Strange bedfellows

Posted on Jul 18, 2014 @ 12:58pm by Selyara Chen & Rawyvin Seth & Ambassador Xana Bonviva
Edited on on Jul 18, 2014 @ 2:07pm

Mission: The Tangled Webs We Weave
Location: Various

=/\=

“Strange Bedfellows”

Con’d from: “Justice”

=/\=



=/\=

“Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.”

― Oscar Wilde

=/\=



Stardate: 2.140711.1800

Time Index: Shortly after “The Khitomer Blues”

Location: DANCING STAR

Scene: VIP Suite



The room was so beautiful it hurt the eyes. As in it *literally* hurt Rawyvin and Montoya’s eyes.



“Sonvabitch,” the pilot muttered. Squinting her eyes, she muttered, “What the hell happened? Someone heard red was going out of style?”



Rawyvin grunted but kept his hand on the woman’s back as he pushed her in. In truth, it was as gaudy as one could find. The walls were red and gold. By itself that could be excused, but the floors were meant to look like redwood floors, that all lead to a white bed...with a red throw on it. Across from the bed was a zebra print couch by a zebra print table (that had glass on top); just above the bed was a nearly pornographic picture of a Caitan. And they had an interior room so there wasn’t even a window to distract them.



The room gave him a headache, but there were two important things about being in the VIP suite of this ship. One was that it gave them anonymity -- they weren’t here under their real names and even if they were no one would think to look for them on a Ferengi gaming vessel. Second, he wasn’t paying for this.



A third factor suddenly became clear to him -- the ship was making a direct trip to LUNA and that meant he could be rid of Montoya sooner rather than later. Because she *never* shut up, and it was giving him a headache.



“Heh, the fur really does cover up everything. I’ve been wondering that for *years*,” Montoya said as she looked up at the picture of the Caitan in a pose that probably wasn’t physiologically possible. Flopping down on the couch she said, “Dibs.”



“Fine,” he sighed as he went across the room to the bed. They had left in an unmarked shuttle from KHITOMER, with the Romulan authorities in hot pursuit, and made it as far as ANGEL I before the old shuttle that Seth had acquired was in need of supplies. Once landing on the sparsely populated planet, Rawyvin had used his charms (and a few discrete threats) to evade their hunters and secure passage out of the planet. Rawyvin’s mind had kicked into overdrive, no longer content to move as slowly as they had back home. He needed a way to get them home faster -- because this wasn’t going to last.



“I’m bored,” Montoya said, sitting up suddenly. “Lets go do something!”



“Go ahead,” Rawyvin muttered, laying back in the bed and closing his eyes. “I’m staying right bloody here.” Exhaustion from the last 24 hours was beginning to creep up on him, and exploring the ship, especially in light of their wanted status, was simply not as appealing to him as a nap sounded.



“Suits!” She exclaimed. He heard her moving quickly…



A second later, a sudden weight was deposited on his midsection. His eyes shot open as all breath seemed to get knocked out of him. He was disoriented for a moment, and then his eyes focused on Montoya’s crazy grin. She was straddling him and pinning his arms over his head. She wasn’t particularly strong - Rawyvin could easily overpower her - but shock held him in place.



“What the bloody hell?”



“We’re doing something, and you get to stay right bloody here.” Her tone was feral, and there was a wild look in her eyes. Her grin was turning savage, and with abrupt forcefulness, Rawyvin found her lips locked on his.



The world seemed to freeze for an eternity as Rawyvin took in what was happening.



Then the moment passed in a blaze of acceptance as Montoya found herself fighting with Rawyvin for control as both sought to assert themselves over one another.



=/\=

Time Index: Several Days later



When Evangeline Montoya awoke she found the bed already empty. Looking up, she saw Rawyvin naked, seated meditatively on the floor, his back to her.



“The dermal regenerator is on the bedside,” Rawyvin announced, apparently sensing her awake state. She grinned at that and grabbed it up, healing the fresh marks that he had left the night before.



As she worked, she glanced over at the naked man, taking him in. His well muscled body was marred with numerous mars, ones that had been there long before the ones she had inflicted upon him. Scars crisscrossed his frame, and a prominent ugly gash extended across his shoulder blade, and his lower back held the evidence of a puncture wound. Evidence of long gone stitches ran along his right side, to be continued in the front, where she had remembered seeing a myriad of similar marks tattooing his olive skin.



“You certainly live a rough life,” she remarked idly, moving on to another spot. When he did not respond, she glanced up at from her work. “You don’t talk much.”



“You talk too much,” Rawyvin returned cooly.



“Because I’m boooooored,” she replied. “All you want to do is have sex.”



“Pots and kettles,” came the murmured reply.



Montoya turned off the dermal regenerator and moved to put it away, then, wrapping herself in the sheet from the bed, she approached him from behind.



“You know, you never told me why you did it.”



“Did what?” Rawyvin seemed to be uninterested in his own question.



“Why you rescued me in the first place.”



He did not answer immediately. Instead, he cocked his head slowly. “Why indeed,” his voice came in a whisper. He now peered back at her through the tangled veil of his hair, appraising her. “You have been lost for quite a long time now, have you not? One would have surmise that if the Federation had really wanted you back, they would have sent someone to retrieve you sooner.”



