Confessions

Posted on Dec 16, 2014 @ 3:31pm by Captain Siobhan Reardon
Edited on on Dec 16, 2014 @ 3:32pm

Mission: The Tangled Webs We Weave

“Confessions”

(Continued from “Come Together, Part 1”)

=/\=

"Between lovers a little confession is a dangerous thing."

-Helen Rowland

=/\=

Scene: EARTH, Paris

SD:
Location: Sacred Heart Basilica, Montmartre

He stood in front of the Grand Organ and cracked his knuckles elegantly. The instrument before him was over half a century old, infused with the weight of the tremendous history behind it, and he was determined to play it once before he left.

“Bored-bored-bored-bored. Bored,” Sedna sang, each word coming out in a different key. Rawyvin either pretended not to listen or was simply ignoring her; the woman wasn’t sure. Still she was bored, bored of waiting, bored of not knowing what to do and bored of her life being on hold.

And Rawyvin just did not care.

A faint smile peered out from the shadows and fringe of hair that seemed to mask the true intentions in his eyes. He considered her an interesting diversion, but little else. She was certainly not his equal, nor his confidante. Yes, there was a certain chemistry that even his hardened heart could not deny. But it was only a pinpoint of light in a vast chasm, insignificant in his greater plan.

The gentle strains of Bach’s Fantasia and Fugue in C Minor filled the high ceiling with a somber tone. It was dark and mysterious, like the setting and the man himself who was compelled to play.

Montoya relented, sitting in one of the pews, trying to think of anything but the last few days. Phia and Arjan Jos had offered her a shrivel of hope. But Seth was too cunning, and had come back where they were bedding that night as alive and unscathed as he had been when left. He didn’t seem to suspect a connection, and still let her out and about freely, and that was how she learned of the shooting at the cemetery. There was no more contact from them after that. And so the days flowed one into the next, her traversing the tightrope of this ‘relationship’ or whatever she was calling it. It was only the least evil of many other bad situations she could have found herself in.

Then, things went from worse to dismal. The Secretary of Starfleet had put an all points bulletin out on Rawyvin, wanted for questioning in order to settle some internal vendetta. Vartina-Yartina-Lartina-Bartina whatever the eff her name was- was ending the press conference before Montoya realized they hadn’t mentioned a word about her, a picture, a suspicion, nothing. It was like nobody knew or cared about her. Like she didn’t exist.

“Life is a mystery -

Everyone must stand alone -

I hear you call my name -

And it feels like home.”

The man didn’t bother to look up. What had started part as a redemption quest and part as flight of fancy had become pure ball and chain. A melodic ball and chain, but one that shackled him and pulled him down.

He ignored her.

“When you called my name,

It’s like a little prayer---”

She kept signing, a distant ringing, not of a bell but another light chiming was in the background but Rawyvin ignored it as he fingered the keys. The Martine putting out the call on him complicated matters. There wasn’t a port on EARTH he could use and EARTH was the last place he wanted to be now. If he could just get off-planet, then he had a destination in mind, but he’d have to pass through Customs. Maybe he was thinking about this wrong, he realized--

Suddenly, Rawyvin lifted his head as the chiming was closer and his nose picked up notes of-- “Myrrh?”

Montoya stood approximately two feet away and pouted as she swung the gold censur, more formally known as the thurible, on its chain so that the plumes of incense could swirl around her. Swinging it round and round she raised an eyebrow as if to challenge him further.

“That’s myrrh,” Rawyvin explained slowly as he inched forward. “It was meant for death.”

“I hear your voice, it’s like an angel sighing,” Montoya sang, her awkward features creasing into an awkward smile. As Rawyvin jerked closer, Montoya suddenly yanked the thurible’s chain causing the incense to rush out as she swung it in a great arc.

Realizing that he was on a precipice, got his heart racing, but Seth nodded and carefully walked heel to toe as if on a tightrope understanding that this was part of the game. He wasn’t sure what she was up to, but suddenly as he looked around he realized that the church that had been empty was no longer, she had laid out traps. Phasers - *his* phasers - had been set up at various intervals.

