[PLOT] Cmdr V. Stacker, Lt. MacLeod | "Peeky Blinders"

Posted on Tue Feb 23rd, 2021 @ 3:52am by Commodore Aksel Ravnsson

By the time the results had come back, it was deep into the night. Night, of course, was relative when it came down to living in the dark void of space, but the construct of time was still there. Another mystery that Craig rather doubted he’d ever be able to solve. It didn’t stop him from rubbing his face and eyes, watching the bright green and yellow flashes of phosphenes spark and dissipate under the light pressure of his fingers over his lids.

His chair creaked as he leaned back into its hold, letting his hands rest and his eyes come half-open to study the spinning Starfleet insignia on his console. Any second now a colleague would appear from somewhere far across the universe, and his findings would belong in the safety of another living soul. An insurance policy, so to speak, if there ever was one. Should he wake up room temperature, there was at least someone else that could carry the torch.

A heavy snorty sigh silenced such paranoia. For now.

“Lieutenant MacLeod, on a secure channel…” A tired, husky, feminine voice responded when the spinning delta gave way to a shadowed face. It was clear he’d woken her up. Her hair was anything but perfect, her uniform replaced by the soft pink of her favored dressing robe. Not a stitch of makeup marked her face, leaving the Vorta looking far younger than was fair, and especially pouty given the fact she’d been attempting to repay the Sandman for a sleep debt before the call had come through, “Is everything alright?”

Craig had only met her a couple of times, and not necessarily in a professional capacity. She’d been consulting with Kaleb on how to address his potential medical needs, discussing what it was that he could be as if he were anything other than human. It had been rather humorous, given that the two of them had been a pair of the strangest beings he’d ever stumbled across. The Andorian perhaps less so given the fact Anaxar had been encountered first, but the Vorta had been something new altogether.

They were a beautiful species, if she was anything to go by, almost like living porcelain dolls or larger versions of the fae so many of his people’s legends had described. Even her ears were delicate and unique, soft fans blushed with coral and alabaster in contrast to her oil black hair.

And those eyes… Bright purple, nearly glowing. Yes. They were bonnie indeed.

He wasn’t there to describe the virtue of the species, though. He was there to share news and his tired brain slowly kicked into gear, “Och aye, Lieutenant. As weel as kin be expected. I'm sorry tae hae woken ye, bit a'm feart this ca' haes mair tae dae wi' th' disappearance o' Commodore Ivanova, howe'er. Dae ye hae a moment?”

“Yes, yes. Of course.” Valeese nodded, gathering more of her senses together and trying to shake the remaining tines of sleep from her system with a sip of cool water. The Ghost would never forgive her if she turned down such a call, and if MacLeod was contacting her in the middle of the night, there was no doubt that he was worried the information would fall victim to conspiracy the way the Commodore herself had. “What have you?”
“Oor science department took samples o' genetic material fae th' Liberty's bustit` wreck, twenty-eight in tot, plus yin full fingerprint. I've run ilka sample against th' database.” Craig’s mouth felt dry as he spoke, parched by anxiety and dehydration alike. When had it last been that he’d taken a sip of something or had a bite to eat? Try as he did, he couldn’t remember and there was envy for the glass of water she’d drawn from. That would be his next stop before bed.

She nodded in response, narrowing her eyes in thought, “And?”

“Twenty-seven o' th' samples belonged tae Commodore Ivanova wi' certainty.” The Scot breathed, trying to stave off a yawn, but his smile and the twinkle in his eye persisted. They weren’t filled with mirth. They were wry, cold, and determined.

“And the last sample? The fingerprint?” Sitting up taller, Valeese could feel her pulse quicken and her eyes slightly widen in response to the suspense.

“Romulan.”