Something cold seemed to form in the pit of her stomach. She shook her head dismissively. “I am sure that it took a while to find me…”



“Unlikely. The intelligence that I used to find you was rather dated. No, no my dear… they knew where you were for a long time.” Rawyvin was now slowly rising, gazing at her, scanning her features. “My dearest Evangeline, I can only conclude that you were a pawn to be sacrificed in the service of ‘diplomatic relations.’”



“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, but the ice in her stomach was growing, as if all the things she had feared all the many years of her incarceration where true. “What do you mean, diplomatic relations? I’m nobody’s pawn!”



“No indeed?” Rawyvin purred. His look was penetrating, his mind deep in thought as she took her in. Montoya felt suddenly very naked; an odd juxtaposition, considering she was covered and he was not. “My dear pet, we are all pawns in the eyes of the great Federation. The needs of the many, for the sacrifice of a few.” She was silent. Rawyvin did not stop. “What does the life of one matter in a galaxy such of this? What is but a death here, a tragedy there…” He seemed to be losing himself in his thoughts as he continued. “A light shines brightest in the dark, pet. Without the dark, we may never value the light. Some bring the darkness - others are lost within it. It is all so terribly tragic…”



He caressed her cheek now, drawing close to her. “The truth, love? The Federation abandoned you for the sake of its grand galactic game. You are rescued at its pleasure. Now… does that not feel grand?”



She pushed his hand away and slapped him. “That’s not true!” She protested, but without conviction. Years of doubt began to crash down upon her; she had so long hoped that the Federation would send rescue… that she mattered to them.



Rawyvin merely returned his gaze to hers. “My dear, for once in my sordid career, I have never been more in earnest.” He slipped close wrapping an arm around her. “We give our lives to the Federation - to the greater good - and in the moment of our greatest need, the Federation awards us with rejection.” There was a strange look on his face, as if he were in the midst of a memory.



And then, to her shock, he kissed her gently. She froze at the sudden display of intimacy, but Rawyvin seemed to take no notice. His manner had been animalistic and savage for many days now, and not once had he shown an ounce of tenderness. To be fair, Montoya had never demanded it either, from him, or anyone else. This sudden change had caught her entirely off guard; it was all new. She felt herself melting at his touch and his will, as he gently picked her up and placed her back into the bed.



=/\=

“Every solution to every problem is simple. It's the distance between the two where the mystery lies.”

― Derek Landy, Skulduggery Pleasant

=/\=



Time Index: Present

Location: EARTH

Scene: Thoris P’Trell’s Office



The Secretary for Interplanetary Relations sat forward, his face buried in his hands, his antennae drooping. He sighed deeply, ignoring the stacks of PADDs that were piled on his desk. Xana’s sudden ‘holiday’ to RISA had been cause for speculation amongst the press, and already, the sharks were circling.



The whole situation had been exacerbated by the numerous issues begging for his attention, such as the most recent incident with the Romulan prisoner escape. The Romulans had called it a violation of their sovereignty, and P’Trell had only just managed to allay them with entreaties of cooperation. Months of careful diplomacy seemed to have scaled back in merely a day. Peace with the Romulans had long been precarious. The Treaty of Algeron had kept the peace between the Federation and the Romulan Empire for well over a century now. Earlier during the 25th Century, one of his predecessors had even managed to open limited trade and negotiate for the ban on cloaking technology to be lifted. But these were small steps; the Romulans remained as reclusive as ever, preferring their isolation to communion with the Federation.



This was the latest development to have taken place in a long series of gradual decline in interplanetary relations. Incidents of civilian harassment by pirates, terrorists, and trans-stellar crime syndicates had slowly been on the rise in the past two years. Contact with the Gorn and the Kzinti Hegemonies had grown icy over what they perceived as Federation overreach, and intelligence suggested a resurgence in military strength from both the Klingons, the Cardassians, and the Dominion. While no diplomatic ties had been broken, this all served to make Thoris very nervous.



And then there was Edgerton. P’Trell had long despised the man, and he was relieved when Xana had been appointed to the office, hoping that, with her in that position, the man’s ambitions would be checked. Edgerton’s influence was well known in the halls of the government building. The man had long been involved with black budget projects that seemed to be accountable to no one but Edgerton himself. Thoris knew this was almost certainly not true; Edgerton, after all, was legally obligated to report his operations to the Executive office. Xana had even made the further step of mandating that Edgerton be required to report through her to the President, in order that she be kept in the loop. However, despite Edgerton’s apparent cooperation, both he and Xana still suspected Edgerton of continuing to circumvent the office of the Secretary of Starfleet - but there was little they could do if the President did not enforce the mandate.



And now Xana, his stallworth ally, was under attack. He felt sick inside, helpless. He grieved for her. First her children, and now her husband...



A buzz at the door. His hands slid down from his face, and he sat back, wiping at his eyes. “Enter!” He called gruffly.



John Hiram stuck his head in the door. “Sir, if you have a moment?”



Thoris glanced at Xana’s chief of staff quizzically. What was this man doing here? “Is it about Secretary Bonviva?”



“Not exactly… Well partially… Sir, I have someone that I would like you to meet.” He proceeded into the room, and with him came a raven haired, steely older woman.



