Stubborn Hope

Posted on Jul 18, 2014 @ 12:37pm by Lieutenant Commander Aerdan Jos
Edited on on Jul 18, 2014 @ 2:03pm

Mission: http://thefrpg.com/sim/missions/id/7
Location: Various

“Stubborn Hope” (continued from “14-6”)

~*~*~*~

Location: Civilian Shuttle PINAFORE
Stardate:
Scene: Cockpit
Time Index: 20-some years in the bleak and distant future.

~*~*~*~
“Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: You don't give up.”
~Anne Lamott
~*~*~*~

“Are we there yet, Mom?”

The voice was brash, melodramatically whiny and irritatingly ironic.

Phia found her expression settling into a well practiced frown. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not your mother, stop calling me that.”

“One more wouldn’t hurt.” The blue lips curled into a grin, as sapphire eyes sparkled. “Beisdes, ~you’re~ the one who said I had to come with you to find this drunken what-his-name rather than going with Thomas to rescue Dad.”

The half Bolian gave a world weary sigh. This just was more evidence that she should never, ever give advice or orders in people’s best interests. “You know damn well that you’re a liability where your adoptive father is concerned. Besides, this should be right up your alley if you’re as much of a blossoming medical genius as you seem to suggest. We’re going to recruit one of the foremost neurosurgeons in this half of the galaxy.”

“Foremost alcoholic neurosurgeon.” The young man sassed back, stretched out to set his feet up. “What even makes you think that he’ll talk to us?”

“Because I know him.” Phia replied mysterious.

“Eh.” He shrugged. “You know everyone. Or so you say.”

Phia fought back the overwhelming urge to give Cade Foster’s adopted kid one hell of a slap. She had initially counseled that Cade was a terrible choice for caring for a child. The toddler Andorian was one of the civilians brought back from Nestis VII, Phia later found out that the entire civilian compliment that had been rescued by the ARMSTRONG were descendants of alpha quadrant travelers who had been gathered in the far reaches of the galaxy by the artifact – all settling on one barely hospitable planet. Shar’Wyn – or Wyn as he preferred to be called – had lost his mother in the last fight with the Terran Empiricists. Alone and stranded, a child of two needed a parent.

And for some reason Cade Foster stepped up.

As Phia thought back, she figured it had something to do with Aerdan’s death. Cade and Aerdan were close and the counseling part of her said that the day that self sacrificing nutbrain did something incredibly brave, stupid and suicidal to save the crew of the ARMSTRONG, that something inside Cade was crushed. And somehow young Wyn was Aerdan’s replacement.

Then again, Cade had a way with children. An unorthodox way, most certainly, but a way nonetheless. As the Federation started to fall apart, Cade devoted his life to protecting his unorthodox family. It was almost impressive.

Ok, it was impressive. She had been impressed a few times. But she would never, ever admit it.

The ‘Mom’ thing was equally stinging. It started off innocently enough. For some reason Cade and Phia always ended up working together, No matter how far they tried to separate themselves, some twist of fate brought them together again. It was an on-again, off-again relationship from hell, complete with drunken one night stands and horrific explosions tearing them apart. Still, it made sense for a young blue child to ask why his father was not, in fact, blue. And then wonder who his mother might be. Well, Phia was there and she was blue. Therefore very young Wyn reached the foregone conclusion that she was, in fact, his mother.

Now that he was in his early twenties he just did it to chafe her ass. And like his adoptive father, he was oh so good at it.

“I do know everyone. Everyone important that is.” She paused and added, “you little shit.”

Wyn threw his head back and laughed. “Damn skippy.” Pausing in his mirth he sobered and looked back at the Bolian woman. “Seriously, though. This is the what? Fifth time we’ve contacted him. And if I remember correctly the other four times he rather elegantly told us to… what was that again? Oh yeah. Fuck off. What makes you think it’ll be any different this time?”

“Because I have leverage.” She smirked, sounding superior.

