Unsung

Posted on Sep 01, 2016 @ 1:45am by Lieutenant Eve Dalziel
Edited on on Sep 01, 2016 @ 1:46am

Mission: Fortress: Earth

“Unsung”
(Continued from “The Screw Turns”)

=/\=

Location: Earth, New York City
SD: 2.160727.1819
Scene: FedNews HQ→ Sidewalk

The chronometer ticked down as her fingers clacked and tapped against the keyboard. Normally, deadlines exhilarated her, but the magnitude of the event in Paris was an obvious preoccupation. They’d lost two of their own, but the upper echelons of the media conglomerate had chosen to keep things running, combining mourning and propaganda to their fullest potential, while still maintaining a dark shroud of secrecy. Only the souls lost in a flurry of unstable ash knew what had happened. But even they did not know who was responsible.

Amanda Lane was pretty certain she knew both and was all the more miserable for it. She tugged at her Press credentials as they hung on a lanyard around her neck. For the first time, she felt like she was being choked by the responsibility of them. She continued to write, the fact sheet in front of her being turned into a story with weight and flow. It didn’t matter that the facts were probably fabricated or skewed to serve the select needs of the person in charge or his agenda. She had to play along until something happened, until the proverbial ‘other shoe’ dropped.

With a deft flourish she finished the article and sent it to the proof and distribution area electronically. **Nine minutes to spare**, she thought smugly. However, her bravado faded as she took a look around the newsroom. Everyone had the appearance of being lost sheep. Some were merely hardened and somber, while others had clearly been crying. There were timepieces along the wall signifying the various time zones; Paris had been one of them, but it was now replaced with Madrid. But the truth was, nothing could replace the French capital, the seat of the Federation government, a center of art and history. It was all gone. She ran her hands through her honey colored bob, the straight strands falling back into place instantly.

A hand gently squeezed her shoulder and she just about jumped out of her skin. She shrieked, turned around and saw the bemused face of videographer Daryle Povenmire. “What the actual-”

“Relax, hun,” he answered with a calm voice moderated with a hint of a creole accent. His amusement instantly faded into concern. “It’s just me.”

“Daryle, why the hell are you here?” she hissed.

He shushed her, pressing a piece of paper into her hand while hugging her hello. “Civilian comms have been jammed.”

She felt herself hold on to him a moment or two longer than necessary. “When?”

“Not sure ‘zactly. Before the rest of the world could put two and two together. But not before I had a little chat with Alek.”

“You didn’t,” she said quietly, looking down at the piece of paper. There were two things written on it: an address and the location of a military comm outpost.

“Oh, but we did.”

She looked up at him as they continued to talk at the lowest volume they could without whispering. “I could kiss you.”

“It wouldn’t work, honey. We both know that.”

She smiled despite the crappy mood she was in. “What now?”

“Let’s get some lunch, sweetheart,” Daryle said a bit more loudly than he had to, making sure to draw attention, then ushering his friend out.

The lobby’s transparent aluminum panels had been tinted to allow just the right amount of light in, but the doors parted to a much brighter view. The sun blazed in a cornflower sky. Daryle shook his head. “I hope *somebody* bought that.”

They hadn’t made another ten feet down the sidewalk before the reporter came back to herself. “So where are we going for lunch, ‘darling’?”

“Nothing too fancy.” He gestured to the corner, the location of one of the city’s ubiquitous hot dog stands.


=/\=

Scene: Parking Garage (a few blocks away)

They were tucked away inside Daryle’s vehicle, which hadn’t moved since the Aegis had deployed overhead. The back was full of equipment, but the front seats had been kept miraculously clean.

“You’re going to get indigestion,” Amanda quipped as she viewed Daryle’s questionable lunch choice of two chili cheese dogs with onions.

“Already feels like I have an ulcer,” he said with mild derision. “Might as well enjoy it.”

Amanda slumped in her seat, leaving her hot dog with mustard and ketchup untouched. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” He took a bite of his food, not noticing the bits of onion that fell on his shirt.

“How’s your family doing? How are you doing?” she asked plaintively.

“It doesn’t seem real,” he said after a few pensive moments. “We just visited Aunt Bettina on Bastille Day. My Dad brought a crate of crawfish. My cousin Henri and his wife Regine prepared a wonderful dinner to accompany them. Later, we watched the fireworks together, drinking beaujolais and eating toasted brie smeared on crusty bread. It was a great day. I didn’t know it would be our last in the eleventh Arrondissement… or our last with them.”