Thoris pushed himself to his feet out of politeness as she entered. “Madam.”



She nodded to him. “Mr. Secretary. I am sorry that we must meet under the current circumstances.” The woman seated herself across from him, and Thoris sat with her, as Hiram politely nodded, and stepped out from the office.



“What can I help you with, Miss…”



The woman smiled. “Marie-Claire Martine. And I’m here to ask you to help me help you.” She slid a PADD across to him as she spoke, and he accepted it without a word, scanning the contents.



Realization began to dawn on his face as he read the contents. “This is certainly an impressive record, Ms. Martine…”



“Call me MC, Secretary; all my friends do.”



“Thoris then,” he returned with a smile, his antennae arcing reflexively. “I think that you and I will be good friends…”



=/\=

“All his life he tried to be a good person. Many times, however, he failed.

For after all, he was only human. He wasn't a dog.”

-Charles Schultz

=/\=



Location: THE HARLEY

Scene: Xana’s room



She stared at the phaser in her hands. It wouldn’t be that hard. Squeeze...harder than a lover, less than a choke....pull back until there was no resistance...



Wrapping her fingers around the trigger she felt the familiar tug, the resistance coming less now.



Just a little closer, she reasoned, and then she could be done with this facade. Her whole life had become a facade. That’s all politics was; and damned if she wasn’t good at it. But at what cost? She had lost her family. Her husband hadn’t even liked politics…



**Why does it always have to be about what *you* want, Xana?**



Because it did. She could share her life, welcome any number of loves -- platonic, friend, lover, or spouse -- but in the end any relationship had to have a vision, a direction. And Jake was right, it was always about her. Her children went along with it, but now Dahlia was chafing. Benito hadn’t been fought against it, then gain.



They were gone, she was left, and for what? The Federation? The Federation right now was protecting whoever did this. She wasn’t feeling particularly patriotic now.



Pull a little more…



Angus whimpered; then sensing for the first time in hours he had the upper hand he inched forward. Nudging her with his long muzzle, that had over the years turned from tan and black and now incorporated a fair amount of white, the dog nudged her so that he climbed onto her lap like he used to when he was a puppy, 14 years ago.



“Angus, sufficienza!” Xana said shaking her head attempting to push him off.



It was difficult to say who was more stubborn -- a suicidal woman or a 100 pound dog who was bound and determined to stop the suicidal woman.



Angus climbed further up Xana’s lap and made a noise in the back of his throat that wasn’t a growl but was more aggressive than the whimper he had made a moment ago. Xana kept pulling up the phaser closer to her temple. The German Shepherd/Rottweiler now had moved from his prone position to a crouched position on his mistress.



It was an unnatural position for both of them -- they were used to working as a team. Never before had they worked at odds. Fourteen years ago, Xana Bonviva (then the Sec/Tac on GATEWAY STATION-1) found a shit-covered malnourished puppy in an abandoned crate just off the docking bay. The smugglers had left Angus behind because they had ascertained he was never going to be the attack dog he was bred to be and left him to die.



No instead they failed to realize he was brilliant and perfect at being a companion dog. Most dogs had to be trained repeatedly, yet Angus adapted from being an investigative dog on a busy station to following her to Operations as she juggled the needs of the station. He easily made the transition to quite companion elder states-dog as Xana was promoted up the ranks. Just as Xana made the transition within the Fleet and into politics, so did Angus; he learned his place no matter the ship or station or political arena. He never had to be told when to come forward, or stay back. He learned when to look for a treat, or when to sit still. Now he knew when Xana needed him, or when the children needed him more.



Angus had better judgment than all the people in the universe, Xana would brag to people. He was a fierce looking dog, even after all these years -- a lean dog with tan feet, black body and a long black, tan and white muzzle. The only time he growled was when a Changeling came on the GS-2 looking like her...to protect Dahlia and the Svenson children.



It was the only clue *anyone* had that something was wrong. Otherwise the Changeling was a *perfect* duplicate of her.



Now for the first time in 14 years Angus and Xana sat on the floor of a cruise ship flying to RISA at odds. The dog she rescued and she gave a direction to, and the mistress he followed without question for his entire life, at odds.



It would have been an interesting battle of wills if anyone was watching.



Angus glared at her, never once backing down, the noise in the back of his throat still coming out - something stronger than that whimper but less than a growl.



**Why does it always have to be about what *you* want, Xana?**



“You win,” Xana sighed. She handed over the phaser to her dog. In a move he had learned long ago, he took it by the barrel, and trotted over to the far side of the room and buried it in her open luggage.



She buried her head in her hands, she desperately wanted to find her children; find them and make the bastards who took them pay. But she couldn’t do that, not as she was now, not with the pain, the panic, standing on the precipice of complete meltdown.



She had to accept that she needed help. She needed to get her head on straight before she could even hope to find Dahlia and Benito.



=/\=

Dancing through life, skimming the surface, gliding where turf is smooth

Life's more painless for the brainless, why think too hard?

Woes are fleeting, blows are glancing

When you're dancing through life…

-Wicked

=/\=



Location: RISA

Scene: The Laughing Horga’hn Bar



Selyara was laughing harder than she had in years. It felt good, nearly normal. She wistfully thought that it would be nice if she could make this her new life. Start over as uncomplicated, ditzy, carefree Mizithra.



