The Outer Edges, Pt. 1: The Calm Before the Storm
Posted on March 12th, 2023 by Nico Slate

Twilight fell on Rylana VII. The crystalline clear blue skies of the day faded into the obsidian black of the night. The canvas of stars shimmered into existence as a calm surrender blanketed the landscape. There was a slight breeze across the treetops, kicking up a hushed rustling of leaves against branches that complimented the ever-present unsteadiness of the village where they made their home. The quiet was misleading. There was no serenity on the planet at present and, truth be told, there hadn’t been in quite some time.

The Rylana system itself had been a place of anguish and turmoil for the better part of a century. On the fringes of the Beta Quadrant, mostly unknown to the rest of the galaxy, was a system in constant struggle. Two warring factions – the Rylana natives and the Trinoran Guard – had been battling for outposts, planets, resources, and everything in between. There was no peace. Starfleet had come to mediate a truce and not take sides, but as one might expect, they found themselves in the thick of it.

On one hand there were the people who had occupied that area of space for millennia and, on the other, an aggressive and profit-driven group bent on establishing a claim to the territory that they had no business claiming. The one lynchpin was that the Trinorans had built themselves up from second-class citizens in the Rylanan societal hierarchy into a removed and formidable force to be reckoned with. It was the typical oppression story.

While Starfleet attempted to maintain neutrality through it all, with no sides officially members of or petitioning to join the Federation, it became clear that wading into the quagmire of the debate wasn’t going to be a simple in-and-out affair. No, Starfleet brass had found their mission had changed from one of simple diplomatic facilitation to a long-haul fight to reduce hostilities and quench the flame of aggression.

“You ready, Lieutenant?”

Nico blinked. His gaze had settled – and stuck – to the horizon as the last vestiges of sunlight disappeared behind the rolling his of Dadara, Rylana VII’s southern capitol. What once had been a beautiful city with pillars to heroes past had degraded into the frontline of a brazen move by the Guard to occupy mining quarries rich in precious metals that would fetch a high price on any market. Hence, the deployed Starfleet Marine detachment.

2^nd Lieutenant Carlos Ramirez stood before him. The man was grizzled and looked about twice his actual age. He had a combat-proven physique and a battle-hardened demeanor, but lacked any actual combat experience. Much like Nico, he had gotten into the game in his later years and hadn’t grown up in the military. Nico figured it was all a façade to fit in, intimidate enemies, and demand respect that hadn’t been earned. It was more cute than it was fear-instilling.

“Just another night.” Nico slung his phaser rifle over his shoulder and began walking. The night’s assignment, again, was a standard protection detail. The Rylanans had sent their top diplomat and negotiator to meet with the Guard’s representatives earlier that day, but the Trinorans hadn’t shown up. Weeks of preparation on talking points, trade offerings, and the formation of a skeletal foundation of a peace accord had gone to waste as the delegation sat in silence in a large room with no faces sitting across from them. No communication had been received. The Guard had gone silent.

Carlos caught up quickly, his one stride matching Nico’s two. “I thought when we got out here we’d experience a little more… I don’t know… action. All this handholding is boring. All the briefings we got in transit made this place sound like it was on the brink of Armageddon.”

“You know, Ramirez,” Nico looked over at him with narrowed eyes, “Most people consider silence on a battlefield as reassuring. It means no one is dying.”

“Nic, I found myself actually watching the grass grow this morning.”

“Could have been worse; it could’ve been on fire.”

“I think that the Guard should move somewhere else if they’re so damned upset about being put upon for so long. They’ve got the resources, but yet they want this place. They want to cause problems when they’re more than capable of starting over somewhere else. Or, maybe, integrate into other societies. There are plenty of places to go.” Carlos popped some sort of candy in his mouth and sucked on it with determination, “Doesn’t make sense to me.”

Stepping up to the first security checkpoint, Nico tapped the console. “They feel they have the same right to be here as the natives. Hell, they are also natives, though they don’t call themselves that. This issue is far deeper and has more than meets the eye than we think. And, we’re not here to judge, we’re here to keep the peace.”

Carlos chuckled, “We seem to be doing just fine with virtually nothing going on. I guess you’re right.”

“Just stating the facts and making the observations.”

The forcefield deactivated and the two marines moved into the outer chamber of the presidential residence. The finest accommodations for the woman who was supposed to herald in a new age of peace and prosperity and, quote, ‘qualm the savage invasion of the Trinoran swine’. That remark had been repeated by many of the Rylanan over the course of the last week. Eloquence bathed in disdain and polished with generational preconceptions.

Marine Captain Claudia Thurgood stood up from her seat outside the second checkpoint, picking up her own rifle. “Guys, it’s about damned time.”

“What’d we miss?” Carlos laughed.

“A whole lot of nothing,” Thurgood’s protégé, a 2^nd Lieutenant of maybe twenty-two said with his own obvious ire at the lack of action. “Walora had me fetch her coffee and pastries. Twice.”

“Lady Walora,” Nico corrected. “Show some respect.”

“Twice, Nico, twice.” The young marine’s hand raised with two fingers, shaking with the intention of proving his point.

