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Victria

"Nocturnal Speculations, Future Uncertain"

"Nocturnal Speculations, Future Uncertain"

LtCdr Garrison & Lt Victria

 

 

Mark rounded the final corner towards his quarters, each footfall sounding heavier then the last. His shoulders slumped in defeat, and the only thing he could think about was polishing off the last of his whiskey, the only thing that could give him several hours of blissful unconsciousness. An unconsciousness where he didn't have to: account for Romulans on a Federation starship, explain why he threatened to drug Federation citizens, try to remember how many intelligence officers were on board at the moment… oh, and that lovely chat he had with a Republic redshirt about how mentally sound he thought Captain Corizon was.

 

Reaching his door, he entered his command codes, unlocking the door. (Apparently he was also one of the few smart enough to actually lock said door since the arrival of their Republican occupying force.) Walking in, however, he noticed all the tell tale signs that the lock had been bypassed. Nearly three years on this ship, he certainly didn't have to guess who.

 

"Victria," he stated without emotion, simply interested in drawing her out from whatever unseen shadow she was in.

 

"They have been sniffing about, but no one has done searches of crew quarters. Yet." Perched on the back of his couch, she shifted her feet slightly and leaned forward. "I half expected them to swarm the ship in search of contraband, but their force is not as large as it should be. Of course, no one would dare think of mutiny. I suspect everyone is simply glad to be back alive and mostly worried about their careers." Turning her gaze from the floor, she fixed him in her icy stare.

 

"You were interviewed for quite some time," she observed. "Judging from their attitudes, I half expected them to round us all up in cells for the duration of the trip back."

 

Reaching into his secret stash spot, he produced a bottle and glass. Pouring himself a healthy amount, he moved to sit at the smaller loveseat opposite Victria. "Apparently I'm being viewed as something of a prime accomplice in all this..." He paused again, gulping down half the glass before continuing. "… based on the conversation I just had with some lowly command lieutenant. Ten years my junior and he calls me 'sir' as if it's a thread held between his metaphorical scissors." He let out a disgusted snort and finished the rest of the glass.

 

"How could you possibly be to blame? It was Corizon's decision and his plan. Or did they expect you to file an official complaint and hide in your quarters for the entire mission like a coward?" Her attention shifted to his drink for a moment, possibly contemplating a drink of her own. "Or did they take exception to the way our guests were handled? The roughed up freight crew? The dead Romulan? Do they hold you responsible for those?"

 

"Well... all of that actually. The apparent logic is that Corizon can scheme a grand scheme, but it takes a willing crew of participants to make it happen. I conducted the interrogations, shot four federation citizens who are, of course, innocent till proven guilty. I think they're the most pissed about the dead Romulan. Interstellar war and what not." He let out a defeated sigh, pouring himself another. Glancing up at Victria, he noticed her attention momentarily fixed on the bottle, so he motioned it towards her. His career was going up in smoke, might as well share this extremely fine whiskey with a woman that it seemed was nearly impossible to get drunk. There had been more absurd things in the past few days.

 

She shook her head, waving away the offer of the drink. Alcohol was not what she craved and would do nothing to sate her hunger. She met his gaze again. "You are more than welcome to heap as much of the responsibility and blame on my shoulders. I care not. I have no career to protect and do not intend to wait to be punished for something we did as a favor to the Federation." Her fingers dug into the fabric of the couch. "We recovered the weapons, we discovered some of the people involved, and we rescued a stranded intelligence officer. I would say one dead Romulan is a small price to pay for what we accomplished."

 

"As would I," he paused to drink. "However, I don't think many others will. There used to be an era in Starfleet where the ends justified the means, but those cowboy days are long gone. I stand by every one of my actions even if I still don't one hundred percent agree with what we did. Still, it needed to be done. Too many people would have died while our evidence was debated in committee and forum before being presented to the Romulans, who would, of course, deny everything." He quickly took on a sour frown, before finishing off his second glass. "However, should Starfleet require scapegoats, I'm ever ready to perform that duty as well..."

