|
Post by Einar on Jul 8, 2018 10:33:47 GMT
Wow CJ, that was just amazing. Such an original concept and SO Sara. I loved it
|
|
|
Post by Nola on Jul 23, 2018 0:38:23 GMT
Veritas Ex Machina
Phara Jemke strode off the lift at a healthy clip, weaving her way through the crowded corridor on her way to Earth Spacedock’s FNN office. Starfleet’s primary port was particularly busy in the aftermath of Seleyan Sun, but Phara always walked this fast. It just seemed like good newslady practice - get there quickly, speak quickly, publish quickly. All the axioms in the world couldn't trump pure velocity, at least not in this day and age.
“‘Scuse me, pardon me, comin’ through - bitch, move!”
Her verbal directives’ politeness decreased proportionately with her proximity to the office. More familiar faces meant less pretense required. It was as good an excuse as any, really.
“Messages, Jem,” called Vleet, the receptionist. Phara took the PADD without a word and kept walking into the back offices. All the fancy hotshot ‘investigative' types got the front offices. Gave them a more ‘legitimate' appearance.
The nerds and gossip junkies like her hung out in the back near the comm center, an open floorplan office/hellscape of shouty, competing feedback loops.
“Here's the summary, boss,” Kenna casually shouted at her. Phara took this PADD without a word as well, though she did stop to read it, and then read it again.
“Uhhh, w-whaaaat, uh…”
She scrolled through the figures on the screen, top to bottom to top.
“All we have are estimates?” she asked, bewildered. Kenna gave an apologetic shrug. Phara brushed past them and moved to her small squad of number crunchers.
“All we have are estimates? ‘Almost'? ‘Nearly'? ‘About'!? The fuck is this!?”
“Starfleet's not releasing casualty counts yet,” said Cyt. “Not even estimates.”
Phara held her PADDs and latte out wide in exasperation.
“Then where’d you get these!?” she cried.
“Do you want the quick explanation or-”
Phara cut Daniels off with an incredulous look.
“Right, quick one. We took the normal crew compliments of all ships listed MIA from the operation, adjusted for average crew shortage, adjusted again for personnel survival odds in the event of ship destruction-”
“This is the quick explanation!?”
“The point is,” Kenna interjected, “these are the best numbers we have, and probably the best anyone has. Starfleet might not know any more than we do at the moment.”
“So all we have is the same thing everyone else has,” concluded Phara, tapping the PADDs against her forehead.
“Sorry-”
“No, no,” Phara interrupted. “I'm… I'm sorry, guys. I know you're bustin’ your ass here, and I'm sorry for venting like that. Thank you all for being diligent. I’m-I’m just gonna get to work and try to come up with some kind of take, and hopefully it's enough to please our overlords.”
She huffed and moved for her small, semi-private office. She leaned against the glass door once it was closed and sighed heavily. Flipping out on her team wasn't exactly unheard of, but she felt awful every time, and this was no exception. She'd have to get them something nice, or take them out for a nice lunch or some shit like that.
With her allotted moment of introspection past, she rounded and sat at her desk, taking up her old copywriting PADD and stylus.
Her editorial instructor at the Murrow school in Charlotte, Bob Melon, had once told her that ‘if all you have are numbers, then all you have is bullshit.’ He said the general public didn't know what to do with numbers, and that a good journalist was one who could suss the truth out of raw fact.
Phara wasn't sure how much of that she believed - and a good deal of it might just have been decades of scotch-fueled egotism - but it had proven to be at least a somewhat successful approach to her field. Starfleet liked to put out a lot of numbers. A lot. They had entire divisions based purely around statistics and data collection, and they worked very closely with Starfleet public relations and the Federation News Service. It was very easy to wonder if the overwhelming amount of data was by design. There was a reason FNS’ readership was so low - nobody likes reading dry statistical analysis, and that meant public scrutiny of the raw data was practically nonexistent.
This was where she came in.
For the moment, Seleyan Sun seemed like a success. Two key worlds had been liberated in Weytahn and Deneva, and the separatists’ infrastructure had taken significant hits. Less clear, however, was the cost. Sure, you probably couldn't compare a thousand ships’ worth of lives against two whole planets’ worth of freed Federation citizens, but there were legitimate questions as to whether the cost could have been less, and they were questions she would be the one to-
The comm unit in her desk beeped, drawing her from her righteous bloodening.
“Since when do I take calls before noon?” she called.
“Sorry Jem,” said Vleet. “It's just, uh, I think this is one you'll want to take.”
“I'm not in the mood for suspense, V,” said Phara, despite her growing sense of intrigue.
“It's Sara Sumner on the line.”
Phara blinked, not entirely sure why the Captain of the Chiron would be calling save that it would be juicy and/or salacious. She took a heavy drink of her latte and sat up straight, turning on her desk’s monitor.
“Put her through.”
|
|
|
Post by Einar on Jul 23, 2018 8:14:58 GMT
you can't stop there!
|
|
|
Post by spacedaisy on Jul 23, 2018 13:32:34 GMT
Lol I so agree...
|
|
|
Post by Nola on Sept 21, 2018 18:20:53 GMT
The Long Goodbye (With Aoibhe as Niamh Danann)
Her posture was relaxed; her arms folded in comfort and her expression on the content side of neutral. The stress and heartache of the last few days showed only in her eyes, but even that was fleeting.
It had been tough, she thought, but cathartic.
The people of Zeta Nine had not only got the medicine they so desperately needed, but they'd had a commitment from Starfleet that they felt was more than lip service.
She'd seen many people she'd thought once she'd forsaken forever, had fallen asleep to the sound of a well-tuned 'fleet-issue warp core; the most beautiful music in the universe.
She'd patched things up with Tony in a way she thought she could live with.
And she'd had some extremely memorable meals into the bargain.
So now, here she was, a free Maquis Captain, leaning casually against a Starfleet bulkhead as she awaited the return of her crew.
Winston had come to her earlier practically twisting his cap in his hand as he failed spectacularly to announce his decision. She smiled now thinking about it. It was almost like a second break up, though this one hadn't ended in a kiss. Carrick Winston was taking his Starfleet pardon and running with it, full pelt, back into Starfleet. She could hardly blame him. She absolutely saw the appeal, and gods knew, Starfleet itself was gasping for qualified Engineers.
Her day dream was interrupted by the approach of her pilot, the ever gloomy Stephen Leeson.
“Nice of you to show up finally. For a second there, I thought you wanted to stay,” she chided gently.
He scowled. “Fuck off.”
She couldn't help but smile as he stomped through the airlock and onto their freighter. Yep, she thought, that young man was definitely warming to her.
She tapped the PADD she was gripping against her shoulder. On it was a short letter from Evan Richley, her messy-haired assistant engineer. He, too, was taking his official pardon, and the gift of an education, and planned to make something of himself on Earth. “Maybe even Starfleet...” he'd written, which surprised her. His nervous disposition shone through, even in text. She would have liked to wish him well in person, but she knew this was a huge change for him, and was the best goodbye he could offer, so she accepted it. He was a good kid.
The doctor rounded the corner into the cargo bay and nodded once. Behind her was a conga line of medical staff pulling anti grav units laden down with medical supplies.
“Travelling light, doc?” Danann observed.
“All for Zeta...” Doctor Zoy replied, casting her eyes back at the train behind her. “Research equipment, replicators, emergency supplies, generators...”
“What? No personal shelter? Maybe an antigrav bike...?”
Zoy huffed. “I'll be roughing it.”
Danann seriously doubted the doctor who had volunteered to find a cure would be offered anything less than the best accommodation on the planet. “Yea, I bet they'll have you sleeping in the snow, doc.”
Zoy tugged at her body warmer. “The next wave will have all my scanning equipment in it. Make sure these people don't knock anything about. I don't wanna have to bust my ass fixing anything.” With that she disappeared through the airlock. Danann shrugged. “Yes ma'am...?” She threw a look at one of the orderlies assigned to help Zoy. He rolled his eyes and carried on his way.
Things were much less settled in the Captain's Ready Room. Yes, the Voltaire had been neutralized, but may of those responsible for her initial capture were in the wind. The Breen and Tzenkethi were still throwing the Alpha in chaos, and of course Section 31 was still the threat in the Beta. What relief Sara might have felt was soon awash in the galaxy's troubles, all the more so by the fate of one Anthony Adalberto. Starfleet Intelligence had him over a barrel, lording over him punishment for a crime he didn't really commit. He was being blackmailed for a decision that she had made, all to protect his crew.
This was one Sara wouldn't be able to let go. She would have to do something, and she had an inkling what it might be, but that carried with it yet more baggage to do with her family and her own commitment to her crew, and all in all she was quite exhausted by everything having to be so damned hard all the time, and she desperate wanted just one simple thing in her life.
