The Atta Girl/Oh Shit Balance, Part Two

Posted on Aug 22, 2014 @ 12:11pm by Phia
Edited on on Aug 22, 2014 @ 12:12pm

Mission: The Tangled Webs We Weave

The Atta Girl/Oh Shit Balance - Part II



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Mark: “So you think “Might as well-”

Joanne: “--Dance a tango to Hell!”

-from RENT’S “TANGO: MAUREEN”

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Location: EARTH

Scene: Abbotsford, Canada

As Phia walked down a road past the violet and yellow wildflowers that littered a hill to her right and brightly decorated the country homes to her left and the lake in front of her, the Bolian/Vulcan wondered several thoughts in no particular order. Mainly why Humans longed for “small” towns when so many of them were honestly interchangeable, and boring on top of that. Additionally she wondered why SFI insisted on having meetings in these forgettable small towns, where the agents stood out. The agents always forgot about the small towns but given the gawking that that she was on the receiving end of, it was safe to say that most people didn’t see a blue pointy-eared woman very often.

Phia sighed and kept walking towards the lake; once she got there she followed the directions she memorized and made a left. Following the lake she walked around its perimeter until she found the next road that could even begin to qualify as major and went down that road until she found her first stop.

A questionable series of stores that qualified for what she was told as a “Strip Mall”. In all seriousness it was a series of stores that time forgot, and were now filled with dust, cobwebs, and left behind dreams. Phia counted down the number of stores down from the left the number of years she had been in the Fleet.

Then she bit back a groan.

Straightening her shoulders she walked into “Pleather Russell’s Wings’ n’ Things”, counted back the number of units she had served on. As she walked across the sticky floor that had been coated with various types of liquor, wing coatings, human secretions and other liquids that Phia could only guess at without scientific analysis the Bolian/Vulcan was beginning to regret her choice of black heels as she tried her best to move across the floor and would occasionally be stymied by a sticky patch of goo.

Once she made the booth, Phia inspected it and saw that ripped crimson vinyl seating was also of questionable nature, and at this point she gave up any possibility of keeping her black ballet top and capris. Sliding in she inspected the booth for both weapons and pratical items, and found none.

It took several moments but a gum snapping woman with an apron that hadn’t been washed since the first Dominion War came over. “Whatcha want?”

Phia raised an eyebrow. “A menu? A listing of your offerings?”

“Ya kiddin’ right? We aint got none of that fancy shit here,” the waitress explained.

Phia paused. Folding her hands she said. “Fine. What are your specials?”

“Wings,” the waitress said.

“And things?” Phia queried. When the waitress looked blankly at her the CNS/Intel offered, “Your sign says “Wings ‘n’ Things.”

More gum snapping ensured. “Oh that’s the beer. Ya want that?”

This had to be a test of some kind, although seriously spending several years with the joyful types like Arjan Jos and idiots recently like Storm Bomba should be enough. Keeping her temper she said, “Fine. A beer. Cold. Whatever you have on tap.”

“We only have tap,” the waitress explained as she waddled off.

A man walked over then. “Did you order enough for two?”

Phia watched as he slid into the opposite bench; he was Human man with light brown hair that was messy and stoody up at all ends but still was slightly receding; the light brown of his hair was a shade darker the brown of his goatee. If she had to guess she’d judge him to be slightly older than her, putting him in his late 30s - no more than early 40s.

It was his eyes though that bothered Phia. They were at first appearance typical Humanoid eyes - almond shape and green in color. However, the they were keenly intelligent; that wasn’t it. But there was an unsettling way he used his eyes in staring at her that the Bolian/Vulcan did not like.

“I didn’t know when you were coming,” Phia pointed out. “It would be more obvious to order a double if you didn’t show for hours.”

As the waitress came back with a beer in a mug with obvious thumb prints and streaks from the last user, she scowled at the man. “I didn’t know there would be another person.”

“Yes, my lovely T’amar didn’t know when my shuttle would be coming in,” the man smiled.

Phia said nothing; at least he had the good sense to use her cover name. As the waitress stomped off to get another beer, Sam Johnson leaned in, “You could have tried to blend in.”

Phia looked at him. “I do many things well, but blending in is *not* one of them.” Sipping her tepid watered-down beer she said, “Besides if you wanted me to blend in you should have picked a better place that Russell Pleather’s Wings ‘n’ Things. How did you expect a blue woman with pointy ears to blend in Abbotsford, Canada?”

Sam scowled for a moment then suddenly he threw back his head like a madman.

That made Phia scowl.

Scooting out of the booth he said, “Come with me.” When she didn’t move he said, “The wings aren’t that good.”

“I could have told you that,” Phia sighed.

