Flynt
Member
I'm just here for the donuts.
Posts: 222
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Post by Flynt on Nov 30, 2014 20:16:50 GMT
“Table for two,” said the sixty-something man with the receding hairline to the host.
“Would you prefer a window to watch for your second, sir?”
He considered a moment and sighed, “No, thanks, she'll spot me before I spot her anyway.”
“I see, sir. This way,” the host replied as he led him back towards one of the more secluded booths. The Emerald was one of the more upscale, storefront Chinese restaurants in San Francisco. Several of the booths included decorative glass panels separating one another, which lent both an air of class and openness in addition to the privacy they afforded.
“Looks like he knows what's coming as well as I do,” thought the man. “Stick us somewhere out of the way to not disturb everyone else.” He reached the table, took a seat, and asked for a beer. As the host nodded and turned, the man sighed again and slouched his shoulders.
Torvald Henrickson felt defeated. There was no doubt in his mind that she'd be coming to tell him she told him so. And this time, she'd be right. He was so easily fooled this time, and it had cost him almost everything. So he resolved himself to being humiliated, one final time, because he knew she wouldn't let a chance pass to rub it in. “Always was a vindictive bitch,” he muttered as he started to rebuild his normal facade.
“Excuse me, sir? Did you need something else?” The waitress who had just brought his beer, paused at the sound and turned back to look. Henrickson shook his head and attempted a quick apology, which came out half-assed and clearly insincere. She nodded, somehow restraining herself from rolling her eyes, and moved on to her next table. Henrickson immediately put back half the bottle.
“Charming the ladies as usual I see, Tor.”
“Oh you saw all that?”
Adriana Whitlock simply smirked without making a further statement. She enjoyed making it seem that she knew more than she let on. Henrickson had at one time found that an endearing trait.
“Oh. Hmm. Well, have a seat.” Whitlock moved into the booth across from Henrickson, and picked up a menu.
“Did you order already?”
“No, I didn't see the point. Either we would do this quickly, or you'd let me know when you got here.”
Whitlock rolled her eyes behind the menu. “I've been craving their General Tso's chicken for months, so I'm ordering. You can do what you want. You usually do.”
“Why are we here, Adriana? And don't give me one of your facetious answers. There's no audience that's going to be amused by your philosophical wordplay. I'm a busy man, after all.” He tried to carry off his most officious tone at the last part.
She placed the menu down slowly, looked for the waitress, then turned and stared Henrickson in the face. She spoke coolly, “Because we have unfinished business. Because the last year has worn on us both, and because each of us owes the other in some way, and there has to be a reckoning, because I don't intend to leave here with any further debts between us.”
“What do you mean? What could I possibly owe you after all of that nonsense? What...”
Whitlock held up a finger stopping him short. The waitress had arrived. “A plate of pot stickers, General Tso's chicken with white rice on the side, and a scotch and soda.”
“And you sir?” inquired the waitress.
Henrickson fumed at being interrupted. Another thing that she did to him endlessly. “A spring roll.”
“Thanks, I'll get your order in.”
“You're losing your touch, Tor. Used to be you'd have already flirted with a waitress like that twice by now.”
He got red in the face, but held his voice down. “Oh sure, back to the same old act. Do you ever try any new material? Or shouldn't I be surprised that your comebacks are as old as the wrinkles on you face.”
She looked to the ceiling, in a sort of “Lord give me strength,” kind of way. “Look, I didn't come here to be baited by you, any more than you came here to hear me say 'I told you so.' I just wanted...” she sighed and sat back in the booth. “This might be the last time we see each other, so I want to clear the decks of any old baggage that can be cleared.”
“Last time,” was all that he said in response, and confusion clouded his face. He moved to take a drink of his beer, as the waitress appeared with the appetizers and Whitlock's drink.
“Do you need another beer, sir?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. Thanks. Maybe also put in an order of shrimp fried rice.” He hastily added, “With a to go container.” This time, he caught the eye-roll from the waitress.
“What do you mean, last time? You're not...”
“No, I'm not dying. You think after a year in that pit of a station that I'd just wilt after being freed? You used to know me so well.” She sighed before continuing. “Tor, for most of the last 24 years, we tormented each other with barb and quill, trying to get back something we lost or never had with one another. And then...”
“Then we were both taken to that place. Captured and replaced by Terrans.” He responded. “Fooled by one more pretty face.” He stopped in wonder that he found himself admitting his failure. He wondered more when her next statement didn't pile on the admission.