So she thought of Nia, and the way her hair had lain upon the bed like a sunburst, and the simple calculus that had brought them there, of a chance taken, and so many other poetic contrivances used to frame two hearts colliding in unexpected fashion.
"Computer," called Sara, breaking the monotonous hum of the room. "Where is Niamh Danann?"
"Niamh Danann is at the starboard airlock," it answered in its pleasant tone. Sara drummed her fingers for all of a second before getting to her feet and making for the Bridge, then the Turbolift, ordering it to the airlock in question. She stepped out and rounding the corner to see a line of equipment being taken aboard the Granuaile, and the tangle of red curls clustered at the back of Nia's head. For a moment, she considered turning back, or maybe calling Nia to a more discrete location, but then Sara the Rebel showed up and didn't care, so she huffed and approached her counterpart.
"H-hey," she called, not able to think of anything clever in the moment.
Niamh's head shot up, her attention immediately on Sara.
"Coming with...?" she inquired as she unfolded her arms, shoved herself off the bulkhead and strode over towards Sumner. "Tired of all these replicators, and soft beds, and people doing what you tell them to, huh?"
"I mean, if I don't think about it at all, it's pretty tempting," she offers with a small grin. She folded her arms, looking once more to the equipment being loaded onto the ship that would take Nia away. It took a great deal of effort to keep from begging her to stay. After several attempts to say something meaningful, all she managed was "This wasn't enough time."
"Yea..." Danann agreed, aware suddenly, that she was surrounded by curious eyes. "Maybe next time we share a crisis... " she added, resisting the temptation to reach out and touch Sara. She forced her hands into the back pockets of her tight leather pants, "we can arrange for it to be on, like, Risa, or something?" She smiled.
It seemed for a moment that Sara might force the issue as she sometimes did, but recent events had made her much more hesitant to do so. She had been too careless of Tony's fate, and she was afraid of doing the same with Nia.
Discretion, then.
"Do you have time for a talk? In private?"
Danann nodded enthusiastically. "Seems like my doctor is determined to stow your entire Sickbay on my ship...so... seems I have time." She bit her lip. "Your ship or mine...?"
"Mine," she said after a moment. "For reasons."
"I'm convinced," Danann nodded softly, raised herself onto her toes and took a deep breath. "Lead the way."
Sara managed a brief smile before wordlessly leading Nia to the turbolift.
"Deck 2," she called. Then, a moment later, "Hold." The lift came to a halt, trapping them between decks.
Sara looked to Nia, her hands wringing as she stepped forward.
Niamh noticed the gesture and closed the gap between them, reaching and soothing Sara's worrying fingers. "If you just wanted to get me into a tiny, bare room, I have plenty of those back on the Gran' too," she chided, a glint in her eye as she leaned forward.
Sara gently nudged her forehead to Nia's, her eyes falling closed.
"I don't trust your soundproofing," she offered.
Danann snorted involuntarily, hit suddenly with a wave of laughter that was interrupted moments later by Sara's lips. The onslaught of feelings was sudden and exhilarating and Niamh surrendered to them as willingly as she had to the Orion woman's advances not long before. Her bare, tattooed arms wrapped around her lover enthusiastically, and she lost herself immediately in a whirlwind of hands and lips and magnifying heat.
Sara returned the enthusiasm if only for a moment, gently pressing Danann into the wall of the lift. She pressed her face into those chaotic red curls and simply let herself get lost in the collage of sensation that was Niamh. She took a deep breath, her voice husked more with emotion than passion.
"Not enough time," she reiterated, sniffling gently.
Niamh's head rested back against the bulkhead behind her and her green eyes raised to the ceiling of the turbolift. She held Sara tightly and nodded. The flippant part of her wanted to make a joke '...could just drop trou here and make up for lost time...,' the vulnerable part wanted to break down and share with Sara all that had happened in Tony's quarters 'we broke up and it's stupid, but it hurts more than I thought it would...', and the rebel leader in her wanted to use this moment to further one of her goals ' ...why don't you join me, Sara... you, me, leather pants, the quadrant at our feet...,' but in the end the honest part won.
"It's been a hell of a few days. I'm glad it was you who tracked us down." Her chest swelled with the magnitude of all they'd been through together.
Sara sighed softly and planted a kiss on Nia's cheek. "Been a hell of a few months," she countered. "I'm sorry for some of the things I said. The stress is getting to me, and I just..."
Niamh took pause.
Something in Sara's tone disturbed her. For a moment everything shifted. No longer was she a Maquis Captain embracing her Federation lover, but a onetime ex oh witnessing a rare moment of Captainly weakness.
"... Hey..." she soothed, "... that sounds very final..."
Sara breathed deep and closed her eyes, taking Nia's hands in hers as she stepped back.
"It's not meant to be," she offered. "I just don't know when I'll see you again, and I don't want that regret to linger. I should have just trusted you from the start. I should have agreed to your request immediately, and I let the pressure get to me and overrule my heart. And I'm getting tired of doing that."
The redhead nodded once, and considered the problem. "Yea..." she agreed. "That sucked... "
Niamh observed Sara with a soft smile. She'd been first officer to a plethora of Captains during her nomadic years, and if one thing was true of all of them, it was this, "You know, I've always thought that the thing that makes a Captain a Captain isn't that they make the right decision all the time, but that when they make a bad call they learn from it... and," she held Sara's attention as gently as she held her hands "...they are somehow able to bear the consequences. Captains are extraordinary people. You're an extraordinary person, Sara."
Danann ploughed on, her emotions bubbling to the surface again as she rembered who had inspired this next piece of wisdom, "and if your lesson here is to trust your heart more, then do. In the end, what a Captain does out of love can't be bad, right?"
Sara gave Nia a small smile, bringing her hands up to her lips to kiss her knuckles.
"I wish that were true," she said. "But, it's not less true that any of the other axioms of command, so why not believe it?"
"I choose to," Niamh responded. "And hey, sure... tell you what. I'm definitely due one last good meal before we shove off," she blinked, "and I don't think Leeson will, you know, leave without me..." and shifted her weight, trying to appear more casual. "Least..." she considered her words briefly, "...I don't think he will." She smiled. "Buy me dinner and all is forgiven?"
Sara flashed a small smile.
"Pretty sure our ship is faster than yours if he does," she murmured. "Resume."
The lift continued towards the Captain's quarters.
---
Sara pushed her plate away and slouched in her chair with a groan.
"I forgot how awesome burritos were," she observed. "Ula keeps coming up with weird new foods, like cake infused with nutrients and chocolate bugs."
"Cake... nutrients...chocolate... I've eaten worse," Danann pointed out as she sipped at her beer bottle, her plate completely empty save for a tiny pile of garnish. She'd eaten fast, as usual, a consequence of the days when food was scarce and could be snatched away at a moment's notice.
A comfortable feeling descended over Niamh as Sara's living quarters settled into a happy silence. She didn't let it last. "So," the red head started, "I uh... I have something I need to tell someone... you. I need to tell you. I need you to know so that if... so someone knows what I had in mind if everything goes, uh, south."
Sara stared at Nia as she slowly turned her glass, her mind simmering with various possibilities. Did it need to turn to business so fast? Were they not allowed to just sit and enjoy each others' company? One thought spared for Tony suggested that might be the case.
"Okay," she mumbled.
Niamh's eagerness to speak suddenly evaporated. Her lips tensed and she focused for a moment on her bottle of beer and the way several large, wet drips had started to streak a path through its frosted condensation. She reached out and idly helped a few of them along.
This job complete, she steeled herself.
"The Maquis leadership is a shambles," she began, knowing this was nothing new. "That needs to change."
She looked at Sara, lines forming at the corner of her eyes as she struggled to find the right words.
"I... you know... I left Starfleet because it had lost its way and I wasn't in a position to guide it back. It ceased to be an organisation I could stomach being a part of. Corruption, and lies and, and self-serving officers just..." she sighed, "And after Captain Rome," her voice grew thicker, "it was almost like the last honest Captain had gone and Starfleet was being piloted by people unworthy of the trust placed in them."
"I can't fix Starfleet, Sara. But I can make the Maquis into something Starfleet used to be, something Starfleet should be. And, maybe... maybe, if I'm really lucky, I can secure our border with the Federation and make peace, so Starfleet can focus on one enemy at a time and maybe... fuck, maybe, claw its own way back."
