Star Trek: Theurgy

Day 03 [1015 hrs.] Snakes and Ladders

July 07, 2019, 04:05:14 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @TWilkins @CanadianVet

Regret was a truly useless emotion, not worth the expenditure of time and psychological energy it demanded, and so it was not something Hathev would ever deign to experience. There was no logic in analysing events after their occurrence, except in regards to preventing such outcomes in future, and she was perfectly aware of how such avoidance might be achieved already. She would not be frequenting the Below Decks Lounge, and she certainly would not be partaking in any further substances that boasted high sucrose. Her Vulcan metabolism simply wasn’t equipped to deal with the foul substance, and though it was no longer inhibiting her functions to the degree it had the previous evening, she felt its effects even still: her movements less graceful, her mind less clear, her stomach… queasy with distaste.

There was little to be done, however. She had an appointment this morning, of relatively low import but necessary all the same, and she would not compromise her standards of performance to cater to mere discomfort. She had consumed a breakfast of fibrous substances to absorb what sugars she could, and now sat at her desk nursing a coffee and refusing to blink against the bright light of her office any more than was strictly necessary for maintenance of the cornea and lacrimal duct. The caffeine would counteract the general lethargy she had woken with — woken after a sleep that had lasted far longer than her usual repose, and had quite inconveniently put her own work behind schedule by several hours this morning.

She had not, for example, had much opportunity to prepare for the meeting she was about to host. It was not technically among her duties, and was something she would preferred not to have been required to perform; however she had made herself the representative of those who had survived from the Bellerophon, and she would acquit herself accordingly. She had arranged for every survivor, of which there were fewer than even twenty, to see her so as to offer them an opportunity to express any concerns, and so as to be able to properly gauge them, their integration into the crew, and their psychological stability for herself. The meetings had been organised for small groups so as to lower the intensity and ensure they did not seem as though she were running a counselling session; that was not the intent.

With the meetings taking place in pairs she had almost completed this duty, with only this morning’s left remaining. The two individuals she was to meet with today were unlikely to pose any particular challenge. Lieutenant Junior Grade Hieronimus Smith was a Science officer and a human with an impressive educational background she could appreciate as an academic herself. Crewman Galo Zeshryr was barely out of childhood and of insignificant rank, and thus someone she would have dismissed entirely were it not for his species. While any emotional species was unfavourable, Orions were particularly — her stomach made a disturbing noise — distasteful. A human, a Klingon, even a Ferengi could be reasoned with to some degree, but not so an Orion.

She would not allow this to colour her treatment of the crewman, of course. She would weather the dislike internally, just as she was currently weathering an internal disturbance of another kind altogether. In any case, she did not expect the meeting to run long, and then she would be at liberty to return to her work with as miserable an aspect as she desired.

Re: Day 03 [1015 hrs.] Chimera

Reply #1 – July 09, 2019, 04:45:45 PM

[ Y’Lev | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] @fiendfall @CanadianVet
 
Crewman Galo Zeshryr.
 
He’d almost gotten used to answering as such.
 
As he had done so dutifully when he’d received the meeting invite from a repugnant Vulcan woman by the name of Hathev preceded by some lofty rank, whom was apparently taking command of the welfare of the surviving crewmen who had come aboard from the Bellerophon. Why bother? The former category was not a large number of individuals anymore. Finding out information was one of his most impressive abilities, and when it came to gossipy Starfleet Officers who were a touch intoxicated, obtaining the ‘hot gossip’ was barely even work. From what information he’d corroborated over the past few days, the majority of those who’d been beamed aboard the Theurgy had been deliberately ejected from the vessel following a Borg incursion during the events of the ‘Battle of the Apertures’, as the creativity starved Starfleeters had dubbed that particular event. Only a few of them remained, and luckily for Y’Lev, most were so determined to close ranks and stay together as a crew, that the group he had lingered with hadn’t thought to question the Orion as to how long he’d been aboard the former vessel, nor did they seem particularly dissuaded by his species.

All in all, it was below average. But it served his purpose well.
 
It was a depressing little group, a couple of Starfleeters whom he mostly despised, but tolerated for the time being. They were certainly useful little corvidae, fluttering off and obtaining shiny scraps of information that they reported back during their shared meals; not intentionally on their part, but that was how it was to the Syndicate Agent sat at their table. The perfect agents, people who didn’t even know they were doing anything more than gossiping and complaining to their co-workers. And their intel only served to further pile up the evidence of the extra-dimensional Parasites that he was slowly compiling into a formal case of data. Data work was his least favourite part of the Syndicate. But in this case, he’d never been so diligent about anything in his life.
 
It was his greatest regret that such a stellar piece of work would never reach the eyes of the Syndicate administrators. But with every scrap of knowledge added to his remit, he found his grim envisionment of the future another step closer to a pungent reality… Not a single slither of reliable evidence he had compiled spoke against the existence of the parasites. One of his companions had spotted an apparent afflicted member of the crew in the Brig, whilst another one had overheard a conversation between a pair of teal-chests regarding an impossible autopsy that all but confirmed the evidence for the Parasites.
 
There was also a Tellarite whom was relatively useless, but at least he provided Y’Lev with a much coveted opportunity to tell someone that they were a repugnant abomination who deserved nothing more than the most easily obtainable, yet excruciating of toxins. Other than his mammalian pet, the Tellarite was the only person who saw a glimmer of the Y’Lev within Crewman Galo Zeshryr. Needless to say that said Tellarite was very keen on the Orion’s understanding of Tellarite conversational etiquette.
 
Y’Lev was a born pleaser.

But as much as the thought of the infernal meeting with Hathev distressed him, the chilling idea of being forced to occupy the same space as yet another accursed Vulcan in his short stint aboard the ship of the damned he was cursed to reside in, it had its benefits. Lieutenant Commander was a lofty title, and apparently she had also been promoted to the Captain’s senior council. She’d know, better than anyone he’d thus far spoken to, the higher details on how serious the threat of the Parasites was. She was new to the ship, and would probably use that rancid Vulcan logic to identify indoctrination if that was the case.

That way, following his upcoming meeting, he expected to finally have enough information to establish whether returning the information he had obtained to the Syndicate would be a glowing career move, identifying the thorn in the side of the Federation as a vessel full of crazed fanatics, or whether it would be the first step in a calamity that had the potential to rip the Syndicate apart from the inside. He could hardly stand the thought of making such a decision. Revisiting the weight of it made him feel somewhat nauseous, though that could have been the sound of hearing so many injuried and sick people being coddled by the onboard medical staff…

Disgusting. 
 
Due to it being such a commonplace issue, Y’Lev never enjoyed spending time in the medical bay aboard the ship. But not just because of that, or because it was where he had to take his daily doses of pheromonal suppressant, but because the wilted excuse for an authority figure was an accursed Betazoid. The first time he’d caught sight of the dark eyed headache, the Orion had let his gaze linger a little, admiring that a teal-chested pill-pusher had such an impressive physique… Needless to say, the Orion had been waiting for his dose for a considerable amount of time, and his mind had slowly wandered into the mental image of how well the Doctor would look wearing a fine leather harness, brandishing a thickly braided whip, and how the cracking lash would feel against his shoulder blades…
 
His mental imagery may have been vivid… And the man in question may have blushed his fair skin so ferociously that he could have been mistaken for one of those unimaginative Starfleet ‘red alerts’. Of course, the Doctor also turned and gawked in Y’Lev’s direction, which dawned on him the realisation that the Doctor was a damned telepath. Not only was the Orion’s whipping fantasy turned to dust, but also the chance of his true motives becoming flushed out in the open.
 