Her chin tipped sharply, allowing her to cast a sidelong look in his direction, “Romulan? Are you suggesting that they came and killed her?” The Vorta’s head lit up with the first twinges of what was certain to be a brutal headache. Romulan involvement made absolutely no sense. Ravnsson and the Romulans were like oil and water, they refused to work together or pair well at all - and with Maec Tr’Verelan back on Apsha’s throne, it made no sense at all. He would have known. Xue would have told her.

“Nae.”

“No?” She practically panted, “What do you mean no?” These weren’t questions an average doctor would be asking. It didn’t even occur to her that she needed to slow down or risk blowing her cover.

Craigs head shook slowly. “I mean nae. If thay wanted her deid thay wid hae fought her face tae face 'n' made a spectacle oot o' it, something thay could gloat ower 'n' claim she provoked. That's howfur th' Romulans wirk.”

Valeese nodded, stealing another sip of water to soothe her suddenly parched throat, “You’re right.” She acknowledged, her brow furrowing in thought, “But it’s been what? Two weeks? No one’s come forward to claim anything… Why?” Another damning question.

“If I wur a betting jimmy, I'd say that thir's mair pieces tae th' puzzle. Someone kens something 'n' thay kin be waiting sae see howfur th' cards fall 'n' where. Infirmati'n is as valuable as lee itself 'n' juist as precious, Commander.” He replied, running a hand through his dark auburn hair. There were still so many questions to be answered, and not enough answers to go around. It left him feeling antsy and anxious, maybe even just a little bit nervous and a touch paranoid. Rightfully so.
On the other side of the screen, the Vorta was nodding and tugging her robe tighter out of her own feeling of anxious and nervous energy. “Tr’Bak?” She asked, finally daring to look at the Scot headlong.

“Cannae be certain, bit I'd be willing tae say sae. Th' print came back as "Romulan", nae other explanation. Git tae love Starfleet Intelligence.” Craig chuckled a humorless chuckle in response, shaking his head and creaking forward in his chair to rest his elbows on the desk in front of him.

Valeese’s head shook in return, “No, I really don’t have to love them.” She sighed. The statement didn’t need further explanation, and even if he asked she’d refuse him an answer. Somethings were better left private - for now. “Take the print and results to Commander James Archer. He’ll have a better handle on things on that end.” She offered… Or was it an order? It was hard to tell, even for her. “I’d be careful who you share this information with. Lieutenant Shran is a good bet, both of them actually…” And then she sighed, rubbing her temples, “I worry about Commander Dahe’el and his current mental state. The last thing we need is this turning into a goat rodeo.”

“A what?” The burly Scot blustered in surprise. Goat rodeo wasn’t a term he could ever recall hearing, but at the last second he decided it wasn’t worth taking the time to prompt an explanation for. His hand waved as if to erase the question and his head shook, “I wullnae be th' yin haudin' information back fae Dahe'el. He deserves tae ken whit's gaun on 'n' I think he kin handle it. Trust me, I'm peepin' him lik' a hawk.”

“Alright. Good.” Was all she could respond. “You’ll let me know when you figure out the print?”

“Aye, Commander. I will.” Craig nodded in earnest.

“Alright. Then I’ll let you get some sleep.” How she’d be able to get back to sleep herself was a baffling and befuddling mystery - especially when there was so much to sift through and pass along to the Ghost. “I’ll verify the samples when you arrive at Theta.”

Again, Craig nodded, “Thank you, Commander. I knew I could trust ye.”

A slender dark brow arched in mild surprise and she afforded him a more gentle smile, “Yes, well… Good night, Lieutenant. Good work. Stacker, out.”

When the screen once more darkened and faded to the spinning symbol of Starfleet and the Federation, Craig practically crumbled atop his desk. Relief washed over him as much as exhaustion and the knowledge that this was very much only the beginning of what was likely going to be an intense and intensive process.

---

Commander Valeese Stacker
Chief Medical Officer
COLD STATION THETA, SB-1170

Lieutenant Craig MacLeod
Chief Medical Officer
USS VINDICATOR