She knew it couldn’t last forever. Rumblings from her network of criminals and informants had reached her ears- Rawyvin Seth had freed a woman named Montoya from a Romulan penal colony. No one seemed to know who had requested it, and Selyara didn’t like the implications. Someone was pulling strings all around the galaxy, moving supplies, capturing resources, playing their game of political chess. Elaborate schemes, and she couldn’t figure out the larger picture, not yet anyway.



Her musings were interrupted suddenly by a gentle poke to her midsection.



“Mizzie, you look so serious. Too serious. This means you need more drinks, some dancing, and perhaps one of these delicious Risan men to take home.” Calliana, a Deltan, said once she was certain she had Selyara’s full attention. “I shall help with the drink, which should help with the last two, my surprisingly inhibited and prude Betazoid friend. Anissa, make sure she doesn’t try to escape.”



Calliana stood and headed to the bar. Across from Selyara, Anissa’s laughing expression abruptly changed.



“Alright, Mizithra. Spill. Who are you really? Who do you work for?” Anissa’s voice was low, intense. “And don’t give me that naive Betazoid girl routine. I know better than that. You keep yourself pretty well shielded, but I can tell you’re not just a Betazoid. Your mind is different, and several times this evening, I’ve gotten some sort of of wistful wishing you could stay who you are tonight forever.”



“I do not work for anyone, and why do you care so much anyhow?” Selyara hissed. “Why, for whom do YOU work? Am I stepping on your turf, as it were?”



“Not exactly.” Anissa threw a glance at the bar. Calliana was flirting with a group of Risans who had flocked around her. She wouldn’t be back soon. Anissa lowered her voice. “Like you, I’ve been gathering information from our guests for quite some time. But I lack the connections to turn this information into something I can use. And I’m scared to seek out the people you’d have to deal with to do that.”



“And you think that I, for some reason would be alright with dealing with them?” Selyara raised an eyebrow. Anissa met her eyes with a level stare.



“I think you’re one of them.” Anissa said bluntly.



“But you are not scared of me.”



“No. You’re dangerous, I think, but not to me. I haven’t done anything to you. The people who have… I wouldn’t want to be them.”



Selyara sat back into the plush midnight blue of the booth’s upholstery, running her finger around the rim of the fluted glass her drink was in, making it sing. The silence stretched out before Selyara reached a decision and met Anissa’s pitch black eyes.



“I do not buy information with goods or money. I was raised with Humans.” Selyara cautioned. “I trade information for information. But I could trade it for information that you could use to obtain those things. For example, information on influential dignitaries that are visiting RISA, and travel plans. Influential single dignitaries, or those that take mistresses.”



“Add in dossiers with their hobbies and other useful information and we can call it a deal.” Anissa laughed, and tossed her hair.



“Then welcome to the fold.” Selyara said with mock seriousness, using the umbrella from her drink to tap Anissa’s shoulder. “I dub you Anissa, head of my Risan informants.”



Anissa reached out her hand, and Selyara took it, using the physical connection to reach daintily into Anissa’s mind. The other telepath obligingly shunted the information to the forefront of her mind so Selyara could look through. Satisfied she’d absorbed everything of use to her, Selyara withdrew her hand.



Just in time, because Calliana arrived at their table, drinks and her new friends in tow.



=/\=

“Diplomacy is the art of telling people to go to hell in such a way that they ask for directions.”

― Winston Churchill

=/\=



Location: EARTH

Scene: President’s Office



Thoris tried to listen calmly as the Secretary of Science gave her report to the Talaxian President. It was their weekly cabinet meeting, with all the primaries present. Xana’s absence was conspicuous. She was normally a strong force in these proceedings, as her office, though technically junior to his, was the true force for all Federation policy. While science activities were carried out by any number of people, the facilities were normally run by Starfleet. Colonist affairs were protected by Starfleet, and were often visited in by passing ships seeking rest and recreation, both ensuring relaxation for the crew, and a chance to increase relations with newly colonized worlds. Even within his own department, Starfleet reigned supreme. Thoris knew that he may set policy and handle issues of state priority, but the diplomatic corps that carried out his instructions fell under Xana’s jurisdiction.



That is why Fleet Admiral Edgerton’s presence in the room agitated him. Despite the President’s acknowledgment of Thoris’ protests, Edgerton had quietly stepped into Xana’s role, directing the day to day affairs of Starfleet. Edgerton had wisely kept his report short during the meeting, appearing for all the world as if he was simply acting as a stopgap while Xana was gone. But Thoris knew better - nothing was as permanent as a temporary solution.



The President was speaking now, thanking the assembled gathering for their service, which signaled a close to the proceedings. Thoris remained in place on the couch, watching the Secretaries filing out. Only Edgerton and the Vice President passed him a look.



P’Trell spoke quickly, addressing the President. “Sir, if I may have a moment of your time?”



The Talaxian nodded. “Of course.”



Edgerton hesitated, then casting a look at Langor, simply shrugged and walked out. The Cardassian lingered, and began to make his way back to the two men.



Thoris kept his face impassive, but his antennae began to press back against his skull. Moray coughed and saved the situation. “Thank you Langor, I don’t want this conversation to keep you from your duties.”



