Board Thread:Archive/@comment-24866242-20140611012241

Naomi posted March 23, 2003 10:44 PM

She felt like she had almost been beaten. Almost. There was still a spark of hope that stubbornly refused to die. Maybe it was her hatred of the woman on the other side of the bars that kept that hot little coal burning. Or it might have been the thought that the one who put her here was still out there somewhere. Whatever it was, it was enough to put a touch of defiance into the glare she gave the woman outside.

Infuriatingly, the other woman gave no sign of noticing it, although she noticed everything else. She was a jailor and her jailor’s eyes watched her prisoner’s every movement, but if the hatred in that prisoner’s eyes mattered at all it just served to show how dangerous it was to even keep the wretched thing alive. To the woman outside the bars she was nothing more than an animal that should have been put down long ago. The risk of keeping this prisoner alive was too great.

A steel cage had been the prisoner’s home for the last eight months. She had not left it once since she had first been deposited there. Meals were brought twice a day and served without utensils. Bathing was a weekly ritual that consisted of a handful of powder thrown through the bars and a hose. There were four guards that rotated in once every six hours. She assumed they were punctual. Only one was ever in the space between the cage and the walls at any time, but there were ever-watchful cameras covering every inch of the room.

For the first few months there had been a psychiatrist. He had come for an hour a day for three months and had talked to her from the other side of the bars. She had never talked back. After a time he had cut his visits down to three times a week. Then to once a week. Then the visits had stopped. Since then it had just been her and her guards.

Since then nothing had changed. Only the weekly washing broke the same daily routine.

Until now.

The door in the outer wall opened. She knew it wasn’t time for a shift change yet. She had been fed only an hour before. Two unfamiliar armed guards entered, carrying rifles. One of them carried a set of keys. The other, a set of shackles. She watched this dumbly, not sure just what it meant, as they opened the door to the cage. Once the door was opened, the guard with the shackles handed his rifle off to his partner and advanced in to the cage. As he approached, she considered what to do… If the shackles went on it meant that she was leaving the cage for the first time in eight months. Even so, she hated the idea of cooperating.

So she fought. It wasn’t much of a fight. The guard was experienced in subduing prisoners. The guards outside just watched, not bringing their weapons to bear. They couldn’t have fired if they wanted to, with their companion so close, and it was clear that she wasn’t up to the task anyway. She did manage to rake a gash across the man’s neck with her ragged fingernails, however, and she took great satisfaction in his cursing as he pushed her out of the cage in front of him. In the mirrored walls she could see the blood dripping on his uniform behind her.

Before the outer door opened again the female guard stopped them and examined the man’s neck. “Get that checked as soon as you hand her off, Teph. It’s likely to get infected.”

The man nodded grimly as the other man opened the door and stepped back. “And see they do something about those fingernails of hers! I’m surprised she hasn’t thought to open her own wrists with them,” she called after them as the three of them walked out.

The door closed.

The guards prodded her along. The last time she had been in this hall, she had been in a state of shock, similarly shackled and being prodded to go the other way. Now she was leaving and she had no idea why. There were no doors, except the ones at either end. The walls were smooth and unbroken. The floor was cold and hard, but her bare feet were used to it after months of the naked concrete in her cage.

They reached the far end of the hall without incident and one of her new masters pounded on the door three times. A slat opened. She blinked in surprise. The surface had appeared smooth until the moment the opening appeared.

“Report.”

“All clear.”

The door opened. The outside was a large chamber, filled with desks. This room she remembered. There were stations along the center of the room where there had been doctors the first time she had been here. They had done a thorough physical examination when she had first been brought here and announced her fit. There had been injections. More than she had cared to remember. Even now the memory made her nauseous. Finger printing. Retinal scanning.

There had also been the tattoo. Sometimes she still felt it itching the back of her neck under her hair, though she knew it was her imagination. She had never even had a decent look at it.

The men led her now past these stations while she looked around. There were thirty doors set in three sides of the room. Each of them, she knew, led to a cage like hers. The room was empty now, except for her and her guards and the man who had opened the door. They led her to the far wall, the one with only one large door. Above that door there was a windowed observation room. Faces looked down at her from those windows. She didn’t recognize most of them, but one in particular did catch her eyes. She hadn’t seen it in over a year and even then it had been a photograph. She focused her gaze on that face as the guards led her towards the exit and it looked back at her as if hypnotized.

