PLOT - JDL | CDR Valeese, LCDR Stacker | "Figments and Whispers" pt 1/2

Posted on Wed Apr 4th, 2018 @ 8:08pm by Commander Valeese Stacker & Commander James Stacker

Mission: Lacuna
Location: Chief Intelligence Officer's Office | Deck 678 | Cold Station Theta

James was taking another circle of the starchart in his office. It was getting to the point that the holographic projection, which occupied much of the center of the compartment, was being burned into his mind. He could pick out and identify some of the constellations already. A few of the more notable stellar bodies. Even a rogue planet which was going to impact a moon in about twenty millennia. The one thing he didn't have was time - or, for that matter, much stability. He knew that each hour Val was missing was another hour in which the trail of her abductors was growing colder. He also knew, in some distant part of himself, that he should have been able to stay more even-keeled, but he could feel his anxiety clawing at the back of his mind like a ferocious beast determined to break its way out of its cage.

And that worried him. If he couldn't find a way to regain his equilibrium he feared losing her, possibly forever. It was an idea that he privately found quite terrifying in a way that combat had never been able to achieve. And so at that time he sighed, crossing his arms, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers and closing his eyes, wishing desperately for some peace of mind in which he could examine things rationally.

"Criminals like this are almost always in the system already... Petty crimes and small crap when they were young and dumb." She was paler than usual, translucent even, but she sat toying with a maple leaf on the edge of her desk. Her legs, too short to reach the deck beneath them, swung free and childish as she played merrily with the pretty bit of foliage. It spun on its stem in her fingers, "You just have to focus, start thinking with your heart and not that head of yours." Her nose wrinkled, "Head is too cluttered, Slick." While Valeese had disappeared out into the black, the real one at least, the figment seemed to be in good humor.

His fingers came away from his face, snapping and waving an index finger in the air. "That's right. It's not a simple jump into crime like this. Abducting a Starfleet officer isn't something you do on a whim, it's ... it's ... it's something only a career felon would dare consider. And that means a record," he said, rather firmly, as he spun to his computer, sliding it across the desk towards himself. Images flashed on the screen. Cross-matched files. Archived data and the report from the examination of the scene. Even as he looked at them he carried on the very matter-of-fact conversation. "And for the record my head was fine before I met you."

"Now you're getting somewhere... But how to cross reference? How to know what you're looking for?" She asked, spinning around to lay across his desk, supporting herself on her elbows with her chin in her palms. The leaf hung precariously against the perma-pout of her lower lip, "I'll have you know that your head was anything but fine before I showed up. All work and no play makes Jimmy a cranky boy." Valeese chuffed, breaking into an all out Cheshire smile, "But seriously. How do you cross reference through thousands upon thousands of people in the system? Orions, Naussicans, Ferengi... The surveillance shows a Naussican taking me, an Orion taking the Stenellis woman. That only narrows the field a very small percentage, and I've already given you a hint." A PADD skittered away as she flopped onto her back and began to study her nails.

He closed his eyes and thought for a moment, still standing there, leaned over the computer and braced with his arms.
Think. Think James. What's used to cross-reference files for - no. How do we go about identifying individual actors? Voiceprint. No such luck. Imagery. We have a picture, but no positive ID. Tens of thousands of criminal types never get their pictures processed into Starfleet Intelligence databases. Travel databases and patterns-of-life. Didn't come through customs. Don't have an ID yet. So where does that leave me? Oh - oh, wait... His eyes opened again as he turned to study her. Studying her nails. Her fingernails.

"Computer." It beeped at him. "Pull up the abduction file on Commander Valeese. Cross-reference with forensic examination. How many different DNA samples were collected?"

"Forty-one."

"Cross-reference DNA samples with Starfleet medical database. Remove any DNA results belonging to Starfleet personnel listed as currently assigned to Cold Station Theta. New result?"

"Working ... twenty-six."

"How many Nausicaans?"

"One."

"Cross-match DNA profile to photo Alpha Stroke Sierra Alpha Stroke Zero Zero Five. Link both to Starfleet Intelligence and Starfleet Security station databases and begin search of juvenile offender databases. Report result when able." He turned back to her after the computer had acknowledged him. "A fingernail? Really? You couldn't whack him with a crowbar and knock him out for me to find?"

"Sorry. I left the crowbar in my other pants that day." Valeese snorted in response and rolled onto her belly, hooking her fingers over the edge of his desk and dragging herself closer to him. Her legs, bent at the knee, kicked slowly as she peered at him, "I shouldn't need to carry one, you know, besides... I fairly officially redecorated his face. Who knew that Vorta could be so violent?" She snickered, giddily, "That might cause problems... a Vorta with a brain of her own, no bucket-baby calling the shots, a healthy knowledge of science, medicine, a bit of engineering, literature... Oh dear." She sighed, the pout returning and legs stilling with her calves resting against her lab-coat covered buttocks, "The question now really becomes whether or not this is a slight against me as a Vorta or is it all about profit? The Stenellis is a duh. Sex slave. But what are they gonna do with your half-feral Vorta?"