Sara stared long at her empty plate, her fingers idly drumming the table. She wasn't sure what to think. Obviously, this was a noble goal, and she knew Nia had it in her to become the kind of leader that could see it done, the kind that wouldn't work in Starfleet. It was hard to get past the unspoken implications, however - the insinuations that Starfleet wasn't worth fighting for, that it was too corrupt to support in good conscience. Then again, it wasn't like Sara had never shared similar thoughts.
She got up from the table without a word and made her way to the liquor cabinet, producing a bottle of scotch. She plunked a sphere of ice in a glass and poured a finger or two before returning, setting the bottle aside for Nia if she wanted any.
"I think it's worth a try," she finally said, her words measured carefully. "I think you have it in you to do, but I think you need to let go of the idea that you'd be doing Starfleet any favors."
Danann lowered her eyeline, unsure where this sudden rush of directionless disappointment had come from. "Yea, maybe..." she replied feebly. What did she expect? she chastised herself. Did she expect a fanfare? For Sara to grab a phaser to go with her? To be told that her plan would definitely work? She shook off her feelings. She'd deal with them later on her own ship. "But there are a lot of people in Starfleet that deserve me to try." She picked up her bottle and swirled its contents. "I'd rather try, than assume I can't do anything."
"That's not what I mean," Sara said before she could stop herself. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, trying to untangle the knot in her mind.
"Starfleet is doing what it can to fix itself. If you think you can fix the Maquis, then good. Fix it. But you gave up your ability to help fix Starfleet. I don't blame you for leaving - I don't blame anyone for leaving - but you don't get to leave and then make it your mission to try and redeem it. That's left for those of us who stayed, for those of us fighting and dying to protect the Federation from people like Oseth. So... fix the Maquis for the Maquis' sake. I'll-I'll help however I can, I will do everything in my power to help you with anything you need because I love you, but don't... Don't put Starfleet on your shoulders, too, because it's someone else's problem, now."
"Starfleet saved me... and when it couldn't anymore, the Maquis did. I owe both my life... There are kids all over Orion territory, and Maquis territory, and Federation territory that deserve the same chance I got, and I intend to ensure they get it. I've lived and survived and flourished on both sides of that border, Sara, I'm literally the only one who can do this and did you just say you loved me?"
Sara blinked, her mind crashing to a halt.
"Is that a surprise?"
"Uh," the redhead managed, ineloquently. "Wh-" she added, as she struggled. "Normally, I'm long gone before things get erm, that well defined..." She couldn't bring herself to raise her gaze. Her cheeks blazed red and she gripped the neck of her beer bottle tightly as she struggled to contain her distress. Honesty was paramount to her, but frankly, she'd had enough of it with Tony only hours earlier, and now she was too drained to be tactful. "The few times I used the l-word, things got shitty very fast." She took a peek at Sara. "Kinda think it's cursed, if I'm honest..."
Sara turned her gaze to the table as her stomach lurched. The realization of how foolish she'd been, how much she'd deluded herself, brought her crashing down from competent Starfleet Captain to infatuated teenager in an instant. A torrent of thoughts clogged in her mind as she tried to simultaneously rationalize and restrain the destructive machinations of her heart. Were it not for the glass in her hand, it would tremble. Were it not for all the tears shed for her crew, she would weep.
The silence stretched as she struggled to elicit any thought from the maelstrom, and the thing that finally managed it was that night on Earth, her butt sore from a tattoo needle as she whispered a message of love into the void:
'Maybe that's not the case on yours, and that would be okay.'
And that was the way it would have to be. It would have to be okay. It would have to be okay.
"Okay," she managed to choke out, before clearing her throat and getting to her feet.
"Shit" Danann murmured, her tone laced with helpless regret. She silently watched Sara stand, feeling for all the world like a bold child. Slumping back in her chair, her shoulders sagged. "Look, it's not that I don't... " she struggled to explain, "I just... " the final word came barely above a whisper, "...can't."
"No, I get it," Sara said, her head shaking. "I do. I just, um, I dunno."
She sighed as she tugged at her hair, moving back to the liquor cabinet mostly so she wouldn't just be standing for no reason.
"My mom, uh, I don't know why I would tell you this, but my mom would tell me that the heart wants what it wants, and I guess despite all the batshit insanity of the last couple weeks, my heart still wants you. And you don't need to say the same. Just... telling you how I feel."
...well, if we're bringing mothers into this... Danann thought, ruefully, considering the entirely opposite set of lessons her dabo girl mother had inadvertently taught her as the pair had lied, cheated and manipulated their way across Orion space.
She let her gaze settle on Sara's brave, beautiful face and for a moment regretted everything that had lead to this moment.
But, truth was truth, and lies, she knew, only hurt more in the end.
"I'm sorry, Sara... as much as I can feel, I do... but I'm not going down that road again." Her first encounter with love had left her a laughing stock at The Academy, her second had seen her heart ripped out as she lay injured, abandoned and desperate, her third (such as it was) had left her without the steadying influence of her mentor and Captain, and her fourth, still fresh and raw, had seen her completely defenseless against the charms of an Orion woman. No, she had decided, never again.
"...I think I should go."
Breathe.
Sara got that faraway look in her eye as part of her world crumbled apart. It had been true, the things she'd said to Nia. All of them. The different levels, the mutual feelings, that she was worth being loved, that she didn't deserve to be abandoned. Sara believed in that moment that she would move the very Earth if Nia needed it done, and she thought to say as much, to beg and plead, to tell her she'd do whatever it takes to help her with the Maquis or whatever else she needed if only she wouldn't take this still-young part of her life away.
But she didn't. Because she knew better. Unfortunately.
She clenched her jaw and sniffed, gently wiping an eye before turning to face Nia.
"If you ever need anything," she began, her voice only trembling slightly, "you call me, and I'll do what I can."
Niamh tensed, Sara's words hitting her with a pain that they had no earthly right to. History, even when you try to avoid it, repeats itself, Danann realised. Sara had almost exactly repeated Tony's parting words to her only hours earlier.
Same sentiment, same situation, same gut-wrench.
Different Niamh.
Danann stood, leaning heavily on the table with fisted hands and nodded gently.
Sara was hurting, too, she knew, and she wanted more than anything to sweep around the table, pull her into a comforting embrace and forget everything she'd said, but she didn't.
She understood now that there could be nothing for her on this side of the border if she was to succeed, so instead, she echoed her response to Tony. It felt cynical. It was cynical, it cheapened both encounters and the coldness of it chilled her even as she pressed on. “And the second you want out, Sara,” she said, her eyes downcast, actively avoiding Sara's gaze, “... contact me.”
Sara wanted to say something pithy, like 'might be sooner than you think,' but she didn't have the heart in that moment. Instead, she dug into the cabinet and produced an unopened bottle of bourbon, carrying it almost reverently to the woman she still loved.
"For the road," she offered. She hesitated a moment before pulling her hand away, putting it under Nia's chin, and drawing her gaze.
"Take care of yourself, okay?"
"You too," was almost all Niamh could say in reply. She didn't acknowledge the proffered bottle. To reject it would have broken her, to accept it would have added excruciatingly to her guilt, all she could do was ignore it. Instead, she simply nodded once.
"See you out there, Sara."
Then, she turned for the door.
Sara watched her go, keenly aware of the void inside her chest as she slowly sat and then laid upon the floor, tears streaming as she let herself get swallowed by her grief.
|
|
|
Post by Einar on Sept 22, 2018 10:43:08 GMT
ooof
|
|
|
Post by Nola on Sept 29, 2018 8:29:39 GMT
Earthside - Part One
Sara had never intended to be a Captain. Outside of music and partying, her passion at the Academy had been flight - navigating the basic forces of the universe to careen a tin can around the stars. Weaving through flashes of light and death to outmaneuver and destroy enemy craft.
She’d gotten to live that dream, to fly an Akira named the Scimitar and later the Kaneda fighters she carried. She’d flown one such fighter through an exploding D’Deridex, the peak fantasy of every flight jock.
As so often happens with dreams, hers did not survive collision with reality. She’d killed a lot of people as a fighter pilot, a fact that clashed fairly hard with her inflated sense of empathy, and somewhere along the way she had made the decision to turn away from that life. Even then, she didn’t seek out command, instead turning to counseling and diplomacy, the pursuits of inner and outer peace.
No, it had been necessity that pulled Sara into Command. Captain Rome had collapsed due to a Section 31 implant in his brain. The crew uncovered a plot by Agent Dixon to infiltrate the Romulan Praetor’s inner circle. Sara, for whatever reason, had been made Second Officer, and then Acting Executive Officer for what would prove to be the most formative mission of her life to that point.
She’d taken to it almost against her own will, and that had been that.