The Cardassian stopped abruptly, his face a deadpan mask. A smile appeared a moment later, and he simply bowed. “Of course sir.” A second later, the two men were alone.



“Thoris, you would make a terrible poker player,” Moray commented glancing at Thoris’s antennae, which were returning to their normal positions.



“We Andorians are a people of emotion, Sir,” he admitted. He leaned forward in his chair now, looking intently at the President. “We need to talk about the Secretary of Starfleet position.”



The Talaxian tilted his head. “Thoris, I know that you and Edgerton have your differences, but I really don’t see the point in attempting to get anyone to fill that role while Secretary Bonviva is away. I am sure she will be back within the month.”



“With all due respect, Mr. President, that is a terrible reason to keep him in that position. It is also illegal for him to act as Secretary of Starfleet.”



“He’s not acting as Secretary of Starfleet,” Moray protested. “Langor has researched the issue and assured me that while he cannot be appointed as Starfleet’s secretary, he is well within his rights to act in her stead while she is unable to execute the duties of her office.”

“Sir, that is a temporary measure. The implication is that the President will appoint a temporary Starfleet Secretary if necessary,” Thoris pointed out.



The Talaxian sighed. “Thoris, really, its not that…”



“Sir, it is that serious to me. The law is there for a reason, and to have Fleet Admiral Edgerton acting as both Chief of Staff and as Secretary places too much power in one man’s hands.” Thoris held back from going further. He was willing to threaten resigning from his position over the issue, but it was an empty threat. He did not want to resign, and if the President accepted the resignation, any chance of helping Xana from home would disappear.



Moray considered the man. “Well then, Mr. P’Trell, it seems that you have given this some thought.”



Thoris nodded. “I have.”



The President smiled. “Alright, Thoris, lets do this your way. Do you have any recommendations for me?”



The Andorian smiled, his antennae arching. “I have a short list of candidates that you may want to consider, each with an impressive record. Thought if you want my opinion…”



=/\=

“War is 90% information”

- Napoleon Bonaparte

=/\=



Location: RISA

Scene: Selyara’s apartment.



Selyara hummed to herself contentedly as she read through the data her sources had gleaned and sent her, the news feeds of every little backwater planet, flight manifests, cargo manifests, all run through complex algorithms that flagged and tagged anything out of the ordinary.



Everything had connections, each innocuous transaction, news item and movement setting off chains of events, some important, some not.



She’d watched with interest as her data told the story of a rivalry between two Ferengi families. One family secretly bought up massive supplies of a certain resource to create a shortage. Then they pretended to be trying to buy up the remainders of the resources at high prices, goading their rival house into sinking a large amount of their liquid assets into blocking their attempts. Then the first family released all their stocks at once for the elevated price, dealing a significant blow to the finances of their rival house.



Power plays, petty squabbles, people’s hopes and dreams, all played out in front of her in the form of data.



Her computer gave a little insistent chime and a new snippet of information opened up on her screen, begging to be read, interpreted, put in its proper place in the grand schemes of the galaxy.



“Patience, patience, little one. I’ll get to you soon enough.” Selyara crooned to it sweetly as she cast her eyes over it. The contents brought her up short, and she paused to read it with far more attention than she had at the beginning.



Xana Bonviva, the Secretary of Starfleet had arrived early in the morning on RISA. Former Secretary, Selyara said, recalling something she had read days ago. Xana had retired all of a sudden with no real explanation, just when her career was at its apex. Selyara pulled up all the information she could find on the woman.



Curiouser and curiouser. She had two kids, but had arrived alone on RISA, and there were no records of any childcare arrangements being made. Her house was unoccupied, the father was out of contact in deep space, and had been since long before the kids went missing.



Selyara’s palms itched. She could practically taste the juicy secrets that Xana Bonviva had kicking around her head, the information that no one but her could lovingly tease apart, sort into neat little piles, and find where they fit within the endless reticulated net of cause and effect that held the galaxy together.



If something had happened to her kids, than Xana would be vulnerable now. An offer to ease the pain - that was her in - and ease it she would, even if she stole a few secrets on her way out.



So, where was Xana now? Selyara scanned the chatter of information that constantly, ceaselessly streamed from RISA night and day.



Ah, The Quiet Waters at Temtibi Lagoon. A place for the neurotic influential and famous to quietly fall apart hidden from the public eye. Perfect. The Quiet Waters sometimes requested telepaths from The Waters of Lethe to help their high strung clients begin the healing process by facing the causes of their anxiety with more objectivity.



=/\=



“Think of your mind as an unsafe neighborhood; Don’t go there alone.” - Augustin Burroughs



=/\=



Scene: Xana’s room, The Quiet Waters



Xana wasn’t entirely sure about her choice to check herself into The Quiet Waters. The first half day it had been almost pleasant: talking to the counselor, being ordered to steam baths, relaxing massages, and a little sedation to ease the pain. In her numb state, the structure was nice and soothing, and she enjoyed not having to make any decisions for herself. But then she’d begun to notice that, innocuous though they tried to be, there was always a nurse nearby, in the background, monitoring her. The watchful nurses were everywhere, and Xana was beginning to feel a little like a prisoner.