It was an ordinary looking face. Clean-shaven, blue eyed, and well sunned. The man’s brown hair was cut close on the sides and was tapered to perhaps an inch and a half at the top. Just within military regulation without the military look. The uniform gave it away though. Pressed blue service coat and rank insignia coupled with a ribbon rack heavy with decorations.

It was a shock to see that face and she didn’t break her gaze from his until the guards had led her through the door and out of view.

The observation booth went quiet when the door opened and they watched the prisoner being led through, but only for a moment. He listened to the other men resume their talk but he didn’t participate. He watched her until she looked up and focused on him and he lost track of what they were saying as he stared back at her.

She was younger than he was, but not by much. Her hair had grown out to its natural color. In the single photograph he had seen she had been blond. It was startling to see her with dark brown hair. The prison jumpsuit she wore was not complimentary, but again, he had seen a photograph of a beautiful smiling young woman that betrayed her current appearance. He wondered as she walked beneath the booth how long it would take her to get that smile back. Or if she ever would.

As she disappeared beneath them his ears tuned in again on the conversation in the room.

“Where are they taking her now?”

“To get her cleaned up, sir. They’ve kept her clean but she hasn’t had what you or I would consider a decent bath since they brought her here.”

“Indeed.”

“We’ll have her presentable for you in time for the interview, sir.”

“See that you do. What’s been done to this girl is bordering on…”

He stopped listening again. He agreed with his boss’s sentiments, but he had his own concerns now. Like how difficult it would be to get her to trust him now that it was over.

Especially now that he was going to be the jailor. There would be no bars, and no guards, but the girl would be captive just the same. She was too valuable to let her just walk away. Even if she was innocent.

She had seen his face in a photograph on a table. No identifying information, just the picture. There were some other papers along with it, but before she got a good look at them they were swept into a briefcase and out of site. She probably wouldn’t even have remembered the face if it weren’t for that. It was the first time that she suspected that her husband was keeping secrets from her.

He had smiled and kissed her on the cheek, saying, “it’s nothing,” when she asked about it. Now, two years later she had seen the same face again. She wasn’t sure what that might mean.

The guards had led her to a room with a shower. There was soap and shampoo and a clean set of prison clothes. The shackles came off, and they shut her in. For the first time since she had come here she was alone. She stared dumbly at the soap for nearly a minute before a tap at the door reminded her they were still there.

“I don’t hear any water running, missy. Time’s something you don’t got.”

She reached forward, turned on the water, and stripped off the dirty prison garment she had been wearing for the last eight months. Her weekly washings had served double duty as laundry day.

The water pressure was spastic. Twice it went from hot to cold. She got soap in her eyes. She couldn’t remember a better feeling.

When she emerged she felt… clean. Being disinfected on a weekly basis doesn’t compare with being able to scrub. She took the single towel from the rack next to the shower and used it to sop up some of the water from her body. It was inadequate to the task, but she had been drip-drying for so long it felt luxurious.

As she was finishing up she looked up at the door to see one of the guards leering at her. She hadn’t heard the door open. She clutched the towel in front of her, covering what she could.

The guard chuckled. “Don’t worry, I ain’t a rapist.”

“Just a fuckin’ peepin’ Tom,” his partner said from out of sight. “Close the fuckin’ door, Chuck. She’s a prisoner, not a peep show. Give her some god-damned privacy.”

She snagged the prison clothes with one hand while holding the towel in a strategic fashion with the other and backed into the shower stall, watching the guard all the while. The shower curtain closed and she quickly pulled the one-piece garment over her body.

When she emerged the guard was still there and he was holding the shackles. The other guard entered at his signal and they quickly had her restrained again. She didn’t resist. What was the point?

They led her through the hallways a second time, but not the way they had come. She didn’t know where they were going but anything had to be better than back to that cage. The halls were carpeted. She’d almost forgotten what a carpeted floor felt like. She was still bare foot.

The conference room doors were made of tinted glass. There were two men waiting inside but that was all she could tell from out here. One of the guards, the decent one, opened the door and gestured for her to enter. She stood there dumbly looking in. He was standing by the window where she had seen him a few minutes before, her mystery man from the photograph, looking back at her. For a moment she just stood there before the bastard guard behind her poked her in the ribs with the butt of his rifle. She stumbled forward a few steps into the room while the guard behind her chuckled cruelly.