“Yes, we were both taken. Thrown in with a couple dozen others who had also been replaced, to be followed by six dozen more. A small minority group among thousands of political prisoners, hard-core criminals and lunatics.”
She paused to sip her drink. “And what did you do? You went to the warden and told him I was the best doctor in the place. He had me taken out of the general population and sent to what passed for their medical facility. At the time, I didn't know why, but eventually I learned what happened.”
“Who told you?”
She just shook her head, “No one that you knew there. That's beside the point, which is that I know you got me into a safer area of the station, instead of looking out for yourself. So I owe you something for that.”
“It was the chivalrous thing to do. You don't...”
“Stop, please. Just accept the thanks. And I do owe you, somehow.”
“You said earlier, I owe you as well, and that you wanted no debts between us when we leave. How do you figure I owe you?”
“First, because the friend who told me what you did looked after you and kept you safe. He thought that anyone who would give himself up for another, even a vindictive ex-wife, must have some streak of goodness to protect. So he protected you for me, because of me.
“And second?” he asked.
“You'll have to forgive a little haughtiness on my part, but because I had crewmates who gave enough of a damn about me to come find me. And despite the consequences that followed, they rescued you and the others along with me.”
“Fine. So I owe you because you make friends with others and they do things from that friendship? Why not call it even then?”
“Because the two aren't the same.”
He paused and took a few bites of fried rice. “What do you want of me, then?”
“The same thing I asked for last September.”
“The officer exchange program?”
“Yes.”
What happened next surprised Whitlock, as Henrickson pulled out a thin plastiform sheet and unrolled it for her. It was his turn to smirk, “I'll give you this, you never give up on something once you've set your mind to it.”
“And for the third time in 15 months, you surprise me. You might be redeemable after all.” She looked over the approved application, noting the dates and the open space for assignment. “No specific assignment? You sure you don't want to send me to the ass end of the galaxy, Tor?”
“No, because I do owe you. For the reasons you mentioned and more.”
“Don't tell me that Tor Hendrickson is getting sentimental in his midlife?”
“Stuff it, Adriana.”
“That's more like it. Why is there an opening on the blank for my rank?”
“In case you're still planning to take the bridge command exam. Or if you want me to pull a string and just settle that now.”
“Hell no. I told you I don't want to owe you anything after today. This,” she held up the transparent sheet, “is all I wanted before, and is all I expect to be even.” She put down the sheet, and picked up her chopsticks, going after a piece of chicken.
There was a long silence during which you could have heard the collapse of the universe trillions of light years away. That or the sound of dishes being washed in the kitchen.
“Adriana, will you...”
“No, not that.”
“Would you let me finish for once, dammit?”
“Not if you go where it sounded like you were going?”
“Why the hell not? You said you owe me.”
“Because some things, I can't forgive or forget. And honestly, how could anything be different than before? No, Tor. I said this is the end, and I mean it. If nothing else, then that could be your payback. An end to me talking ill of you in private, no more nastygrams on our anniversary, and end to the petty slights. Hell, I'll even start saying nice things about you if you want.”
“Shut up and let me think already,” he grumbled as the waitress arrived with the bill and the plate of fortune cookies. Whitlock spent little time in grabbing the bill and placing her credit chit down. She flipped him a fortune cookie and proceeded to pack his leftovers for him.
He fumbled with the cookie and opened it, hoping for inspiration. What could he possibly ask for that she could give?
“Today is the first day of the rest of your life.”
Lucky # 1 5 22 42 47
“OK, then forgive me anyway. If it's really in the past, then forgive me for what I did.”
“On one condition.”
“Condition? Jesus you're infuriating. What?”
“Don't throw your career away over this.”
“Huh.”
“Silly man. I've got friends, remember. Since coming back from six-four-one, you've been isolated, haven't been to a counselor, haven't been to work. I've been the same way, mind you. But I know I need to work. And you do too. Do yourself a favor. Get out of that office and back to space. You want me to forgive you? Then take a chance at being the doctor you were when we met.”
Henrickson looked at the fortune again.
“Fair enough. I've had enough of office politics anyway. There are some openings in Operation Delta Rising.”
She smiled warmly at him, the kind of smile she had so long reserved for patients needing rest and reassurance, and she stood up to leave. “I forgive you. As my mentor would say, 'Live long and prosper.'”
Henrickson also stood, pocketed his fortune, and paused. He then placed his hands on her shoulders. “I guess I'll see you when I see you.” He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. To his surprise, she reciprocated with a kiss on his cheek.