How was this going to help? How was it going to clear her head to get her kids back?



A quiet knock on her door roused her from her merry-go-round of thoughts, she looked up as a tall, elegant Betazoid woman entered her room. The Betazoid smiled somewhat vacuously at her and extended a hand.



“Miss Bonviva, my name is Mizithra Enaii, your counselor requested that I come and help you.” The Betazoid’s voice was lilting, sweet, and felt a little contrived to Xana’s ear. “I work at a place called the Waters of Lethe. I’m an empath who specializes in helping people to forget or dull their psychological pain. I’ll give you a soothing aromatherapy treatment to relax you, and while you’re relaxing, I will touch your mind and find the areas that pain you, and I will help to temporarily isolate them from the emotional response they cause you.



“Don’t worry though. I’m a certified empath - I won’t be able to read your thoughts.” the Betazoid smiled cheerfully. “Now if you’d like to lie back on your chair, we can begin?”



**What the hell.** Xana thought, laying back and allowing the Betazoid to massage nicely scented oils into her hair and skin. **What harm can it do.**



It was a bizarre feeling when the empath began to touch Xana’s mind. It was like a gentle summer breeze riffling through a stack of papers. Subtle, tickly, odd, but Xana felt her hurt, her depression, her fear for her children fading. It was still there, but she was able to approach it more rationally, more cooly. The hurt had faded to a subtle throb.



The Betazoid suddenly snatched her hands back from Xana’s hair like she’d touched fire.



“Daisy… Daisy? They have Erika too?” The sweet, contrived voice was suddenly gone, replaced by a hoarse, smoky, keenly intelligent one. Xana’s eyes flew open. The Betazoid’s expression was pale, pinched. The dark eyes met Xana’s, and what she saw there was the look of a wild animal, hunted, waiting to lash out.



“Who the hell are you?” Xana struggled out of the chair and grabbed a rather ugly vase to defend herself.



“Relax.” The Betazoid held up her hands placatingly. “I would like to help you - Or rather, I would like to help Daisy, but our goals are one and the same.”



“You… You violated my mind!” Xana was furious. The Betazoid looked almost apologetic. Almost. There was something wrong with her, Xana decided. It was like there was some sort of Jekyll and Hyde battle going on behind those eyes.



“I suppose so.” The Betazoid said thoughtfully. “Though it’s not as though I took anything personal. I still don’t know you from Adam. But I want to help you. I knew Daisy a lifetime ago, and I want her to be happy. I suppose I ought to trade you my secrets, since I took yours.”



The Betazoid’s hands reached out swiftly and snatched Xana’s hands in an iron grasp that was distinctly un-Betazoid, and placed Xana’s fingers gently but insistently along her brow and cheek, before touching Xana’s face.



**Vulcan mind meld? What the hell?** Xana thought as their minds connected.



Selyara gently ended the meld, and stepped away.



“You.” Xana’s eyes blazed with anger. “Why should I trust a traitor to the Federation? If it’s a pardon you want, I can’t give it, and I wouldn’t give it, SELYARA.”



Xana spat her real name out like it was poison. Selyara felt a twinge of doubt. She didn’t really know what she wanted, or have an answer for the woman. She just felt as though helping to rescue Daisy’s children, as sentimental and ridiculous as it was, was something she had to do.



“You’ll do what you want, Miss Bonviva.” She said quietly. “Turn me in, trust me, tell me to go the hell away. I don’t really care. If you decide you want my help, come to the Waters of Lethe and tell me.”



Selyara turned to leave, her footsteps soft on the plush carpeting.



“How do you know my co-spouse?”



The Vulcan/Betazed whirled around at that. Staring at the woman she waited a long moment, waiting to see if she heard correctly.



“I said,” Xana said softly, “how do you know my co-spouse? Wife would be the colloquial term. You weren’t at our wedding, I’d remember that I think. So how do you know Daisy?”



“It’s a large universe...do you really think you’ve met everyone she knows?”



“No, but you want me to trust you with her children? My children? Our children? No I’m sorry, I need more than “It’s a large universe”,” Xana said.



Selyara paused, weighing what to say, how to say it, and whether any of it would make a damn difference. “We were served together on the CENTURY.”



Xana sat back...her mind whirled as she tried to remember the CENTURY. “Used to be a good ship,” she murmured. “You want to help?”



“Now?” Selyara asked a little mystified.



“No, next year,” Xana sarcastically replied. Standing up she ordered, “Look, my children have been kidnapped the clock is ticking on them. I’d rely on my husband but he’s been declared MIA along with his crew, and Gods know they’ll probably be declared KIA any day now. And if that wasn’t enough Daisy is besides herself, so I’m taking this on by myself which means that I left my career back home. Now, thank you for whatever that thing was you did to my head. Oddly enough that felt good...for a minute. Now if you’re such the good little hardened criminal the reports told me, you can get me out of here with minimal fuss.”



=/\=

“Boredom can be a lethal thing on a small island.”

-Christopher Moore

=/\=



Location: DANCING STAR

Scene: VIP Suite



Rawyvin’s eyes flicked over the the computer screen with interest. Edgerton had left drops of contact occasionally, enraged at his inability to get Rawyvin to respond. Then abruptly, the contact had ceased a few days ago, with the final message holding an ominous threat. Not that he cared about what Edgerton thought. Rawyvin’s allegiance had always been nominally towards Section 31. But the ceasing of communications was sending a signal into his brain that bothered him. Why had Edgerton cut off contact at that moment?