As a response, he’d taken to bringing his most trustworthy accomplice with him when he visited Sickbay for his doses, which wasn’t saying much considering the mammal still couldn’t be becalmed when it heard any noise in the corridor outside of their shared accommodation. But that same quality was a boon in Sickbay. He kept the cage containing the mammal close by his side, to act as a deterrent. Should Y’Lev ever catch the man’s gaze lingering, which he could hardly be blamed for, Y’Lev was more than ready to flip open the latch on the cage and releasing the mammal into sickbay. The taste of the anarchy it would cause was so vivid upon his tongue that his thumb eked closer to the latch every time someone did something that made him internally retch.

Needless to say, his thumb lingered there a lot.

“Excuse me, can I help you with something?” A female questioned him, making him spin from his wall-leaning perch in fright, accidently clacking the side of the cage against the bulkhead and making the cage’s occupant unleash a ruckus of disapproval.

“Oh gosh!” A phrase he'd picked up from a particularly clumsy Human female who exclaimed as such after everything she did that inconvenienced someone else. She didn't say it nearly enough. "I am so sorry!" Crewman Galo returned shakily, apologising to the dark skinned humanoid first, before apologising to the cage in his grip with promises of liquorish that would be fulfilled as soon as the pilfering mammal returned to their room regardless. It never failed to track down his freshly replicated stash. “I’m waiting for a meeting with Commander Hathev…”

Of course, internally, Y’Lev informed the woman that he was lingering in purgatory whilst waiting to face the antagonistic daemon that was a Vulcan. He really had to force the word ‘Commander’ out of his mouth.

“Oh, well just press the button next to the door…” The Nurse returned with a false politeness that made Y’Lev want to put one of his dancerdaggers into her mouth before unfurling it and ripping through her chubby little cheeks… He smiled and thanked her with as much courtesy as he could stomach, before turning down to the door in question and glancing at the panel she had gestured to, hearing her withdraw away from his presence…

But Y’Lev was already irritated by something else to feel any gratitude for her removing herself from his appearance.

Why did the door panel have so many accursed buttons…

Re: Day 03 [1015 hrs.] Chimera

Reply #2 – July 10, 2019, 08:37:44 PM

[ Lt JG Hieronimus "Hats" Smith | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @TWilkins @fiendfall

It was even better than the unfortunately named Hieronimus Alcibiades Thaddeus Smith could have hoped for. Spacious, with amounts of console space so generous he would be allowed to splurge, more computer power than he had ever seen, and absolutely stellar access to data.  His lab was a dream come true for being on a starship.  And it was supposedly a small lab... he feltcould only be bested if he was on a major starbase mostly dedicated to research, or back at the Daystrom Institute...

He wasn't quite sure yet what to make of Theurgy and her crew, if hey were really on to something or were little more than terrorists; but he could do his science, so that was good enough for him. 

He was in the middle of looking at the recent sensor take, which was indicating something the early signs of something interesting in the outer system when the reminder sounded on the console.  A meeting with Commander Hathev.  Of course, he had forgotten, and if he could get away with ignoring he call he would.  There was no way a meeting with the Counselor could  be more important, let alone more interesting, than what looked like very leading edge of  the subspace bow wake of a quantum cosmic string.  But, it would appear, looking more into this would have to wait...  Damnit.

Making his way to Sickbay, Hieronimus stopped in front of the access to the chief counselor's office, his way blocked by an Orion carrying a... cage who seemed most perplexed by the panel.  But, given time was running short, the Human reached around the green-skinned alien, and hit the chime.

Re: Day 03 [1015 hrs.] Chimera

Reply #3 – July 15, 2019, 11:22:49 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @TWilkins  @CanadianVet

Her guests were not punctual by Vulcan standards but she supposed she could hardly hold that against them; they were not of her species, after all. At the chirp singalling their presence, she called for them to enter, and stood smoothly to greet them as the door slid open to reveal a most curious tableau. Her gaze swept from the impatient features of a dark-haired human, to the Orion half-tangled with the human’s arm, to the cage said Orion had somehow seen fit to bring with him. A cage containing a winged, nocturnal Earth rodent.

She fought the urge to purse her lips slightly in displeasure, and lost. A minute expression, and yet not one she would normally have entertained. Her control had truly lapsed this morning, unacceptable.

‘My thanks for your presence,’ she said, offering her native salute, her voice perhaps a tad brittle. ‘Please, take a seat.’

She slid into her own seat, experiencing a slight imbalance as she moved a mite too quickly for the recovering vestibular system in her inner ear. She blinked for the barest beat longer than strictly necessary, before refocusing her gaze on her guests, steepling her fingers on the desk before her.

‘I asked you here not in my capacity as counsellor but as the representative of those from the Bellerophon, however my vow of confidentiality still holds within these walls. I am interested to hear how you have been adjusting to your new posts, of course, but of particular concern to me are any worries, issues, or grievances you may have. This is an opportunity to air these feelings, if you have them; they shall not be used against you in any way.’

Hathev regarded them cooly. She did not expect much of either guest: the astrophysicist was the more promising of the two, certainly, yet she could see the impatience writ large on his features. She anticipated some concerns from him regarding the parasite threat, which she could easily disarm; such logical complaints were far preferable to the moral dilemma a petty operations officer had brought before her the day prior, weeping and wringing his hands. He had been suffering from Acute Stress Disorder, there was little doubt; however his weakness of will and mire of moral quandries had been quite unnecessary and made wringing any sort of sense from the man nigh impossible. Neither had he been receptive to her attempts to calm him, hysterical as he was; she had been forced to resort to replicating tea and a blanket for him, whereupon he had sat blubbering as she attempted to complete her purpose with one of her two guests at the very least.

No, she doubted Mr Smith would prove such a difficulty as that unpleasantness. His associate, however, was another matter. Zeshryr was an Orion, which spoke for itself. A species not known for their intelligence, she noted, nor for their honesty. If he had any grievances she doubted he would voice them here; rather, he would need observation lest he take matters into his own hands. Most likely he would be a hindrance, whether intentionally or not; certainly his infernal chiropteran companion would be its own challenge entirely.

Accordingly: ‘Animals are not permitted within my office, Crewman; I would ask that you take your creature elsewhere.’ That she had not requested the bat be removed from the premises immediately was an oversight on her own part; another error she could attribute to the previous evenings’ activities. She cleared her throat slightly, a shade of frustration passing through her. ‘Now,’ she began anew, ‘how are you finding your new assignment?’

Re: Day 03 [1015 hrs.] Chimera

Reply #4 – July 16, 2019, 03:40:00 PM

[ Y’Lev | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] @fiendfall

It took all of Y’Lev’s internal willpower to resist an explosive reaction to the cretinous Vulcan leering above him, her lips pursed like an emergency bulkhead and her stature akin to that of a gnarled, dying, tree. Her watery words of appreciation for the attendance of the two males, her brittle explanation as to how she wished to hear any concerns or distress that either man had experienced during their times aboard the ship, both in equal made the Orion want to claw through his rancidly scratchy uniform.