“Been busy, pet?” he asked quietly.

“I have no choice, I hear your voice - Feels like flying,” Montoya sang, far more comfortable still facing Rawyvin but her bony hips swaying in beat to the song she was singing.

“What else have you learned?” he asked as he kept up the rhythm with walking towards her.

Evangeline’s eyes never left his, even as she swayed her hips and thurifer while the incense wrapped its smoky tendrils around her. “I close my eyes, Oh God I think I’m falling,” she sang.

The Human man paused at that; involuntarily his eyes darted down and saw the slit in the stone floor and just beyond that the red line indicating a sensor light. Looking up Rawyvin was about to say something else when the gold thurifer, weighted down to be heavier than intended, went flying towards his face with burning incense.

As he went crumbling to the floor, Rawyvin thought he heard Montoya sing, “Heaven help me,” but that probably was a figment of his imagination.

=/\=

When he woke up there was a heavy drugged feeling that took over him before he realized the bound and gagged feeling was right behind it.

“Oh Ravvy, you’re up,” he heard Evangeline announce from the side. He heard various “clicks” and “snaps” as he struggled to turn his head. “Wait, honey, don’t strain yourself,” she chided. As she skipped over, the Human woman hovered over the man while checking his various straps. Tapping a particularly nasty wound on his temple she asked gently, “Does that hurt?”

Grasping at the only hope he had for salvation, Rawvyin did the unthinkable.

He begged for mercy from his captor; making his eyes pitiful while nodding; all the while secretly planing to torture her. He was practical he reasoned - he’d get out now, kill her later. No wait, torture her first, kill later--

~*SMACK*~

A hundred million boiling pin needles were verberating in his brain and making their way down his nervous system and there wasn’t a thing he could do as he was bound and gagged. Tears formed behind his silver eyes as he gagged on the rag she had stuffed into his mouth and was unable to make anything more than a muted whimper due to the rag being bound to him.

“Ravvy, not even a word of praise? Tsk tsk,” the Human woman chided. “Aren’t you proud of me?” Montoya asked as she sat back on her haunches.

A million different thoughts and feelings came to mind. Pride was not close to one of them.

“I did everything you taught me,” the Human woman explained. Standing up she began to tick off things as she looked around to make she cleaned up, “I wanted to make this special since you’re my first.” Waving her arms around she said, “I made it dramatic. I used music. I softened you up with a rare poison - mugato in case you were wondering. It lets the pain linger. Don’t mean a thing unless that pain zings - you taught me that. I stripped you so this way my DNA isn’t on you. I’m going to leave you bleeding before I torch the place. ”

Spinning around the dark-haired woman tapped her heart, “See, you got me right here. And they always say a first time is special.”

As the Human man made a noise the Human woman cocked her head to the side as if to decipher it. “Excellent question, honey,” she said humoring him. “Well, it’s like this. No one knows I’m with you. Well no one except 1 comatose Intel agent and 1 guy who’s holed up in BFE. But honey -- the whole fucking *universe* is looking for you.”

There was a long tense moment then as Evangeline truly looked at Rawyvin. Gone was the prisoner of Khitomer; gone was the carefree woman he spent time with on RISA; gone was the scared woman he ignored the last few weeks since then. No...this was a new if severely damaged woman who was clearly piecing herself together. “If no one cared about you,” she said softly with a firm resolve, “what would *you* do?” When Rawyvin said and did nothing she said, “That is what you did. Well now it’s *my* turn.”

Tucking the last phaser into the waistband of her pants she looked around and picked up the thurifer. Smiling wryly she said, “Always fond of your first, isn’t that the way of things?” As Rawyvin made a noise she looked over and raised an eyebrow at him, “Oh honey, you didn’t think I meant you did you?”

With that Montoya skipped out of the church, carrying the cases of Rawyvin’s torture instruments with her. As she stopped at the doors, she turned around and bowed solicitously, before lighting the pews on fire. Then she skipped out into the sunlight leaving Rawyvin alone naked in the burning church to die of fire, smoke inhalation, or poison - whatever got to him first.