With that the two Intel officers skipped out on their order and walked through the “charming” haven of Abbotsford, Canada. At least, Phia mused to herself, that unlike most Humans Sam didn’t try to fill the time with small talk. He walked in quiet next to her, his strange eyes shielded now by dark sunglasses that he had pulled out of his black pants.

This time instead of going back the way that Phia had come from, Sam guided the azure woman around back of the strip mall, behind the stores and down a gravel path. Now Phia saw they were leading away from the commercial area of the town towards the industrial section. However, Sam made no motion to stop, he continued to walk so Phia continued on.

Warehouses began to litter the road on either side and various workers going about their every day lives, loaded and unloaded crates into various anti-grav carts. At the end of the road, where it forked east and west, Sam went west and motioned for Phia to follow. Finally the Human man went to a medium two-story warehouse on the secondary road and entered in a simple code to enter, assuming Phia would follow.

Well, it wasn’t like she had anything else to do here.

It was a poorly lit warehouse, illuminated only by the sun that streamed in through the dirty windows and by the few lights that were on, seemingly as an afterthought. The oppressive, mysterious shadows of the room had a tendency to overwhelm the truth that it was daylight. The warehouse was filled with several racks of unremarkable crates, and the combination of the overall disrepair of the building and the brackish glass somehow kept the interior at a relatively cool temperature. Tilting her head to the side Phia listened for other sounds and couldn’t hear anything, other than the the muffled sounds than the sounds of her and Sam walking, along with the occasional buzzing of lights above them. The room smelled musty, but it wasn’t as offensive as stale wing sauce and the swill that passed for beer in these parts.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Sam offered waving his arms around.

Phia looked at crate after crate in the racks, unimpressed. There was an utterly boring, orderly selection of weathered crates on weathered pallets all waiting for their turn on the worn conveyor belts in what appeared to be the shipping area. The Bolian/Vulcan peered down the aisles, saw the emptier section and guessed that was the receiving area at the other end.

“Tell me about yourself, Phia,” Sam offered.

“Don’t be a moob, I don’t do small talk. And let’s not pretend we’re friends or interested in being friends. We’re here because you’re now my handler. You’ve read my file, you know about me and I know shit about you so it’s an inherently uneven relationship so don’t try to be nice in an attempt to soften me up,” Phia replied. Looking around she asked, “What is this place?”

“A warehouse,” he replied.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” she snapped.

“Actually it’s Lieutenant Commander Obvious,” he corrected just as sharply. “If you’re going to be insulting, get it correct, would you?”

Suddenly the two Intel officers stood parallel to each other and glared. Sam smirked, and with his left hand, reached out grabbed Phia’s right hand spun her around. When she was facing him again, Phia quickly placed her left hand on his right shoulder as he brought her in close to her. They took two slow steps back, then spun around 180 degrees, kicked out together in perfect harmony and then did two quick steps and one more quick step. To finish the set, Sam spun Phia around and she gracefully glided down.

“Where did you learn to do the tango?” Sam asked.

“At a wedding several years ago,” Phia replied. “And you?”

“From Mavis Davies at the Junior League when I was 14,” he admitted. Picking her up, she did a little kick that was more embellishment before they began again.

“Let’s talk,” Sam began. As the Human man led the dance again Phia was dancing backwards. “Your list. Kill anyone?”

“Not today but the day is young,” Phia replied.

Pivot, quick step back, quick step back, slow step slow step quick. “List, Phia,” Sam ordered. “You have issues, it’s why I’ve been ordered to meet up with you.”

When Phia did her kick in mid-air as Sam lifted her she mentally imagined kicking several people. As she landed on the ground, however, she was composed. “Oh?”

Quick step, arms up around your partner even as you avoid each others’ eyes. “Really, a formal complaint was launched about your Counseling. It’s a mess - Intel will take care of its own but now I have to make sure I don’t have another mess in our backyard. Do you understand me?”

“Who?” Quick step, snap head to the side as you swivel your hips in and out in a formalized mimicry of innuendo.

“It would break the confidentiality that all officers expect when they launch a complaint,” Sam chastised. Pivot, kick, quick step, quick step, slow step. “Although really did you have to call her a cow?”

“The twit called herself a cow, I said if she was going to use that metaphor then it must be true,” Phia pointed out. “And I’d like to point out I saved her life in spite of her acting like a cow, that has to count for something.”

“Saving bovines, or people who act like bovines, does not get you many points,” Sam replied. “And that’s what we’re cleaning up. Convince me you’re worth it.”

Phia said nothing as she was spun in the air in a dizzying display (if there was anyone there to see it) . As she came down, they resumed the tango; quick step, quick step, slow step slow step, quick step. When they got to their next pivot, Phia pointed out, “I’ve been an agent for years, I’ve saved more lives and SFI more times than I can count. That should be enough.”