Now she was sitting in the Commander-in-Chief’s waiting room, anticipating a masterwork of an ass-chewing for, well, her entire career, really. She’d taken to the reality of Command, not the expectations of Command, and said career to this point had been tentpoled by a series of breaches of etiquette, and arguably ethics, in the pursuit of doing not what was proper, but what she felt had been right.
Maybe that was courageous. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe hers was a cautionary tale for others of the dangers of losing objectivity.
It didn’t matter, in the end. Underneath all the hand-wringing and second-guessing, behind the panic and self-doubt, was a singular inviolable truth:
It couldn’t have been any other way.
That was something Sara had learned long ago, back when she was lost in the post-abuse malaise. She could only ever be herself. She could only ever comport in a manner she believed authentic, and that meant not playing by The Rules - the same rules that allowed someone like her father to drive one of his kids to attempt suicide. The same set of procedural expectations that had given rise to an organization like Section 31, that made people cling so tightly to an artificial sense of righteousness that they would see all in ruin before admitting they were wrong.
Maybe that was why she was so calm, now. Before the interview, and even during, her stomach had been in knots, the possible outcomes of her many breaches weighing heavily on a psyche already bereft from a manifestation of Federation injustice. Had she been doing the right thing?
It didn’t matter, now. It was done. Idea had become reality, and whatever it was in Sara that demanded authenticity was satisfied. Whatever the personal consequences, it had been worth it to help the friend she’d abandoned. It was worth the end of her career to fix that injustice. It was worth a prison sentence if it meant her family, her husband and little girl, were safe on Earth, or Andoria, or anywhere else they wanted to settle that wasn’t on a ship constantly on the brink.
It was worth never seeing Nia again if it meant sparing Nia the pain of loving Sara.
That’s what she was telling herself, anyway, glossing over all of it with the veneer of ‘authenticity.’
“The Admiral will see you now, Captain Sumner.” The pleasant tone of Commander Rankin’s voice pulled her from introspection. With a soft sigh, she got to her feet and stepped into Martin’s office.
“Coffee?” he called after a moment. He was stood near his desk, fixing himself a mug of the real stuff.
“No, thank you, sir,” she said. She stood easily by the door, hands loosely clasped behind her back. He turned and looked at her, staring at her a moment before nodding.
“Have a seat, Sara,” he invited.
She was almost disappointed, probably because the lack of immediate anger meant that he was disappointed, and say what you will about cliches, but that one was true. Without a word, she sat and waited.
Martin took his time making his coffee exactly like he wanted, with a spot of real cream from a thoroughly pampered cow on his Montana ranch and real Jamaican cane sugar. He took a testing sip before setting the mug on his desk, sitting with a tired sigh, his eyes once again finding her, the eternal thorn in his side.
“I love you Sumner kids,” he said softly, lowering his gaze. “I do. You’re bright, creative people, and an asset in any field you choose.”
Sara was unable to resist looking up at him, suddenly dreading the whole surrogate father approach.
“But man, the two of you really chap my ass sometimes,” he finished. His tone suggested humor, but she knew full well the truth behind the words.
“You’d probably like Eric, then,” she offered in reflexive banter more than anything. “He’ll kiss it all day long.”
Martin managed a small chuckle.
“That’d probably be worse,” he mused, taking another sip. Sara waited for him to continue, the peace quickly eroding as a new batch of possibilities forced themselves into her mind. Even so, she couldn’t quite manage to prod. He would say it when he was good and ready.
“Between you and me, Sara, this wasn’t really a surprise,” he began. “That you leaked the report, I mean. You going to FNN in the wake of an all-important offensive was absolutely a surprise.”
“For both of us,” she quipped.
“Why couldn’t you just let this lie?” he asked, the mirth entirely gone.
“I feel like I made that clear,” she answered. She cleared her throat and straightened in her seat.
“Why go public with it? Why not come to me?”
“Then, or now?”
“Both.”
Sara sighed heavily, leaning forward a bit as she thought through what she wanted to say.
“What could you have done, Martin?” she asked. “You’d been forced out by Section 31. I didn’t know of any other Admirals I can trust, and frankly, I was only 90 percent sure I could trust you anyway. Going public was the only way to even have a chance that anybody involved would face consequences.”
“I was on my way back, Sara,” he countered. “You knew I never retired, that I was working on undermining 31.”
“How long had you known about them at that point?”
“What?”
“How long. Had you known.”
“... Decades.”
“And yet.”
Martin stared long and hard, shifting in his seat, furrowing his brow, and a dozen other things that indicated his growing indignation.
“I’m gonna let that go,” he said, “because I compartmentalized well, and you still don’t know everything I was doing-”
“I’m sure you were doing everything you could,” Sara cut in. “My point is that 31 was too deeply entrenched for me to trust that you could do anything about it. For me to trust anyone. This was the only possible way I could see for there to be any real pressure on them.”
“And did you even-”
“Did you know that SFI was blackmailing Tony?”
Martin shifted his jaw in that way he did whenever Sara pulled this kind of thing, completely dropping one conversation to throw another in his face. Chapped asses.
“I don’t have direct oversight of Starfleet Intelligence any more,” he said calmly.
“You’re taking to this job nicely, Martin,” she said, those last embers of youthful rebellion burning in her brain. “Giving non-answers. Looking good for the cameras.”
“Here we go,” groaned Martin.
“Did you know?”
“No,” Martin answered firmly. “All I knew was that Adalberto had been recruited. I wasn’t told how, and I didn’t ask.”
“Convenient.”
“Why didn’t you come to me about it, hm? Why the publicity stunt? I can’t make this go away, Sara. I can’t take care of this under the hood, can’t protect you.”
“Maybe that was the point,” said Sara, who was only 90 percent certain it was.
“It could mean your career.”
Sara stared long at Martin, jaw flexing as it clenched and all the maybes weaved through her thoughts. Maybe this was the end. Maybe she was deluding herself about more or less everything. Maybe, in the end, she was still just the little girl starved for attention.
It didn’t matter. Whatever this was, it was happening.
“I guess we’ll see.”
|
|
|
Post by Einar on Sept 29, 2018 10:11:43 GMT
oh wow
|
|
|
Post by Nola on Oct 27, 2018 9:08:57 GMT
Earthside - Part Two
Sara’s return to the Captain’s seat had lasted just over four months. In that time she’d bargained with god-like beings, got sucked into the Delta Quadrant, nearly lost her husband to Hirogen fuckery, hunted a loved one, was almost destroyed by the Maquis of all things, and had now potentially thrown her career away to keep Starfleet Intelligence from putting the screws to her lover’s ex-lover.
Like most in the Federation, Sara had grown up with the outlandish tales of Starfleet Captains who always seemed in constant trouble. Never would she have guessed she’d be one of the ones to carry on the tradition, and yet here she was, grounded once again for her shenanigans while her crew carried on without her.
She wasn’t overly worried about the last part. She believed in Raqiin, especially after her performance in the Delta. It also helped that they’d been assigned to a survey in the Typhon Expanse, about as safe an assignment there was these days.
Her immediate future was far less certain. There was no date set for the inquest, which meant another ‘indefinite’ stint in one of Starfleet’s sterile domiciles. Fortunately she’d been able to choose the location, which naturally meant she found herself under the oft-rainy skies of Seattle. It hadn’t been quite as comforting as she’d hoped, however, the familiar surroundings only serving to highlight how far her life had gone off the rails.
She could remember late nights with Henry, talking about various plans to firmly entrench themselves in the Seattle scene. Henry would open a bar, and Sara would play in her band, and the two would become pillars in the cultural galapagos of the Pacific Northwest, fighting the man and freeing minds and all that childish superhero stuff.
But sitting here, now, in a government-issue house, she couldn’t help but think of how she had become ‘the man,’ as her brother had, at least for a time. Perhaps her exit was just as inevitable.
Then again, maybe she was just feeling sorry for herself, an equally terrible crime in the eyes of her childhood self. Maybe she was just regretting that sticking up for Tony had taken her away from her crew, her family, on the Chiron. Maybe she resented that she’d ever crossed paths with Niamh Dannan, that she’d given a piece of her heart away, ensuring she’d almost never feel properly whole.
It didn’t help that she was in this sterile environment alone. Thalev had taken Ulani to Andor, ostensibly to give Sara room to prepare for her hearing. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but more than anything on this chilly, cloudy night, Sara wanted both of them in her arms. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so untethered.
But that’s not how life worked, and sitting here on the back porch trying to peek the stars behind the clouds wasn’t helping her think like she thought it would, so she picked herself off the concrete steps and moved back inside to research Starfleet disclosure regulations.
It was around 11 when the call came in, prefaced by a soft, pleasant tone.
