Victria

Her quarters were completely dark. The only light came from the blurred field of stars outside that passed through the ultraviolet filters on the windows and bathed everything in a muted blue glow. The silence was almost oppressive but it did not bother her. It was not so absolute as some might think. Victria sat cross-legged on the short table that faced the windows and the standard Starfleet issue sofa. Her wrists rested lightly on her knees, fingers just brushing the fabric of the loose pants she wore. Focus turned inward, she slowed her body’s metabolic rate to nearly nothing, silencing the blood that pulsed through her. She would not be able to sustain this state for long without proper preparation. Pale gaze turned toward the stars but unfocused, she began to expand her senses in order to explore her environment. The subharmonic thrum of the ship’s power systems drowned out all other sounds until she filtered it out and continued to search. Just beyond the door of her quarters, two life-forces flared in her mind like two beacons in the night. Guards, her brain registered. They had appeared shortly after Victria had parted ways with Laarell and had stationed themselves on either side of her door. Those two pulsing lives called to her, tugged at the hunger she suppressed. Even through the walls, the scent of their life-forces reached her. She could sense their emotions as well: anxious-curious-wary and bored-preoccupied-antagonistic. They were there because they had been ordered to do so and were not happy with their current assignment. Had it been at the request of the Orion? Were they ordered to keep her from leaving the ship, or were they there for her own protection. Even in her trance-like state, that last thought made her lips curve into a smirk. She passed swiftly on before the tempting pulse of blood made her lose her focus. Continuing to stretch out with her senses, she marked each living crewman in turn but did not linger. There was a finite limit to her perception, but she found that over half of her own deck was open to her before the sounds and scents became too muddled to separate. She could sense those above and below as well, though the thick deck plating obscured most of what she could read. She remained with her senses stretched to the limit for a few minutes, noting the movements of those on her deck. Each had their own unique signature. She could hear the beating of their hearts, feel the pressure it took to push blood through their bodies. As she filtered through those life-forms, she tested their scents as well, savoring each one and comparing them to those she had in her memory. None of them were familiar. A trifle disappointed, Victria quickly withdrew her touch and centered on herself once more, her gaze actively focusing on the windows. Lungs filled with air as she forced herself to take a breath and willed her heart to beat. The silence blanketed her rooms, but she could still hear the two lives of the guards outside her door. She could probably befuddle their minds if she wished in order to escape their attention, but Corizon had explained himself very clearly when they had last spoken. If he thought she posed any sort of threat to his crew, he would deal with her accordingly. Had he no support, she would not have hesitated to test him on his threats, but with the backing of his crew, she was vastly outnumbered. For the moment, she was forced to remain in his good graces, else she would never be allowed any freedom. Unfolding from her cross-legged position on the low table, Victria gracefully rose from her seat and turned for the door. The panels slid open as she neared, startling her new guards. She paused for a moment in the doorway and glanced from one to the other. Neither protested until she stepped out of her quarters. In concert, they turned to block the corridor and halt her passage. She gazed at them, mild annoyance hidden behind her neutral expression. “Am I not allowed to leave my quarters? This is new.” “Orders, ma’am,” said the left. He was short, stocky, and blonde. “Whose orders?” He seemed extremely uncomfortable, fidgeting under her unblinking stare. Anxious-curious-wary. “Orders from Command. That’s all we know. That’s all we need to know.” That grunted out from the right. He was typical tall, dark, and handsome. Bored-preoccupied-antagonistic. “I’m confined to my quarters?” “Well…” Stocky seemed to be the weak link. She turned to peer at him again. “Well?” “We were just told to keep you on the ship. Excalibur is leaving this system.” “Ah, I see.” “You should return to your quarters,” annoyance from Handsome. Annoyed because? He hadn’t wanted her to know she was free to move about the ship? “Without computer access or any other forms of… entertainment,” flashing a toothy smile. “I find my quarters extremely dull. Thank you for your suggestion, but I decline.” Handsome was turning a bit red in the face. Stocky had paled at the mention of entertainment. She threw him another smile, knowing full well the thoughts going through his head. He was partly repulsed by the stories he had heard and partly intrigued, curious as to what she could offer. The conflict of emotions was not new. “Where are you going?” Handsome spoke up, repressing his anger. Victria was impressed at the level of control he displayed. “To the morgue.” “The morgue,” he blinked, then frowned. “To feed?” “The dead hold no nourishment for me. I prefer… the living.” She leaned forward, her gaze traveling to his neck where she could see his pulse. Handsome sputtered and took an involuntary step back, but Victria did not advance. Her expression turned grave. “I was not the only Al-Ucard on the damaged fighter, just the only one that survived. The rest of them are housed in the morgue.” The two security officers shot a glance to each other before Handsome spoke again. “I suppose that is not off limits. We’ll escort you.” “You are more than welcome to.” She gave each one a long, searching look, then turned away and headed for the ship’s internal conveyance. During the ride in the turbolift and subsequent walk to sickbay’s morgue, neither security officer spoke to