still, there's ways he can get around it without betraying his oath. "There are... those in the Federation who think that the Klingons are little better than animals and that war's inevitable," he says slowly, carefully. "It's very possible that someone like that in a position of power might want to provoke a war on purpose to have an excuse to wipe them out. But like I said, I'm not a diplomat, so I don't know for sure."

*She could point out that he hadn't said anything about being prepared, only about hoping (and there are enough nutbar philosophies running around the Nexus that she couldn't assume), but then she'd feel somewhat obliged to acknowledge that he hadn't told a potential enemy his entire outlook. She'll settle for a sip of her drink and a slow indrawn breath as she decides how much of Chozo strategic philosophy to share.*

Wars are waged to obtain. Resources, territory, security, prestige, war is an effort to get something. If you would not have war brought to you, then you must make war with you the most costly way your neighbors could attain their goals. These Klingons, for example, don't care if they die as long as it's proudly, in battle. So don't kill them. Hurt their honor. Turn it into a weapon, and leave them the choice of being wounded by it or finding a different route to their goals. Finally, offer them routes you find more agreeable that are still in line with their beliefs--give them a way out that lets them save face. If you're very careful, very clever, and very subtle, you can do all of that without them ever realizing you've done it.

*Kirk's delicate intimation of his government's state is rather less delicately summed up by his drinking companion.*

You've got idiots in your command chain, you mean.

He listens attentively to her view on the whole war thing, with a little more than just idly polite interest. The stuff she says comes from experience, after all, and he's recently had a rather rude wakeup call about arrogantly assuming he has nothing left to learn. "Psychological warfare." He nods slightly. "Use their culture against them."

Too bad he's got so little influence up the chain, now that Admiral Pike's gone, and the reminder stings him anew.

Her summary, while not how he would've phrased it, isn't exactly wrong either. "Basically."

There's a human saying which holds that war is the continuation of diplomacy by other means. By the transitive property, that view must also hold that diplomacy is the pursuit of war by other means.

*She smiles, though it's the sort of smile cats give when they're thinking of a mouse they were playing with earlier.*

That said, war is never inevitable.

He doesn't smile back, exactly, but he is listening. "Would be nice if Command saw it that way." Though now that he's thinking about it, he doesn't even know who's serving as Head of Starfleet, now that Marcus is dead. Or if anyone's been pulled to replace the officers lost at Daystrom yet. "Attitudes might be changing though. A lot of top brass died."

Edited 2017-06-22 03:16 (UTC)

My condolences.

*She pauses for a moment, weighing her next words, and after another sip of Gavan, poses a question.*

How much advice do you want?

It takes him a moment to figure out what she's actually asking, and another several to figure out how he wants to answer that, in turn. "Right now, you've given me a bit to think about, but I think I gotta study up on Klingon psychology before we can go much deeper on this. Might not have much else to do with myself while I'm on medical leave anyway."

*She nods.*

I'll leave it at this, then: study up on human psychology, as well.

*And, since a change of topic is needed and she's starting to feel the effects of the brandy, she takes her opportunity.*

So how'd you get hurt?

"Fair enough."

He's had about half of the brandy in his glass, and the full-body muscle aches have started to ease up a bit. Her question comes as no surprise; he knew it was probably coming eventually. And while some of the details here are classified also - mostly the part where he spent a bit of time as a frozen corpse - the cover story's truthful enough. "Long story short, the warp core broke during the battle and someone had to go in and fix it manually before the Enterprise hit the planet. Broke a few vertebrae when it kicked on and threw me across the chamber, and I got pretty heavily irradiated while I was at it."

*She gives a sympathetic wince, then gives him another looking-over, leaning in a bit to peer more closely at his face.*

Sorry, how irradiated did you get? And how long ago was this?

Her scrutiny makes him a little uncomfortable, but he doesn't really flinch back from her either. If she figures it out, it's not like he can stop her. All he can do is stick to the incomplete truths he's supposed to tell. "Eight weeks ago, give or take. I was in a coma for two of those, and the week after that's still kinda hazy, so I missed the, uh, medically exciting part of it. All I really know is it was bad, and they had to put me in cryo for a bit while Bones worked out some kind of experimental treatment."

Edited 2017-06-22 05:38 (UTC)

Eight weeks, some of it in cryo.

*It's a murmured echo of his words as she considers the evidence before her.*

You're looking very well for someone in your situation. Your Facet's medicine must be better than your apparent injuries led me to believe.

He winces very slightly. "I know, I should be dead right now." He can't stop thinking about it. Even when he's focused on something else, it's lurking in the shadows, like seeing a shape in the corner of your eye.

*She won't try, directly, to get him to tell her the details he's obscuring. Instead, she'll offer something better than sympathy: empathy. She had an experience with high radiation herself, not long enough ago.*

Itchy, wasn't it?

He looks up somewhat sharply at that, because if she's implying what he thinks she's implying, she might be the first person he's found to actually talk to about it. "Like hot static, all over. Gave me one hell of a headache too." Among other things.

Ugh, the headache. And the lights when you close your eyes.

*She pauses for a moment, reading his expression. She nods slightly to herself, downs the rest of her drink, and pours another.*

Story time, isn't it? There was this mission... three other hunters and I got infected with a radioactive substance on the border between animal and mineral. Our bodies actually started producing the stuff. It was high-energy--the pirates had been mining it on several planets, and the Federation'd been experimenting with captured samples of the refined product. Weapons using the stuff in their power cells were devastating, my armor's shields were practically invulnerable while it was going. So having my own supply was great, as long as I didn't mind veins of radioactive cancer growing through my body.

*She pauses, taking a sip.*

I'll spare you the pictures.

"Shit," he mutters, kind of understandably horrified, as much as the mood-boosters allow anyway. Maybe, he thinks, it was lucky that he had such a high dose, because he only had to suffer through the actual radiation poisoning for a few minutes before he kicked the bucket. Having to go walking around like that for God-knows-how-long sounds like actual torture.

"I'm good without 'em." He rather doubts she has actual pictures of the events in question, but even if it's not just a joke, his answer stands. "How'd you survive?"

Edited 2017-06-22 06:42 (UTC)

*She has to think about the answer to that question for more than a moment. She's not entirely certain, herself, although she suspects the involvement of a number of factors.*

My armor's life support helped, and the mission was too important to just lay down and die.

*Jim's better off without the progression of images of the thick veins of radioactive putrescence spreading around her eyes.*

That's certainly a fair enough answer, and while the first part isn't entirely applicable, he can empathize with the second part. "Did the others make it?" he asks, hesitantly.

*She gives a slight shake of her head.*

The stuff I mentioned, phazon--it had a mind of its own, and they all fell under its influence. I had to put them down.

"I'm sorry." Losing friends and colleagues is never easy, no matter how long ago it was.

Thank you.

*Her gratitude is genuine, and she takes a long sip of her drink. She'll let the quiet go on. It's his turn to share.*

The trouble is, there's so much that he doesn't even know where to start, and he contemplates that while he tops off his drink. "It doesn't feel right," he says at last, "that I'm alive when so many others are dead." He's far too familiar with survivor's guilt, since this is hardly the first time he's been in a situation like this, but this time he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he should be six feet under. "It's not that I... regret being alive, though."

*She nods; it's a familiar feeling.*

You don't regret that you're alive, just that they aren't. You try to think of all the things you could have done to save them, the ways you could have stopped it sooner.