A quick scan of the headlines began to paint a picture. Apparently, much had happened in the time he had left. Rawyvin’s eyes narrowed at Secretary Bonviva’s sudden departure from EARTH. Why had she done that?



Slowly he began the laborious process of peeling back the layers of Federation security protocols and examining records. This was not his forte, and certain files appeared to be encrypted beyond what he was able to exploit himself. His research revealed only one certainty - Xana’s departure had been forced.



Rawyvin sat back, considering the implications. Edgerton would have grown tired of the slow and subtle pace at best; at worst, he may have suspected the treachery that had been unfolding in Rawyvin’s head. A move against Xana would have satisfied both Edgerton’s impatience, and would have knocked the legs out from any alliance that Rawyvin would have attempted to build with Xana.



This last thought sparked his memory of the last time on Earth. Rawyvin had not bothered to research the mysterious man that had sent him on his way before he had departed on this rescue mission. In fifteen minutes, he had what he wanted. Rawyvin shook his head at Xana’s silly games. She had tried so hard to keep herself from dealing with him directly, so she had used this intermediary - this Myall Tai - to do her dirty work.



He had suspected as much already of course, and had almost admired Xana for this. But inexplicably, rage grew in his mind over the thought. Was he simply a pawn to her? The thought consumed him until he began to see red. She was no better than Edgerton.



He fiddled with his knife, contemplating the situation. Then, on impulse, he decided to contact Myall Tai, using the codes that he had been given prior to his departure. He appeared on the screen a few moments later.



The Bajorian grinned widely, [[Well, Hello, ol’ chap. I was wondering when you would call! I have a splendid deal for you.]]



Seth’s face was emotionless. “Did you now,” he replied flatly.



[[Most certainly. Now, I have arranged transportation for you, all expenses paid to RISA.]]



“I am not going to RISA,” Rawyvin announced.



Tai shrugged at that. [[Ask me what’s on RISA.]]



Rawyvin almost switched off. “Perhaps, you did not understand me, Myall,” he growled.



The Bajorian seemed to start at the use of his name, but otherwise gave no hint of surprise. His manner turned more serious. [[Well then. Let’s speak plainly--]]



The door slid open. Rawyvin glanced to see Montoya enter. She had departed to the poker tables earlier, her arms loaded with latnium. There was a conspicuous lack of that latnium now. He turned his attention back to the screen. “It is about bloody time, Tai.”



[[Your original backer has let it be known that you are wanted on EARTH. Now the person who sponsored this trip is on RISA,]] Tai informed him



“I thought you wanted to speak plainly,” Rawyvin retorted dryly. This new information confirmed what he had already thought. But why had she gone to RISA?



Tai was only too happy to inform him continuing in his haughty manner. [[The reason she’s going to RISA is because the one on EARTH...he arranged for...well for her interests to disappear. Then he told her to go to RISA if she ever wanted to see them again.]]



Rawyvin almost snapped a recalcitrant remark, but stopped as his mind took in what Tai had told him. “The interests are not there,” Rawyvin said quietly, more to himself than to the Bajorian.



[[I know that. You know that. I suspect she knows that. But she needs to gather her resources there. Now, Mr. Seth, you need to decide… What’s your next move?]] Rawyvin felt a hand on his shoulder as Montoya stepped behind him, in view of the screen. Tai’s eyes lit up. [[Ah, Ms. Montoya.]]



“Do I even know you?” Her face crinkled in curiosity.



[[Not really, no,]] Myall Tai replied cheerfully. [[I’m sure that you have many questions about the man you’ve been with for the last few days, and I’ll be more than happy to provide you answer.]]



“Maybe I don’t have questions,” Montoya snapped.

[[Myall Tai, at your service, Evangeline Montoya,]] the man explained. [[You’ve been with a madman for several days.]]



“Mad, am I?” Rawyvin muttered, but otherwise did not interrupt.



“And you’re going to rescue me?” The woman laughed.



Tai was dismissive. [[You’re a grown up, you can take care of yourself,]] he laughed.



There was a long silence that passed between the two as the Bajoran man sipped a glass of champagne on the screen.



“You’re not here to rescue me,” Montoya said softly.



[[No,]] Tai replied, aware of the awkward tone that had developed in her tone. [[I can offer you… information. And options.]]



She laughed at that. “What options?” she asked bitterly. “No one wants me.” She had long accepted she was unwanted in her family; had no friends to speak of. That she had so no personal connections was acceptable to her. But that after dedicating her life to an organization who wouldn’t come find her only to be found by...whatever Rawyvin was.



[[But you haven’t heard what I have to say--]] Tai began.



“I don’t need to,” Sedna said. “Thanks for reminding me of my ‘options.’ I don’t need anyone to rescue me and I will make my own decisions about everything,” she snapped.



Rawyvin made a gesture of contempt. “Your powers of charisma seems to have failed you, Tai. I bid you a good day.”