her. Victria did not mind. She could tell they were uncomfortable remaining in her presence, but would do their duty in spite of their personal feelings. She stared at them and they stared back, but neither party made threatening gestures. Once she reached the morgue with her escort, they remained behind, posted on either side of the sickbay entrance, waiting for her return. The bodies of her fallen crewmates had been kept preserved in stasis. Victria examined the body of the first, but there was little she recognized from the charred remains. Petre, perhaps, or even Wanil. There was nothing she needed to do as his soul had already been released by fire. Seared flesh, brittle bone, and tiny shards of crystal were all that remained of the man’s left arm. With a small sigh, she moved to the next body. When pulled from stasis, this one bled freely as if he had been injured only moments before. Rastin. A skilled Nightstalker. The Lucam will rejoice in your death. Lifting his left arm, she ran her fingers along the skin of the upper region, searching for the mass she knew would be there. Finding it a few inches above the inner curve of his elbow, she made a small incision with one of her long fingernails and withdrew a small crystal vial from the man’s flesh. The vial was no longer than two finger joints, but was very precious to Victria and her people. Sealed inside was a sample of Rastin’s blood, preserved just before he and the rest of the team had disembarked for the fatal battle. Each Al-Ucardian warrior had a similar vial buried beneath their skin. The tradition stemmed from a time when they actively Hunted the changelings through the galaxy. If a warrior perished on an assignment, his or her fellow warriors would remove the vial and return it to Al-Ucard. There it would be delivered to the Archivists who would drink the sample in order to absorb the deceased’s blood-memories. The memories would then be recorded and stored to educate future generations. Such a system was efficient, but not infallible. Records could be destroyed, lost, or recorded incorrectly. The Archivists, themselves, were also endangered by their profession. The presence of countless memories of many different individuals caused some of them to go mad and take their own lives. They were dedicated to their cause, however, and none ever chose the vocation without knowing the risks involved. Victria visited every corpse, collecting intact vials when possible, and replacing each body back into stasis to be cremated by the medical staff. Once they were burned and their souls released, the ashes had no meaning. Blood was what mattered most. When she was done, Victria had recovered only eight small vials. The bloodied crystal vials were now wrapped in a bit of cloth and tucked into her pocket. It was a sad figure considering that the fighter had carried at least three times that number. The unaccounted were either disintegrated during the blast that tore through the ship or had been spaced when the hull breached. Though she doubted that she would be allowed to return to Al-Ucard anytime within the near future, Victria would do whatever it took to see the vials safely back to her home planet. If that were not possible, she would carry them in her own body, buried under the skin of her upper thigh until they could be delivered. Her two guardians joined her once more as she left sickbay. Neither of them spoke, but she could feel their eyes upon her. In the turbolift once again, she lifted her gaze to meet theirs, staring as she waited for them to speak. She could sense the curiosity as they speculated on what she had been doing in the morgue. Perhaps they thought her race too cold and unfeeling to care about the deaths of their own. “I’m sorry for your loss.” Stocky finally spoke, breaking the lengthy silence. “Are you really, or is that just something your kind say when they can’t think of a suitable response?” Victria crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall, peering at him. “Wha… what?” Caught off-guard by such a direct question, he frowned. “Of course I mean it. Those were your people…” “And why do you care? They were the enemy. I was the enemy.” I may still be your enemy. “They were trying to kill you.” Stocky just shook his head, glancing to his friend for help. No luck from Handsome. He was busy glaring at Victria in a not-quite-openly-hostile manner. “They were the enemy, but now they are dead and should not be hated. Yes, they were trying to destroy us and our ship, but that is what happens in war. People fight. People die. We follow orders and wage battles, but that does not mean we created the conflict. Or that we have to like it.” “Well said.” She nodded at the truth of his statement, amazed that a security officer could see things beyond the immediate target. “And I thank you for your condolences.” Turning once the lift doors opened, Victria stepped out and strode through the corridor, heading back to her room. As she reached the door, she paused to glance back to the two officers. They waited a few feet away, ready to take their places outside her quarters once she disappeared inside. “Did either of you wish to join me for a drink?” Though she posed the question to both, her attention was fixed on Stocky. He was the likely candidate. She resisted the impulse to draw him to her with a smile, testing him to see if he would follow of his own accord. He blushed and seemed ready to step forward when Handsome placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. He was still glaring at Victria. “No. We’re on duty. Have a good evening.” Remaining a few moments longer, she finally gave them a nod. “Yes. And you as well,” as she moved through the open doorway alone. Back in her seated position on the low table, Victria peered out at the stars again, this time tracking them as they flashed by her window. In her lap lay a bloodied cloth, eight small vials of blood resting side by side. Her finger trailed over them lightly, making them chime as they rolled into one another. How many more will I have to collect before the war is over? Who will save my own? There were no answers for her in the dark...