As he turned away, he said, “Ok, now we're even.” Henrickson raised his shoulders back up, and carried himself proudly out of the restaurant.
“Pompous ass,” she muttered, shaking his head as he walked away.
“Something wrong, ma'am?” asked the host as he walked by. She smiled in return.
“No, just talking to myself.”
“This table seems to have that effect on people. Did you enjoy your meal?”
“Yes. Thank you for the table and the food. I'm so glad you're still open. It was good to eat here again.”
“In that case, I hope you will return soon. Don't forget your fortune cookie.”
Whitlock resisted the urge to laugh, and instead picked up the pastry. Inwardly, she chided herself for even thinking about it. “Ridiculous waste of time, these things. Wonder if it will tell me how 'Two rights don't make a wrong, but three lefts make a right.'”
Cracking open the cookie, and popping a chip into her mouth, she pulled open the paper and read.
“Tie up loose ends while winds are calm.”
Lucky # 8 13 21 34 55
“Wow, right on for once.” She pocketed the fortune and headed out the door into the cool San Francisco evening.
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Flynt
Member
I'm just here for the donuts.
Posts: 222
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Post by Flynt on Dec 30, 2014 1:47:34 GMT
Raal Regional Medical Center, Vulcan
Earth Calendar, December 12, 2413
The passenger shuttle swung gently around the mountain, turning to put the sun to the rear and the Voroth Sea below. As the shuttle approached the landing pad, those passengers who might be swayed were treated to panoramic view of the medical complex and its environs. Situated on a raised and reinforced peninsula, with the mountain rising beyond, the medical center was bathed in the morning light and decorated with an array of foliage on the hillside. Most notable was the display of Vulcan orchids in full bloom. Adriana Whitlock took in the scenery with equal parts awe and comfort.
The flowering scene remained in view as the shuttle gently touched down on the landing pad. She lingered over the view as long as she dared before disembarking into the sunlight. She knew that once inside the medical center, the scenery would give way to the sterile, spartan existence of a hospital.
She began to gather her thoughts for the next stage of her journey as she queued up for ground transportation. Sovan, her friend and mentor, had been hospitalized since the combined Undine assault months ago. Little other information was openly available on his status, so she had decided to see him herself. If nothing else, she could offer her expertise and assistance on his condition, whatever it was. That was the realistic approach.
Don't get your hopes up for a friendly reunion, Ana. If he's up to visitors at all, what you want to discuss might be too stressful.
The words of her mother echoed in her mind as she reached the front of the line.
“Destination please?”
“Critical care unit.”
…
“Greetings Doctor Whitlock. To what do we owe your presence?”
“Doctor Selvok,” she replied with a smile. “How long have you been back in Raal?”
“I regret to say that I returned shortly after your ... counterpart arrived on Avalon. There was a difference, both in your counterpart and the tone of the ship, that I sensed unease. As a position here came open, I made the logical decision to move.”
“Regret, Selvok? That doesn't seem like you.”
“Had I chosen to stay and investigate why you were different, perhaps I might have detected the impostor sooner. At the time, it was sufficient to prove that you were not an Undine infiltrator.”
Whitlock shook her head, “I wouldn't fault your logic, Selvok. From the reports I've read, you had plenty to deal with in those days after the Terran arrived.”
“Indeed. With that said, you have not answered my question.”
Whitlock sighed, “I'm here to visit one of your patients. Sovan.”
Selvok turned his eyes away for a moment before replying. “Then I must offer my regrets again, doctor. Sovan is … unavailable for visitors.”
For probably the hundredth time in the last two months, Adriana Whitlock was caught speechless. Standing stunned, her eyes dropped, staring into nothing while she tried to collect her wits.
“Unavailable? What exactly does that mean?”
“Please, come sit down in my office. I'll explain, and you may assess if my bedside manner has improved.”
Whitlock caught the attempt at humor and chuckled, albeit grimly, before following Selvok into the office.
…
She stood at the stark office door, noting once again how stark this portion of the hall was compared to the other faculty members' offices. Just a name placard and a call button. No office hours, no images, no posters about internships or pharmaceutical companies or “Starfleet wants you.” Even though she'd visited Dr. Sovan's office several times in the past, those were of her accord, as a student needing assistance with an assignment, or an idea needing fleshing out. This was the first time Sovan had requested a meeting. She felt nervous, wondering what she might have done, or rather which of her classmates she might have pissed off. With a deep breath, she tapped on the call button.
