[BACK / PLOT LOG] LtCmdr Stacker, Cmdr Valeese | "In Memoriam"

Posted on Sat Jan 2nd, 2021 @ 6:18am by Commander Valeese Stacker & Commander James Stacker

Mission: A Distant Thunder
Location: XO's Office | Deck 1 | Cold Station Theta

December 24, 2020
14:01
COLD STATION THETA

News of an accident, of a death, had filtered quickly through unofficial channels. The Ferengi and many other underground trade networks paid exceptionally well to be kept of note of anything that may have influence over their chances for profits and the routes they took to peddle their wares. The Ascendancy were not exempt from the group of those who wanted information without a great deal of latency, often times obtaining it before official channels within the Federation and Star Fleet had a chance to thumb over their multitude of PADDs. Of course, out of all of them, the Ascendancy would be the core group that Valeese found to be the most 'savory', likely because of their hand in her livelihood and safety.

Without her allegiance to the Empress, she would never have deigned to dare seek life among Starfleet, let alone on a station such as Theta... And that meant she'd never have found the Ghost.

She shivered at the thought, her hands wringing together as she waited in a seat for just such a man to appear. It wasn't exactly a rarity to find her taking up a roost in his office, waiting for him to get back from a meeting or inspection round - news of the intimacy of their relationship had long since broken its seal right around the time that it had become absolutely impossible to hide her pregnancy and that had been cemented further when she'd officially moved in with the man and the pair welcomed their daughter into their crazy world.

Today was different. Today wasn't a smile filled social call. Today she was pensive and anguished with the news she was set to share - news that he deserved to hear before it filtered through on official channels.

It was the footsteps that heralded his return. To the knowing ear it continued to distinguish his former service with the Starfleet MACOs. He moved efficiently and with a purpose. Not graceful like a cat: this was more a heavy tread of someone wearing the heavier-treaded MACO-issue boots - tucked safely under standard-issue Starfleet uniform pants - with the stride of a man accustomed to wearing them in a variety of environments. He never 'dashed' in them unless required. He moved confidently and well.

And his face, predictably, lit up in that subdued yet efficient sort of way when he saw her. Never overstated. Never understated. It was ... him. "Well this is a surprise," he said in a voice laced with a strong undercurrent of genuine pleasure, crossing the room, boots faintly swishing on the all-too-efficient Starfleet-issue carpeting. Two seconds later his eyes narrowed and he stopped, head turned slightly to one side and eyes raking her up and down. At any other time it might have been a trace seductive, but this man before her was almost all-professional at this moment in time.

"I assume it's not a social call?" the Ghost asked. Demanded, almost. The grey-collared figure gestured to the door. "My office?"

"Probably best." Valeese replied, shaking her head in answer of his first question. It hadn't taken much to convince her to pop up from her seat and slip through the door into his office. Her teeth worried her lower lip as she waited for the door to close behind them, sealing them away from any who would attempt to eavesdrop. Only when he came to rest before her did she release the lip and drew the breath necessary to speak.

Bad news was never her specialty when it came to doling out precious intel. It never quite sat right with her, always gnawing away at the pit of her more sensible psyche and relatively jovial nature. She simply didn't relish in it the way some others did, nor did she enjoy twisting and garnishing it as gossip to be sped along the scuttlebutt grape vine. Either way, it had to be said. "There's been an accident," she began, letting her hands drop to her sides, "A couple hours ago, Commodore Ivanova's shuttle crashed about eighty miles outside of Phoenix, Arizona." Details needed to come next, but the worst of it was largely over with the initial frigid plunge taken, "They found a mile or so long debris field near Camelback Spring on the Roosevelt Lake side of Four Peaks Mountain."

He didn't ask how she had come by the information. Once, he might have. A more eager and enthusiastic James Stacker, fresh from MACO training or field service, might have asked. Even the Ghost might have asked or demanded. Someone more knowledgeable about the two of them - their history, their lives, the hundreds of thousands of interactions of the last few years - would know that the precise lack of the question showed his unswerving confidence and faith, however. She continued to remain his rock of stability in a world that seemed, at times, like it was bound and determined to go crazy.

And so it was that he skipped to the next and most logical question in line. The question was a brutal one; his tone was even more infuriating. Calm like the surface of a pond, and devoid of empathy, it masked whatever he might feel inside. Only the tightening around the corners of his eyes showed any sort of outward emotion. In them reflected a faint light that came in through the window; the flashing navigation light of an outbound bulk carrier. One that they ignored.

"Survivors?"