Of course Y’Lev had plenty of comments he could have made regarding her wish for concerns to be voiced, an opportunity so delectable that his mouth could have watered with saliva at the very thought. But he could hardly voice, to a Starfleet Vulcan of all things, his concerns that the uniforms felt like rubbing his bare body over a Cardassian’s dry, scraggy face, nor could he express his displeasure that Starfleet was a decrepit mess of an organisation that reigned over those within its remits with an iron fist. He’d been assigned to work! It was just simple slave labour, without the slaves.

And Starfleet always pretended they had the moral high ground. In reality, they were just backboneless scum.

But then, just as Y'Lev thought his irritation had already ascended to its apex, his odd-eyes trained upon the Vulcan’s lizard-lips as they continued to flap loosely opened and closed, her tongue flicking words out of the orifice in her face, she had the audacity of asking him to remove his ‘creature’ and take it elsewhere. If the wilt in front of him even remotely understood how much of an utterly inconceivable risk that leaving his mammal would be, she’d sooner cut out her own tongue than suggest leaving him, unattended.

“Oh goodness, I’m sorry Commander…” Forcing those irredeemably perverse words out through his lips without gagging was thus far one of the most taxing challenges of his life. “I didn’t realise that it was against policy to bring him with me.” His mind raced as a means to justify the keeping of the mammal about his person at all times, his cunning ideas weaving and dodging through various ploys and pitfalls until he settled as something especially Starfleet.

Perhaps the most pathetic thing he’d ever conjured in his life, but anything was better than running even the slightest risk that the mammal would escape once again, and unleash itself upon the ship like the unashamed tart he truely was.

“The thing is… My Sister used to be stationed aboard this ship…” He paused, taking a moment of sorrowful contemplation, slipping a finger through one of the many air holes across the transport unit for the animal to bettwe stroke at its surprisingly soft-furred head. “And she used to own this little guy…” He let a small tear bud at the corner of his eye at the sentiment. “I've been told that she passed away shortly before we came aboard. And I guess since finding out that she’s dead, as well as almost all of my friends from the Bellerophon… Having him with me makes me feel as though I’ve still got a part of her with me?”

The excuse made Y’Lev want to break down and scream with laughter and flood the room with tears of amusement. But no. This was close enough to something he’d expect Starfleet to permit that he belived it stood a very significant chance of working out in his favour.

“I guess I’m afraid that if I leave him behind, i’ll lose him too. I feel like when he’s here with me, I’m not quite so alone with everything, he makes me feel more like I can cope with everything that’s happened.” Y’Lev let his green hand move up to wipe his face free of tears. “I’m sure you understand Commander, after all, you’re a councillor.” He had to fight hard to repress the sly smirk that wanted to blossom up across his lips as he laid the trap right before her eyes and gave her no choice but to stroll right into it. “It’s just made everything that little bit more bearable, to have someone there as emotional support.”

Aside from unsettling his own stomach, Y’Lev was remarkably impressed with his own justification. But by damnation itself he could not resist the chillingly beautiful idea that formed in his mind’s eye, his finger slowly moving upwards towards the locking mechanism on the cage, a tantalisingly slow movement that would almost undoubtedly put a crack in her emotional suppressant. 

“Would you like to stroke him? He’s actually surpisingly docile for a creature with such a voloptuous wingspan...?“ Y'Lev purposely made sure that his hand made the lock clack noisly just to make sure that her attention was solid and her logic was going haywire. "Though, I should probably mention that he does tend to get a tiny bit aggitated when he's been cooped up in the cage." He vividly imagined her face ready to burst with a beautiful confeti of Vulcan stress. "But it usually only takes him just like an hour, or two, to calm down..."

Re: Day 03 [1015 hrs.] Chimera

Reply #5 – July 18, 2019, 12:13:18 AM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @TWilkins

Crewman Zeshryr affected a compelling performance, certainly. Perhaps a little overdone for Hathev’s tastes -- the tear in particular felt unnecessary -- but otherwise entirely credible. Unfortunately for him, Hathev was not so easily fooled; he was an Orion, and she had been primed for such deceit from the moment he stepped into her office. While a human might conceivably shift emotional meaning from a deceased family member to the pet they left behind, she highly doubted an Orion would perform the same leap of logic. The bat was unpleasant to behold; no one could form an attachment with such a creature, surely? Even if it were the last surviving memorandum of a lost loved one.

But then, Zeshryr was a member of Starfleet, as had been his sister. That afforded him a certain benefit of the doubt. And what cause could he have to lie on such a matter? Orion motivations were difficult to predict, even more so than Ferengi, but to her knowledge they were self-serving to a fault: they did not lie for the pure enjoyment but to fulfil a purpose. Keeping a detestable creature close to oneself would surely go against the Orion sensibilities of aesthetic and pleasure; therefore what reason other than sentimentality could Zeshryr have?

She wavered, and that was her first mistake.

If she had been in her right mind, she would have dismissed the Orion’s tale and demanded the bat be removed from her presence. She would have insisted they conduct themselves in a professional manner, unmolested by caged creatures and the distraction they posed. She would have told her guests that the matter at hand was important, and requested they return to it post haste; the meeting would then have unfolded calmly and peacefully, ending in a timely fashion and allowing her to return to her desk and wait out the dizzy throbbing in her cranium.

She did not say any of these things, as would have been prudent, as her vast expertise gained over eighty years of service would have advised. Instead: ‘I have no desire to touch your rodent.’

The Orion’s green hand alighted on the locking mechanism of the cage, and she felt a pressure building behind her eyes. Resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose, she let out a breath that lasted a milisecond too long. Grant her strength.

Her second mistake: ‘You may keep the creature on your person, but it shall remain confined at all times. Am I understood?’ Indecision and capitulation, that was what she was reduced to by the most powerful of foes: a bat and an ice cream sundae.

It was not worth the expenditure of effort required to expel the bat from the office, she calculated; it would simply be a waste of time better used in service of fulfilling the meeting’s purpose as efficiently as possible. She had no desire to allow this encounter to drag on beyond what was absolutely necessary.

And if the bat did anything, anything at all, she would have Zeshryr regret it sorely. The vehemence of the thought concerned her -- it would not have registered on the Richter scale of human emotions, of course, but by her own judgement it was above what she would normally have allowed herself. She truly was out of sorts this morning, and in no position to be conducting a delicate meeting. Fortunately this matter was hardly delicate, and she had no counselling appointments for a few hours. She had only to conduct herself professionally in the face of an Orion and his winged accomplice. Hardly a difficult feat for one of her expertise.

Content with her regained composure, Hathev turned to include the human in the conversation. ‘Returning to the matter I called you here to discuss,’ she said with a tone of voice that clearly denoted the previous subject closed, ‘are there any concerns or comments on the Theurgy and your new crewmates which you wish to raise?’

Re: Day 03 [1015 hrs.] Chimera

Reply #6 – July 25, 2019, 03:00:10 PM

[ Y’Lev | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] @fiendfall

Success. And to the victor, go the spoils.

Y’Lev adorned himself with an entirely naive expression, wide-eyed and lips slightly agape in surprise as his green fingers very slowly withdrew from the locking catch on his pet’s cage. The Vulcan relented to allowing the Orion to keep the mammal on his person, so long as it remained confined at all times, a rule which Y’Lev was more than content to abide by; one mad scramble throughout the intensinous maze of corridors that the Theurgy consisted of was more than enough for him.