 

One of her eyebrows lifted. "You would willingly let them punish you by stripping away your rank and dumping you some place you had no wish to be, even though you knew what you had done was not wrong? Is that part of the oath you take and the duty you accept when you become a Starfleet officer? Having served with you on this ship and knowing your disposition, I would not think you would simply give up so easily."

 

"I don't intend just to give up. However, I doubt that reason will exist much in the coming days." He began to pour himself another glass, but the prevailing effects of alcohol had began to take hold, and he was soon no longer dispensing into his glass, but rather on the floor.

 

"Damnit..." he trailed off, putting the bottle down, but did nothing more to rectify the situation. Mark had to guess he looked as pathetic as he felt. Truth was, he hadn't felt very motivated as an officer of late. Though now, after this botched mission, as illegal and questionable as it was, it was something worthy to him. Worthy of all the years, the blood, sweat and tears he'd put into his service. It only made sense that he'd be rewarded with court martial, dishonorable discharge, and possible imprisonment.

 

"You though, I doubt you'll get much trouble. It'll only be a matter of time before you're stalking the halls again, intimidating junior officers."

 

Victria continued to frown and then slowly shook her head. "This was never the life I would have chosen for myself, trapped here with my senses slowly dulled from disuse and with no proper source of food. They removed Corizon from the ship. There will be little incentive for me to stay here if they do not allow him to return. My people are fighting for survival and I should be with them. I have stayed only because Corizon made certain promises that would provide them with aid they would otherwise not have. Some of the resources are outside of traditional Starfleet channels. I could tell no one else, much less expect another to fulfill Corizon's clandestine guarantees."

 

"What... what would you do then? Where would you go?" Somehow, Victria leaving the ship seemed a worse fate then being sent to some padded penal colony for an extended amount of time.

 

"I would do what I was created to do. Fight. Kill. Die. It matters not, so long as I am with my people, rising against the oppression the Scorpiad have bestowed upon us for so long. They must suffer for the lives they so carelessly tossed away in the war of their own making. This ship saved my life. Corizon saved my life. I owed a debt and it had more than been repaid."

 

Mark slowly nodded, unsure of what to say. She certainly had every right to do as she pleased, but he still found the thought of her leaving to be unsettling. It was his idiotic luck for falling for women with whom it was impossible to have a relationship.

 

"Well," he stated after some time of staring at his glass, hoping the words would manifest themselves in his drink. "I hope you don't... get killed out there... or anything." They didn't.

 

Her nostrils flared slightly as she caught some of the underlying emotional tones. The harsh lines of her face softened as her furrowed brow smoothed and her frown disappeared. Some unnamed emotion rose to the surface. Pity? Regret? Creeping from the couch, she rounded the table between them and sat down in front of him. Giving comfort was a foreign concept to her. She placed her hand on his knee, feeling awkward in the gesture.

 

"Though no one can foresee the future, I can tell you that if I do leave, it will not be the last time we see each other. I do not intend to lay down my life in a pointless suicidal gesture for my people. If I fight, it will be to survive. I am almost as good at surviving as I am at killing."

 

"That I can believe," he stated with a small smile. "Still, it won't be the same. We won't be able to have these wonderfully awkward chats. Though... you won't be able to parasail me into trees either, so perhaps we'll call it even in the end."

 

"You survived everything," she pointed out. Her eyes shifted to the scars he bore on his neck where she had savaged him. She was almost glad that had happened. It severed their ties and would make leaving easier. The place he had occupied at the back of her consciousness had nearly been erased. There would be no wrenching goodbye. "You survived everything. There are few that could."

 

He smiled at her, staring into her icy blue eyes until the familiar awkwardness again set in. "...It's getting late. I should probably call it a night."

 

"Yes, it is pointless to think of the future that has not yet been written." She rose and looked to the door, then back to him. "The future is uncertain, but the present does not need to be. I would stay if you wish for company."

 

Again he stared at his drink, considering his options for the smallest of moments before looking up at her. "Always."

Edited by Victria

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Really well done, guys.

 

"Nocturnal Speculations, Future Uncertain"

LtCdr Garrison & Lt Victria

 

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Really well done log. Enjoyed it immensely.

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