Her mystery man stepped forward, eyes narrowed, but it was the other man in the room that delivered the reproach.

“That’s quite enough!” He was older. In his seventies perhaps. Not in uniform, but definitely a military legacy. It was in the way he held himself. In the way he wore his hair. It was in his eyes.

The guard’s glanced at each other nervously. No, the bastard looked nervous. The decent one was looking at the other with an “I told you so” air.

“The shackles,” the older man snapped.

“Sir?” the decent one asked, confused. Just because he was decent didn’t mean he cared to let a prisoner loose.

“Get them off of her.”

“Sir,” the bastard started, “that’s against the-”

“I make the rules for this prisoner now,” he admonished. “She was in my custody the moment she walked through the door.”

The guards’ glances were confused this time, but apparently they knew something of this man and mutually decided he wasn’t someone to be argued with. The shackles came off.

“Leave.”

The tinted glass doors closed behind them.

“That’s better,” the man said and lowered himself carefully into one of the leather chairs. “Have a seat, Mrs. Justin. We have a great deal to talk about.”

She looked again at her mystery man but remained standing, rubbing absently at her wrists.

The elderly man continued, unmindful of the fact that she hadn’t taken his invitation. “Your incarceration is ended. It was unfortunate, but unavoidable. New evidence was found only recently,” this with a glance at her mystery man that she failed to catch, “that cleared you of involvement in the goings on that led to your stay here.”

Her mystery man still hadn’t said a word and he was still looking right back at her.

“Who are you?” she said softly. They were the first words she had uttered in just under three months. There hadn’t been much point in trying to engage the guards in conversation.

“My name is Donovan. Donovan Nash,” the elderly gentlemen answered. She was still looking at her mystery man but the elderly gentleman apparently felt it was all about him. “Vice Admiral, Retired. And, if you’ll forgive this, your new legal guardian.”

Her mystery man cleared his throat at this and broke his eyes from hers. “Admiral, we agreed-”

“Yes, yes, yes, Commander Stinel. Never fear.”

A name. And a voice. Not just a face in a photograph any longer.

“My dear Mrs. Justin, please allow me to introduce my associate and one time protégé, Lieutenant Commander Benjamin Stinel.”

“Please don’t call me that,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t want anything to do with that name.”

There was a pause while this registered on the old man’s face. Her mystery man cast an apologetic smile in her direction.

“I see,” the older man said. “Yes, I am aware of the circumstances there. I don’t blame you. But, my dear, how shall we call you?”

“Naomi,” she answered immediately. For the moment she was without surname. She refused to use the name of that swine, and her father’s name was equally repugnant, if for different reasons.

“Naomi,” the admiral smiled at her. “Please, sit down. We have a great deal to discuss and you wouldn’t want to make an old man crane his neck, now would you? At my age I might not get it to go back down again.”

In spite of herself she sat, partially to humor an old man, but mostly because she hadn’t had anything soft to sit on since she’d arrived in this place. As she lowered herself into her chair her mystery man sat across from her.

“Good.” The old man smiled. “Naomi, we need your help.”

Ben Stinel posted May 24, 2003 05:19 AM

The spaceport was heavily guarded. Gresham was far from any disputed lines but New Oregon was a world at war and any target was vulnerable. Anti-orbital guns were placed at strategic locations around the facility and guards patrolled the perimeter with dogs and rifles. No one was taking any chances.

Naomi absentmindedly rubbed at the sleeve of her sweater while behind her the spaceport cargo handlers loaded her worldly possessions aboard the shuttle. She had been given time to change out of the prison garb and into some of her own clothes, freshly removed from storage, before the ground car ride to the spaceport.

She looks almost human again, Ben thought as he approached from just outside her field of view. He watched her as he walked back to the shuttle from the terminal. He had left her alone there while he filed his flight plan with orbital control and she had seemed surprised at the gesture. It wasn’t so odd a reaction, he told himself. This morning she had been considered so dangerous that it was necessary for her to be under constant surveillance, twenty-five hours a day, eight days a week. Now a strange man had swept her away for some ulterior purpose and trusted her not to run off at the first chance she got. Sort of. There hadn’t been much chance of her getting past the guard dog patrols.