The door slammed shut with a finality that was all too disturbing. Rawyvin’s eyes flittered around as the light came in through the stained glass windows. The light was coming in through the middle of the windows, clearly indicating he had been knocked out for awhile. Inhaling he worked on the bonds that held his hands realizing the time he had was less. Mugato wouldn’t be lethal if he could grab an antidote. That would require him to get out of his bounds, out of this burning church…

One more wiggle should do it…

=/\=

Scene: Martine’s Office

Time Index: The next afternoon

“We don’t have much time,” Thoris said as his antennae wobbled nervously. “Do you think she’ll accept the position?”

“I don’t know,” Marie-Claire said honestly as she smoothed out the skirt of her sunny coral frock. As much as she despised playing the ‘female card’ in order to distract or cajole Richard Edgerton, she found others responding to it as well. Maybe playing everything with a hardness wasn’t always the only way to get things done. But, it was a hell of a lot of work to keep the facade that she just woke up this way.

The Secretary of Interplanetary Affairs clutched the PADD tightly that contained the ship’s specs for the USS ZHUKOV, an Ambassador-class vessel that while not new or flashy, suited their mission perfectly. And somehow they’d been given carte blanche on the crew selection. Thoris privately questioned how Martine had managed it, but kept those concerns to himself, even as the strains of gossip pushed through the underlying layers of those who worked there. And the Canadienne did nothing to either support or suppress those rumors. So, Thoris reluctantly followed suit.

“Madam Secretary, Secretary,” the clear voice of Siobhan Reardon provided a known interruption as she entered the office.

Both stood and offered the perfunctory handshakes all around, then Martine gestured for the redhead to have a seat. “Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, Captain.”

Sio folded her hands in her lap, trying to allay the uneasiness she felt in the office that once belonged to Xana. Drake’s words from only a few days earlier rattled in her brain, and rattled her to the core. “There’s no need to thank me. I take it this is important?”

The Andorian spoke next. “While the Romulan conflict shows no signs of letting up, there is a small group who wishes to bring this war to a peaceful conclusion, or rather, to an end. They contacted our office and wished to set up negotiations. While I will be leading this mission, I am a civilian and as such a Starfleet presence- a command- is needed.

Siobhan couldn’t help smiling. “And presumably that’s where I come in?”

Martine nodded. “We have an Ambassador-class ship preparing to depart as soon as possible. She needs a Captain, and your service record is well suited to its diplomatic mission parameters.”

“So, you’re offering me a job?” she queried, the question ringing in her own ears.

“Yes, that is correct,” Thoris P’Trell said.

Sio paused, thinking. If she was going to ask questions, however difficult, now was the time. “Secretary Martine, if what Secretary P’Trell said is accurate, why did you sign off on the orders bringing me back to EARTH from the PANDORA as their Diplomatic Liaison Officer? I believe the term ‘unnecessary position’ was used at one point?”

A very brief expression of embarrassment crossed the older woman’s face before once again resuming a facade of control. “The climate, both political and otherwise, has changed rapidly in the past few months. You can’t deny your talents were wasted in a position other than Captain.”

Siobhan paused, then stifled a giggle. “Those are some nice tap shoes you’re wearing, Madam Secretary. Although I suppose it was a lucky mistake when the Council tried to undo everything Xana Bonviva set in motion as soon as she left. Otherwise I would still be on the PANDORA and not here in your office right now.”

“You’re friends with Xana Bonviva.”

“I watch the news,” Sio replied sharply, while standing. “If you have a problem with that, I can leave now.”

“Please stay,” MC said, putting her hand up. “I wouldn’t have called you here if your record or the company you keep was in question.”

Reardon’s brow furrowed a little as she hesitantly sat back down. If they weren’t after Xana, who were they after? “Speaking of company, what assurances do I have that the crew isn’t crawling with Neo-Essentialists?”

“How do you know about that?” Marie-Claire blurted out before she could stop herself.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Sio said frankly. “But thanks for confirming there was some truth to the story.”

