Parting of the Ways
Posted on September 21st, 2022 by Rak'nar and Syvek

What was the chief virtue of a warrior? The one most worthy of admiration in their comrades, and fear in their enemies? Strength? Skill? Courage?

This was a popular debate, frequently contested over a barrel of blood wine, particularly by the young warriors, eager to prove themselves and naturally assuming their ascension to the ranks of the Dahar Masters was simply a matter of time. Rak’nar had to admit, the debate seldom rose to Vulcan Science Academy levels of philosophical rigor. Mostly, by some cosmic coincidence, the greatest of virtues happened to be that which the current speaker seemed to best exemplify. In the mind of Rak’nar, son of K’tan, only the experience of failure could give the argument true weight. The truest appreciation of a thing’s value came only with the sting of its absence.

Which was why Rak’nar, in his time, had come to his own opinion, a slightly less popular one. The truest mark of a great warrior was patience. If a man could endure privation, insult, injury, all without complaint, able to trust in his instincts to alert him when the time to strike was finally at hand, and if he could inspire that same quality in those around him… yes, that was a man to be respected and feared in equal measure.

But one must never confuse patience with inaction! Fate would often favor the wary, but never the hesitant. And that was why, having sensed this ambush in the making, he had not slowed his pace, not paused to carefully watch his surroundings. That simply gave the hunter time to tighten the noose. No, better for a warrior to charge headlong into the ambush, feigning ignorance, only to turn and strike at the moment of his choosing.

And yet… he sensed that would not be enough to save him this day. It was possible to carry yourself at every step as the most virtuous of warriors, and still find yourself outmatched. There was no shame in it, so long as you carried on, and met your end with honor.

“Hmmm,” he allowed with a grunt, as he selected one of his fast diminishing options, moved his intricately-carved knight into position, and faced his Vulcan opponent from across the simple table dividing them.

With his stands steepled as he surveyed the board from across the table, Syvek raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating,” he remarked. “You clearly have anticipated my trap, yet you charge forth into it.” After a few moments of contemplation of whether or not he had missed a possible play in which several potential future pairs of moves played out in his mind, Syvek decided to proceed. Perhaps it was not that fascinating that his Klingon opponent charged forth; after all, they had been playing together for several years, and this tendency was not uncommon. He slid a rook six rows across the board and nodded slightly to Rak’nar as he calmly stated, “Check.”

“Often enough, charging into a trap before it has fully closed is the surest way of besting it,” Rak’nar pointed out, even as he redirected his gaze to the board. Board, singular. He’d tried the three-dimensional equivalent before, and mindfulness of multiple avenues of approach had a value he did not dispute. Ultimately, however, he simply liked the original game better… and he already owned this antique set, with its hand-carved, dense wooden pieces. The kind with the real heft you just didn’t find these days. Nevertheless, while their matches were not entirely one-sided, his first officer was simply the better player, regardless of variation. And that had plainly been evidenced one last time. Nevertheless, a smile took shape on his heavily bearded face even as he advanced his single remaining bishop three spaces into the upper left quadrant.

“I would hope the captain of the Revere has learned that lesson as well as I have. But perhaps today, I have been too slow. Still, if you would prefer I flip the table and reach for my phaser now that things have not gone my way, I am not in an unobliging mood.”

“It would be illogical to risk damaging such a fine chess set,” Syvek answered as he appraised the counter-move. Rak’nar’s bishop now shielded its sovereign from the attacking rook, and the previously-moved knight still threatened his queen. What was to come was unfortunate, but necessary, and one of the outcomes he had predicted. Syvek responded by moving one of his knights closer to the enemy king, cutting off its escape. “Still, it is a lesson I take to heart, along with many others learned in my time here.”

It was a true curiosity of this ancient human game, one which had endeared him and likely a good many other sons and daughters of Kahless to it. The queen, as well as the king, both fought alongside their troops. To his knowledge, that simply had not occurred with any frequency in the Medieval period which chess sought to emulate. Nor, indeed, much before that unless one counted the Greek Amazon myths. That a sovereign, regardless of gender, should share the perils of their yeomanry, seemed… very Klingon. That, of course, and the fact that there was no retreat. Only victory, or annihilation.

And Syvek’s queen would pay the price for her valor now. Without hesitation, Rak’nar moved his knight one space over and two up, at which point he brought the queen crashing down as if in re-enactment of a true cavalry charge. The satisfying report of the piece as it fell to the board was one of the things he’d always loved about this set.

“There. You’ve paid the price in blood. Never allow your enemy to linger in defeat.”

His response was swift and immediate, perhaps a lesson learned from his now-former commanding officer. The rook charged forward and ended the bishop’s defense of Raknar’s king, and with the knight cutting off its retreat, along with a couple of other strategically-placed pieces, that was it for his reign. “Checkmate,” Syvek noted before dipping his head once more and adding, “Well-played, Colonel.”

“Hmmm,” Rak’nar repeated, though this time a slight smile did accompany a suitable last act of defiance. Truly, his army had earned its place in whatever wood-carved Sto’vo’kor awaited it. And yet…

“Perhaps. But not quite well enough, I think. I had hoped to leave you with one last thing to ponder as you went to your new command. A gift for the mind of a warrior scholar. Now, I shall have to find something else.”

With that, he silently retrieved the leather satchel in which the game pieces resided when not in use. Sweeping the pieces into their bag with one massive arm, he deftly re-tied the draw string to close it before placing the bag and contents atop the board and pushing the entire set to Syvek’s side of the table.

The eyebrow raised once again. “You mean this as a gift? I know that you are fond of it, so the gesture is appreciated, but it is unnecessary, and I would certainly not wish to deprive you of something you clearly value.”