At first she simply shook her head, but intrinsically knew that a silent answer wasn't an answer - not in cases such as the one standing at the pressing forefront, "They have not discovered a body, but it's remote and the shuttle reportedly more or less disintegrated." Valeese replied as stoically as possible. She'd only seen Ivanova in passing a handful of times, never much having a hand in conversation. That lack of contact, however, failed to tarnish the impact that the loss of such a figurehead had on her. Rochelle Andreevna Ivanova was the Commanding Officer of the Federations flagship. Her prowess in battle and in diplomacy could be argued as legendary and her name hallowed and revered as much as it was feared by their enemies.

"Ravnnson's men are combing the area but word is that they're calling it a recovery mission, not search and rescue." She added, lacing her fingers together in front of her, "Admiral's Hark and Red will need to be informed, as will Commander Merlin. You might as well take point on that..." The Vorta paused, wrinkling her nose as she realized just how clinical she sounded about the entire thing, "I'm sorry, James. I know what she meant to Starfleet..."

A recovery mission. For several seconds he wasn't here, in the office, but was standing elsewhere. Memories of a wing reaching towards the sky, all blackened and charred, panels of scorched metal dangling from loose fittings, broken and twisted tree branches and leaves caught up in the cracks and divots around the leading edge. The smell of charred flesh and the acrid tang of burned electronics wanted to fill his nose all over again and make his eyes water.

It was only with effort that the memories were shoved back down and compartmentalized all over again. There would be time for that later. "You're -" he stopped and cleared his throat when he heard the uneven note, then tried again. This time it came out clearer. "You're right. This is going to be a lot for everyone to process. You don't expect people to go out this way." He stopped for a moment, evidently lost in thought, as his lips flattened. Finally he shook his head, as if clearing bad thoughts away, and his eyes went from looking at the carpet to looking back at her.

"Thanks for letting me know. Guess this day is only going to get worse from here."

A fan like ear perked towards the strange sound of his caught words, homing in on the intricate notes of emotion that played chorus within that single utterance. There would be things to talk about, wounds to nurse as stories unfolded - of that Valeese was certain of just as she was certain that the time for telling those tales and nursing those wounds was not upon them. Not when the greater chasm of loss was at hand and preparations were to be made. To say she didn't admire or envy his position or the tasks he'd need to perform over the coming hours was a vast understatement. When he was done, when he drug his weary soul home to their quarters, she'd be ready to catch him and carefully curry him back to shining sterling once more.

That was simply how it worked. How it must work.

"I figured you'd want to know sooner rather than later and before the press starts trying to leech off of Hark and Red." She nodded, her ears disappearing as they drooped back into the rich curls of her hair, "I could likely convince Parsov to take Rune for a bit this evening if you'd like."

The idea beckoned at him in the same way a lighthouse beckons to a storm-tossed ship. The idea of a spinning swirl of light that promised safety, shelter, rest and respite from all one's woes and troubles tempted him the same way that sailors would have been tempted in ages past. So it was small wonder that he found himself agreeing with the idea as he pulled her into a hug, lips pressing to her forehead before releasing, arms folding across her upper shoulders. "I think that's a good idea." At any other time there might be something ... more ... behind those words. But honestly all he could muster up at the moment was the idea of just surviving the day and making it through until the evening.

She nodded, reaching to stroke his cheek and then slide her hand down along one of his arms, "I'll see to it."

There was literally nothing more that could be said, nothing more she could even begin to attempt to convey in that office at that time when time was literally ticking away and running bone dry on the chance to beat the press and the cold cynical, sterile nature of Starfleet's reports to the punch line on what she deeply hoped would wind up being some sick, twisted joke. So soon after the war, so soon after peace had been found with the Ascendancy, the loss of one of their heroes was likely to send traumatic ripples through society it wasn't yet prepared or ready for.

It was moments like the present that the Vorta loathed when it came to her double life - knowing full well that her next stop would be to communicate much the same news to he Empress and prepare her for whatever came next. It meant being just as busy as her Ghost - but blessed by being far removed from having to show up, hat in hand, at the doorstep of a father and an aunt with a message such as the one he'd need to relay. Again she nodded, this time patting his bicep as she disengaged from him. Stay any longer and she'd likely have chosen to cocoon them both away from the rest of reality, sheltering them from the storm - but that would have to come later. "Good luck." Was all she could offer in hopes he'd understand and read between the lines.

It was a hell of a way to start Christmas Eve.

=/\= End Log =/\=

Commander James Stacker
Executive Officer
COLD STATION THETA

Commander Valeese
Chief Medical Officer
COLD STATION THETA