“What kind of leverage?” he perked his snowy white brows, leaning forward with intense curiosity.

“Fuck off. Your mouth is a liability and you know it.” Phia smirked, watching the kid’s features fall.

“I know when to shut it.” He argued back, frowning melodramatically.

“True. But you don’t know how to keep it shut.” She returned.

There was a pause, a few seconds of blissful silence that ended in Wyn giving a teenage slump against the back of his chair. He had long ago learned not to continue arguing when you didn’t have a leg to stand on. After letting the silence permeate the cockpit and giving Phia just enough time to start enjoying it, he opened his mouth again. “So, exactly what I am supposed to be doing with you down on this slummy spaceport?”

“Well, first off, keep your damn mouth shut.” She indulged in another smirk at his chagrined expression. “Second, if you’re the medical genius your father professes you to be, put your latinum where you mouth is and start preparing me something that will sober a person up. Quickly. And have a full detox on standby.”

“Sober up, got it. Detox… that could get messy.” His antennae twittered, already halfway through problem solving.

She contemplated that. “Then prep detox for back on this shuttle.”

“Sure thing!” he popped up and busied himself, affording Phia a few more moments of blissful silence.

~*~*~
Location: USS ARMSTRONG
Scene: Sickbay
Time Index: Before Phia arrives in sickbay with Bomba.
~*~

Cade Foster frowned, hovering over his patient in the dimmed emergency lighting of a sickbay under red alert. Beneath his tender ministrations Commander Angus O’Malley was dying.

Which, if they were still on the surface of than damn planet Cade Foster would accept that fact. Except they weren’t. They were in a full functional sickbay and still the wounds were not closing.

Remove the slug. Apply the cellular regeneration unit. Administer a blood transfusion. It was simple. It should have been routine.

And yet it didn’t work.

So Cade’s mind had gone into overdrive. Hashing out all the possibilities and coming up with one unpleasant conclusion. He snatched the slug he had removed from O’Malley’s chest and ran a full chemical analysis. He wasn’t surprised at the outcome, but he wasn’t pleased either.

The slug was covered in a necrotic toxin. Those sons of bitches.

“I want that man in cryostasis, NOW!” Foster barked, jabbing a finger at the nearest doctors who he felt had enough brainpower to complete the task. “I want all bodily functions stopped and I want him frozen. Got me.”

The young ensign closest to him ogled. “But sir…”

“Don’t but sir me. Follow that order before that man dies!” Cade snapped back. He couldn’t have the wasting precious time. Sure, he could find a counteracting agent for the necrotic poison – but that would take time. And if they didn’t get O’Malley on ice that time would mean the engineer would be eaten away from the inside out. Or, more likely, he’d bleed to death since the tears in his flesh were re opening as fast as the regenerator could close them.

He ran forward, pushing the orderlies with him as he went. Even if they weren’t working in as high of gear as he was, it didn’t mean he couldn’t tow them along. He’d need the extra hands. If they were lucky he’s have ~just~ enough time…

~*~*~*~
Location: Calderaan IV
Scene: Slums
Time Index: 20-some years in the bleak and distant future.
~*~

This place stank. It smelled like burning oil, smoke and piss. It reminded Phia of those horrific historical adventure holonovels Izshlana Vort kept trying to drag her on a lifetime ago on the STONHENGE.

She knew full well the reasons behind it. Anything of a certain technology level immediately attracted the attention of the Neo-Essentialists. So those who wanted to fly under the radar picked out these low technology dumps. They were becoming more and more populous in the galaxy as the Neo Essentialists kept creeping forward like an inexorable plague.

She already knew where the man she was looking for was hiding. Not only had she picked him up on planetary scans, but she also knew he was painfully predictable. He always returned to the same planets, the same haunts, she would probably find him in the same seat she had found him in the last time they did this run around.