“Your parents?”

“They’re devastated. They closed the restaurant down as a show of solidarity. I’m not sure if they have ever done that before.”

She touched his arm. “I hope they never have to again.”

Povenmire smiled a little. “You’ve always been a good friend. The past couple of days, especially.”

Amanda set her uneaten lunch aside and looked at the piece of paper again, hoping his beliefs in her would continue to pan out. “I’m pretty sure I know what the address is, but why the comm outpost?”

“With normal channels down, it’s the only way we can get this story out there. The Beta Shift attendant lost several of his family in the attack, too. He’s willing to let this pass through, no questions asked.”

Amanda stared at Daryle, then stared at the windshield. “It’s all set, then.”

“You don’t *have* to do this, Amanda. You could go back to the office now. Nobody has to know we had this conversation.”

“I disagree. This is happening.”

“Aren’t you worried about repercussions?”

Her anger waned a little, but not much. “Yeah, but as long as Edgerton has his finger on the big red button, none of us are safe. If there’s a chance I’m going to die, I’d like that death to mean something. I’d also like to believe the man has bigger fish to fry than a wayward journalist.” She took off her comm badge and put it in Daryle’s pocket. “Give me a twenty minute head start, then plant this at Times Square.” She unzipped her jacket and tucked her press id inside.

He gulped and nodded. They were actually going through with it. “You remember where to meet after?”

“Of course I do.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, then got out. “Give my love to your folks.”


=/\=

Location: Dover, England
Time Index: about an hour later
Scene: Exterior→ Caldwell house

Amanda let the breeze pick up her steps as she approached the subject’s home. The natural beauty here was hard to move past, but not impossible. The largely unspoiled land was a deep contrast from the irradiated rubble that lay festering six time zones away. It was the sad scene etched in her mind that propelled her ahead.

The cottages and homes were a fair distance from each other, showing no signs of urban sprawl or ultra modern construction. They were preserved in a much simpler time.

Her destination was a white house trimmed in dove gray with a bright blue door. A roofed screened porch ran the length of the front of the house. Two weathered side chairs and a small table sat to the left of the door, facing west. Amanda briefly glanced beyond the craggy cliffs at the expansive sea. The sunsets were probably beautiful. She then walked up the stone path, two steps and entered the porch, knocking on the door.

The door opened and an elderly woman answered. Her hair, which was neatly styled in a twist, had gone almost completely white, and what hadn’t was silver. She was wearing a gingham house dress and a white sweater with open stitching.

“Excuse me. Are you Grace Caldwell?”

“Who’s asking?” the woman responded warily.

“My name is Amanda Laskarbiewicz.” Her real name stuck in her throat for a second. “I’d like to talk to you-”

“Nobody here speaks to the media.” The clipped statement was quickly followed with a shut door.

Amanda looked down at the lanyard and badge that had half fallen out of her jacket, sighed, and knocked again. “Ms. Caldwell,” she said, raising her voice slightly, “I’m not here on behalf of FedNews. I’m here as a civilian. I need to find out as much as I can about Richard Edgerton.”

A muddy British voice came from the other side of the door. “Eh. The leader of the not so free world. Spare me.”

Amanda took a beat and recomposed herself. “I know you’re his Mother, Ms. Caldwell.”

A few moments later, the door opened a few inches, this time held by an obsolete chain. The older woman’s face and eyes peered through the space.

“Your maiden name is Caldwell. You changed it back upon your divorce.”

“That was almost forty years ago,” she uttered in mild shock. “A secret older than you, I’m sure.”

“Fleet Admiral Richard Edgerton has had more than enough airplay trying to convince us of the Neo-Essentialist way of life. I’d like to give you the chance to tell your side of the story.”

Grace considered the woman’s words and relented. “How did you find me?”

Amanda crossed her arms. “That doesn’t matter. What does matter is two other people know where you live, and you wouldn’t want that information to be released and ruin the peace and quiet you have here... would you? I promise your identity will not be revealed if you speak with me.” The first part was bluffing of course. The only person she wanted to reveal was Edgerton.

Grace Caldwell’s blue eyes flashed with anger, fear, and resignation. “Alright. Come in.”

