DL | CDR Valeese, LCDR Stacker | "Figments and Whispers (Redux)"

Posted on Fri Jun 8th, 2018 @ 2:49am by Commander James Stacker & Commander Valeese Stacker

Mission: Lacuna
Location: Guest Quarters | USS Campbeltown | In Deep Space
Timeline: SD 241806.07

As a senior officer, the Lieutenant Commander rated quarters that were 'unassigned,' which was a polite way of saying that the other occupants of the room had been relocated in order to give him a compartment to himself. It was a courtesy that would only exist for the duration of this mission: he was fine with that. Or he had been fine with it. He had thought the silence would allow his tired mind, ground down by sleepless hours alternating with periods of wakefulness, and bursts of intense activity, to sleep before the mission began. Unfortunately it seemed his mind did not agree. And so there he lay, staring at the bottom of the bunk over his with the lights turned down while the Campbeltown strode silently through space like some wrathful and shrouded demon.

"So close." The figment's voice was a whisper, the embodiment of it nothing more than a flashing speck of star-like glitter against the bunk bottom above him. It pulsed with each word, growing brighter, larger, "Just a couple hours more and then... Success." it breathed, that spark of filament slowly turning purple as it began to manifest in the image of a certain Vorta. Ghostly, pale, nothing more than mist and sparkling eyes, but she was there and peering back at him with a Cheshire smile, "Or failure. I can feel your fear of failu--- No, you fear what you're going to find when you get there. The fact you even manage to find me is the antithesis of failure."

He didn't say anything, instead closing his eyes and breathing deep. Yes, that thought was never far from his mind, for the fear of never finding her had turned to a 'what if?' in the time between the discovery of the auction site and when he had boarded the ship. He couldn't put a finger on when, precisely, it had happened: all he knew is that he'd looked into the mirror and found himself haunted by the thought. Which chilled him far more than it had any right to do. All his worst fears vied to bubble up to the surface, and it had been a constant fight to tamp them down, for with his position came access to certain documents. Ones which shed considerable insight into the slave trade in outlying sectors. The depravities out here ran deep: the law had been absent for far too long, civilization too far away to bring such things to an end.

"If they've hurt you, I'll rip them apart and hound them to hell itself," he said, finally, corner of his lip turning to a snarl as he channeled that fear to rage. He could only do it for so long, now, and so the feeling quickly receded as fast as it had come. But some distant part of him knew full well that there would be enough ammunition, later on, to sustain that particular fire.

"If they've hurt me, it's not your fault." the figment snorted softly, "It's because they've been allowed to operate unchecked for far too long, but they've bitten off more than they can chew now by grabbing two Starfleet officers." She watched him, mainly the way the vein at his temple throbbed and the way his jaw set. She could see the color of his skin flicker as his blood rose to the surface, "Fortune favors the bold. sure, but play stupid games..." The figment shrugged, "win stupid prizes."

That was something else that had been bothering him, throughout. Did they really believe Starfleet wouldn't involve itself? His eyes reopened, head turning to the side to look across the room at his darkened computer, but before he could say anything that fresh peal of emotion came back to him. The one that consumed him above all else. "No, it is my fault," he said, unwilling to look at 'her.' "The station represents a threat to the way of life that's been permitted to exist out here for so long. I should've realized that the frontier was going to fight back. That they were going to fight back. I was so confident that I could keep you - keep everyone - safe that I thought each day was going to be like the next. I'd wake up next to you, and our life would go on and on and on."

"It was arrogance on my part."

Another shrug came in a shimmering flash of lilac light, "Maybe, but I think there's something deeper than all that at play. I mean really. You're one man. One officer. They knew that the frontier was fighting back when Admiral Red was attacked." She was quiet, though her voice seemed to bubble like an untamed brook - vivacious, animated, alive. "Who in their right mind would have thought that a Stenellis and a Vorta would be taken? So random." A soft snort punctuated the verbalization of her, his, thoughts, "I think we've established that these criminals are freshmen trying to strike big and fast for a name and a high score. No ransom request shows they're not interested in bargaining with the Federation. It's street cred and you're about to take back more than a few blocks." There was a shivering of that light as she wrapped her arms around herself, "Either way, not your fault."

"Maybe." It was the farthest he was willing to go in disputing this figment of his mind. The one that portrayed itself as her. Rationally he knew it should not be, but he knew there was a reason for it. Exhaustion, stress, who knew? Whatever aspect of himself it was, though, at the end of the day he knew deep inside that the station was supposed to be a bastion, and kidnappings - even random ones - weren't supposed to happen in bastions of civilization out on the frontier.