[[Wait!]] Tai called. [[Your sponsor told me you may be interested to know that ‘Selyara is exceptionally beautiful underneath the Risan moons’ - I think she must have meant Suraya Bay.]]



Rawyvin paused at that, his finger on the switch. Then after a moment - “No, I think you got her message right.”



[[Brilliant,]] Tai grinned. [[Well, then I’m …]] Rawyvin switched him off without bothering to hear the rest of the message.



Rawyvin turned in his chair. Montoya had quietly gone to sit on the couch, tossing a red and gold pillow in the air. He sat in silence, apprising her, while she ignored him in favor of the pillow.



It was the longest she had gone without talking - save for sleeping. Idly, Rawyvin wondered how long she could keep silent.



Four minutes. The blessed silence lasted four minutes; which was one minute and thirty-three seconds longer than it ever had before.



Finally, Montoya asked. “So where are we going?



Rawyvin did not respond at once, but slowly drew himself up out of his chair. “RISA,” he said finally, in a soft tone. “We are going to RISA.”



“I didn’t bring a bathing suit,” Montoya pointed out as if they really were a normal couple going on a holiday.



“That will be the least of our issues,” Rawyvin replied.



=/\=

“It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.”

― William Blake

=/\=



Location: EARTH

Scene: UFP Press Room



“And it is my pleasure to announce that Madam Marie-Clarie Martine has received my appointment to temporarily fill the Secretary of Starfleet position while Secretary Bonviva is on holiday,” President Moray was announcing to the gathered delegation. Thoris smiled, watching the reporters taking furious notes and snapping pictures. He recognized more than a few faces - there was Dilbert Davis, a Senior Starfleet Correspondent with FedCom, and a few feet away, Aleksey Nikitin, freelance reporter, was recording the proceeding. Marie-Clarie was off to the President’s right, looking elegant and almost regal. Indeed, she would be the perfect stand in while Xana was away.



She was speaking now to the press, and Thoris began to focus his attention on her words, when a slight movement at his side caught his eye.



“Good day, Mr. Secretary,” Richard Edgerton gave him a polite nod, as if he had only just taken notice and turned his attention to the stage.



“Admiral Edgerton,” T’Pell said politely in return, though his antenna retreated back slightly. He began to turn his attention back towards the stage, but Edgerton was speaking.



“I truly am glad that the President found someone to step in for Ms. Bonviva… Madam Martine has an impeccable record - truly a choice candidate.”



Thoris turned to raise an eyebrow at Edgerton. The man sounded… sincere. The Andorian slowly replied. “Yes… I couldn’t think of someone more qualified to hold the post.”



Edgerton now looked at him. “Between you and me, Thoris, I have had growing concerns about Madam Bonviva. She has had to contend with many accusations of impropriety over her career you know.”



Thoris’s antennae flattened in anger. “Admiral Edgerton, I would advise that you hold your tongue. You know the situation that she is in right now.”



Edgerton held up a hand in protest. “I do feel for her, Mr. Secretary, really I do. I have dispatched our best people to find the culprits and bring them to justice. But it hardly comes as a surprise, given her associations…” He leaned in confidentially. “I have not been able to confirm these reports, but counter-intelligence suggests that she has most recently had connections with a certain terrorist which I believe you were concerned with last year… one Rawyvin Seth, I believe.”



Thoris froze at the accusation, and then his nostrils flared in anger. “That is quite an accusation Mr. Edgerton.”



“As I said, it is unconfirmed,” the Admiral said placating. “But… I really do admire Ms. Bonviva. She is a strong force for right in this government, and despite our differences, I have nothing but the utmost respect for her.” He seemed to be chagrined. “Which is why I am ashamed to say that I have been negligent in following any such accusations. But this most recent intelligence came to light in the last few days…” He shook his head. “It paints a bad picture, sir. Perhaps Mr. Seth took her children in retaliation for a slight? He has been known to stab his employers in the back, both literally and figuratively… Mr. Secretary, I am afraid that I am too un-impartial to pursue such an investigation. My seeing you here was not a coincidence… I have come to ask you for your help.”



“My help?!?” Thoris was agitated, but at the same time, intrigued. He did not believe Edgerton for a moment, but the mention of Rawyvin had been disquieting. He thought back to nearly a month past, when Xana had been investigating Rawyvin after the file had been closed for a year on the man. Why had she reopened the file?



“Mr. Secretary, please. I will provide you with my leads. I only ask that you pursue this in the interest of clearing Xana’s name. I don’t want her current crisis to be marred by slanderous accusations, and I can’t think of anyone more tenacious at pursuing justice than you. Will you help me sir?”



Thoris stared at the man for a long time. Finally, he responded. “I will look into it, Richard.”



“Thank you,” Edgerton seemed to sag in relief. “Hopefully we can put this matter to rest.” He reached over in a gesture of friendship to shake Thoris’ hand.



Thoris shook it. At that moment, he felt a chill run down his spine, as if he had just made a deal with the devil.



=/\=

Written by:



Sarah Albertini-Bond

As

Xana Bonviva

Secretary of Starfleet

And

Evangeline “Sedna” Montoya



WITH



Christopher B. Del Gesso

As

Thoris P’Trell

Secretary of Interplanetary Relations

and

Rawyvin Seth



AND WITH



Alix Fowler

As

Selyara Chen