Ben had changed his clothes as well. His dress blues were concealed in the opaque dry-cleaning bag that he carried slung over one shoulder and he now wore his standard work clothes. His navy field jacket was the only piece of military clothing he wore and even it was bereft of rank insignia or any other military accoutrement.

“I thought the war would be over by now,” she said without turning to look at him as he stopped. “The last one was over so quickly.”

He glanced at the weapons emplacement she was staring at and shifted his uniform to his other shoulder uncomfortably. A hundred years without a war and now two in the last ten. War was becoming the natural state of things.

“It’s time to go,” he told her.

She nodded and turned to board the shuttle.

He followed her on and paused to ensure the loaders were clear before sealing the hatch. He slid past her into the pilot’s chair and slipped into the restraints. She sat down next to him and followed suit, fastening the nylon harness across her waist and shoulders.

The engines roared to life as Ben requested launch clearance. “Brace yourself,” he told her as the tower transmitted their approval. The shuttle leapt away from the launch pad in a dead sprint as Ben pushed the ship to its limits. The inertial dampeners couldn’t keep up with the acceleration and they were thrown back against their chairs by the force of the extreme jump to escape velocity.

After a moment the ship’s systems caught up with them and they felt the pressure let up. The feeling of speed remained. The ground sped away and a battlefield flashed briefly in miniature before disappearing into the haze when they climbed too high to see it. Below them the planet dropped away and the blue of the sky quickly faded to black. Pinpricks of light appeared in the curtain of darkness and the stars came out.

Weapons fire flashed past them as they reached orbit and Naomi clutched the edges of her seat. Ben watched his sensor panel and glanced ahead of them before quickly yanking the controls to port. The hull groaned in protest as the dampeners again failed to react quickly enough to compensate.

“That wasn’t for us,” he told her.

She glanced at him wide eyed in disbelief and didn’t show any sign of letting go of her chair. Her knuckles were white against the plastic but he didn’t spare more than a second's glance before turning back to the controls.

The starboard window showed him the intended target. The enemy frigate had been struck but wasn’t out of the fight yet. She was bearing down on them as another salvo from the space port destroyed her shields. A blast of energy from the dying frigate’s weapons pierced the space ahead of them and Ben tortured the shuttle with another evasive yank on the controls. Energy crackled in the remnants of the enemy’s shields as Ben guided the shuttle at top speed straight between her lower engines. The ship’s name, painted on her underside, slipped away in a blur before either of them had time to read it.

They cleared the flickering aft shields and behind them the frigate desperately tried to turn to pursue as weapons fire again filled their forward screens. Nearly ten large ships were engaged in a battle between them and their destination and there was no going around. Fighter craft dodged in and out of the fray, piranhas taking small bites out of the sharks where they could and out of each other more often than not.

The comm system flared to life as they entered transmission range of the combatants. ##oming’s loosing fue## ##b flight, get your guns on th## ##et this clown off my ass befo## A hundred different voices filled the cabin in a disjointed cacophony of arguments and orders before Ben switched the speakers off. The battle filled more of the front screens as they drew closer.

“Are you taking us into that?”

Ben didn’t have time to answer. A pair of fighters picked up their scent and the shuttle rocked with the near miss as they flew through the rocket exhaust of the first missile. The second one exploded early and shrapnel impacted the shields as they entered the battlefield. One of the larger ships crossed their path, too concerned with firing at one of its counterparts to worry about them, and Ben maneuvered insanely between her engines and secondary hull, putting a warp nacelle between them and the aggressor fighters. One of them clipped a wing trying to pursue and erupted in a brief fireball against the larger ship’s side before the vacuum extinguished the flames. The second fighter doggedly maintained the chase. Laser fire flashed past Naomi’s side of the cabin and Ben changed course again, never maintaining a straight line for more than the time it took to check his intended path before turning again.

A pair of larger ships were converging ahead of him and he stole his way between them before the gap closed, cutting off the hunter behind a wall two hundred meters thick. On the other side they managed to pick up a new problem. A stray laser blast took out their ventral shields, exposing their belly, and Ben was forced to skim a few meters away from the closest large ship to keep their unprotected side out of harm’s way. He quickly ran the length of the huge ship and crossed the distance to the next ship in the blink of an eye. Ahead of them the battle was thinning out and they were almost through. He crossed the last hundred meters unprotected and another laser blast took out the shuttle’s engines. Fortunately their inertia carried them out.