She had no desire to touch his rodent, and Y’Lev was in thorough agreement with the stance. There was no way that the Orion intended to let the Vulcan’s dry, spindly little talons anywhere near his new accomplice. Her claws would be akin to a pumice stone against his delightfully fluffy little head and snout… The creature was an annoyance, but he wouldn’t allow it to undergo such sheer torture, nor risk exposing him to any Vulcan mind-magic. 

“O-of course Commander. I’ll keep him in his cage. Thank you.” It was a bitter taste to have had to deface his victory with an expression of thanks, but Y’Lev was mature enough to understand that even the bitterest of victories, was still a victory.

Her follow up sentence, after having definitely taken a moment to compose herself, another victory on the Orion’s part, was to return to the subject of conversation that she had intended for the conversation. To ask the two males before her whether they had any concerns or comments regarding the Theurgy or any of its crew…

The teal chested wilt sat beside him wouldn’t get a word in edgewise, Y’Lev was sure.

Now the Orion was not without his concerns… He’d noticed a Gorn walking about the ship who was neither leashed and collared nor adorning a boutique handbag collection. He’d made note of far more Cardassians than ever necessary outside of a dilithium mine or boiweapon testing facility. He’d had to hide from the thirsty gaze of the prowling goat woman on more that a few occasions, as well as a few prowling Starfleet harlots whom had obviously been informed correctly about the sexual abilites of Orions. He was more aware than ever that Vulcans existed, which in itself was harrowing… But none of these were concerns that he could voice freely to the sour-faced, rat-breathed, hag before him.

Instead, he’d have to think of Crewman Galo’s concerns… Ones that also served to assist in any of Y’Lev’s endeavours or, of course, false allegations which would send Commander Hathev into investigations that would result in her own humiliation.

“Well actually Commander…” He glanced nervously at the miserable looking teal-chest sat beside him. He’d have loved to have reported the goat gazed wilt whom he really wanted to poison, but she’d no doubt screech on about how he was a spy, and he didn’t need that sort of attention. What else did he need?

“I’ve been having some problems with my assigned uniform actually…” ‘Problems’ was an almighty understatement for the uncomfortable sandstorm of an outfit he was expected to wear on day to day duty. It chafed his thighs, aggravated his posterior, and made his nipples bleed more than a nursing Targ. He might as well have been using a pumice stone as a sexual aid for all of the irritation he had been suffering.

“I am not sure if you’re aware, but Orion’s are naturally quite sensual as a species…” It wasn’t necessary to his point, however, he enjoyed the prospect of making her squirm… “And as such, we have remarkably sensitive skin…” He paused, now wondering where to position his next comment without outright saying that he’d been wearing a sack for the past week or so and he had reached the breaking point. “And my uniform has been causing me a little discomfort…”

Diplomatic, not unreasonable. So unlike him…

“I was just hoping that since you’re taking care of us survivors, that you might be able to authorise a request for a slightly higher thread count for my uniform requisition?” He knew she’d love nothing less than the task he’d just proposed her… And he himself would adore to wear some clothes that didn’t scrape his inner thighs like barbed wire. He knew it would hardly be the same quality as the perfectly supple leather he was used to, but it would have to suffice.

“Also!” He ensured to interject just after leaving a silence long enough that the Commander would open her mouth. She looked like a fish. Well, more than her usual eel-like self anyway.

“The injections I’ve been given to control my pheremones have been causing me a little nausea…” They hadn’t, at least, not any more than the injections he took when undercover caused him, but he had a plan. “I was wondering if you could get me permission to use the chemistry lab to synthesise my own recipe; I used to do it when I was back on Alpha Eridani II, we didn’t have access to those sort of medications and when I started to show signs we had to synthesise something.” A nice tasty morsel for her that he’d deluged up from the depths of A’Vura’s personnel file. “I know it probably isn’t ‘routine’ but it is starting to hamper my ability to work to my best standard… I can even guide a scientist from the department on how to make them if that is better suited to ship policy…”

He gave her a few options, to show her that he was willing to compromise in order to so very logically. In reality, he’d noted that one of the chemists aboard, at least the one he’d seen the most, was a whimpering little mongrel breed. He’d assumed that he’d been Cardassian at first, but upon closer observation over the past few days, the Bajoran traits were evident. Y’Lev wagered he’d be susceptible to a little influencing… But whatever it took, Y’Lev needed to get back into a lab.

“After all, on both accounts, having me feeling my best is surely the most logical course of action, wouldn’t you agree?”

Re: Day 03 [1015 hrs.] Chimera

Reply #7 – August 02, 2019, 08:57:49 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @TWilkins

She could hardly call maintaining the precarious balance of peace within her office a victory, but if nothing else it was a success, a momentary staving off of potential disaster with a veneer of control. Perspective was central; the treaty she found herself agreeing to was not ideal in any sense and yet it was vastly preferable to the alternative. She would not allow this meeting to become derailed by trivialities, and she would certainly not allow it to become the Risian circus act it surely would morph into should the Orion’s rodent be unleashed.

No. A veneer it may have been, but it seemed the Theurgy did not deal in perfect scenarios. She would make do.

It was something of a relief when Zeshryr allowed the conversation to be returned once more to the matter at hand. He seemed well-meaning rather than malicious — although of course, intent meant little when drawn against effect, and the intent of an Orion was more inscrutable than most — and indeed his first request seemed frivolous in its triviality. Hathev had dealt with such a variety of emotions in her guests from the Bellerophon during these meetings, was thread count truly all the crewman had to concern himself with?

She was aware, of course, that Orion sensitivities were far greater than those of Vulcans or even humans; she was also familiar with the philosophical and practicable differences between equality and equity, a fact which meant she would take Zeshryr’s request as both genuine and reasonable. She would be a fool to think an issue that did not affect her could never affect anyone else.

‘Of course,’ she said, inclining her head smoothly. ‘I would advise you to discuss this matter with the quartermaster; there may have been arrangements made for your sister when she served aboard. Should you encounter any difficulty you may refer the relevant parties to me.’ Whatever her personal judgement of Mr Zeshryr, she was responsible for him twofold: both as Chief Counsellor on the ship he served, and as representative of their previous crew. It was a duty she would not shirk, not allow to become clouded by any extraneous factors.

This issue having been dealt with she turned to the human in the room, only to find herself interrupted by another outburst from the Orion sitting opposite. Unfortunate, and unprofessional. With a calm that was most certainly not brittle in its control, she swivelled back to regard the crewman.

Zeshryr’s second request was not so reasonable as the first. Though she knew little of Orion biology, she was perfectly familiar with Starfleet procedure and allowing anyone to treat themselves for a medical condition would have been unacceptable even had the person in question been a medical or scientific professional. A crewman making his own pheromone suppressants was out of the question.

‘Your concern for my sense of logic is noted, Mr Zeshryr,’ she said with icy politeness, ‘however I would ask allow me to be the arbiter of my own judgement, as I extend the same courtesy to you.’ His appeal to Hathev’s logic was both unnecessary and presumptuous. She had studied the teachings of Surak from childhood, been raised in the most ideologically sound civilisation in the known galaxy, and had refined her intellectual prowess through eight decades of service in Starfleet; what could this child of hedonism possibly have to offer her? That he even believed himself to be of a similar standing spoke to his youth and lack of proper education; whatever benefit of the doubt had remained within her judgement of the man was quickly corrected now.