“That’s Lieutenant Slate, Branson. Show some respect.” Thurgood echoed Nico’s comment and a smirk tugged at her lips. “Now, let’s get the hell out of here before Lady Walora asks for a third round of food and drink. We’ll leave that errand to the fresh faces. I’m beat.”

Carlos slumped into the chair the Marine Captain had just vacated, “Tired from all the sitting?”

“Tired of this bullshit. Good luck, you two.” And off the two went on their relief, reactivating the forcefield at the first checkpoint as they disappeared to whatever late-night revelry lay ahead.

Nico wasn’t jealous, contrary to the obvious envy smeared across his colleague’s furrowed brow. In his life, 1^st Lieutenant Nico Slate had seen his fair share of, well, everything. He had enjoyed nights of debauchery and had his own share of adolescent stories. Some of them were good, some of them were bad, but all of them were in the past. He was now more than content with doing his duty and letting the younger generation take part in juvenile antics. All he cared about was that they showed up at o-six-hundred the next morning.

“You can tell by everyone having different opinions on our being here that something is off,” Carlos said, taking over Branson’s seat and hanging his rifle over the back of the chair.

Nico nodded because it was the truth. In the Marines, as professional and powerful as they were, the members were still prone to whispers of gossip, personal thoughts on orders, and the push and pull against duty and their own morals. As a Betazoid he felt it all, but was still of the mentality that his duty was his duty, his orders were his orders, and that anything to the contrary was borderline insubordination. That was the Marine talking. His empathic side completely understood the conflicting positions.

“I’m going to do a perimeter check,” Nico said as he marched off down the north terrace towards the other side’s checkpoint where two more marines were stationed. “I should be back in a half an hour or so.”

“Take your time,” Carlos stated simply, nodding absently.

There was an element of caution to the silence, contradictory to what Nico had told Ramirez earlier. Silence on a battlefield was a good thing, but it also could be the calm before the storm. He wasn’t quite sure which but was hoping for the former. But the sudden brush off from the Trinoran delegation seemed a bit out of character for a group that was eager to meet in the first place. He pushed it from his mind and focused on the task at hand.

Halfway down the walkway he leaned against the stone banister, his eyes gazing into the darkness, catching shadows in the auras of the random lights scattered on the streets below. Maybe Ramirez was right… maybe it was too quiet. He continued to drift in his thoughts and his eyes roamed the environment for what felt like an eternity.

“Lieutenant Slate.”

For the first time in a long time he had let himself lose track of how long he had been in one place. That was unlike him, perhaps the lack of action was starting to slow him down too. Nonetheless he spun on his heels and came face-to-face with Lady Walora, President of the Southern Capitol. “Lady Walora,” he nodded in respect, “You shouldn’t be roaming alone outside at this hour.”

“Ah, yes, the proverbial Presidential protection detail policy and procedure. I find them burdensome at times and somewhat lonely. And, honestly, with what happened today I’m a little unsettled and restless. I figured I’d be all right with some fresh air just steps outside the most well-protected room in the most well-protected building in the capitol.” She winked at him and rested her arms on the banister next to him, smirking.

Nico matched her sly smile, “Fair point, but procedure is – ”

“Do you think they’re planning something, Mr. Slate?”

“Ma’am, I’m not in a position – ”

“I’m asking your opinion.”

Sighing, but realizing and feeling the uncertainty in the Rylanan leader, he relaxed and shrugged. “It’s hard to say. I’m not a diplomat. I only know that it was a breach of etiquette and one that no one really saw coming. However, from the intel reports, the Trinorans are known for their erratic tactics and changes in behavior.”

Lady Walora bobbed her head, “It drives me crazy. I wish I knew where it came from.”

A wider grin spread on Slate’s face. “You and our mediators as well. But it’s best not to make assumptions. It leads to a type of fear that isn’t easily overcome and could taint future communication and collaboration.”

“And you say you’re no diplomat,” she looked up at him with a perked eyebrow. She patted his shoulder slightly and headed towards the door back inside. “I’m appreciative of you and the rest of the marines’ presence here. It’s reassuring, but I wish it weren’t necessary. I shall return to ‘following procedure’ for the rest of the evening.”

Nico stiffened back to his professional stance, “Yes, Madame President, thank you. Please enjoy your evening and rest easy. We have things under control here.”

The President paused, turning slightly, “Lieutenant, nothing has been under control here in a long time. But I appreciate the sentiment. Goodnight.”

As she disappeared into the dwelling, Nico continued his rounds. That was now two people: one young and inexperienced marine for the Federation and the President of the southern portion of an entire civilization that both felt something wasn’t right. He had never been one to speculate on matters of this kind, but he also felt he had never fully been desensitized like many other marines. He followed orders, blindly at times, but that didn’t stop his mind from analyzing situations and drawing his own conclusions.

Strolling around the corner to the next checkpoint he looked out over into the village again wondering if something sinister was lurking or if there was treachery afoot. Hostile intentions or a diplomatic solution will present itself in due time, he thought to himself. But in what time?