The smile that had been teasing the corners of his mouth was abruptly wiped away. It was far better to think about the elfish-like Vorta raising Cain on her unsuspecting abductors, who would probably learn some invaluable lessons in fairly short order. Logically, however, continuing farther down that path led to speculation about what repercussions her captors would inflict. He had done his level best to avoid thinking about it ... until now. Images of a frozen corpse rotating slowly in space wanted to come to mind. He shoved them down. I refuse to accept that outcome. And if they do ... I'll rip out their hearts, he thought, unaware of the way in which his lip tugged, as if wanting to curl back in cold, cold, anger. One of his hands was flexing, slowly, into and out of a fist. There won't be a single system in the border where they'll be able to hide from me.

Gradually, that dark tide receded from his mind. The room left behind allowed his analytical side to reengage with logical thought. "It's not political. That would imply planning, finance, organization ... a support network. Whomever did this was professional, to be sure. It wasn't amateur hour. At the same time, though, political extremist groups like publicity. They don't shun the spotlight. Kidnapping a Starfleet officer is one of the biggest spotlights you can cast on yourself, and they simply scuttled away. Which means it's likely profit," he affirmed, standing up from the computer, arms back to being crossed, one index finger waving in the air as he spoke.

"Steady on." Valeese tutted her tongue gently and waved him down from the anger bubbling beneath the ghost's cool exterior. "You really do care, don't you?" It felt like a rhetorical question, more than anything, but it still did within reason to ask. The bright amethyst of her eyes glittered in the half lights of his office, tracking his movements with their expressive depths. "You'll stop them... You'll bring me home, not because it's your job, but because need to..." her nose twitched as she put two and two together, "need not because of duty either. Admit it."

James turned to again regard the starchart, arms and hands sliding around his waist to clasp behind his back. His lips were compressed and flattened, while an inner instinct screamed at him to admit the truth. It was not a pleasant sensation; to know the truth and yet be unable to openly admit it. And yet what harm would be done by saying it aloud? Nothing. Everything. My life would be so much easier if she were here, and safe. The thought flitted into and out of his consciousness, gone before he had a chance to dwell. He heaved a slight sigh. "Yes. You're right. I need you here, and not just because of duty."

"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" Her voice was almost sing song, punctuated by a quick hum-like chortle that seemed to indicate both amusement and delight at the fact he was finally being honest with himself. "I mean really... Anyone who could deal with your little locker full of habitual repeat sex offenders that like to blow things up, other than certain dolls..." her nose wrinkled in disgust as she spoke, "is a keeper. You did destroy that uniform and jump into decon, right? Updated your birth control just in case they're one of those species that can cross-species and same gender reproduce with burrowing semen? It's happened. Ever seen a pregnant finger? Not cute. Spoiler alert; you lose the finger." The babbling halted and the vesper of the Vorta picked at her coat sleeve.

She was babbling again. Val does that when she's nervous or overwhelmed. I wonder if she realizes how cute she sounds... "You know I destroyed the uniform and took a turn in decon," he said, without even twitching in her direction. "And yes, my birth control is updated. Hell, it was updated well before we even went to the locker. You know that: do I strike you as the type to let something that important slide for so long?" Now he did turn, regarding her with a quirked eyebrow. There was a light going off somewhere in the back of his mind that he chose to ignore. "I don't want to lose a finger. These hands have seen and done too much to get them pregnant from burrowing semen. But I don't think that's what's bothering you. Is it?"

"I don't know, Jimmy, you tell me." She rolled onto her side, walking her fingers along his desk, "I'm just a stress and caffiene and sleep impinged figment of your imagination here to help you run on in and save the day." Valeese's smile was wide, cartoon-like as she beamed at him in smug glee. "Maybe, deep down, you really are worried that you won't have a sidekick to tackle locker C-18 with in the future? The situation with the kidnapped Stenellis bugs you on a deeper, more personal level than you care to admit?" Her head dropped to cock to one side, those eyes boring into his, "What is it Lassie?! Did Jimmy's feelings coming climbing out of the well?!"

I saw Lassie when I was six, at Aunt Beru's, when we took that trip to Whitescape. I can't believe some figment of my mind is dragging that up. He pursed his lips, buying time, struggling for internal stability and feeling roiled inside. As if he was a very small boat on some vast and turbulent sea. Deny as he might, though, he couldn't deny that it/she had a point. Valeese - Val - did mean something more personal to him. "I think my feelings are clear enough," he finally grated out, hand going back to unconsciously fisting and unfisting itself. "You're right: I am worried that I won't have a sidekick. I'm worried about what she's going through. Last night I spent an hour wondering how she was coping. Was she terrified? Afraid? Losing hope? I'm trained for this sort of thing. She's not!"

He became aware, at that moment, that his voice had escalated into clipped barking at her, and that his hand was fisted so tightly his arm was shaking slightly from the strain. James took a breath, forcing the hand to come undone. "There. Now you know. I'm worried first and foremost about finding her. And I'm also about what comes out of the other side. The same woman I knew, or something different?"

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To Be Continued
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Lieutenant Commander James Stacker
Chief Intelligence Officer
COLD STATION THETA, SB-1170

the figment of Commander Valeese
Chief Medical Offcer
COLD STATION THETA, SB-1170