“Incoming communication request from Jessica Anders,” the computer called. That was a name Sara hadn’t heard in a while. Jess had been a bandmate during her Academy years, a solid rhythm guitarist with proper level of mouthiness and a not-awful singing voice that automatically made her the frontgirl.
“Um, accept,” Sara called. A brief sense of panic tore through her chest, as she had no idea what to say to this friend she’d failed to keep in contact with. She didn’t have time to think of anything as the familiar visage appeared on her terminal.
“There she is!” called Jess, whose instant beam was infectious, filling with Sara with an assortment of fun and salacious memories.
“We don’t accept solicitors,” Sara joked. Jess gasped and flipped her off, drawing a snicker.
“Ever the smartass,” Jess noted. “Must be why you’re in trouble, huh?”
“How widespread does the news have to be for Jess Anders to hear it?” mused Sara.
“Bitch, I have an alert for your name,” Jess informed. “I know all your shit.”
“Oh my god, I have my own stalker,” said Sara. “Not that I’m not flattered, but…”
“Hah! Fuck you,” said Jess, and Sara couldn’t help a laugh at how easily the pair had fallen back into this.
“I gotta be honest, I didn’t realize how much I missed you until I got this chance to give you shit again,” Sara noted.
“That’s really sweet in a dick sort of way,” said Jess, but her smile was warm and genuine. “I’ve missed you, too.”
“How’ve you been?” Sara asked.
“I don’t actually have time for a catch-up, unfortunately,” answered Jess. This filled Sara with an odd sense of dread.
“Did, uh, did something happen? Or…”
“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Jess assured. “I gotta run here in a sec, but I wanted to see if you were doing anything tomorrow night.”
“Um, not really, no.”
“You remember Athene, right?”
“Course.”
“Well, me and her are still playing, and we’re doing a show at The Kraken tomorrow night, and I wanted to see if you wanted to hang out, have some fun distraction, maybe play a song or whatever?”
Sara’s smirk was a mile wide. This was far too good to pass up.
---
Jess had become pretty good at this guitar business, and Athene was as chaotic as ever on the drums, still overusing the double-kickers and going through sticks like they were toothpicks. They had a Bajoran dude on bass that they’d introduced as ‘Spitroast,’ which was a fitting nickname for the bassist of ‘Just Sex Things.’
It was a much tamer name than the one they had used in Sara’s day.
It was good to see Jess and company having fun, and the show was proving an effective distraction. The kids were being rowdy, the drinks were flowing, and the band was playing like there was no tomorrow, musts for any proper show.
Sara was a trio of cocktails in when the inevitable happened. The trio started into an old song that Sara had helped write when the bass cut out. Spitroast made a show of shaking out a cramp, and Athene and Jess stopped, glaring in his direction.
“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry everyone, we’re just… we’re rockin’ too hard, y’know? I think I need a break.”
Boos from the crowd as Jess gave them an incredulous look. Sara just shook her head.
“Can you believe this motherfucker?” called Athene.
“Frankly, no I cannot,” huffed Jess.
“I’m so sorry for this, everybody,” she announced. “Usually he’s got more stamina than this, I swear.”
Laughs.
“Hey! This is hard work,” said Spitroast. “I am a professional bass player. You think just anyone can come up here and play the same three or four notes for two minutes at a time? I don’t think so!”
“Well I do,” declared Jess. She held up a hand to her forehead, making a show of searching the crowd.
“C’mon, there’s gotta be someone with the balls.”
“Yeah yeah, I’m comin’,” said Sara, picking her way forward through the crowd. “Someone finish my drink for me!”
She handed it off to the nearest outstretched hand before beginning to clamber on stage.
“Holy shit, I can’t believe it,” said Jess. “Ladies and gents, noted Starfleet Captain and punk rock girl, Sara Sumner!”
A small cheer and smattering of whistles as Sara only sorta pretended to struggle to her feet, keenly aware of the alcohol currently flooding her system. Once she was to her feet, she held out the hem of her miniskirt and did a little curtsey.
“You could’ve, like, at least pretended to play along with my bit,” Jess admonished.
“I do what I want!” shouted Sara, eliciting laughs and hoots. Someone tried to start a ‘punk rock girl’ chant, but it didn’t take.
“Sara’s an old bandmate of me and Athene from about a decade ago. What were we calling ourselves then?”
“SLITS IN SPAAAAACE,” announced Athene. Sara beamed as she took the bass from Spitroast, mouthing a ‘thanks’ as she psyched herself up.
“She was a young, fresh-faced cadet at the Academy, and Athene and I, well, we were more or less the exact same as we are now.”
“Growin’ up’s for suckers!” called Athene.
“It really is,” said Sara as she returned to her mic.
“Yeah, she was a wild and rowdy one, Sara. I gotta tell ya, I would never have guessed you'd make Captain. I'm not feeling this whole responsibility thing.”
“You understand I'm about to be court martialed, right?” Sara crouched to check the effects board real quick.
“Yeah, but it took you like ten years!” Jess marveled. “I would have guessed five at most.”
“There was a personnel shortage.”
“Didn’t you get a medal or something?”
“Look,” said Sara, standing back up. “We can sit here and talk about how I’ve been awarded several medals over the years if you want, but I feel like you brought me up here for other reasons.”
“Look at little miss medal, collector, person over here,” derided Athene.
“Decorated. Starfleet. Captain,” countered Sara.
“Be that as it may,” Jess interrupted, “Sara also happens to be a decent little bass player. You remember any songs, Decorated Spacefleet Person?”
“Pretty much all of ‘em. I, uh, didn’t really stop playing bass, I just stopped playing in front of other people.”
“She got too good for us,” joked Athene. Sara made like she was gonna disagree, took a look around, and just sorta shrugged and nodded.
“Wait, you don’t even play in front of your family?” asked Jess, though she didn’t give her a chance to answer. “That’s right! Not only is she an authority figure now, but she got married!”
She looked to Sara, a look of betrayal on her face.
“Seriously, I love you, but you disgust me,” she declared.
“Boys are gross!” shouted Athene.
“Hey!” called Spitroast. Sara just flipped the both of them off.
“Anyway, you got any song in particular you wanna play?” asked Jess in a tone of defeat.
“Love is All Around?” suggested Sara.
“Love it,” said Jess.
“I get it!” announced Athene.
Sara smirked and began tuning the bass.
“So, you're an accomplished Starfleet captain, workin’ for the man. Big deal in the news,” Jess continued.
“Yup.”
“Is there anything about you that hasn't changed?”
Sara sighed heavily, doing her best to ignore the actual alarm she felt at the question. Was there anything left of the old her?
“I… still look amazing naked, actually,” she settled on. Whoops and whistles emerged from the crowd.
“I mean obviously, look at you,” offered Jess, looking her up and down. “All lithe and svelte - I'm disgusted. I see you got more tattoos.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Piercings?”
“... Maybe.”
Jess’ grin was instant and devious.
“Ohhhh, nips?”
“Maybe.”
“Did… didja pierce your… y’know...”
“... I'm uncomfortable with this line of questioning,” said Sara, making a show of demurely crossing her legs.
“Oh my god, you did!” shouted Jess. “Can we see?”
“Yeah, let us see!” added Athene. The crowd cheered as Sara pinched the bridge of her nose.
“This whole thing was just a setup to get me to flash the crowd, wasn't it?” she asked.
“Whaaat?” asked a shocked Jess. “Of course not. I would never try to entrap a respectable Starfleet capta- yeah, look, I'm not gonna lie. You've got great tits, and I think the world deserves to see them.”
The crowd cheered once again, and Sara, brow furrowed, glanced down at her chest, pulling her tank top out a bit to look inside. She gave the crowd a dubious glance.
“I dunno, they look kinda scuzzy,” she observed.
“Hey!” shouted Athene. “Those are our fans! Of course they look scuzzy!”
The rabble broke into chants of ‘scuzzy.’
“Besides, it’s not a matter of whether they deserve it, but of principle,” said Jess.
“Oh, well, if you put it that way,” said Sara. She handed off the bass and grabbed the hem of her shirt as the scuzzies whistled and hollered. Sara briefly pretended to lift before throwing her arms out wide, giving the crowd a look of bewilderment.
“Of course I'm not taking my top off, you hooligans!” she declared. The crowd erupted in boos.
“No. No!” shouted Sara, grabbing the mic and pointing at them. “You assholes are gonna take pictures, and then it'll be in the news for weeks, and I'll never live it down!”
The scuzz patrol began a ‘take it off’ chant as Sara wore a look of consternation. She put a hand on her hip, chewing her lip as the chant built. She looked to Jess, who was leaning on her mic stand, eyes affixed firmly on Sara’s chest.