Sometime Before… Victria sat back on her heels, nothing more than a shadow among shadows. Her coat flapped about her ankles as the Federation shuttle lifted off the street. Lucky. They were extremely lucky to have made it out of there alive. Already she could sense the movement around the area, other Nightstalkers drawn by the foreign scents of the humans. Her ice-blue gaze followed the craft until it flew beyond the range of her vision, disappearing into the upper atmosphere. She let out a breath she had not realized she was holding, finally dropping her gaze to her surroundings. Several buildings over a pair of eyes appeared, the same color as her own. The two Hunters froze, gaze locked as they scented the other. Victria bared her teeth, a gesture barely seen in the dim light, but it was enough. The other melted back into the shadows and slunk back into darkness. She waited for a few moments, waiting for others to appear, but she could feel none about. Gone to other amusements, it seemed. Rising silently from her crouch, she retraced her steps a few blocks and slipped into one of the myriad of narrow alleys that ran through the Old City. The sharp, metallic scent of blood was strong. Victria’s nostrils flared as she neared the lifeless body that lay against one wall, so newly dead that blood still pumped from the gaping wound. Ignoring the blood and the body, she stepped over to the head that had rolled a few feet away. Grasping it by the hair, she lifted it up for inspection. Madai. They had been lovers once and had known each other for many, many years. Only a few minutes prior, their association had been ended. He had tried to prevent the escape of the Federation officers… so she had eliminated him in true Nightstalker fashion. There had been no time for anything else. Reaching inside his mouth, she ripped his fangs free and pocketed them. She would alert Madai’s patron of his fate, but the fangs she claimed as her own by right. They would be added to the collection she kept of her victims, Lucam and Nightstalker alike. Studying his face one last time, she dropped the severed head and turned on her heel, stalking back in the direction of her safehouse. Though she occasionally heard sounds of the Hunt or the infuriated howls of the Lucam, she met no others as she slipped through the city. As she traveled, her thoughts continued to linger on the departing offworlders, especially the one that had been her captive for a short time. It had surprised her to discover that members of his crew had risked their own lives to rescue him. Nightstalkers were notoriously self-sufficient and usually avoided other Hunters while Hunting in the Old City. Deadly altercations erupted when one strayed into another’s territory. Over the years, Victria had killed as few of her own kind as possible, though she would not hesitate to do so if forced into the situation. Madai had been a prime example. Had he been more skilled, it would have been her blood that spilled that day. It was the way of the Hunter and she felt no remorse for what she had done. It was simply a part of her genetic makeup, courtesy of the Scorpiad. When the Al-Ucard were first created by the Scorpiad, their primary purpose was to ruthlessly Hunt and destroy the changelings. Their thirst was used as a means to control them. Deny an Al-Ucard life-sustaining blood and he (or she) would go into a killing rage, unstoppable against whatever target you unleashed him upon. Let an Al-Ucard gorge after being denied and he would become sedate and compliant. For years, the Scorpiad used the Al-Ucard in such a way, dispatching them to the fringes of their galaxy, annihilating the shapeshifters wherever they could be found. And when it seemed that the changelings had finally been driven to extinction, the Al-Ucard were no longer necessary. Their Scorpiad masters bestowed to them a planet to rule and provided the Lucam to enslave and feed upon, but Al-Ucard reign did not prove to be easy. The need to dominate was ingrained into both species, which lead to century upon century of internal conflict and strife. The Lucam refused to submit and often rebelled. If their rebellion ever succeeded, the Al-Ucard would find themselves enslaved and struggling for dominance. The Scorpiad had once been worshiped as the Creators, but once their direct influence was removed, the religion faded to nothing and was quickly replaced by The Hunt. The Hunt was pure sport; a fatal game of skillful tracking, capture, and execution. Though much of the Al-Ucardian drive to hunt and kill had been muted by years of disuse, there still remained a small portion of the population that specialized in The Hunt. They called themselves the Nightstalkers. Those that distinguished themselves were highly sought after by the ruling houses to provide new slaves and gory entertainment. Victria was one such female. She remembered the first age of Lucam rule when the majority of her people had been enslaved, sustained only by feeding on whatever small animals they could catch. When the Al-Ucard revolted and their rule began anew, Victria dedicated herself to The Hunt, determined to kill any Lucam foolish enough to think himself free. She was savage in