“The crew has been hand picked and their backgrounds checked as much as possible. I cannot guarantee 100 percent, but I’d say a solid 99 point 9.” Secretary P’Trell had scoured the manifest with a fine tooth comb himself after several other pairs of trusted hands had searched for a crew.

“The rendezvous with the Romulan contingent- where will it be?”

“It looks like Starbase 21.” While not exactly an equidistant location, it was as close to neutral ground as they could get, seeing as the actual Neutral Zone itself was now the source of the conflict. Thoris offered Siobhan the data on the ZHUKOV.

Sio perused the information. “The ship holds about five hundred and we have four hundred fifty staff mobilized. That’s not too bad for such short notice.”

Martine closed her eyes for a moment, wishing they had the same fortitude with the PHOENIX.

The younger woman’s voice interrupted the reverie. “I would be expected to assist in the negotiations as well, correct, or am I overstepping my bounds?”

“Actually, we were in agreement that a hands-on approach would be best. You were the Arkalian Ambassador at one time, so you understand interspecies relations in a way that only a few others do.”

Siobhan sighed. Drake seemed to have been telling her the truth, however cryptic and smart assed it might have been. She wanted time to think. She wanted a clearer plan. She wanted more of a guarantee. But it wasn’t about her. “Okay,” she said weakly.

MC and Thoris exchanged hopeful looks. The French Canadian woman finally spoke. “I have to ask, Captain, is that a ‘yes’?”

Siobhan stood. “I accept the position of Commanding Officer of the USS ZHUKOV, NCC-916.”


=/\=

Location: USS ZHUKOV

Scene: Corridor -> Commander Naamah’s Office

Time Index: about 10 hours later

The Ktarian had been whisked away without so much as a “How do you do” and told to board the ultra important ship for some top secret mission. Such was the life of a Starfleet officer, Summer understood that. As the only child of Starfleet officers she knew better than most that once you signed away your life your life wasn’t your own; it was for all intents and purposes the Federation’s to do with as they saw fit.

So all in all it was a Tuesday.

PADD in hand, walking down a corridor that could have been in any ship in any quadrant, Summer was dealing ship requests from the crew in the absence of a CO and XO. She was the flipping Ops Officer, she saw to *ship* systems not to *people*.

“So can I have off?”

Reading through the PADD the Ktarian scanned the request trying to find a loophole. “Well you did fill out everything,” she admitted.

“And I found backup,” the Counselor nodded.

“May I inquire as to something,” Summer asked as they continued. “From a purely - ah - what’s the word? Anthropological - no - uhm - er - sociological - yes, that’s it - point of view.” When the Counselor nodded, the Ktarian Ops Officer inhaled and asked, “I recognized the importance of taking off for holidays. But you have a holiday where you’ll be worshipping a tree in the Arboretum?” When the Counselor stared at her, the Ktarian couldn’t help but blurt out inelegantly, “Why?”

In the end it wasn’t that Summer didn’t like people - she just found them...well...weird. Give her ship systems, give her weapons, or anything technical and she was happy. Having to negotiate humanity was trickier - it was all “But Commander I want off for my sparkly holiday too!” and Summer never felt like she was saying the right thing; always torn between curiosity and disbelief.

“Oh no,” the Counselor laughed, “that would be silly.”

“Oh good,” Summer exhaled, the tension leaving her shoulders. She had visions of dancing Counselors...

“The tree will be in my quarters,” Counselor explained. “And Humans don’t worship the tree at Christmas. But it is integral to our celebration. So can I have off?”

The Ops Officer stopped walking and stared at the Counselor. She was about to say something when her commbadge pinged..

[[Bridge to Namaah]]

Thankful that the absurdist conversation was stopped in its tracks, the Ops Officer tapped her commbadge, “Namaah here.”

[[You’re getting a priority personal message from Starfleet Medical.]]

“Right, I’ll take it in my office,” Namaah replied. Holding up the PADD she said to the Counselor she said, “I’ll take this up with the CO and XO.”

Namaah walked down the corridor, nodded at a small handful of officers until she finally found her office. Walking into a non-descript office, and the only reason why she knew it was her office was that the small terminal outside door indicated that it was hers; inside it was a perfectly clean, efficient office with gray walls, silver desk, a sleek floor and a large enough port-side window that looked out onto the starry expanse.