Sara furrowed her brow, looking down once more. She hooked a finger into the neckline, slowly pulling it downward to expose more of her tattooed chest as the crowd cheered. Just as it seemed she might expose something, she withdrew the hand and flipped them all off. They booed loudly, and she flipped them off with both hands, grinning madly.
“Still a tease,” sighed Jess.
“Do what you're good at, my mother would say,” offered Sara.
“I guess you really did become respectable. Frankly I'm devastated.”
Sara chuckled, staring at Jess, then glancing out to the crowd, feeling the corrupting influence of the booze in her blood, the haunting call of nostalgia, and the oft-ill advised allure of the anti-authority streak firmly entrenched in the core of her being.
This was her having fun, and she couldn’t help but think that this was what life was all about. Suddenly, she was 20 again, fuckin’ around and playing free of all the bullshit that her life had been to that point. Besides, if her career was over anyway...
“... Fuck it.”
Sara tossed her top into the crowd as it erupted in riotous applause.
---
Athene had fortunately brought a spare shirt, as Sara'a second-favorite Runaways top was long gone. C’est la vie. The crowd had dispersed after the show, and Sara was sitting at a corner table with Jess as Athene and Spitroast helped the staff clean up.
“My husband's gonna be so mad at me tomorrow,” Sara mused.
“‘My husband,’ she says,” mocked Jess, tipping back supposedly the last drink of the night.
“You're just jealous ‘cause I got a man,” taunted Sara. The pair snickered in unison.
“I knew, I knew she was still in there,” said Jess, drawing a smirk from Sara.
“Still just me,” she observed. “Different surroundings is all.”
“Yeah, I don't buy it,” countered Jess.
“What, you think I'm all prim and proper now?”
“No, just different is all.”
Sara gave an incredulous scoff, knocking back the dregs of a whiskey sour.
“Not like completely different,” Jess continued. “Just, what's the word, like, confident.”
Sara chuckled ruefully, knowing full well that wasn't true.
“What? What's funny?” asked Jess.
“I- I have zero confidence,” admitted Sara.
“The fuck are you sayin’?” countered Jess.
“My career might be over, Jess,” Sara lamented. “And I can't even tell if I'm sad about it. Every… every waking moment up there has been a minefield for years, and I'm just constantly flailing because I have no fucking clue what I'm doing most the time.”
“So?” asked Jess.
“Does that sound like confidence to you?”
“That's not the kind of confident I mean,” Jess explained. Sara just gave her a lost look.
“Sorry, I've had a bit to drink,” offered Jess. “I mean… you're confident in who you are. Like, sure, everything’s a mess right now, and maybe you're not sure what to do, but I saw you tonight, and I've been following your career, and it's clear that Sara Sumner knows exactly who the fuck Sara Sumner is. Y’know?”
“I get what you're sayin’,” offered Sara. “Don't know that I agree, but I get what you're sayin’.”
A few moments passed in silence.
“Do you remember we did a show in Denver once?” asked Jess. “And that Tellarite tried to grab Vicky’s ass?”
Sara’s lip curled in a smirk at the memory.
“He did grab Vicky’s ass,” she corrected.
“And you immediately jumped off the stage and kicked him right in the face.”
Sara snorted as she recalled the flying face kick.
“You got in so much trouble for that, remember?” asked Jess.
“Yep.”
“And that guy was chewing you out and he threatened to get you expelled, and you gave this like righteous response that I can't remember exactly.”
“I told him that if I had to choose between sticking up for my friends or kissing his ass, I'd choose friends every time,” Sara recalled.
“Yeah, that's it. And look at you now, choosin’ to stick up for your friends instead of kissin’ ass.”
Sara sat with that for a while, head awash in booze and apprehension. She was on the cusp of something she couldn't really define, some truth veiled in the murky expanse beyond the self, so tantalizingly close and excruciatingly far. Maybe it would reveal itself. Maybe it would leave her in ruin.
“I didn't,” said Sara, breaking the silence and pulling back from the void.
“Didn't what?” asked Jess.
“Didn't stick up for him,” Sara answered. “My friend. Not at first.”
“Why not?”
Sara slowly rubbed her eyes.
“I was scared,” she admitted. “I was scared they’d take me away from my crew, that I wouldn’t be able to protect them.”
“Well,” sighed Jess, idly turning her glass. “I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like I got answers. I stayed on Earth for a reason, y’know? I didn’t wanna have to deal with all that space shit.”
“It was probably the wiser choice,” offered Sara.
“It was the chickenshit choice,” Jess countered. “I wanted a simple life. I wanted to drink and play my music and have fun forever. But you? You wanted something more, yeah?”
“Something like that.”
“You willingly went out into the black to serve on a flying hunk of metal that bends space, and you fuckin’ ran with it. I mean, that’s terrifying. I remember when you graduated. I cried for the next two days because I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.”
Sara looked at Jess, brow furrowed.
“Seriously,” she said. “I can’t imagine the strength it took for you to make that choice, and all these other choices you’ve made. And you think that admitting you were scared once is supposed to be shameful?”
“I dunno,” mumbled Sara. “I guess. I mean, I’ve been scared more than once. I’m basically scared all the time up there.”
“This seems like a reasonable state to me, all things considered.”
“But it’s not just that I was afraid,” Sara pressed. “It was, um, it was that I let my fear win.”
There it was. There was the thing that had been lingering on the edge of her consciousness, taunting her from the shadows. This was the real crime, the one that caused her to let her friend hang in the wind.
“I let it control me, and it fucked over someone who didn’t deserve it.”
Jess thought on that for a while. At some point she’d folded her arms on the table and planted her chin atop them, staring at Sara with glazed eyes.
“But you’re doing your best to make it right, right?” she offered.
“I’m trying,” affirmed Sara.
“That’s all you can do, y’know? We fuck up from time to time. We can’t help it - it’s human nature. What matters is what you do after the fact, when you realize what you did.”
Sara couldn’t really argue against that, but she wasn’t quite ready to forgive herself, so she remained silent.
“Lemme ask you this,” said Jess. “Once you realized you’d fucked up, did you have any doubt about trying to fix it?”
Sara thought for a moment before shaking her head.
“Nope.”
“Well, there you go. Case closed. Sara Sumner did the right thing.”
“You’re talking about playing topless earlier, aren’t you?”
“Pfft, what? No,” protested Jess. “I mean, I’m certainly thinking that, but I was talking about whatever your thing was. So what is it, some kinda press conference or something?”
Jess gave Sara a playful wink as Sara flipped her off once more.
|
|
|
Post by Nola on Dec 29, 2018 6:49:14 GMT
Earthside - Part Three“Hi mommy!” Ulani shouted. Her grin beamed through the cosmos onto Sara’s terminal, and the distance made it no less infectious. “Hey, sweetie!” she called back, leaning forward onto the desk. “How are you enjoying the trip?” “It’s great, but I hate it!” Ulani declared, drawing a snort from Sara. “It’s pretty, but it’s too cold!” “That’s exactly what I told daddy the first time he took me there.” “One of these days she’s going to pick something up from me, and then we’ll get to laugh at you,” promised Thalev, grinning despite the gentle ribbing. “Can’t wait,” chuckled Sara. “I got to ride a alicorne!” interruped Ula. “Oh, god, uh, was it fun?” Sara couldn’t help a small grimace. “Yeah! Really fun! I tried to get it to charge daddy, but daddy was holding the ice berries so it wouldn’t do it. Wait, don’t you like alicornes?” “Uh-” “No,” answered Thalev. “She thinks they have too many legs.” “They do!” Sara asserted, giving a mock shiver. “I think they should have more legs to gross mommy out,” needled Ula. “There’s the thing she got from you,” Sara teased, drawing a laugh from Thalev. The three did a bit more catching up, and Sara sang Ula a bedtime song before Thalev tucked her in. She poured herself a drink as she waited, savoring the spicy butterscotch notes from the particular bottle of bourbon, and tried to relax, knowing right away it was futile. Finally Thalev returned, flopping into a comfortable-looking chair on the other side of the screen and flashing one of his serene smiles. They stared at each other for a long moment. Sara wasn’t sure why she kept trying to make him say the first thing - it never, ever worked. “I guess I’m waiting to see if you’re mad at me,” she eventually offered. “Why would I be mad at you?” The smile didn’t falter. “You know why.” “You looked like you were having fun. Were you?” “I was,” she answered after a moment, smiling at the memory of her stage adventure. “Then I don’t see any problem,” he said with a note of finality. “How about all the other stuff?” “Such as?” Sara scoffed, slumping in her chair as she thought of the complete mess she’d been making of herself over the last several months. “Just seems like it’s one big story after another, y’know? The Delta Quadrant? Putting you face to face with Hirogen, and Borg-” “That wasn’t your fault.” “But it keeps happening to me and my crew, and I can’t help but wonder if maybe I’m just making bad decisions everywhere.” “You’re not.” She huffed and shook her head, taking a sip of her drink as she tried to cut through the noise in her mind. “How can you just say that?”