If she was still a counselor, if she still cared about that, she would diagnose him as borderline personality disorder with problematic addiction. The stability that routine gave such a patient compensated for the feelings of betrayal and abandonment. The alcohol dulled the terror of isolation. While she would cheerfully tell him how full of shit he was for acting in such a self defeating way, she actually couldn’t blame him.

After the destruction of the ARMSTRONG outside NIMBUS III, where Commander Jos did what the stories say all Captains did when things were dire – they went down with the ship – Ensign Jos took it remarkably well. He resolved to use his brother’s death as the spark that fanned the flames of justice. To help the shattered crew regroup and hunt down the aberrant elements of the Federation that caused this.

But they had no clue how deeply the Essentialists were entrenched.

In the end they were hunted down. And when they didn’t give up and refused to surrender, the Essentialsts decided to cut those who were a thorn in their side in the most vicious way possible: they went after family.

It was when his niece was killed, gunned down while on her way to class, that Arjan Jos snapped. Losing his brother was bad enough, but he had buried his mother, his father, his fiancée and finally Ishe… his mind simply broke.

Beside her Wyn was, thankfully, silent. His wide sapphire eyes took in the slums as he sank his hands into his pockets and slouched. When he finally did speak, he kept his voice low. “You sure we’re headed to the right place.”

“Positive.” She pulled him into a back alley. “This way. Don’t make eye contact with anyone once we get in there. The last thing we need is a fight on our hands.”

“Gotcha.” The kid murmured, pulling up his hood and assuming a moody teenage slouch. “Lead on Macduff.”

“That’s ‘lay on Macduff…’” she muttered.

Wyn grinned from behind the hood.

The interior of the bar was dim and foggy. She could smell at leave seven illegal substances being eaten, drank and smoked, and she was sure there was at least a dozen more being passed around the patrons. She wasn’t interested in that. She was only interested in the man slumped over a bottle in the third to last table on the left hand side. And sure as shit, he was even sitting in the same chair.

“Follow me.”

Phia wove her way through the crowd, giving disgusted looks to the burly aliens who lewdly checked out her figure and ignoring everyone else before she plunked down in the seat across from her target.

“Don’ need another yet….” He slurred not even raising his head.

“Not bringing you another.” She quietly snapped back.

That voice.

His antennae perked up, and he slowly lifted his head. “You. Again.” Arjan narrowed his foggy eyes. “What do you want?”

She paused and simply waited for a few seconds, taking him in. For a race that didn’t grow facial hair, it was impressive how scruffy they could look. The telltale lines of time and fighting still ran across his face – the scar that puckered his left cheek, the slightly crooked dent in his nose from where it had been broken. All of them could have been fixed – could still be fixed, if he had the desire. He simply didn’t care anymore.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Plain and simple, as always.

“’Bout what?” Arjan drew the bottle closer to him, eyeing her suspiciously.

“About what we usually talk about.” She gestured to him. “You coming back with me, and joining us again.”

“Let me think…” He paused, pretending to think it through for a full five seconds before he offered a short, vicious laugh. “No. Fuck off.”

Phia didn’t flinch. She could lecture him about being self destructive all the live long day and not get anywhere. Besides, she didn’t need to this time. This time she had an ace in the hole. “Bet I can change your mind.”

“Fat chance.” He snorted, opened the bottle and pouring another drink.

“Got a message from an old friend.” She started oh so sweetly.

“Mad’hron?” he ventured, unimpressed. By now he knew there was nothing Maddie Zanders could do to stop this. Hell, he didn’t know of anyone in the quadrant who could stop this. Shaking his head he lifted the glass to his lips.

Phia smirked and waited for the perfect time to strike. “Peter.”

Arjan Jos spat his drink across the table, narrowing missing both his guests. Eyes wide with surprise, he leaned forward in a fit of coughing. As he recovered himself, he set his glass aside and muttered, “what did you just say?”