“Enter.”
Whitlock crossed the threshold promptly, and stepped up to the desk. “Good aftern--”
“Please have a seat, Ms. Whitlock.”
She frowned at being cut off. He had been doing this to her for four years and she still wasn't happy about it. Still, she decide against starting this meeting off on bad foot, so she sat quietly.
“Ms. Whitlock, I asked you here today to discuss your future. A number of the faculty have shared with me their opinions on your medical aptitude and your practical experience.” Sovan paused long, creating a dramatic effect. Another characteristic that he deployed regularly. “For my colleagues' part, you have performed satisfactorily.” Another dramatic pause, another opportunity to think about interrupting, but she still waited. “I remain unconvinced.”
“Might I ask why, doctor? Because I think I have earned more than a satisfactory rating. My grades and boards aside, my rotations have been exceptional, I've dealt with--”
“Yes, I know. Several emergency situations, including some unorthodox yet successful solutions, one for a Bolian suffering from blood poisoning, another for a half-Klingon, half-human with kidney failure. Your supervising physicians have all been duly impressed.”
She held herself in her seat, “At least there's that. Then what is it.”
“Two things hold you back. First, though you have garnered some acclaim in exophysiology, your exposure remains limited, and thus right now, you remain a generalist with a curious sideline in psychology.”
She frowned, though understandably. “Doctor Denton encouraged me to apply for a surgical internship at San Francisco General. There are few other places on Earth where I can gain that kind of experience.”
“While that is true, a hundred medical schools will be sending candidates for that same posting. You will be one among many, with little opportunity to distinguish yourself from dozens of others.”
Sovan paused again. Whitlock held the pause for a moment as well, then edged forward in her seat as she responded. “And the second limitation?”
“You lack vision for what you can accomplish.”
She fell back into the seat, stunned.
“I see I have achieved the improbable—holding Adriana Whitlock speechless.”
As she watched him, she could swear that she noticed the corner of his lip turn up in a smile. She was tempted to smile in return, but didn't want to break form. Instead, she replied warily. “What do you suggest?”
“I have accepted a teaching fellowship at Starfleet Academy. Beginning next semester, I will teach my usual three course load. I will also carry some additional duties regarding the medical and science curriculum, the depth of which suggest that I will require teaching assistants for my courses. I find your aptitudes suitable for the task.”
“Teaching? Starfleet Academy? I mean, I've considered it once or twice, but why me?”
“I have seen you like to pass on what you've learned, and unlike some who teach to show what they know, you want others to learn. Also, you excel when situations call for diversity and multidimensional thinking. These are skills that Starfleet cadets must learn and hone to succeed in the field, even if they eventually leave and join settlements on far flung colonies.”
She marveled at his words, as if he had intuited many of her own thoughts on the subject. Indeed, she had tried to play some of the same cards when she last discussed Starfleet with her husband, Gabe. She paused further to remember whether her last discussion might have been at home or on campus.
“My wife, T'kael, was not pleased when I decided to join Starfleet. The Romulans had just attacked Narendra Three, and the prospect of war loomed. Still, defending Vulcan by healing Starfleet's finest seemed the logical course of action. She accepted the logic, and persevered my absence until we could be together. First on a starship, then here on Earth.”
“You obviously haven't had Gabe in your classes then, because you'd know he's not easily convinced by logic.”
“No. I do know know your husband, except though my colleagues. My understanding is that he is a good man, and a skilled doctor in his own right. I have also observed you together, and he appears devoted to you regardless of differences you may have. Beyond that, I can make no conclusion as to his psychology or reaction.”
“Pardon me for stating the obvious, but you appear to have given this a great deal of thought. Why do you think I would say yes?”
“You cannot resist a challenge.” This time, the smile was obvious. Was there something more there? Before the thought could slip, he responded.
“I am entitled to choose my own teaching assistants, and I prefer to choose from among students I know and can trust. As I do not know any current cadets, I choose you, and a few others. Let me know of your decision by the end of the week. That will be all.”
Whitlock stood and started towards the door. As it opened, she turned. “Thank you for the offer, doctor. I'll be sure to let you know soon.”
From his chair, he nodded and replied, “Live long and prosper, Doctor Whitlock.”
…
“Doctor Whitlock?”
Whitlock snapped out of her reverie, pulling her focus back from the orchid-covered hill to the voice of her former colleague, Selvok. How long had she been daydreaming? She tried to judge from the sun's position but failed.