The trouble in his mind resurfaced again as his emotions veered once more, like an ancient sailing vessel caught in a baffling and constantly-shifting wind. Freshmen criminals. What would they do to her? They'll want to keep her alive and unspoiled, in order to fetch the best price, he thought as he studied her face. Drugs? No, her system would fight them off. Psychosomatic conditioning? Not enough time. What. Whatwhatwhatwhatwhat? The lines on his face deepened as he felt the fear sharpening deep inside.

"That all depends on whether or not I cooperate." With yet another shrug, the answer came to his unvoiced thoughts, "If I go along with the flow, life will probably be relatively peachy. Fight and it could get ugly. Whatever it is, there's loyalty to the Stenellian Ascendancy to keep in mind. Means the Stenellis has to be protected - can't have her being hurt because then there'd probably by a bigger punishment later on. You remember how the Empress came waltzing into your neck of the woods..." A small pause, a tilt of her ghostly head, and Valeese tapped her lower lip with narrowed eyes, "Then again it could be that the Empress values both equally but can't let that be known to the average Spook who may or may not be aware of what his spring fling's up to behind closed doors."

He knew his mind was racing when it started speculating about the Empress' motives. After all, it did share at least something in common with 'her.' "You're more of a scrapper than the type to roll over and acquiesce," he admitted as his hands massaged tired muscles in his face. "I think we both know what that means. Payday or no, if you aggravate them enough I may find -" He stopped there, unwilling and unable to voice his deepest fear. That she would be little more than a pulp that had been eventually overwhelmed, even while resisting. James' throat worked as he swallowed, finding his voice again. It sounded a little muffled, speaking as he was through his palms. "I think your loyalty and sense of duty will be preeminent. And I can lay here all day and speculate on how they might curb your resistance in such a way as to leave you otherwise 'intact.'" At least five drugs came to mind immediately. With some research he might - would - find more. But that was a door he was particularly reluctant to open.

"Vorta. Drugs no workie. At least none that we know of... Yet." She scoffed, "Most modern medications are rebuffed. We just don't do toxins so there's nothing really to worry about there... Yet." Valeese's bright eyes of starlight blinked and wrinkled when they re-opened, suggesting that she was in deep, profound thought, "What does work, sort of, is adrenaline. Might take a bit to regenerate badly damaged tissue, but bruises can be handled with makeup as they work their way out. Could be a real awful game of playing chicken with the reaper - but who would do that?" Her lip curled in disgust at the simple thought and she peered sidelong at him from where her ghostly visage remained perched. "And why... I guess I better play my cards right. We're dealing with monsters, not men. Angered enough and they'll make what that Betazoid did look like child's play."

His response was little more than a grunt, but it was there as the hands retreated. Leaving him free to examine her face, had he chosen to do so. At this point, however, he knew it so well that there was little need to open his eyes. He folded his hands across his chest, fighting an urge to get up and pace the small compartment. To do something other than lay there, on the eve of the rescue mission. "I guess that means I'll have to put them down fast, and hard," he eventually replied, in tones that were far steadier than what he felt inside. "Move quick enough and they won't have opportunity to exact revenge, or endanger you or the Stenellis."

"Love does the damnedest things to people doesn't it?" She asked, her voice a glimmering, gauzy whisper. "For something considered to be nothing more than a quick surge of chemicals and endorphins that confuse the brain and heart and... You get the idea... It's actually remarkable." The whisper of her fingers traced cold along his eyebrows, smoothing them as she dared to touch him, and why wouldn't she? Even as a figment it was painfully obvious that he was hers, and vice versa, whether they truly accepted it or not. "I promise you that the story gets better so long as you don't do anything stupid. Keep yourself level, James, you make a mistake in close quarters and it may not be one you'll forgive yourself for."

"All too true," he said, with a pleased little smile working its way around the corners of his mouth. It may have been only an illusion of her, some phantom conjured up by his mind, but even he had to admit the tactile sensation was a pleasant one. He lay there as sleep teased his mind, making a pleased-sounding murmur. "I don't plan on doing anything stupid, either. Living to a ripe old age has a certain appeal right now." One eye cracked open, if only a little. There was no reply. The eye closed again. Only a few minutes later he was asleep.

=/\=

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

The Figment of Commander Valeese
Chief Medical Officer
COLD STATION THETA, SB-1170