Once she crossed the threshold, the reporter took as much in as possible; It was second nature. The color scheme reflected the calm outside, in shades of white, tan, and blue. There was very little in the way of obvious technology. If there was a viewscreen or transport pad, they were extremely well hidden. Two large curios dominated the hallway that seemed to link the common areas on the first floor. They were filled with bric-a-brac, some china and assorted figurines. There were sailing ships, gulls and fish in glossy ceramic grouped next to a tea set. The entire top shelf of both cabinets contained different sculptures and castings of lighthouses, in varying sizes.

“We’ll have tea in the sitting room.” Grace was unaware of her guest’s fascination with her home and was focused on leading the way to the room adjacent to the kitchen.

The space contained a couch, loveseat and chair, all in floral material. A low rectangular coffee table was in front of the couch, with a square side table in between the couch and loveseat and a round table and lamp between the couch and the chair. Everything had a worn, aged feel to it but was spotless and obviously well-cared for.

“Are you hungry, dear?”

Amanda’s stomach was doing flip-flops. She wasn’t sure if it was nerves, or the uneaten lunch from earlier. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll manage something, then.” While Edgerton’s mother went into the kitchen, Amanda took out a small rectangular device and stylus that would record the conversation and allow her to take notes if necessary. She set it to disguise their voices. She looked at the wall opposite the couch which would have contained a vid hub or screen and the only thing there was a bookcase, filled to the brim with what appeared to be actual literary tomes.

Before she could figure out if the bookcase was some sort of elaborate hiding place for a wide screen or gaming console, in what seemed like no time at all, really- Grace brought back a tray with a teapot and two cups, some acoutréments, as well as some little sandwiches and cookies. Amanda noticed the slightest tremor in her hands as she set the tray down. “Why do you think I’ll be able to help you? I haven’t seen or spoken to Richard in years.”

“He essentially has the planet under martial law. The Aegis Shield, which he claimed was to protect us, is also a weapon that can irradiate the entire surface of the planet if Edgerton chooses to. We’re trying to stop him before he does any more damage.”

The octogenarian was being hit with a lot of sketchy information. She decided to take things slowly. “Who’s ‘we’?”

Amanda glanced upward. “There’s ships above the shielding. Trying to get through but so far they haven’t been able to. I’ve got a friend up there. He asked me to try to find you, to see if it would shed any light on why Edgerton is so hell-bent on separating humans from the rest of the Federation. Xenophobia was not what the UFP was founded upon.”

Grace carefully poured the tea, then levelled a stern gaze at the young woman. “Why should I believe you?”

*Damn*, Amanda thought. She hadn’t brought any proof of Paris’ destruction with her and Miss Caldwell was right. Why should she trust some stranger telling her that her son had become a monster? “Haven’t you noticed the comms aren’t working?”

“No, I hardly use them.” Grace opened a wooden box with mother-of-pearl inlay that was on the side table. The standard communication controls were inside. She tried to place a call but was met with only static. “Why?”

“Because Edgerton has fired his weapon, and he wants to keep that hidden to avoid panic and suspicion.”

“Fired *what*?”

Amanda’s voice rose. “I told you- the Aegis Shield. Each of the satellites that comprise the shield can target an area with modified thalaron particles, which are deadly to everything they touch.”

Grace shook her head. “He simply wouldn’t-”

Tears squeezed out of Amanda’s eyes. “But he *did*. He killed millions of people as a show of force to the Federation contingent and disintegrated an entire city. My friend lost his Aunt and a married cousin.”

Miss Caldwell’s face filled with worry and doubt. “And you think somehow tracing the steps of his life, you and your ‘friends’ will find the keys to his current behavior?”

Amanda nodded, her body shaking. Holding a teacup seemed a bit of a lost cause, so she grabbed a cookie instead and started eating.

Grace summoned a sense of calm and began as close to the beginning as she felt necessary. “Richard was a gifted child, at times precocious, although it was not at as high a level as some of his classmates. Things came a bit more easily to him, especially on the verbal and written side of things… English and the humanities. But he worked very hard to make it appear as if he were a genius. He was frequently second or third in his classes. His father often reminded him that ‘second place is but the first loser’.”

“That’s pretty harsh.”

The proper British woman looked quizzical. “If Richard ever saw anything negative in his father’s attempts to motivate him, he never showed it. He was incredibly driven.”

“Is that what led him to Starfleet Academy?”