The Klingon equivalent of an arched eyebrow followed. But given that it involved a low chuckle and a toothy grin, it was hardly a close equivalent.

“If I did not wish it, I assure you depriving me of anything would be no simple task. Yes, I am fond of it. Like my bat’leth, it is an item of both history and craftsmanship. And like a fine blade, it should be in the hands of one who can use it well. Besides, there’s strength in old things. Weathered things. You’ll need some of that on your brand new ship.”

A second chuckle followed, and then a dismissive wave.

“And if none of that suffices, consider it amends for that time I bloodied you and left you locked in a supply closet.”

After a moment’s pause to reflect on the significance of the gesture, especially in light of their troubled early history, Syvek dipped his head once more. “Very well, I accept, both the gift and the apology, though our service together in the time since has rendered the latter unnecessary. Thank you, Colonel. Perhaps we can play a game by correspondence.”

“A slow game, given our operational comm restrictions. But perhaps that’s what it will take to find equal footing with you at last.”

With a snort, Rak’nar added on with a grumble.

“Perhaps Major Thrace will wish to partake as well.”

“I am uncertain if the Major plays, though I am certain there will be ample opportunity to discover such in our future command together.” Syvek shifted his head slightly, having not missed the Klingon’s grumble. ”Though, you clearly mention her not because of chess, but because you dislike parting with such an effective member of your crew, which I can certainly understand. After all, her effectiveness is why I asked for Thrace to be my Executive Officer, and I am certain that Captain Zuriyev will eagerly rise to the challenge in the Major’s stead as Second Officer.”

“Yes, her absence will be keenly felt,” Rak’nar agreed, allowing his mind’s eye to linger a moment on the statuesque Andorian woman who had served under him the past few years. Physical allure aside, her fire was almost Klingon. She was one of several who had taken him up on the offer of gagh from his small private reserve, but one of the few to seemingly develop a true taste for it. He had been unfailing in his professionalism around her, of course. Even on Klingon ships, where Federation notions of decorum were a non-issue, making advances on your subordinates during a deployment was hardly encouraged. Still, it was no crime to imagine from time to time. 

“She has a… presence not easily replaced. And Zuriyev…”

He had no misgivings about her worth as an officer. She had performed her duties to the exacting standards he’d come to expect of this service in general, and demand of this crew in particular. And yet, while she had never exploited it to her advantage, there was still weight to that name. Her presence on this ship had always meant that eyes were upon him, including those of the man who had once demoted him and now oversaw the entirety of Starfleet. Given the hard road that his career had become, and how highly he valued this command, he’d always been grateful that Syvek was there as his main point of contact with her.

“Well, she’s certainly earned the chance to prove herself. They both have. That alone is why I consented to be twice hobbled.” 

“Perhaps you will not see it as hobbling after even a short time. Major Woods has an impressive record and should be a capable replacement for me, and I imagine that Captain Zuriyev will aid him in adjusting to your unique style of command.” The buried compliment in Rak’nar’s statement had not gone unnoticed, and Syvek acknowledged it by folding his hands and nodding. “And I must thank you, Colonel, for considering my departure to be such a loss while also giving me your endorsement to take command. I am certain that your recommendation carried much weight with the General.”

“Careful, Colonel,” Rak’nar replied, the emphasis on Syvek’s new rank offset somewhat by the subtle smile he wore. “The Federation has many admirable customs I’ve come to appreciate, but false modesty is not one of them, and you’re treading perilously close to it. I told General McKnight nothing he did not already know; you showed him your measure long ago. You lacked only the experience of command. And now, you are receiving nothing more than your due. A man of honor could have it no other way.”

He lapsed into silence once more, communicating in the subtle ways which the two had worked out over the years that this was a silence he did not wish disturbed. Soon enough, he grunted once more, but it lacked the half-aggrieved quality of before.

“So, take my gift, my officer, and my congratulations, and be the quality of captain we both know you are. That will be thanks enough, my friend.”

“Very well,” Syvek answered with a final dip of his head as he stood and picked up the chess set in his left hand. Raising his right hand into the traditional Vulcan salute, he offered, ”Qapla’ jupwI’.”

Rising as well to his full and lofty six foot four, Rak’nar bowed his head briefly, and thumped his closed fist against his armored breast.

“Dif-tor heh smusma. Now go, make your final preparations. We will arrive at Fort Kosciusko within hours, where your first command awaits. No doubt the moment merits contemplation.”

Indeed it did. Syvek nodded and turned smartly on his heel, exiting his captain’s ready room/quarters for the final time to do just that.

And so it was that an uncertain milestone came about in both their careers. For one, the (expertly subdued) excitement of a new ship and new frontiers, and for the other… the loss of his right hand. Rak’nar had reviewed Major Woods’ record, of course, and it was impressive. Even so, it would take some time for this new normal to feel anything of the kind. Pondering this over a mug of the vaguely adequate concoction that the ship’s replicators called blood wine —a few barrels of the real thing, thank Kahless, awaited back at base —, he looked up in surprise as the direct line with the security station out in the hall guarding the bridge approach sounded roughly an hour later.

“Major Thrace to see you, sir?”

Thrace? That got his attention, and not simply because she had come up earlier. They spoke often enough, but rarely could he recall her seeking him out here. Interesting. Far more interesting than crappy blood wine, at any rate. Sliding the mug aside, he depressed the key that would send his reply.

“Very well. Send her in.”

Moments later, his door hissed open, and the tall blue pilot entered, oddly smug grin first.

“Hey, skipper. How’s it going?”

“As well as can be expected,” Rak’nar replied, rising from his seat with an expression something more genuinely akin to Syvek’s raised eyebrow. “Despite feeling like something of a thief. You grant me a title which I believe you now owe to another.”

“Yeah, about that…”