Despite this, the centre of his argument was not entirely unsound. There was no purpose in having him suffer needlessly; with all modern medicine had to offer there was surely some compound that would continue to suppress the Orion’s pheromones without causing any unnecessary side-effects.

‘If you are experiencing gastrointestinal discomfort I recommend speaking to a medical professional,’ she said, succinct. ‘You may find opportunity to discuss your own methodology; however to afford you control over your own medication would be an ethical oversight.’

With the Orion’s grievances finally laid to rest, she returned to Mr Smith and requested his own experience. Unfortunately his human pride was no less grating than Zeshryr’s Orion simpering, and dealing with his complaints was hardly the reprieve she had intended. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly, and all too soon she was once more faced with speaking to Zeshryr.

Hathev absolutely refused to allow her composure to become ruffled due to the machinations of the green torment she was faced with. She remained upright and proper in her seat, back ramrod straight and expression calmly controlled, her hands neatly folded. She appeared as relaxed as any Vulcan ever did, the lines of her face smooth; her gaze, though sharpened, was not quite cutting. In all, only those familiar with her would have been able to detect her discomfort, and to her advantage none aboard this vessel qualified for that particular rank.

‘Thank you both for sharing with me your concerns,’ she said, following the human rules of decorum even as their utter illogicality weighed upon her. It was something she was accustomed to, and usually had no difficulty allowing the unnecessary turns of phrase pass her lips, forcing her further and further away from her natural Vulcan brevity and expedience; on this occasion, however, she found such contrivances tiresome.

Nevertheless, she continued, fixing both men with a steely gaze. 'I understand the circumstances of our arrival on this vessel were difficult; if either of you has any lingering concerns arising from this, I would urge you to give them voice here.'

Re: Day 03 [1015 hrs.] Snakes and Ladders

Reply #8 – August 20, 2019, 01:38:45 PM

[ Y’Lev | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] @fiendfall 

He could tell that his little dancing jibe about her logic had hit home for the Vulcan. Her offence was obvious upon her gnarled, tree-like, face as she spoke with a chilled courtesy, politeness as false as whatever dry sense of satisfaction she believed that she had in her life. However, the satisfaction in her wound was the only pleasure he could take from their discourse. 

She’d afforded him permission to talk to the quartermaster, saying that he would likely have been familiar with the issue, given that Crewman Galo’s Sister should have also been afforded the same benefit of a higher thread-count uniform. Of course, an Orion raised by Humans would never have known the luxury of Kinarvon’s silk markets, nor the exquisite feel of the suppleness of the finest leather against her bare skin… No. She’d have been used to scratchy fibers and synthetic abomination, just like any old Human, Vulcan or any other accursed species.

Nor had the wretched crone before him afforded him the chance to gain access to the chemistry labs, having been brutally told to leave his care in the hands of a medical professional aboard the ship. Ethics… She had quoted damnable Starfleet ethics as her reasoning. Y’Lev had no doubt that between the entire medical team they’d probably scarcely seen an Orion before, let alone a pheremonally active female. A pheremonally active male of high enough potency to warrant daily suppressants was even more of a rarity.

Having to convince the nurse to give him an injection had been utterly degrading. He’d entertained himself by musing as to how many ways he could torture someone with an empty hypospray. He’d gotten to forty-six before she’d finally used the wretched thing.

“Thank you for your concern to our wellbeing Commander.” Y’Lev cordially returned, his politeness straining the threads of his patience well beyond their recommended limits. He captured his amusement back by slipping one of his hands into the pocket of his uniform, fetching a small section of liquorice root to pass on to his mammalian comrade. It made such a din when eating the little treats that he knew that the Vulcan would simply have to comment on it.

Vulcans may be governed by logic, but they were also governed by vanity over their own image.

“I do have one concern that has been giving me more than a little worry lately…” Y’Lev paused for dramatism, affording a furtive glance to the man next to him as if it was a secret. In fact, his concern was genuine on this point; perhaps the only shred of genuine behaviour he had afforded anyone other than the yellow-chested Tellarite whom he sincerely hoped would choke to death one evening as to not violate the Orion’s ears with noises of chewing any longer.

Hathev was the most senior font of information he had the chance of affording communication with. He couldn’t attempt to wait and hunt about for getting a chance to approach the infamous Captain Ives; he didn’t know how long he would be stuck aboard the Theurgy before they departed Aldea and he lost his chance to make his escape. No. He had to get as much information as he could possibly find, in the quickest stint of time, and from the highest of sources available… That, currently, was Commander Hathev.

Then, he’d have to make his judgement based upon whatever harrowingly mundane litany she chose to assail him with.

“We all heard Captain Ives’ transmission. The subject of extra-dimentional parasites has been worming through the ship with more rumours than even I can keep count of.” Y’Lev slowed himself, realising that he sounded a little less like Crewman Galo than was ideal for someone under such heavy cover. He caused a distraction to throw Hathev off of any ridiculous Vulcan brow-raising moments, by jerking his knee enough to make his pet unleash a formidable little squark into his cage.

“Goodness, I’m so sorry!” He bumbled, making a point of moving the creature’s cage up atop of Commander Hathev’s desk, bowing his neck like a lizard as he ‘inspected’ the creature to make sure that it was okay. “Are you okay little guy?” He mumbled into the cage, affording the creature another nub of licorice root as a reward for playing such a role in his scheme.

He then returned his attention to Hathev, the cage now occupying the space between them, making Y’Lev adjust his positioning upon his chair so that his legs were curled beneath him, bolstering his height enough to peek over the top of the cage, ensuring that his mammalian comrade was affording Hathev the most scavingly cute glare as it nibbled away on its licorice treats.

“This ship destroyed the Bellerophon. Then most of the survivors got s-spaced by the Borg.” He hadn’t fully corroborated the rumours on the latter topic, but he scarcely cared. “But you’ve chosen for us to remain a-aboard.” He paused again, partially for dramatic effect, but partially to brace himself for the answer.

As acursedly dire as Vulcans were, they were perhaps the most reliable of species when it came to intel. They rarely fictuated or improvised, they added absolutely no flair to their tales, and they made no effort to embellish the truth. In summary, her high status on the ship and her species’ lack of imagination…

Her answer would determine his future.

“Does that mean that the parasites, infesting Starfleet Command, and everything else… It’s all real?”

Re: Day 03 [1015 hrs.] Snakes and Ladders

Reply #9 – August 24, 2019, 07:02:08 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @TWilkins

Hathev was neither a coward or a fool, nor did she suffer them within her presence. She had little patience for wastrels, and less time for them; she herself was impeccably efficient and upright in every way, her every act calculated for maximum return and logical outcome. Thus if she took a particularly lengthy draught of coffee at this juncture it was born of a particular and sudden thirst; certainly there was no desire to secrete herself behind the mug, as such a thing would have been ridiculous, her personage being much larger than any coffee mug she had ever encountered and certainly larger than the one she currently utilised. No, there was no attempt at relief from the gaze, repulsive or otherwise, of the Orion sat opposite; there was merely thirst experienced and thirst quenched, and the length of any interim space between the two purely coincidental.