“Not at first. It was what led him to excel at Debate in Secondary School. He had the ability to see layers of a subject, and the varying emotional states of both the judges and his opponents, and determine the best counter-argument based on who he was debating against. Even those with Vulcan training or a genetic advantage didn’t survive his onslaught. I assumed that would parlay itself into a law career, or becoming a Professor like his father.”

“But he obviously didn’t. Is that when you and Mister Edgerton… began having trouble?”

Grace smiled politely, disingenuously. “I wasn’t aware that there was trouble. Or maybe I just turned a blind eye for the sake of things. But my dear husband, Robert, was having trouble keeping his pants on. He very privately enjoyed his dalliances with the Teaching Assistants and Secretaries in the History department. And for several years that was the life we had. A life of convenience.”

“The safe choice.”

“But not the smart one. The autumn before our son had to select a college to attend, Robert came to me and confessed.”

“Why, after all that time, would he come clean?”

Grace sighed. “Because he was ‘in love’ this time, or what he *thought* was love. She was a young Talaxian Philosophy student, about to graduate, who interned with Robert. She was worried her cultural differences would prevent her from grasping the material. She needn’t have been so concerned. He went from a man who ate oatmeal every morning for breakfast and wore the same brown suit everyday to someone who wanted to give up his career and tenure, marry her, and move to Daxxon Three, a colony on the outskirts of the Beta Quadrant.”

“That sounds crazy.”

“I guess that’s what Robert was. I secretly wondered if the young woman was pregnant, but we never found out.”

“What do you mean?” Amanda grasped her tea with both hands, feeling a bit of a chill in the air.

“A few months after he departed, the colony was completely destroyed by a splinter group of the Haakonian Order, a rival to the Talaxians that had been long thought to be inactive. There were no survivors.” The elderly woman’s face changed for a minute, time standing still in the loss.

“I’m sorry... How did Richard feel about that?” Amanda asked pointedly.

“He was obsessed with all things Federation. The planets, the races, the political undercurrent that ran through everything. He wanted to make his Father’s loss more important in the universe than it really was.”

“Possibly to avenge it?"

“I don’t know. But he was changed after that. A planet-bound career was no longer on the table. He found his eye for detail and analytical mind were something that could be of use to Starfleet. And maybe Starfleet could fill the void his father left in his wake.”

The gears turned in Amanda’s head. “Maybe that’s why his views on Humanity first, ‘Federation first’, have come to the forefront.”

“I suppose he blamed the Talaxians for causing his father’s death and he blamed me for not holding his father’s interest.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Children hold their parents to a standard much loftier that mere ordinary people, with faults and problems of their own, despite the fact that’s all we really are.”

“But not his father.”

“He idolized his father. Little boys always place their father on a pedestal. Even the truth couldn’t knock him down from it. His senseless passing only served to blur and soften those shortcomings in Richard’s mind. And with each passing year of military service, he chose to see me less and less until, well, until he didn’t anymore.”

“It must have been very lonely without them here,” Amanda blurted out.

Grace finished her sandwich and eyeballed the reporter, who had stated the obvious. But she took it with patience. “It was. For a time. But I had a close-knit group of friends here, and I began to fill my days with volunteer work, the occasional vegetable garden, and a pet here and there. I mean, I’ve slowed down a little in the past few years, but there’s a senior care facility and a elementary day school that still see me twice a week. It hasn’t been the life I thought it would be, but in many ways it was richer. The day Robert stopped lying to me was painful, it was beyond betrayal. However, when I also stopped lying to myself, the healing began.”

They ate and drank for several minutes, the only sounds between them the erstwhile clatter of saucers and the pouring of tea.

“Oh,” Amanda said, and turned the recording device off, as an afterthought.

Grace gestured towards the tiny box. “Do you… think that may help?”

Amanda Laskarbiewicz, or Lane, or whatever she decided to call herself, tilted her head down, staring not *at* Edgerton’s mother so much as *through* her. She was on the verge of tears again. “I believe there’s a very good chance.” She wiped her eyes with the back of the sleeve on her jacket. “What time is it?”

“A quarter to four.”

The reporter stood and nearly bolted. “I have to get this to a… distributor before the end of Beta Shift. I’ve already “cooked” it to change the voices. It might need a little editing too. I hate to eat and run but-”

“By all means, a good journalist makes her deadline.” The two women left the room and traversed the hallway again ending up at the cheery azure door.

“I can’t thank you enough.” Amanda said, turning to leave.