Sam gave a dry chuckle as he spun Phia around. “Don’t have a list? Because you know that argument won’t work.” As he dipped her, “You know every day is another day to prove yourself; that you *need* to prove yourself. What you did yesterday doesn’t matter, isn’t good enough and will never be enough. Prove you’re worth living till tomorrow.”

Up again, Phia righted herself and began to think of a way out of the current situation. “Well then let’s just get to the Shit List. It won’t matter what I say, that’s what you’ll really be interested in, won’t you?”

Sam raised an eyebrow as they kicked out to dance towards Receiving. “I’m impressed,” he admitted. “Not trying to sugarcoat me but just get right to the good stuff, or rather the crappy stuff. Alright, let’s have it. What did you fuck up, besides Bovine Girl?”

As they loosened their grip on each other to flare out before coming back Phia debated, “And I’d argue that Bovine Girl wasn’t a fuck up but we’ll save that for another time aside from the fact that unless you clean it up it will fuck me over.” Once they resumed the normal cadence of quick quick slow slow quick, Phia admitted, “I didn’t kill Conniston on my last mission; I only wounded him. I should have stayed to kill him. I valued the life of my colleague over SFI’s goals.”

Sam gave a low whistle. “Well that is a pretty big fuck up.” Pondering that he said, “Hold up, who is it? Can we use him? Wait I read the reports - Varn?”

Phia rolled her eyes not letting her emotions show. “You’re not getting Varn. You’ve tried already. He’s too weak mentally for the tests, he’s not SFI material.”

“Well then that is a fuck-up,” Sam agreed. As their footsteps made various snaps and shuffle sounds on the concrete he asked, “Why do it?”

Phia thought about Aerdan’s resolute request to get Thomas back; she thought about how years ago when Thomas was trying out his wings he took Phia for a flight. She thought about how Arjan wouldn’t be able to take another death on the ship. “I made the attempt to kill Conniston, unbeknownst to me, I was gravely injured, it threw off my aim. At that point, I was dealing with Varn who was losing his connection to reality and my own illness. I made a judgment call.”

“Well I agree that is a fuck-up. Your life and Varn’s are expendable and you know that. Sadly, that is not your only fuck up,” Sam said with a maniacal grin as he dipped her.

The Bolian/Vulcan thought back through her interactions since her last check in and found that while she had been careful it wasn’t like she was perfect. “I did order wings and a beer at a dubious establishment recently,” she replied.

Sam laughed. Pulling her up he asked, “Do you recall getting a message from Stonn?”

It took a series of steps before Phia recalled it. “It was while I was on Starbase 5.”

“You didn’t respond,” Sam said softly.

Phia didn’t say the rest; she got the message but never responded, she judged it a waste of time. Since then she realized that Stonn was in league with Edgerton and Bomba, which in hindsight seemed brilliant of her not to respond to.

Clearly Sam didn’t agree with that.

“That was fuck up Number 1,” Sam counseled as they went back to Shipping.

Phia said nothing as she kicked out. “In your opinion?”

“SFI’s,” Sam said confidently.

The Bolian/Vulcan didn’t say anything to that; although she secretly wondered. “SFI doesn’t take sides. We gather information, we analyze and we act in Starfleet’s best interest.”

“This is no different,” the Human man pointed out as he twirled her around. When they were back to their quick steps he said, “Starfleet is changing, and you need to change with it.”

Suddenly they were back to where they started and the tango was done. “Phia,” he said softly, “you have two fuck ups and a formal complaint.”

“Oh just shoot me and get it over with,” Phia muttered. “If I’m going to die I really don’t want a headache with it.”

“Die? No, no, these are not killing offenses, honey, you’re not that lucky,” Sam smiled. “I mean these were stupid but I can make them disappear lucky for you.”

“I should go buy a lottery ticket from a Ferengi at this rate,” the azure woman with pointed ears replied dryly. “And what do I do with this good luck?”

“You’re being reactivated on your next assignment,” Sam said. “You’re going back to your roots. You still have your cover in Counseling though. I’ll send your more info when it’s appropriate. In the meantime, stop being the sweet fluffy Counselor that people expect.”

Phia waited a moment before responding. “I’m sure people won’t know what to do with themselves.”

Then she pivoted on the ball of her right foot and exited of the building, thrilled that she could leave Abbotsford, Canada.

=/\=

NRPG: Contain yourselves - Phia doesn’t have to be sweet anymore.


*crickets*


Yeah I know :P

The communication from Stonn that Phia never responded to was from my post “Of Vacuums and Spaces”. See what happens when you don't respond to your emails ;-)

Many thanks to Susan for helping out!

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Sarah Albertini-Bond

Lt. Phia
CNS/Intel