“Yes, Selvok?”
“T'Kael is here and will see you now.”
Whitlock sighed and put on a smile. She was not looking forward to this.
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Flynt
Member
I'm just here for the donuts.
Posts: 222
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Post by Flynt on Jan 3, 2015 21:53:46 GMT
She tried desperately to remember how and when it happened.
Good God, lady. You really blocked it out well, didn't you? Serves you right, homewrecker.
Not for the last time in her time on Vulcan did she abuse herself mentally for her own selfishness.
Leave well enough alone, like you should have done before. Why dredge up the ghosts of the past for others who have moved ahead, just because you can't? Or do you need to follow through on this since you're already here. In for a penny, in for a pound.
She banged her head against the wall once, then paused to take several deep breaths. The door opened catching her mid-inhale on the last. Sovan's youngest grandson, Vatek, appeared, looking puzzled when he spotted her standing and facing the wall.
“Are you well, Doctor?” Asked Vatek. “I heard what sounded like your head on the wall, and believed you might have fainted. Since you have eaten very little in your time here, I expect that your blood glucose levels must be dangerously low at this time. Therefore, I have brought you replicated orange juice.”
She watched him place the juice on the desk calmly. Then she looked in his eyes and smiled in gratitude. “Thank you, Vatek. You're probably right about the glucose, but what you heard was my own frustration.”
“I am unclear as to how frustration may manifest itself as an impact with the wall, so perhaps you...” Whitlock stopped him with a raised hand, then pointed to the patch of red on her forehead. “So, you hit the wall intentionally? Were you frustrated with the wall?”
She smirked and shook her head, “No kid, I got angry with myself and what I had been thinking at the time. I had hoped the impact would give me something else to think about for a while.”
“I believe I understand your logic, doctor. If you do not object, I would like to speak with my instructors about this to gain further insight.”
She chuckled. “Sure, Vatek, go ahead. Your grandfather always used to say, 'Explore every corner of each learning moment.'”
Vatek nodded before departing, “I remember that phrase as well. Thank you doctor.”
“Good kid,” she muttered to herself as she sat at the desk. She activated the workstation and reached for the glass of juice. “Every corner...”
….
“...of each learning moment, and each day is replete with such moments. Particularly your moments of doubt and indecision, your moments of action and inaction, your successes and your failures. Learning from these experiences will guide your path as Starfleet physicians more than texts, papers, symposia, or even myself.”
The assembled crowd laughed at the last remark, to which Sovan raised an eyebrow, followed by a nod and a smile of gratitude. The auditorium applauded and Sovan stepped off the dais and exited stage left.
“Your comedic timing is definitely improving, Doctor,” said the young woman who greeted him and followed him off to the back door.
“I simply applied self-deprecation as an element of wit to produce a moment of relaxation that will reinforce the content. The audience's sense of humor was sufficient to produce the desired effect.”
Whitlock sighed, “And back into clinical mode, right on schedule.”
“I have no set time table for the rational discussion of actions and outcomes, no more than you have a schedule for the application of sarcasm.”
“So it's going to be like that?” “It is how it is.” The two continued walking, through the backstage door and out into the corridor.
“Speaking of how it is, we have exactly 12 minutes before the shuttle leaves for Earth Spacedock. The Catalonia's XO send me three messages while you were speaking to the recruits. If you weren't the CMO for the ground team, they would have left an hour ago to meet up with the Enterprise.”
“You explained to them about the duty of commitment?”
“Not at all. The Academy Commandant did. His aide informed me each time, and I promised we would make the shuttle on time. It's a good thing you ended when you did. You were getting on one of your philosophical rolls.”
Sovan paused his stride a moment, though Whitlock continued walking. “I am curious then, how would you have kept your promise had I spoken too long?”
“Thrown lirpa blunt to the base of your skull,” she replied as she stepped into the turbolift.
“A very dangerous, non-traditional maneuver, and a potentially chaotic action in a crowded room. I doubt you could do it.”
“Just because you've never seen me do it, doesn't mean I haven't practiced on my own. Are you coming, or am I going to Betazed without you?”
“I seem to have underestimated you, doctor. I was not aware you were this ruthless when it came to accomplishing an assignment,” he remarked on entering the lift.
“Bullshit. You like me because I'm this ruthless.” As the lift door closed, she reached for his uniform shirt, and drew him close.
….
“I do not blame you, Doctor. Not anymore.”
“That's... generous, T'Kael. I'm not sure what I did to deserve forgiveness.”