Her elder touched her arm gently, her crinkled eyes wide.“One thing. You never said what city he… he… attacked.”

“It was... Paris, Miss Caldwell. Twenty-eight million people are no more. The Council buildings, the Louvre. So much history. It’s all gone.”

Grace gasped, covering her mouth with her left hand. Finally she let it fall in disbelief. “Please, I implore you, do me one favor.”

“What?”

“Forget you ever met me.” The proper voice was embittered and small.

Amanda grasped Grace’s hand. “I can’t forget someone who may help us stop your son once and for all.”

“I no longer have a son.”


=/\=

Location: USS PHOENIX
Scene: Cns’ Office
Time Index: Maybe two hours later

“I don’t have to tell you we only have one shot at this.” Dalziel would have rather been anywhere else a few hours before the Red October was scheduled to depart. But she had to ensure her staff was ready for anything that happened after she left… even the possibility they wouldn’t succeed.

Arion and Elgin exchanged looks as serious as the one Eve had. “No odds?” Ly finally piped up and was instantly elbowed by his associate.

Eve raised an eyebrow and tossed her straight ponytail over her shoulder. She wasn’t exactly sure who was rubbing off on who. “I seriously don’t want to know if the Engineering or Science folks have come up with any. Not my job.”

Owen fidgeted in his seat. “And not knowing, you still want to go down with the away team?”

Eve’s mouth twitched in anticipation. She could have said a few things about her need to do her duty, going further than what was anticipated, but they already knew all that. “Expect the best, plan for the worst,” she said as she gestured to the PADDs they each held. “This is the full protocol in the event of a Aegis-led planetary attack. The psychosis will likely run deep if the worst-case scenario comes to pass. We’re not as unbalanced as some of the ships of the line, but witnessing that type of traumatic weapon cascade on such a large scale could affect more than just our Human crew.”

“Your parents are near San Francisco, right?”

Eve nodded. “Yes. So I have a dog in this fight too. And I doubt I’m the only one.”

“We need to balance function and care,” Arion said. “Performing one’s job responsibilities becomes primary but we must be on the lookout for those who suddenly cannot perform adequately.”

“Energy and morale boosters would be highly important at that time to stave off the effects of knowing the planet was being razed.”

“Xander, how does one ‘boost morale’ during a deadly thalaron strike?” the other aCns countered.

“I can explain, Owen-”

A middle aged man with a slight paunch and unkempt short hair interrupted the Counselling triumvirate. “Please excuse me,” he said in his aw-shucks menschy way.

“This isn’t the best time, Mister Nikitin,” Eve softly scolded.

“I have something of importance here,” He was holding a data PADD too, but Eve was guessing it wasn’t the same as what they had.

“What is it?” Asta’s twin asked, getting caught up in the near giddiness the resident newsman had.

“It’s a miracle, is what it is!” He was a little too boisterous for the crowd discussing death and mayhem.

Lieutenant Dalziel folded her arms. “Please, explain. We don’t have much time.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Pardon me.” He flopped down at a side chair, and Eve noticed his shirt wasn’t even tucked in. “I had a piece of information regarding the whereabouts of Mrs Edgerton that I had been holding on to for a while- maybe too long.”

“Edgerton’s wife?” Eve asked

“Natch, his *mother*.”

“She’s still alive?” Lysander Elgin somehow had thought Edgerton had materialized from pure evil.

“Ha! My copper-top friend, not only is she alive, she gave an exclusive interview to a sympathetic reporter. Which is what I have in my possession at this very moment,” he said, waving the forbidden fruit

Eve’s eyes narrowed. It couldn’t have been as easy as he was making it out to be. “How did you get that up here? There aren’t any civilian channels operational right now.”

He shrugged, enjoying pulling a fast one on his reluctant caretakers. “If I had the lead to her address, who says I didn’t also have lead on a military outpost willing to piggyback the signal.” Aleksey graciously stopped his grandstanding and placed the interview in Eve’s slender hands. “For your perusal, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you. I am in your debt. “What do I owe you?” she asked.

The former FedCom reporter-turned-fugitive rubbed the back of his neck unassumingly. “You still owe me an interview yourself,” Alek Nikitin remembered. “I think that’s enough.”


=/\=

Susan Ledbetter
Writing for
Pretty much anyone that isn’t nailed down

And

Lieutenant Eve Dalziel
Cns
USS PHOENIX