As they drifted away from the battle and towards New Oregon’s second moon the silhouette of the Colorado passed between them and the glowing crescent. Ben leaned back against the headrest of his chair and let his eyes close as he felt the tractor beam take hold. The battle raged on silently behind them as they were pulled to safety and Ben muttered to himself, “She’ll never let me live this down.”

Katrylle Morgahn posted October 11, 2003 12:46 PM

She moved quickly, her pacing only slightly marred by the limp she carried these days, the soft “ticking” of the silver tipped cane keeping rhythm. The migraine built with each pass and she furiously crammed the heel of her hand against her eye patch, trying to stop the pain.

LaeAnne watched her friend from the position she had taken against a wall of the shuttle hanger of the Colorado. She made no move towards comforting the overly distraught and obviously furious Katrylle. Years of association with the woman taught LaeAnne that such a fool-hardy gesture would only make matters worse. Instead, she simply repositioned herself, folding her arms over her chest and crossing her ankles, and kept a very close eye on Kat.

It seemed like hours ago that Kat had found out about the attempt on the shuttle. She and LaeAnne had been in her quarters when the call came through and, before remembering that LaeAnne was supposed to be hiding, they had rushed to the bridge. Daniel Peterson, first officer and ship’s chaplain, was the unlucky soul placed in charge not only of the Colorado, but also of those on board. This included Kat.

She had been denied a fighter. There were none available to allow her to access. Those not already out in the fray were grounded for repairs. With each word passing between them, Kat’s rage grew to a blinding fury fueled by fear and frustration. She barely noticed when LaeAnne had pulled her from the bridge of the Colorado. Somehow, the ex sec officer had been able to convince her friend that the best place to be was the shuttle hanger.

The sound of the tractor beam revving up pulled both women from their thoughts and stopped Kat’s pacing mid-stride. Silently they watched the shuttle slip into the bay, the white knuckles gripping the silver head of her cane and the grim set of her mouth the only indication that Kat was gearing up for a full-blown rant.

Naomi posted October 13, 2003 09:11 AM

Next to her, Stinel was out of his chair before the shuttle stopped moving. She jumped up nearly as quickly and followed on his heels to the hatchway. He practically danced next to the door as he waited for it to open. When it was wide enough he leapt to the floor of the hanger and she followed. Outside was a woman with a cane and an eye patch who looked poised to intercept them. She had the kind of no nonsense attitude of someone who considered herself a protector, although a protector against what, Naomi couldn't say.

“Ye told me ye would'nae leave me here t’wait while y’trounced through a battlefield an' wha' is the firs' thing-”

Stinel raised his hand to stop her as he rushed past her. “Not now, Kat,” he said as he reached a control panel next to the hanger exit. “Daniel, tell me we're moving.”

"We're moving, sir, but we've got company."

The ship shook as a weapons blast struck the hull. Naomi and Kat were thrown to the corrugated steel floor. Stinel kept himself afoot by grabbing hold of the railing that ran the length of the wall and punched the comm again once he could keep his balance with one hand. “I'm on my way.”

A gloved hand gripped her arm and hoisted her to her feet and Naomi realized that Kat wasn't the only woman waiting for them in the hanger. The other woman pulled Kat to her feet next and Naomi turned to see Stinel coming back to her from the wall.

“Naomi, I want you to go with these women. They'll take you to the safest place on the ship.” She noticed his lips tightened as he looked at the second woman but he turned back to her. “I'll come back to you as soon as we're safe, do you understand?”

She nodded dumbly as she rubbed her arm, which had taken the brunt of the fall.

The first woman, Kat, had fire in her good eye and looked about to unleash her full fury on Stinel but he was already leaving the hanger at a run.

“Sickbay, Kat! She'll be safest there. We'll talk later.”

And then he was gone.

“He didn't look happy to see me,” the other woman muttered.

Kat shook her head. “But he was'nae surprised. I ne’er was good a'followin' orders. He knows tha’.” She turned and raised an eyebrow as she assessed Naomi. “So. Y'd be why he's throwin' caution t’the wind? I hope yer worth it.”