Nevertheless, she could certainly admit to a strong desire for this meeting to conclude. Two fingers found her temple and rubbed ever so slightly; a certain amount of grogginess still lingered and her burgeoning headache was only exacerbated by the infernal chattering and squeaking of chiropteran mastication. Worse, on viewing the bug-eyed mammal as it chewed noisily she noted it was also spewing splinters of whatever it was consuming all over not only the inside of its cage but also her perfectly-maintained carpet. If she never saw another such creature it would be too soon.

Her temper wore thin. ’You will control your rodent, Mr Zeshryr,’ she said sternly.

If the sole human in the room had wished to speak he was to be sorely disappointed; it seemed the Orion had cast him as witness only in the pagentry that was his every movement, performing in such a way as only those of his kind seemed able, at once confident and slimy in a most bilious combination. Hathev had little desire to string out such a detestable meeting for any longer than strictly necessary, however; should the human not receive the chance to speak to her on a matter he wished to, she would follow up with him with a message after the fact. For now, her primary purpose was in completing her business here and freeing herself from this most inefficient and unpleasant pantomime that she may apply herself to matters more deserving.

To her relief, Zeshryr finally turned the topic to something of vague use, although he immediately undermined any progress that he had made by unsettling his infernal pet; apparently once this was done, he thought it prudent to rehome the creature’s cage to the top of her desk, whereupon it began strewing its half-eaten shavings across her work. A light dusting made their way into her coffee mug, lying thinly upon the surface like scum or algae; she pushed the mug away slightly, lest she be overcome with insanity and mistakenly attempt to drink it once more.

‘My office is hardly a petting zoo,’ she said with impeccable control, her voice barely even tight with the effort — truly, it was almost indiscernible. ‘Should you insist on treating it as such I shall be forced to expel your creature from these premises.’ And then she would quite possibly be forced to find the nearest bathroom and give in to the nausea plaguing her gastric region from seeing the rodent so close.

It was a pity she could not retreat to her coffee once more.

Her fingers worked at her temple once more, and she steeled herself. For all his faults — and there were many; she had been keeping inventory of each — Zeshryr had asked an important question, and one which warranted, indeed one which necessitated, a considered response. When she had decided to remain aboard the Theurgy in an official capacity she had spoken to all the survivors of the Bellerophon and explained such reasoning; yet this was the first opportunity many had been afforded to speak to her on a more individual basis on the subject. Of course, this fact was the primary reason for arranging such meetings, and as such the question was hardly unexpected; nevertheless, given the present company, it would need thought on how precisely to approach the subject.

‘Before I answer, allow me to make one thing clear. I have not chosen for any to remain aboard except myself; any who wish to leave are within their rights to do so, and I shall assist you in that endeavour myself.’ She paused for the barest of moments to allow her words the weight they necessitated before continuing. ‘Nevertheless, I would not have remained myself had I not been convinced of a number of things. First, that the destruction of the Bellerophon was an act of desperation that shall not be repeated, that those responsible have been dealt with, and that despite the atrocity they committed the crew of this vessel proceeded to save as many from our ship as they could.

‘Secondly, I am certain that the information we were provided by Admiral Sankolov and Task Force Archeron was incorrect. To what degree, I am not certain, nor can I be sure of the reason why the information was incorrect. Nevertheless, I have confirmed that the task force was assembled before the Theurgy had committed any crime against the Federation, that there was not only no attempt at a peaceful resolution but that this course of action was actively refuted, and that the profile of Captain Ives that has been disseminated is at best accidentally incorrect and at worst deliberately libellous.’

She regarded her two guests, gauging their response. ‘Thirdly, I have reason to believe that there is some form of alien intelligence capable of infecting Starfleet personnel. I have been unable to verify whether the parasites exist in the exact manner that Captain Ives has explained to us, but their intent is certainly chaos and destruction. They are an enemy of the Federation, and the fact that this vessel has been condemned for attempting to share this warning lends credence to the suggestion that Starfleet Command itself has been compromised.

‘More than this, I cannot say with any certainty. I understand it is difficult to fathom; should you have any further questions I shall answer them to the best of my ability. However from what I have seen and learned, I am inclined to believe that the information we have been told by the crew of the Theurgy is correct.’

Re: Day 03 [1015 hrs.] Snakes and Ladders

Reply #10 – September 04, 2019, 12:16:48 PM

[ Y’Lev | Chief Counselor's Office | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] @fiendfall

Y’Lev utilised the vast majority of his Syndicate training just to keep his attention affixed upon the crone before him, her direly monotonous voice threatening to beat him into a sleepy submission with every lash of her talentless tongue. Y'Lev felt true sorrow if the rumours about Commander Hathev having a wife was true...  The poor woman must have a thoroughly chafed set of genitalia from the sandpapery dryness of the Commander's tongue... If her monologues were anything to judge it by at least... They had thus far failed to rise any dramatic flare, and all in all they were as weak as the taste of Vulcan tea.

Just the taste of water, but somehow, far less pleasant.

Yet, the content being birthed forth from her lips was at least of tactical importance, which is the only reason Y'Lev hadn't thought to unleash his bat to excite the story further. She had a threefold sleigh of responses that took him on perhaps the most depressingly dull linguistic journey of his life. Her first and second passages were of little care to Y’Lev, being relevant of issues of little interest to him, however her third passage was the one that made his mind stand to attention and brought his odd-coloured-eyes up to stare into hers.

She claimed that whilst she had been unable to verify whether the parasites exist in the specific way that the Captain of the vessel had described, she knew enough to confirm them as being deviously intent on chaos and destruction, and described them as staunch enemies of the Federation. The same statement could also apply the Y’Lev however, and the entire Syndicate by extention, and he desperately needed more information. Luckily, the pointy-eared font did yet have more to pour.

It was her final concluding statement which made the Orion sigh, the conclusion that from what she had seen and learned, she was inclined to believe that the information she had been provided by the crew of the Theurgy was indeed correct. She gave her reasonings and her justifications, but her belief was enough for the moment to make his body ache. It scolded his psyche so much that he even forgot about the reparte he'd prepared to counter her comment about controling his bat.

For a Vulcan to admit such a consipicy spoke a great deal to Y’Lev, his eyes falling downcast as he swallowed a mouthful of saliva that had surged up from a sudden pit that had developed in his gut. He didn’t even know if she’d show him evidence if he asked. It was probably ‘classified’ by some upright officer with a penchant for hypocrisy… But he had to try. Otherwise he was truly condemning himself to a fate of slow death serving aboard a Federation Starship without real knowledge for himself. He’d slowly suffocate in the oppression of sensuality and freedom...

Yet, this was not the testimony of a Human, so dramatic yet also abhorrently dry. Nor was it a sales pitch from a Ferangi attempting to barter him into something. It was a cold, analytical, and retchingly boring, desision from a sterile old Vulcan. Even a being as flippant as he had no choice but to take it seriously. He couldn’t disregard it. Yet at least seeing some evidence would mean destroying his life for a reason he could at least realise for himself. Not destroying his life because a Vulcan had tricked him into it.

Wouldn't that be just his luck...