“Peter. Aspinall.” She waited until he lifted his gaze to her and she fixed his eyes with a cold stare. “If I have your attention, perhaps we could relocate to somewhere less public and more appropriate.”

He was already standing. “I have a room. Follow me.”

Phia smirked and waved for Wyn to follow.

~*~*~*~
Location: USS ARMSTRONG
Scene: Bridge
Time Index: Present

“Thomas, how are you coming with the codes?” Aerdan’s voice was tense. The time on the threatening transmission was running out and he needed to make sure the ARMSTRONG was prepared when they didn’t submit to their unknown attacker’s demands.

“We’re in. The changeover is taking time, however.” Varn replied from the science station.

Not surprising, but he trusted Thomas and Sylvia to be the ones who were capable of doing the job. “Concentrate of shields, life support and ventilation.”

“Ventilation, Sir?” Lieutenant Warren raised her head up out of the stream of data.

“Imagine how long we would last if they flooded this whole ship with anesthetizne gas.” Commander Jos returned darkly.

A worried murmured rippled across the bridge and Sylvia Warren gave a grave nod back. “Understood, Sir.”

Aerdan nodded, heading back to the center of the bridge to check on his young crew. They were eyeing him nervously, worried. He didn’t blame them. Stepping over to the ops station, he spoke quietly to Lieutenant Clarkson. “How much power would it take to reconfigure the deflector dish to sent out a signal that scrambles sensor readings any hostile ships might be taking of the ARMSTRONG?”

Clarkson thought that over. “Not much, sir. I can start the calculations.”

“Do it, Lieutenant.” The Andorian gave a slim nod. If his hunch was correct, and these people wanted Harcourt for what was in her head rather than as a bargaining chip, he was hoping this intrepid gamble would pay off. So far surprise was the only thing in their favor, against an enemy who had planned this all too well.

The silence on the bridge hung in the air as the seconds stretched by, yawning into minutes. Only broken by Thomas Varn’s triumphant cry, “got it! We’re in and changed over!”

Aerdan was immediately on his feet. “Good. Communications… how much time do we have left on our ultimatum?”

“Fifty-four seconds, sir.” She replied succinctly.

Commander Jos took one long look around the bridge. “Weapons ready, Clarkson, get ready to scramble sensors. Thomas – if they try accessing our codes, can you re-route them?”

“Howso?” The scientist queried.

“Make them think they’re in when they’re not?”

It was Lieutenant Warren who replied, “We could try routing them through the holodeck protocols. Create a ‘ghost’ set of readings to send back.”

Aerdan nodded. “Watch the readings, if they access anything, create the ghost protocol and route them through it.”

“Yes, Sir” she nodded back diving into the computer once again.

Fifteen seconds left… and now they waited…

~*~*~*~
Location: Calderaan IV
Scene: Nasty apartment room
Time Index: 20-some years in the bleak and distant future.
~*~

As soon as the door was shut, Phia gave the place a paranoid once over as Arjan lowered himself into a disgustingly stained armchair. Once she was satisfied with the surroundings, and had closed up the windows she turned towards her young shadow and gestured over towards the man in the chair. “Get him sober.”

“Gladly!” the kid grinned, pulling out a hypospray and skipping over towards the drunkard. “Hold still, this won’t hurt a bit.”

“What the hell are you… ow!” Arjan furrowed his brows. “What was that?”

“Ditrexal Sodium. You should start feeling the effects in about fifteen seconds…” Wyn started to tick them off on his spindly fingers. “riiight about… now…”

As the drug hit, Arjan propelled himself to his feet and dashed towards the bathroom. As the door closed behind him, revolting vomiting sounds echoed through the dingy apartment.

“I thought I told you to detox him once we got back onboard the shuttle.” Phia hissed.

“I know. I’m going to.” Wyn grinned. “This is just the sobering. Trust me, the detox will be ~much~ worse.”

Phia grimaced. “Ugh. We’re locking him in the back room, and he’s not coming out until he’s clean.”