Now it was Thalev’s turn to pause, frowning in slight concentration as his eyes drifted over the desk. He shifted in his seat and scooched a bit closer to the terminal. “You remember when I had my adventure?” “Which one?” “The long one.” This still took a moment of sorting, but she knew the one he was talking about. He’d been trapped in some kind of quasi-dimension, and had experienced a hundred years of life in a relatively short time. “Yeah.” “I remember in our first go-round, I would get frustrated by your… impulsiveness. You never seemed concerned about the next day, let alone the next month or year. You had some kind of constant in your heart, some principle that kept you from being able to do anything normal or mundane.” Sara frowned slightly, not in disagreement, but in a sudden curiosity whether that was still the case. “I didn’t understand how anyone could really live like that,” Thalev admitted. “But then I spent a century alone on a barren rock, and all those rules I’d been living by, all the mundane stuff, stopped being important. And I would think of you as time went on, and more and more I appreciated your refusal to do what was expected of you. I envied that in you.” She listened quietly, swirling the dark liquid in her glass as her mind fought over whether that flighty little girl had been right or wrong, whether the changes she’d made in her life were for better or worse. “And then we got our second chance, eventually,” Thalev recalled. “And I knew that I’d never get frustrated by your impulses ever again.” “Do you think I’m still her?” she couldn’t help but ask. “Absolutely.” The resolute sincerity in his voice was a drop of honey in the storm in her mind, and she smiled even as her eyes got all misty. “Who else would get up on that stage and take her top off as she’s being investigated by Starfleet?” “Fair point,” Sara conceded. “I am frustrated about one thing.” Sara cast a dubious look at the screen. “I got to see them, but I didn’t get to touch them.” The conversation devolved from there, and Sara went to bed with a settled heart. Whatever happened with this inquest, she knew what she had in Thalev and Ula, and it was all she’d ever need.
|
|
|
Post by Nola on Feb 15, 2019 3:09:53 GMT
Reality Check (This log occurs after the Chiron mission on 11902.07)
Sara sipped the dregs of her hot chocolate as she slowly spun in her Ready Room chair, thinking about redecorating. Some band posters, perhaps, or a racy painting, or a number of other teenage rebellion things that a thirty-something should have grown out of by now. She felt a definite petulance these days, a rising impulse to cause trouble, as if she hadn't been doing exactly that for the past six months.
This was different, she told herself. That trouble was reactionary, the doing of others in response to her trying to do what was right. This trouble was more directed, more intentional, designed to ruffle feathers and rustle jimmies and so on.
She knew it was stupid, and ultimately it was unlikely she'd do anything big - a proper adult response to her indignation. It only served to deepen her frustration.
Her terminal beeped, the expected indication showing up on-screen: Vice Admiral Hobi. Sara finished her cocoa and set the mug well out of sight, taking a moment to center herself before tapping at her console.
"Admiral Hobi," she greeted with a smile.
"Captain Sumner," replied Admiral Hobi, the Bolian woman wearing a similar smile. "This is a bit of a surprise."
"Yes," offered Sara, her grin turning somewhat sheepish. "I know this isn't the proper procedure, but I had some questions and I wanted a more direct line to answers."
"You wanted to skirt around Command," Hobi reasoned. Her smile didn't diminish.
"Something like that," Sara admitted. "Sorry. I've kind of roped you into a scheme."
"And you thought my time was more expendible, perhaps?"
Sara grimaced, having just been thinking the exact same.
"I'm sorry, Admiral. I do have questions, but I can go through the proper channels-"
"I was just about to clock out," Hobi informed, a humorous glint in her eye. "I just like to flex the pips when I can. Ask your questions."
Sara smirked at being played, and for just a moment she had some empathy for the people who had to deal with her own japery.
"I want to know if Tony Adalberto is on my ship as an officer, or an SFI asset, for starters," she said.
"I'll take a look and tell you what I can," said Hobi, tapping at her own terminal for a moment. "Do I get to know why you called me instead of Command?"
Sara huffed lightly.
"I guess I don't trust Command or SFI to give me straight answers," she said. "I get that I'm on a leash, but I guess I'd like to be told more directly how short that leash is. I wasn't informed of Adalberto joining until a ship joined my mission unannounced and dropped him off."
"Like you're being kept out of the loop," Hobi noted.
"Yeah."
Hobi gave Sara an appraising glance before looking back to her screen.
"Anthony Adalberto is not listed as an active asset, if you trust the listing," she informed. "If he is being used as an asset, it's not general SFI knowledge."
That wasn't as assuring as Sara wanted it to be, but she was at least confident that Hobi would be straight with her. Hobi was a recent addition to Beta Diplomatic Command, a somewhat unknown quantity, but Diplo had enough access to Intel to be useful while being far enough removed from Admiral Walker's office to be overly concerned with Sara's most recent brush. That had been the hope, anyway.
"Okay," replied Sara. "What can you tell me about the Charon? Experimental ship, got sent out here to Carraya."
"Is there something specific you want to know?"
"Uh, where they were stationed, I guess, and when they got their orders to come out here."
More tapping. Sara drummed her fingers on her desk, trying not to think about her deteriorating relationship with Admiral Walker, which only left her tenuous grasp on her command.
"Looks like she was stationed at Planitia," said Hobi. "Hm. She wasn't due for a shakedown for another couple months."
"Wow. Are we that tight for ships out here?" asked Sara.
"Not quite," mused Hobi, "but we are that tight in the core. We can't afford to take any ships off Weytahn or Deneva, and Threllvia is still within a jump of Vulcan, so we can't really spare any ships from the defense group. Since they also wanted to get Mr. Adalberto out to you, they might've decided the Charon was ready ahead of schedule."
Sara's frown deepened, not liking that explanation all that much.
"Do you know anything about Captain Shuro?" she asked.
"Nope," said Hobi. "Nothing that would ease your mind, anyway. As I understand it, they're a bit of an up-and-comer. Level-headed. Thoughtful."
Sara wanted to ask more, but she'd taken this as far as she reasonably could. This wasn't going to do anything for her paranoia or self-doubt, nor would it be productive to her current mission.
"I understand this must be a frustrating time for you, Captain," Hobi offered. "I didn't follow the proceedings closely, but it's hard not to know about your, uh, exploits."
"Yeah," huffed Sara.
"I'm sure I don't need to explain Command's concern when it comes to Captains who don't play by the book. It's beneficial to have Captains who will behave predictably, and it's inevitable that those who don't will occasionally run afoul of the machine."
The petulant part of her hated that Sara agreed with Hobi's assessment. This was, indeed, inevitable. Whatever autonomy Sara had earned was gone, or at least lessened.
"Yes, Admiral," she finally replied. Hobi watched her for a moment before heaving a sigh of her own and unbuttoning her jacket.
"Of course, we have need of Captains like you, too," she assured. Sara wasn't sure she was up for a good ol' pep talk, but as she'd taken up the Admiral's time, it was the least she could do to listen.
"Starfleet has a long history of pain-in-the-butts sitting in the Captain's chair, mavericks who skirt procedure in order to remind us that sometimes what's right is more important that what's proper."
"So I'm a cliche now," Sara muttered, unable to stop herself and feeling an instant sense of regret. "Sorry, Adm-"
Hobi's chuckle stole Sara's voice, and she dropped her eyes to her desk, suddenly feeling like she were back at the Academy.
"I get it, now," Hobi observed. "You want to think you're special, right?"
Forget the Academy - she was now back firmly in her father's glare, and she had to fight tooth and nail not to just cut the Admiral off.
"I'm sorry, Admiral," submitted Sara.
"You are special, Captain Sumner."
Sara furrowed her brow in confusion, managing to look back to Hobi.
"Everyone who earns the right to sit in that chair on the bridge is special in their own way," Hobi explained. "There are no run-of-the-mill Captains. There is no average when it comes to that post. You earned the right to sit there, to command your crew, and to perform your duties in a manner you feel is in keeping with the Federation's ideals. You still have that right. This is just a consequence, Captain Sumner. It's not the first you've encountered, and it won't be the last. Whether or not it feels justified, this is the reality of the situation, and you're going to have to find a way to live with it."
Sara felt at once ashamed and buoyed, the Admiral's words a needed dose of fact for a mindset that had become increasingly subjective and murky.
"I will, Admiral," replied Sara, giving a grateful nod.
"Good," said Hobi. "I'm late for a game of of Tongo, so if that was sufficiently motivational..."