Dreading the call, Summer ignored the option of sitting in the chair and instead called out, “Bridge, transfer message from Starfleet Medical for Namaah.”

Suddenly the officer from the Bridge came through. [[Commander Namaah? They’ve been waiting on hold for you. I’ll patch them through; it’s audio only given the distance.]]

“Fine,” Summer sighed. Rubbing the back of her neck she wondered if this was about her father; he took too many risks and it wasn’t like he was getting any younger...

[[Commander Namaah? This is Dr. Corbin; sorry to bother you but it’s about your husband.]]

“I don’t have a husband,” Summer replied automatically.

[[But I have records here--]]

“I’m going to kill him,” the Ktarian replied with a snarl.

[[I don’t think that’s wise,]] the doctor tried to interject.

Summer paused for a moment; well hell she didn’t want….“Is...is he dead?”

[[What? Oh no.]]

“Well then I can kill him!” Summer yelled as she punched the desk.

[[You know it sounds like you’re pining for him.]]

Now that her ex-husband’s selfish being was well established Summer could go back to hating him. “Pining? Pining for him? Storm Bomba and I divorced 1 1/2 years ago, separated even longer than that, all so he could follow his beloved racist buddies. He had a choice between me and them and he picked *them* so we are passed on! We’ve ceased to be! We have expired and gone our separate ways. We have gone to history! We’ve kicked the bucket! WE ARE EXES!”

There was a long pause; then there was an uncomfortable throat clearing before Dr. Corbin said, [[I suppose I should tell Starfleet Medical to find another next of kin.]]

“Yes, I think that’s wise,” Summer snapped. “You want Starfleet to do *anything* you’ve got to make it damn well explicit,” she muttered under her breath.” Exhaling as she began to pace her bland office that was beginning to feel like a jail the Ktarian asked more out of curiosity than anything else, “Why are you asking for a next of kin?”

[[Commander Bomba incurred substantial injuries during his last mission,]] Dr. Corbin explained. [[And while Dr. Foster has found a place for him on another ship it’s as a civilian, not as an officer. At some point I fear that he’ll need well he may need more treatment as just simply being on a ship maybe too traumatic.]]

Summer rolled her yellow eyes. “Go find, what was his name? Oh yes, Leonard Jacoby and Richard Edgerton. Storm used to bring them around on the MINERVA and the VALHALLA. That’s who he was following,” she said waving her hand as if batting away a fly.

There was a long pause, long enough that the Ktarian wondered if the transmission had been cut off. [[We did try them, Commander Namaah; both disavowed knowledge of a Commander Bomba.]]

Summer shook her head; her blonde hair never coming loose of the braid she wore while on duty. “Well that’s unfortunate. He has no family; his mother died while we were married. No father. No siblings,” the Ktarian thought aloud. Looking up she asked, “I supposed it’s too much to hope for that he remarried?”

[[He did not remarry,]] Dr. Corbin replied.

“Damn it,” Summer muttered. Oddly enough she meant that. Before he turned into a sycophantic decoy for a bunch of self-serving political users, Storm actually had been a good husband. He was everything she wasn’t - he remembered things like dates and never seemed to mind that she never did. While Summer didn’t want to be married to be him, she didn’t begrudge him being married to someone else.

Seeing the time on her computer she said, “I’m needed on the bridge.”

[[I’ll keep you informed,]] Dr. Corbin promised.

“But I don’t--” Summer interjected before the comm cut her off. Muttering all kinds of curses, the Ops Officer went out of the office, dashing for the lift, pushing past her own confused thoughts and putting on her best game face. When she finally made it she walked around to the front of the Bridge and found the CO, a red-haired Human woman she had met briefly earlier that day. “Commander Namaah reporting for duty, Captain Reardon.”

=/\=

A Joint Post By

Sarah Albertini-Bond

Commander Summer Naamah

OPS

USS ZHUKOV

and

Susan Ledbetter

Captain Siobhan Reardon

CO

USS ZHUKOV