Dog Eat Dog

[Rochelle Riker 0]

Dog Eat Dog

SD 10303.30

Immediately after the explosion of the shuttle Zeta Jones, on board the Blue Note

 

[NB: this logs fits in right after Rochelle's log, "About Face"]

 

"Come." Thomas Riker sat behind his desk, leaning back in his chair, studying a schematic drawing of the Arcadia provided to him by one of his lieutenants. He looked up as the door to his ready-room slid open to admit the most recent petitioner for his attention.

 

"Ah, welcome home, sweetheart," he said, smiling at the sight of his daughter. Rochelle Riker glided into the room and elegantly folded herself into one of the chairs before her father's desk. "How was your trip?"

 

"Fruitful. Annoying. Just as you'd imagine. My report will be on your desk in an hour. I don't know how you could stand living there."

 

"Sweetie, it's a difference in values. They just don't value the same things we do."

 

"That's a mild way of putting it." Her eyes narrowed as she looked closely at her father. "Especially coming from someone who once numbered himself among 'them.' Tell me, how do things seem to be going from your side of the desk, Daddy?" Rochelle asked pointedly. "Has your crisis of conscience started yet, or were you saving that for my return?"

 

Tom's eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to say, Rochelle? You don't trust your old man anymore?"

 

"Look at me. I'm not her. I live in reality. She may think her daddy is Superman, but mine is just human, and his human flaws are all too apparent, especially under duress."

 

Tom's jaw tightened. After all these years, he should be used to the communicative currency being violence; it seemed like every time, though, he found himself fighting it all over again, needing to nurse his anger to fan it into the flames he used to fight back. He had made the choice, freely, to stay in this world, to stay with his child. And he had hoped to raise that child with the compassion native to his own world, an emotion completely unknown in this one. Rochelle's mother had made that dream impossible. Tom knew he would never forgive himself for trusting her, for unwittingly colluding in the plan that had sealed his daughter's fate and put her far beyond his reach when she needed him the most.

 

By the time they had been reunited, the damage had been well and truly done. Rochelle had survived the violence and the cruelty by making them her own weapons of choice. Now Tom's only choice, if he wanted to remain a part of his daughter's life, was to pick up his own weapons and fight alongside--and occasionally against--her.

 

"Be careful, little girl. You don't want to make Daddy angry."

 

"Oh, yeah, the Gods forbid. What are you going to do, Daddy, spank me and send me to my room? The big, strong captain of the ship. You'll show me who's boss."

 

Thomas shot forward, leaning menacingly over his desk, his eyes narrowed in anger. "You're damn right I'm the boss. Sounds to me like you need a little refresher lesson on the chain of command. You're my second. That means, everyone else takes their orders from you. And you take your orders from me."

 

Rochelle stood, leaning on the desk to bring her face within inches of his own. "You remain the Captain of this ship at my pleasure, Daddy. Tell me again, who it was who, in this very vessel, showed up to get you out of that Cardassian prison they threw you in? Who ran the ship before you did? And who relinquished that command to you out of... some, some comical notion of nostalgia. Remind me exactly what it is that you know about the slave trade--aside from the profits you count up every few weeks. Remind me how you earned the right to sit in this office. Who taught you by example, selling you when you couldn't fight for yourself?"

 

Tom's anger was burning freely. With a roar, Thomas Riker stood and struck his daughter with a backhanded slap, paying out the currency that would buy him the victory in this argument. The force of the blow whipped Rochelle's head around and dropped her to her knees. Seeing her fall to the floor cooled the hottest of his anger; Tom rounded the desk like a shot, reached out to gather her into his arms. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry."

 

"Don't touch me." Rochelle slapped at the hands offering her comfort. She sat back on her heels for a moment, gently probing her teeth with her tongue. He had never hit her that hard before; begrudgingly, she gave him credit for having won the argument. She was lucky he hadn't broken her jaw. Carefully she lifted herself up, sitting in the chair she'd vacated for a moment before managing to stiffen her spine and stand erect before him.

 

Tom stood, too, anxious to reach out to her but refusing to give her another chance to reject him. He hardened his features into a mask of cool superiority. That was how this game was played.

 

"I apologize, Daddy, Captain, for questioning your command." Rochelle's voice had changed completely; Thomas knew that this respectful tone was sincere, if destined to be short-lived. Her life, at that moment, was in his hands; had she been in the Captain's place, she would have had the unlucky insubordinate tidily, and permanently, disposed of. And though Tom knew Rochelle wouldn't believe that he would have her killed, the force of the blow he had given her had apparently reminded her that even he had his limits, and to push him could have dire consequences. Thomas allowed himself the grain of satisfaction that he felt at seeing her humbled this way.

 

"I accept your apology, Rochelle. And I'm doing so at face value--that means, I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt as to your sincerity. I'm sure you won't give me cause to regret that choice."

 

"No, sir."

 

Rochelle had yet to meet her father's eyes; he reached out, took her chin gently in his hand, and raised her face so she had little choice but to do so now. "Go have that cut taken care of," he said gently, nodding toward the trickle of blood seeping from the right corner of her mouth, "and then go get some rest. Your report will wait. And so will your pet, who I assume you brought back with you. And Rochelle--you hold your head high when you step out of this office. You bow to me, but they all bow to you." He indulged himself then, leaned forward and kissed her gently on the forehead. "You're dismissed, sweetheart," he whispered, letting go of her.

 

Rochelle nodded her head respectfully, then turned toward the door. Pausing only long enough to wipe the blood from her face, she held her humiliation tightly inside herself and strode forward wearing her accustomed confidence. She did not deign to speak to anyone on the bridge--certainly not because of any pain in her mouth, but because she was under no obligation to do so.

 

She didn't let her guard down again until she was back in her quarters, with the door locked behind her. She would send for Ziggy later, after she'd repaired this damage, done what she could to prevent any tell-tale bruising.

 

She hadn't expected her father would ever have hit her as soundly as he had; and she knew, despite the violence of this blow, that there was yet more strength in him. She would have to make very, very certain that she was in a position of power before she let him find out just what she had done to put Samantha Riker 'safely' out of commission during this little fishing trip. The twinge of pain she felt as her lips curled up in a smile was worth the feeling of triumph which wriggled faintly inside her.

 

She didn't know why she had such a soft spot when it came to her father. But regardless, the man couldn't live forever. She could afford to humble herself to him and wait for her own turn. The anticipation and the wait would just make the reward that much sweeter, when her time came.

 

Rochelle Riker

Second-in-Command

aboard the independent vessel Blue Note