"Plenty, Admiral," Sara offered with a smirk. "Thank you, and good luck."
|
|
|
Post by Einar on Feb 15, 2019 10:12:33 GMT
Ask all you want.
Great log!
|
|
|
Post by aoibheni on Feb 15, 2019 13:06:37 GMT
Hah! Admiral Hobi is brilliant, CJ. "if that was sufficiently inspirational...?" Fantastic. I hope we see lots more of her in the future.
|
|
|
Post by Nola on Mar 28, 2019 9:45:12 GMT
Quickening (With Annie as Vice Admiral Ksar)
Sara hadn’t stayed long on the bridge after returning to the ship, her mind abuzz with the various moving parts revealed on the surface. She’d rattled off a few orders, checked in with a few people, and then promptly retreated to her Ready Room.
This wasn’t conflict, not yet, but the posturing was already there. Lines were being drawn, sides were being taken, and every move now carried incalculable risk - the fates of worlds, perhaps.
Accordingly, Sara was now all business. There was too much riding on this to be her usual frivolous self. Assuming, that was, that she wasn’t just catastrophizing, and unduly trying to put herself at the center of things. Hotshotting, and all that.
She didn’t have time for self-loathing, either.
Sara sat at her desk with a small huff, trying to settle her mind before switching on her console and putting in a priority comm request to Starfleet Command.
The screen idled for a long pause, starfleet logo revolving as her request was processed and directed on the other end. Finally, an image of Vice Admiral Ksar replaced it. Sitting primly in the seat at her desk, she tipped her head almost curiously as she addressed Sara, “Captain Sumner?”
“Admiral,” Sara greeted. “There’ve been some developments at Tohvun. A lot, actually. I was invited to a meeting on the surface by Governor Calen, who also invited a Cardassian representative. We were asked to investigate the Breen raids. A number of freighter captains have all reported a similar, suspicious MO. As the meeting was finishing, however, there was an explosion elsewhere in the city. We’re still gathering facts, but we’re lending what assistance we can.”
The admiral was silent for a moment, taking this in. “Tell me Captain,” she chose her words carefully, not wishing to color Sara’s response to her question with any information she may already have or opinions of her own, “what is your assessment of this information regarding the raids?”
Sara sighed heavily, not entirely sure. This part of her head was busiest, arguing back and forth in compressed tirades about bias and urgency.
“It’s suspicious,” she finally began. “The Breen attack, knock out shields, but they don’t board, don’t demand any ransom. Right as they’re about to deliver the final blow, a Cardassian ship shows up from out of nowhere and saves the day. I asked Gul Baraad, after the bombing, whether there was any significant pushback against the Bok’Nor Pact from within. The question made him uncomfortable, but he said he wasn’t at liberty to say.
“That’s the part that gives me pause. I think Baraad might be concerned about this, that he might not know what’s going on. It might be that Cardassia is putting on a show, but aren’t telling all of their people. It might just be that the Breen are unhappy with the Pact and want to make Cardassia look bad, but they’re failing. My… my gut says the former, though, as much as my gut can be trusted.”
Ksar nodded slowly, her large black eyes betraying no emotion. “It’s unsurprising the Cardassians don’t want to comment on that aspect. They’re trying to appear stronger than the Federation right now, they aren’t going to admit to any weakness.”
Tapping a fingertip on her desktop in a quick rhythm, she looked away for a moment, considering all the information. “This isn’t the first time I’m hearing that there might be more than meets the eye with these pirate attacks.” She muttered a quick series of clicks and pops under her breath before finally looking back to the screen, “Captain Sumner, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how delicate this situation is. There are historically neutral planets like Tohvun III that could be swayed to come under Cardassian protection if they believe they will have more support from them. If the Cardassians are behind these attacks, we need to know. Stay put, offer any aide to the planet you can, and investigate these attacks. We will divert another ship to take over your patrol for now.”
Sara nodded, grateful for a more definite scope. She had a poor habit of trying to put all the galaxy’s problems on her shoulders - a ‘martyr complex,’ her Academy counselor had called it - so it would good to have a more narrow field to work with.
“We’ll get to the bottom of it, Admiral,” she promised. “Should I continue trying to get Gul Baraad to talk, or leave that for SFI to investigate?”
“If we send in Intelligence, they’re more likely to button things up. Let’s keep it looking as informal as we can at the moment. If Baraad really doesn’t know anything, maybe you can use that to your advantage. I’ll have SFI chasing down some other avenues while you handle it on that end.” She thought perhaps Sara’s reputation as a bit of a loose cannon would play to their advantage here.
For Sara, this was one less thing to worry about - immediately, anyway.
“Understood, Admiral. We’ll proceed, and keep you apprised of any new developments.”
Admiral Ksar suspected others were going to question the wisdom of trusting this to the Chiron, but she’d deal with that later. She gave a sharp nod and cut the comm.
|
|
|
Post by Nola on May 30, 2019 7:17:24 GMT
Gestures
Sara stared at the spinning Starfleet Command logo, letting myriad potential intrigues swirl in her head. Worse than not being sure what was going on was being sure that whatever was going on was working; both Cardassia and the Federation had cause to be paranoid of the other, and, on an organizational level, the near-future seemed set in stone: Cardassia would accuse the Federation of trying to sabotage the Pact, the Federation would deny the accusation, and the galaxy at large would see a human confess and declare that it was true. Whether that was a result of Cardassian ‘interrogation,’ Section 31 plot, or because it was actually true, didn’t really matter.
Tensions would heighten. The truth would get muddled in politics. The Federation might face another war with Cardassia.
The face of Admiral Coscraigh appeared on her terminal.
“Captain Sumner,” she greeted. “What can I do for you?”
“Admiral,” sara replied with a nod. “I’ll be direct: I need to know whether Starfleet is using an experimental drive to sow discord within the Bok’Nor Pact.”
Coscraigh quirked a brow, sitting back in her chair.
“Not to my knowledge, no,” she said, her words measured. “Somehow I doubt that’ll be satisfactory. If we were doing that, do you actually think I’d tell you?”
Sara sighed, similarly leaning back, though she was a bit more slouched.
“Probably not,” she replied. “The truthfulness of the answer isn’t overly important, though. I’m caught in a game of appearances; what’s important is that I ask.”
“So you’re asking to satisfy the Cardassians.”
“One Cardassian.”
“And you think this will be enough?”
Sara didn’t answer immediately, due more to sudden exhaustion than consideration. She hated this. She hated that she had to play this game. She hated that she couldn’t trust Starfleet Command. She hated that she knew Starfleet Command couldn’t trust her, either, and she especially hated that, of all the captains in Starfleet, she had to be the one out here staring war with Cardassia - and Tholia, for that matter - in the face.
“I don’t know what’s good enough any more, Admiral,” she finally offered. “I don’t know anything for certain, here. My gut tells me this is Section 31’s work, and it also tells me they succeeded. Whatever I convince Baraad of, Cardassia will believe that this was all our doing, and they’ll use that to turn the unaligned systems against us because we can’t actually prove it wasn’t.”
Coscraigh regarded her for a moment before picking up a PADD, reading it briefly.
“And you trust this Gul Baraad? Within reason, anyway?” she asked.
“I think he’s an honorable man,” Sara replied. “I think he believes that I, at least, am not in on it.”
The Admiral lightly tapped the PADD on her desk before setting it aside.
“It’s a start, at least,” said Coscraigh. “It’s not going to change the Council’s mind, but one honorable person on a mission to find the truth? That’s a start. And, as you know, we could use all the advantages we can get our hands on.”
Sara thought on that a moment, a slight frown on her features. It wasn’t a satisfying idea, but it bore a bitter kernel of truth. This wasn't all-or-nothing. If they were going to unravel this, it would take pulling several disparate threads, not just one.
“I suspect you’ll have to find a more convincing gesture, though,” said Coscraigh. “If the roles were reversed, would you accept a simple ‘well, I asked?.’”
“No, I wouldn't,” agreed Sara, already working on such a gesture. “I’ll think of something, Admiral. Thank you for your time.”
“Of course. Good luck, Captain Sumner.”
Sara cut the comm and took exactly one moment to wonder if this was a good idea, knowing full well it wasn’t.
“Computer, prepare communique to Starfleet Intelligence, Admiral Romare’s office, priority one, level ten encryption. Authorization Sumner, Sara N., Delta-Phi-seven-seven,” she began.
“Authorization accepted.”
“Admiral Romare. I formally request top-level intel clearance for all matters related to the Bok’Nor Pact, in the interests of preventing war with said Pact. The sooner, the better.”
She gave herself one last chance to reconsider.
“Send.”
|
|