“While on Earth, I studied your culture's philosophical texts. One statement in particular struck me as more universal, and always stayed with me. 'To err is human. To forgive, divine.'”
Whitlock paused a moment, “Alexander Pope.”
“Indeed. In this case, to err is also vulcan; therefore, to forgive is logical. You were both wrong at the time, and I know that you both suffered, though I did not specifically wish for that.”
“Really? I need not point out that human women can be consumed by rage when their mate is disloyal.”
“No, you need not. As I understand it, you experienced said emotions yourself after your second marriage. You may be surprised that I also experienced those emotions as well. However, circumstances and logic dictated that I put those emotions aside.”
Whitlock looked at T'Kael, impressed. “I should be able to deduce, but why?”
“For the child, of course. A half-Vulcan child still has numerous challenges on our world. Making her an outcast among her own family would serve the future very poorly. She was Sovan's child, and a daughter. Though you didn't intend it, your child filled a void in our family. I could not accept responsibility for her without forgiving you in turn and in time.”
Whitlock bowed her head. “Thank you. I don't know what to say, except that I'm sorry I didn't think to speak with you like this sooner.”
“If I may, I think your decision to remain at a distance from Sovan and T'Lara was selfish and to no one's benefit.”
Whitlock sighed. “I'm sorry. Wait. Selfish?”
T'Kael responded in the typical, matter-of-fact style Vulcans cultivate. “Correct. While your own marriage had dissolved, and you lost opportunities for career advancement, you chose to punish yourself further for your infidelity by hiding in your work. As a psychologist, you should understand the importance of forgiving yourself.”
Whitlock looked askance at T'Kael. “That sounds like...” “Yes, that was Sovan's opinion, one that he shared with me in a meld not long ago. I know that he tried to tell you that the last time you spoke, but you were obstinate and disconnected your call.”
“I wasn't ready for forgiveness then.”
“Are you now?”
“I have to be. I was given a second chance. So I'm willing to accept whatever response will come and let things be what they are.”
For several minutes after, neither woman spoke. They both stared out the window towards the sea. At last, Whitlock spoke.
“Thank you, T'Kael, for your wisdom and your courage, your hospitality, and most of all for raising T'Lara. Please let me know if I can be of any help with Sovan when the time comes.”
“Of course, doctor. Should the opportunity arise, I will let Sovan know that you were here.” T'Kael silently moved to the door of the room, and paused at the threshold. “Thank you for T'Lara. Do you have a message for our daughter?”
Our daughter. The words rang in Whitlock's ears. She paused long before she replied simply. “Live long and prosper.”
T'Kael nodded, and turned to leave. As the door closed, Whitlock thought she heard a small sigh. Whether a sigh of relief or disgust, or maybe sadness, she'd never know. She would torture herself about it all the way back to Vulcan orbit.
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Flynt
Member
I'm just here for the donuts.
Posts: 222
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Post by Flynt on Apr 24, 2015 4:18:41 GMT
Adriana Whitlock attempted, for the third time this night, to relax enough to fall asleep. "Damn BOP beds." So far, the beds were her only complaint about the I.K.S. bIp Ho'. She was finding it refreshing to be among a small, familiar crew working and living in close quarters. So much of her career on starships had been on ships with 300, 500, a thousand, or even more crew.
However, sleep was eluding her on the Hegh'ta class ship. She was beginning to develop a theory as to why.
"Maybe one more chapter, that ought to give me some peace." She picked up her PADD and kept reading, hoping the struggles of a fictional teen wizard would help her forget about reality for a while. After polishing off a chapter and a half, she finally closed her eyes and slept.
---
She was awakened by a deafening explosion and shattering of glass. After a moment, she heard the sirens and looked around.
Where am I? What the hell's going on?
She struggled to sit up and felt a tightness in her belly and soreness in her back and legs. Come on. Screw the fatigue move it.
She managed to get herself up and looked around again, when she heard screaming coming from two directions, even as more explosions could be heard.
"AAAAAAAA"
Next room. Got it.
She managed to stand and brace herself against the shaking walls to move to the next room. She noticed nurses and attendants running all across the ward, helping to move any patients that weren't able to move. Several people were running into the isolation room at the end of the hall.
"DAMMIT ED WHERE ARE YOU?"
Wow, this one is pissed. "You're gonna be ok, just hold on a second."
Dr. Whitlock entered the room to find the woman on the floor, bracing her back against the wall, and trying set the mattress and pillows around her as a barricade. Given that the woman was also in labor, Whitlock thought she was doing pretty well.