Another hit rocked the ship. It wasn't as bad as the first one and the three of them staggered but didn't fall. The second woman was largely responsible this time. She held them both upright until the motion passed. Naomi blinked at the surprising strength the woman's small frame contained.

Kat very nearly shrugged the other woman off and turned for the hanger exit. The doors parted as Naomi and the other woman followed her through. She moved quickly despite the cane and it took a moment before they were able to catch up to her and walk alongside.

“Wha's yer name?” Kat asked.

Naomi glanced at the shorter woman. She was walking on Kat's blind side but she realized the second woman was watching her. “Naomi,” she answered and looked straight ahead. She could feel the strong woman's eyes on her from Kat's other side.

They walked in silence for the next minute or so, Naomi and Kat looking ahead and the third woman following slightly behind, watching Naomi. Naomi tried to ignore it and concentrated on the scenery instead. The hallway floors were made of the same dark metal grating as the shuttle hanger and in places she could see through to the level below. The walls were dark gray and utilitarian. Red lights flashed at regular intervals to signal the dangerous situation the ship was in. Twice more the ship shook and each time the third woman steadied them both.

They reached a service elevator and climbed aboard. It took them down three levels and opened on another hallway like the ones they had just walked through. A man ran past the door as it opened and they glanced both ways before emerging to make sure they weren't about to be hit by more running crewmen. Kat steered her the same direction as the crewman had gone and they went about fifty feet before stopping in front of a wide door which opened to admit them. Inside a tall blond woman and a taller black man were administering medical care to a badly burned technician. Naomi shivered as she looked in and realized how lucky she had been up to this point of the battle. Kat was watching her, she realized, and she turned to look defiantly in the shorter woman's eye.

Kat's look, however, was considering. She looked away first, to glance in at the burn patient, then back at Naomi. “Ben keeps it fair cold in th’hallways. I've tol' ‘im about tha' afore.”

Naomi's defiance melted into gratitude at the other woman's understanding. Kat nodded and turned to leave.

Naomi reached out and caught hold of the sleeve of Kat's duster to stop her. “Where are you going?” she asked, the most words she had said together since boarding the ship.

“The bridge,” Kat answered, without stopping. Her sleeve slipped out of Naomi's grip but Naomi was following. The third woman fell into step next to them. Kat glanced at Naomi again. “I guess I'm nae th’only one who's bad a' takin' orders.”

The elevator took them up five levels and opened on the first carpeted space she had seen. The doors closed behind them as an explosion filled the main viewer. The ship rocked again, but this was from the concussion of the blast created by the exploding fighter craft the Colorado had just destroyed. A larger ship was moving in but she realized the viewer was not showing them what was ahead, but what was behind.

“Sam, what's your status?”

Stinel was sitting in the center chair and her focus fixed itself on him. He wasn't looking at anyone in particular and she realized she was talking to the other ship.

"We took a couple of hits but it could have been worse, Ben." A woman's voice, and it carried a tone of familiarity. "We'll escort you out of the system and rendezvous with the fleet at zero niner alpha."

“Sounds good, Sam. Give Jake a hug for me when you see him. Colorado out.”

"Saint John out."

Stinel got out of his chair and moved to the station on the right, conferring with the man there before turning and facing them at the lift. His lips tightened again as his gaze fell on what Naomi had decided was Kat's bodyguard but again he didn't comment. He nodded towards the door at starboard and turned to a curly haired man who was standing nearby and said something she couldn't make out. Kat started for the door and Naomi followed. The curly haired man sat in Stinel's chair and Ben followed them through the door.

As they entered a conference room Naomi shivered again. This time it really was the cold. She remembered wondering before why he was wearing a jacket in the late summer weather on the surface and now she knew. It had to be less than sixty-five degrees on the ship.

A large convex window looked back along the length of the ship towards the battle in the distance. There were chairs around the table but none of them sat. Stinel stood looking at Kat and Kat stood glaring back at him. The woman made that single eye count for a lot.

Kat's bodyguard took position by one of the windows and watched the battle shrink behind them. The Saint John, the ship Stinel had been talking to on the bridge, was moving slowly across their field of view, like a car changing lanes to pass them. 