her chosen profession, giving no quarter and feeling no remorse for the lives she devoured. Once captured, her chosen prey was never spared – either from slavery or from death. All that had changed when Victria encountered a Lucam that had not been a Lucam at all. Her capture and subsequent release of Ah-Windu Corizon had changed her in ways she still did not understand. It had taken some convincing before she had believed that the Starfleet officer was not one of the enemy. She had never even heard of his Federation (though would soon after) and had believed him to be some sort of Lucam mutation. Once she realized that he was simply a victim of unfortunate circumstances, she had helped him escape from the sector of the Imperial Palace where he had murdered members of the Imperial guard (in self-defense, of course). While they took refuge in the Old City, she had several hours to study him. Why did I help him? He had tried to persuade her to aid in his escape by insisting the situation was her doing, intending to place blame and make her feel guilty. He had assumed that she possessed a conscience. But she hadn’t… not at that point. She supposed that she had helped him because he intrigued her. He was vastly different from those that she hunted in that he had an intelligence and wit that closely matched her own. And though he seemed civilized, she had sensed the feral beast that lay just under the surface. His scent was different from the Lucam. It permeated her safehouse even still, driving her to distraction as she entered her sanctuary. My first close encounter with an offworlder. She tongued one of her fangs absently as she cleaned up the dried blood he’d left behind. And I didn’t even get a taste. Sometime After… The Hunter in her rose to the surface and it was all that Victria could do to keep it from taking over. It was not an urge that could easily be denied. For so long it had ruled her and there had been little reason for her to restrain herself. Now, she found it difficult to conform to another species idea of good behavior. She had been engineered to Hunt and she could not help but see those around her as prey. Though her expression remained smug, she was feeling overwhelmed by her environment. The sleek design of the starship clashed with her personal tastes, having lived among the remains of the Old City for longer than she cared to remember. Though the city had been a maze of streets and alleys, she had every inch of her territory ingrained in her mind. In this maze of drab corridors and utilitarian design, she was totally lost. The only thing that could guide her was her sense of smell, but that, too, was overwhelmed by the presence of so many bodies packed into such confined space. In time she would learn to distinguish those smells, but she did not have enough knowledge of Federation species to do so now. Thankfully, the strongest smell about her was one familiar to her. She threw a sidelong glance at Ah-Windu, trying to read something beyond his closed expression. Along with the natural musk he exuded, she could sense his underlying emotions. Anxious- curious-excited. Muted, but recognizable. Even deeper lay something else. She suppressed a grin once she defined it. Her gaze returned to the closed doors they stood before, assumingly waiting on some type of internal conveyance. “I’m going to need some sort of protection for my eyes. The glare here is distracting. They are light sensitive, better equipped for night. Lucam are nocturnal, as are we, so I have not had much reason to go out during the day. If my things can be salvaged from the fighter, there should be a case of lenses that I normally use for that purpose.” “If not, I’m sure our medical team will be able to replicate something that will suffice.” He turned his head slightly to study her. “I did not think your kind were able to tolerate ultraviolet light.” “Who told you that?” Victria arched a brow, returning his gaze. “We can withstand it if needed. Our eyes, our skin… they aren’t made for the light of the sun. Sunlight is irritating to us, more like an allergy. Continued exposure can lead to some very serious conditions.” “Ah. I see. And garlic?” She gave him a very odd look. “I searched through our database for that when you made a reference to it the last time we met, but found nothing.” “It is a type of plant, an herb used in food dishes. I thought it was toxic to your species.” “A wild assumption considering that I had never heard of it. From what source are you getting these facts?” “Well… humans have several legends about fanged creatures that stalk the night in search of victims to feast upon. They suck the blood of the living, turning them into their own kind. It was said that they could take the form of a bat – that’s a winged mammal – or sometimes mist. They cannot stand garlic and sunlight is fatal to them. Also… you can kill one of them by driving a wooden stake through its heart.” “And these blood-sucking creatures… what are they called?” “Vampires.” “Vampires. And do many people know of these legends?” “I would imagine that most of the humans have heard of them. They were feared at one time as evil monsters.” A slow smile formed upon her lips. “Interesting.”