“Probably wise.” The kid nodded sagely.

After a few minutes the door reopened and the disheveled neurosurgeon staggered out, wiping his face. But now his voice was sharp and clear. “That was horrible.”

“No problem, you’re welcome.” Wyn replied with the exact same shit-eating grin that Cade Foster was so well known for.

Arjan narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell is that?” He jerked a thumb at the kid, glaring at Phia.

“That’s Wyn. You remember Wyn, right?”

Arjan Jos’s jaw dropped as his mind boggled. “Wyn? Him? But he was…” He held up a hand about chest height.

“Yeah.” Phia returned in a clipped tone. “That was fourteen years ago.”

“Fourteen years?” Arjan rubbed his face. Had it been that long?

Mercifully Phia didn’t stick the knife into him like she could. She almost had him hooked, now was not the time to alienate him. Arjan simmered in the silence for a few more moments before speaking. “So… Peter. Is… back?”

She nodded. “PENDRAGON and all.”

“What difference will it make?” he queried. “One ship means jack and shit against the army they have.”

Phia gave a nod. If the circumstances were slightly different she would agree. However Mad’hron had shared choice details for Peter’s plan with her, enough that she admitted that while she was not excited about it, she was intrigued. And for all his alcoholic stupor, underneath she knew full well that Arjan Jos was a far easier sell than herself. “Peter brought the artifact back with him.”

That caused the older Andorian to perk a brow. “No shit?”

“Yes shit.” She sassed back.

Falling into a dark frown, Arjan held stubbornly to his pessimism. “So? He can fling ships billions of miles. So what?”

“He’s had twenty years to study that thing.” Phia started, slowly coaxing him along. It was not something she enjoyed doing, but over the years she had learned how effective it was at winning people to her way thinking. If they believed they thought of something themselves… it was so much easier to convince them to see things her way.

“So?” Arjan queried. “Unless it throws ships through time.”

“It throws ships through time.” Wyn replied matter-of-factly. Phia smirked. Arjan’s jaw dropped and he stumbled backwards into a chair.

“It what?”

“Travels through time.” Phia repeated. “Peter’s gonna take the PENDRAGON on a slingshot back through time.”

“And do what?”

“Stop the Neo-Essentialists in their infancy. Stop this whole crazy timeline of death and destruction. Stop everyone you know and love from getting killed…” she trailed off, sounding slightly like a devil’s bargain.

“You’re shitting me.” Arjan replied, staring at her incredulously.

Putting her hands on her hips, Phia whirled around. “Look, Jos. The last thing that I would do is come all the way here to this miserable hellhole to talk to your sodden ass if I didn’t have a reason.”

He slowly closed his mouth. She had never lied to him before. In fact she was known for her blunt honesty, and not even his jaded stubbornness could hold up in the face of that. “And what the fuck are we doing?”

“Making sure he can make the run and buying him enough time to complete his mission.” She replied in a businesslike tone. “So. Are you in?”

He shakily got to his feet. “Why me?”

“Because I can trust you and you actually have a brain once we dry it out.” She was already digging through her pocket, pulling out a black metallic viridium patch. “Are you in?” she asked in the tone of ‘I am not asking this again.’

Arjan nodded slowly, his mind starting to turn at the possibilities. “Yeah. I’m in.”

“Great.” She slapped the patch on the back of his shoulder and started punching up the remote transporter codes. “You ready?”

“Um, no…” Arjan started, wavering backwards slightly.

“Too bad!” Phia grinned, and the three of them disappeared in a shimmering haze of transporter light.

~*~*~*~
NRPG: And the ARMSTRONG moves closer to its date with destiny… Good thing we have the Acreman coming!!

More to come soon!
~*~*~*~

Jamie LeBlanc
Lt. Commander Aerdan Jos
Acting Commander
USS ARMSTRONG

"Why do we fly? Because we have dreamt of it for so long that we must"


~Julian Beck