“That does seem to c-corroborate with the rumours shared amongst the crew…” He put on his more timid voice as he spoke to the Vulcan, keeping his eyes downcast for the time being, before he slowly raised his gaze. “But you know what Humans are like with their rumours, I’ve heard tales from the g-gossip machine aboard this ship ranging from ship-wide orgies to a man who can use his phallus to manipulate the wind…” Both rumours were ones he had heard, and he’d heard many more. He’d opted for those examples to try and draw some amusement from the situation, yet even that felt weak.

“But I suppose that’s neither here nor there…” He tempered down any desire for amusement as reality crept up upon him. “I guess I’d hoped that those rumours were fictitious developments and perhaps a distortion of a threat not quite so grave…” He ran his hand through his hair, the thick strands falling through his fingers as he still failed to meet the Commander’s eye. “But to be told that Starfleet Command itself has fallen to their influence… I-i…”

He blanched, both in character and inside. Suddenly, the agent felt a pang of the most unpleasant desperation...

“Are we sure it’s not a d-deception on the Captain’s part? Have they perhaps misled you with falsified reports?” Y’Lev tried to play on the woman’s intellectual vanity in hope of getting her to reveal her sources, perhaps share with them with him in an ideal outcome. “What evidence did they provide? I would assume it is not classified if they want so rampantly to show the truth to the galaxy…”

“I doubt it’s usual procedure to show such to a crewman… But please Commander, if you can show me even a hint of what you’ve seen…” He realised that he was sounding less and less like pathetic Crewman Galo and more like someone unbarably hungry for intel. He decided to backtrack.

“I-i just want to know that my Sister didn’t die for some overzealous fiction…”

Re: Day 03 [1015 hrs.] Snakes and Ladders

Reply #11 – September 11, 2019, 01:31:56 AM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @TWilkins

The Orion appeared to have taken her words to heart, looking almost crestfallen with her admittance that she was inclined to believe the crew of a ship previously branded rebels and hounded accordingly; whether he was also inclined to believe them would remain to be seen. She would not compel any of her erstwhile crewmates to fall into line with the conspiracies espoused by those aboard the Theurgy, nor even to remain on the ship; nevertheless, as she found herself increasingly open to the possibility that Captain Ives was, in fact, correct in at least part of his judgement, she also found herself desiring those from the Bellerophon to reach the same conclusions as she herself had reached. Should any wish to remove themselves from the vicinity of the Theurgy... Considering this ship’s treatment by the Task Force Archeron, she could only predict any deserters of the Theurgy would find themselves faced with an unpleasant welcome on their return to Federation space. She did not wish such a fate upon any who survived from the Bellerophon, not even the obsequious green malformation before her. Nor indeed upon his detestable rodent.

A rodent which she studiously refused to pay any heed, lest her last meal join the creature on the table. The less said about that the better.

She forced her focus upon the Orion once more, pinning him with a stare that conveyed her precise opinion of the calibre of rumour he had heard propogated aboard the ship.

‘You debase your ears with listening to such drivel,’ she said dismissively. ‘Desist.’

Nevertheless, the boy’s nervousness was exhibited in his inability to meet her eye. She understood his confusion, his fear; she had not allowed herself to experience such things upon her meeting with the captain, of course, but she realised such information would likely cause such a reaction in lesser creatures. She could not begrudge the Orion for being of an uncivilised species.

‘I have considered such a possibility, of course,’ she said, ‘and it remains conceivable, if improbable. I saw no signs of falsification in the evidence, of deception in the captain, or even of fanaticism or insanity. All these I looked for, and did not discover; thus I am left with the conclusion that the information, in part or in whole, is correct. You may draw your own conclusions, of course.’

The request for evidence was reasonable, and given the circumstances she could not deny his right to such a thing. She could not expect her previous crewmates to genuflect to Captain Ives on her word alone. It was unfortunate that the video evidence touted by the captain had been less than persuasive in her experience; however, the evidence she had found most convincing being inadmissable in these circumstances, she was left with few options.

‘The captain provided me with a video, apparently showing an interview of an individual infested with a parasite; whether this is what the video shows in actuality, I cannot say without further investigation. You would be welcome to view it for yourself, although I must emphasise that I reach my judgement not from this evidence alone, and should it have been the only evidence afforded to me I would not have been convinced of the truth of the captain’s words.’ With that disclaimer, she turned to her computer interface, bringing up the video in question to play for all to see. She had little desire to view it for herself once more, yet she would not deny Zeshryr the closure he desired.

Watching it now threatened to cause an internal disturbance in her esophageal and intestinal region; she felt the nausea rising in her and fought to control it. She would neither look away, nor give in to the infernal machinations of her stomach -- which were, no doubt, somehow in collusion with the rodent currently perched upon her desk with a laughable affectation of innocence.

As the recording came to a close, that horrifying, impossible sound once more echoing in Hathev’s ears, she returned to the two crew members before her. She knew the shock they must be experiencing, and sought to soothe it.

‘This was not all,’ she said, ‘however the other evidence I cannot show to you. I underwent a mind meld with a Vulcan member of the Theurgy’s crew, and saw for myself their trials. They have not lied about their beliefs, nor their experiences. Furthermore, after hearing Ives’ explanation, behaviour I myself witnessed aboard the Bellerophon has been thrown into a new light.’

She paused, regarding her audience for a moment. ‘I do not say this to convince you. Your minds are your own. I merely intend to explain how I came to the conclusions I have. These are not certain, and I still seek out more information; yet for the present time, I am inclined to believe the crew of this vessel in their assessment of Starfleet.’

Re: Day 03 [1015 hrs.] Snakes and Ladders

Reply #12 – November 22, 2019, 03:02:56 PM

[ Y’Lev | Chief Counselor's Office | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] @fiendfall

The Commander returned his phallic comment as expected. Bluntly. Y’Lev would have perhaps grinned at how predictable he was beginning to find the Vulcan, had he not been far more concerned with the information she was providing him. His eyes narrowed on her gaunt face as she concisely informed him as to how the chance of falsification was ‘improbable’. He wagered that ‘improbable’ was as close to certain as the Vulcan’s vocabulary reached.

She also indicated that she noticed no sign of either insanity nor fanaticism, which Y’Lev supposed she would be knowledgeable on, given her profession. Someone to analyse behavior and provide feedback as such. It wasn’t a profession much looked for in Orion culture; Y’Lev would sooner see a soothsayer for advice as opposed to a thought-analysis-specialist… She then, of course, invited him to draw his own conclusions. It was so typically Starfleet of her.

Yet his scathing thoughts stilled within his own head, watching as her dry mouth stretched around her words. Perhaps some malevolent themes still slipped through the net of his serious focus; he was only Orion after all. She offered a video for him to view, and said it had not convinced her. It was a terribly unhelpful sentiment for her to reveal; he wondered whether the hag even knew how to withhold her malignant subjectivity.

But she turned to the console and produced the material she so unconvincingly spoke of. It played before his eyes.

He watched with keen eyes, scanning her entire form as she spoke and delivered her dialogue. Her mouth sipped at the perversion birthed into the air by her own words, looking at whomever occupied the off-screen space with amusement, as though she were observing slaves struggling with an improbable task.

The Orion swallowed at his aversion to her behavior, listening keenly to her words. Ensign Acreth. The Niga virus. He wasn’t familiar with the topics at hand. His diverting thoughts returned to her as he witnessed the woman straighten with disturbing dignity, her voice cackling at seething remarks that critiqued a murder she’d apparently committed against an associate of her captors.