"How far apart are your contractions, miss?"
"Five minutes, but they only...just started. Are you a doctor?"
"Yes, I am. I'm Doctor Whitlock, and I'm going to get you two throw whatever this is. Just focus on me, and not the chaos."
"Which chaos?"
"Eight centimeters. Well, the chaos outside. You on the other hand are cruising right along."
"Right. Why are you dressed like a patient?"
"Oh, because I gave birth yesterday. Here grab my hand."
The woman reached for Dr. Whitlock's hand and in moments was gripping it tightly as she experienced another contraction.
After that, the two continued their conversation, but somehow Whitlock couldn't hear it over what seemed an endless stream explosions. It seemed all of San Francisco was rocking, the hospital was still holding together. The two continued talking, at least that's what she remembered had happened. Before long, the baby's head was crowning, she was encouraging the woman through the delivery. In a what seemed a few moments, she was handing a darling baby boy to the mother, who had already started calling him "Jason."
A nurse eventually ran into the room. "Mrs. Hunter? Mrs. Whitlock? Thank goodness we found you."
Whitlock blinked before retorting. "Maybe you could have found us sooner. Now that you're here, let's get Mrs. Hunter and her baby someplace safe." The nurse ran off, then returned quickly with a wheelchair. The doctor held young Jason Hunter while the nurse helped his mother to the chair. "You're gonna have a heck of a story someday, kid," she said as she handed him back to Mrs. Hunter.
The first nurse quickly wheeled the pair to the turbolift as an orderly arrived with another chair for the doctor. Whitlock allowed herself to collapse into it readily. "Just take me to my baby."
---
Adriana stirred from sleep, looking about at the dim red lighting in her room aboard the bIp Ho'. She sighed and muttered something in the pidgin Klingon she used when she wanted to look like she didn't know better. If anyone were listening, they might have heard either a curse towards the demons of the night or an order for teriyaki style gladst. Either way, she knew her night of sleep was done. She sat up, back against the wall, and began reading again.
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Flynt
Member
I'm just here for the donuts.
Posts: 222
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Post by Flynt on Nov 15, 2015 6:11:35 GMT
Risa 60 days post-bellum
She arrived at the front desk of the Risian resort and registered as simply, "Adriana Whitlock." Not "doctor." Not "commander." No affiliation. No attribution to where she'd been last week, let alone during or before the war. She even had dyed her hair auburn to throw off anyone who might spot her by her familiar white mane.
For the next month, or however long she could stand it, she was going to be an anonymous vacationing civilian. Another of the thousands of fools who were celebrating their lives not being extinguished by the Iconians. Not that many of those who arrived on her transport acted grateful to those who had actually done the dirty work. She counted no fewer than 16 passengers on her transport, of a contingent of 60, who griped in various degrees about the inconveniences that they endured during the war.
"Oh, I thought the Starfleet recruitment pitches would never end."
"I know. The planet was on 'high alert' so many times with nothing happening, I started calling Quinn and Okeg the Chicken Little twins."
"And all the security procedures they enacted were so unnecessary. Why bother scanning cargo and shuttles when the Iconians were supposed to bombard everything from space? Meanwhile, Starfleet's got those scheming Romulans and the barbaric Klingons walking around acting ..."
That one had been particularly hard to hear. Luckily for him, she fortunately made it out of earshot from that fellow before he could get really detailed. Idiots, she thought. Brought to the brink of extermination, saved by the unity of the quadrant, and what do they do? Go right back to being biased, self-absorbed fools who don't have a clue as to real sacrifice. If they only knew...
Whitlock stopped her line of thought, paused to look around, and noticed she'd walked not to her room, but to the bar. Now who's self-absorbed? She shrugged and sighed, and walked up to the bar anyway. "Tulaberry daquiri, please," she requested with a smile, and then leaned against the bar, trying to look relaxed and casual, and hoping that looking that way might actually lead to feeling so. She felt like she was failing at both, but figured the alcohol would help.
Nope. For the next month or thereabouts, she was going to do her best to forget the past, forget the present, and avoid thinking about the future. And why should she? Her activities during the war had earned her some time away from responsibility. Who was she to argue with two of the three powers of the Beta Quadrant?
She picked up her drink from the bar, and gave a sip. She beamed a smile at the tall, blonde and muscular bartender, practically squealed a note of thanks, and walked off to the landing overlooking the dance floor. Easy there girl. Don't go over the top on the first day. But it does taste gooood. Far better than the swill on that...
She caught herself again, and she chided herself for slipping up. Shaking her head, she took another sip and stared off to the horizon. Hovering above a distant reef, she spotted a pair of birds swooping at each other. She wondered if it were a mating ritual or a competition over a feeding spot. It was hard to tell from this distance. Still, the view was mesmerizing.
She absently took a sip of the drink, blinked, and noticed a change. Only one bird was visible now, and it was flying in the direction of the resort. Soaring actually, as the wings didn't move from their positions. Natural flight in its most magnificent and artistic form. As the bird came in closer, she could see the markings more clearly. Overall, a greenish hue, dark green at the wing tips blending up to blue towards the head, which was crowned with a blue crest. Curiously, the bird continued to soar towards the resort, and seemingly towards her.
It was then that the second bird returned. From an angle and direction high above, a bright green bird with a red head swooped down upon its rival, the result being that both tumbled into the sea just beyond the surf race finish line. She wondered for a minute about walking out to see their conditions, looked around to see if anyone else noted the splashdown, let alone the avian conflict. It appeared that no one else had, so she took another sip of her drink and wandered out to the far landing.
As she walked up the path, there came a ruckus of splashing, followed by the sight of wings rising slowly in two different directions, each dripping wet. She smiled, pleased that both appeared no worse for wear and were headed back to their respective corners. Relaxing enough to lean against the rail of the landing, she slowly finished her drink and gazed back towards the jungle.
Yes, she thought, this might be the kind of place to let go of the last six months. Maybe more than that.
A server happened by with an empty tray, "Would you like me to take that, Miss Whitlock?" She smiled and blushed, and nodded her appreciation in doing so. The server took the glass and smiled in return, before moving off to the next patron. Whitlock watched the server for a few moments before turning her attention to the return path to her room. She took a few steps along the way before she was blocked.
Standing before her, a rather ruffled looking bird with green wings and a red head, looked up at her. In its beak, the bird held the blue tuft feathers from another bird's crest. It then spat the feathers out at Whitlock's feet, then extended its wings and flew off.
The server walked up behind her, and gasped in amazement. The gasp made her jump. "You must have a way with birds, Miss Whitlock. I've never seen anything like that before. What was that?"
She frowned and tried to steady her response. She looked to the side where the server was standing, and she deadpanned, "Symbolism."
With that, she walked back to her room, realizing along the way that forgetting the past was not going to be as easy here as she thought.
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Flynt
Member
I'm just here for the donuts.
Posts: 222
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Post by Flynt on Nov 29, 2015 22:25:21 GMT
Two weeks.
She'd been on Risa for two weeks and she was still struggling to rest. She'd tried mountain climbing, scuba diving, hang gliding, hover-surfing, even dancing. The exercise tired her body, but her mind was still rushing. Still on the edge of fight or flight.
Still convinced she needed to inspect the back of anyone's neck before trusting them.
Not that she acted on that impulse. She did her best to practice solitude as much as possible. Aside from the trust issue, she felt she'd have fewer questions to answer if she avoided the usual public fora for casual banter. She didn't want the temptation to talk about what she couldn't discuss.
Of course, she knew that's exactly what she needed--to talk about the destruction, the chaos, the fear. She needed to explain what it meant to be the agent of all of these, acting in the name of a government other than her own.
What it meant to kill the infected. With surgical precision when possible. With photon torpedoes when not. What it would mean for two governments if she revealed any of her actions.
"I'd talk to the air if I thought it'd help," she finally said. She surprised herself by speaking out, then surprised herself again by waiting for an answer.
Haunted. That's the word for it. A life full of ghosts. So screw it!
She put on a tropical shirt and some shorts, and decided to go down to the bar for a while.
***
Twelve hours and thirty-four minutes later, she and a new friend stumbled back into her room, singing and laughing about the foibles of humans and Klingons. Someone called an imaginary toast to the nobility of galactic justice and the thousand personal injustices created to accomplish the former.
"To cosmic irony," came the return call, as both parties collapsed, Whitlock managing to find her bed, while her companion fell somewhere short of the target.
"I see I've come at a bad time."
Whitlock lifted her head off the bed and looked to the shadowed figure in the room. "You got that right. Call during business hours. Like after the apocalypse."
"Doctor, you are needed, now," came the response, as the figure emerged from the shadow into a beam of moonlight.
Whitlock looked up again. "YOU? You've got to be kidding."
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