She was asked if she was an interphasic parasite. She answered with silence. Then her movement took her flush with the forcefield quicker than the recording could comfortably portray to the Orion’s eyes. She mocked them, spoke of love and kindness, juxtaposed with destruction and defilement. How they were dishonest of themselves…

The most disturbed thought that Y’Lev allowed to swell in his own head was one that saw himself as one not-so-dissimilar to the woman before him. He’d looked with a similar amusement over a balcony alongside a Decurionof the Syndicate, sipping at brightly coloured Risan cocktails as they softly mocked the slaves tending to the lavish gardens below them. Were he to have been captured in the capacity of a Syndicate agent, he’d have no doubt critiqued his own actions with amusement, as a means of off-putting his interrogators, inviting them to make a mistake. Equally, he found himself falling into a somewhat obvious agreement with the woman in her distaste false nature of Starfleet’s juxtaposition between their ethos and their own defilement.

Perhaps, were the tables turned, he’d be labeled as a parasite much the same.

She spoke of how there was no good or evil, and how law was a construct… They were ideals that weren’t so far removed to what the Orion Syndicate strove for. There was no pleasure, no benefit, no excitement, in tranquility. However, the Orion’s strong fixation on ensuring that he did not nod in agreement to her words, came to an abrupt end.

He found his face turning like sour milk, disgust riding on his lip as he bore witness to an indignant cretin of a woman flail in her own carnality, rummaging at her sex through her dress without her facial expression so much as twitching. She compared their bodies to playgrounds, avenues with which to explore and derive pain and pleasure at their whims. Her speech told him much of the same that the Syndicate believed…

His green-skinned form began to experience the displeasure of nausea, of a cold chill against his spine…

The woman on the console reached with her fingers and brushed them against her nose, inhaling the scent unblinkingly as she patrolled the length of the force field. The Niga incident was revisited, envisaged as the harbinger of their way. Then she was led across the bumbling lines of a lengthy speech from an off-screen officer. Her face did not shift for the entire duration of the service.

She mocked them. Explained her indulgence in their questions and then their lack of comprehension of her answers.  Then she erupted forth with a description of atomic and quantum physics that the Orion did not comprehend. She told them of their decay, the energy asleep and the energy awakened.

And then her words cut against everything Y’Lev knew to be true. The end result of what his every value came down to. Individuality.

The concept seemed to enrage her.

She described herself, and unnamed others, as the nameless darkness. She listed her goals as to reduce them, including Y’Lev, and Hathev, and his bat, all to a soup of primordial energy for them to devour. The idea was repugnant. His mouth twisted into a trembling grimace as the footage drew to a conclusion.

He agreed that pleasure was a goal that superseded Starfleet’s pretentious ethos. But pleasure was more than her malignant carnality that brutalised the finer instrument of rapture… He fought off a scowl. The wench knew nothing of pleasure. And Y’Lev’s desire to avoid having his essence devoured by an indignant entity that understand nothing of which it spoke, made him oh-so-keen to fight with his sinking belief that this did not appear as some elaborate deception.

Starfleet were not so creative.

He let silence remain, his facial expression threatening to spill at the edges, the seams of his identity stretching with distortion. He swallowed dryly. Commander Hathev spoke.

She had other evidence that could not be shown, Vulcan mind-melding, telepathic transference. It was her confirmation that they had not lied about their belief, at the very least. Once again, she returned to her on-the-fence disposition that avoided attempting to persuade him. He no longer had the energy to allow himself to be offended by the lack of colour in her logical existence. 

But, she was inclined to believe the tale.

He supposed, so was he.

“I…” He began, but words seemed redundant in the face of what he had just witnessed. The content of his tongue would have been relegated to emotional, which he had no wish to expose to the harpy before him. So he chose the other concern lingering in his mind. “I suppose you don’t think my people to be so different from these creatures…”

He swallowed dryly once again. His breath rattled slightly. He didn’t recall ever feeling so riddled with discomfort.

“We…” He had a defense prepared on his tongue, before recalling that he, for the intents and purposes of his conversation with the Vulcan, was not an Orion. He was Crewman Galo, the Starfleet mongrel. His mouth limply shut like a fish out of water.

“Orions are reputable for pleasure and self-interest… I’ve been reminded of the fact more times than I care to count.” He felt the blood in his ears pound like drums beneath his skull. “And even if I didn’t have an upbringing like they would on Vondem, even if I was brought up with the same values as most of this ship…” He paused his lie, contemplating how needily pathetic his comment would sound. He found his words and his characters tangled in his head. The most distasteful thing was, it was hardly even Galo speaking. These words echoed Y’Lev, far more so than they did his character.

“I -I just…” He couldn’t quite explain his notion without having the Commander question his identity, if she hadn’t already. He switched topics. Though the words remained as Y’Lev’s as he spoke with the softest tone of voice.

“I suppose, I’ll remain aboard. To aid in stopping them, if such a feat is even possible…”

And much to his chagrin, the Orion somehow believed that he meant the sentiment.

Re: Day 03 [1015 hrs.] Snakes and Ladders

Reply #13 – December 06, 2019, 06:04:49 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @TWilkins

Her guests responded to the video with all the revulsion she had expected; Lieutenant Smith in particular looked queasy, and for a moment Hathev was forced to consider an eventuality where the first individual to vacate their stomach contents in this office under her watch might not, in fact, be a patient, but rather an officer on duty. The prospect was hardly welcome.

Thankfully it seemed the moment passed, and the lieutenant was able to bring his unruly stomach back under his control. Thus it was to Zeshryr that she turned, he having been the one who requested such evidence.

The boy seemed shocked. For the very first time, at a loss for words. When he did finally speak, it was with a dry tongue and voice rasping with discomfort. He had been equally affected, it would seem, albeit in a different manner.

His words, however, were unexpected. Never could Hathev have looked upon the individual in that video, Acreth, and compare her actions, her beliefs, to any other creature — and certainly not one who served aboard a Starfleet vessel. She may have found Orions difficult to parse, and she was certainly less than friendly with the example of the species before her, yet for Zeshryr to compare his own kind to the parasites showed a disturbing self-loathing.

She hoped he would schedule a session to see one of her subordinates on the matter. From the young man's behaviour here today, however, she did not predict his probability of doing so to be high. Unfortunate.

'I expect you are rather better acquainted with the norms of your species than I,' she said, somewhat wry. 'Nevertheless I believe you draw your comparison on faulty logic. While surface-level similarities may exist, certainly it would be news to me if your countryfolk desired mass obliteration on a galaxy-wide scale.' She paused slightly, considering her next words.

'No species or culture is entirely perfect,' she said finally, electing to ignore the inherent fallacy in her words — 'perfect' being term so nebulous when applied to values as to be rendered entirely useless — in favour of brevity. 'Yet as you have no biological imperative to act in any particular way, you may determine your own behaviour. I understand that existing between two such cultures makes for a tangled existence—' Zeshryr did not need to know, of course, precisely how tangled her own had become, '—yet it uniquely offers you the ability to choose for yourself which elements to pursue. Thus your values may be entirely your own.

'In any case, while it is clear that my own culture places merit on logicality over emotionality and that this must inherently dictate that our species are, at the very least, philosophically opposed in this manner, I do not consider the individual on this tape, whether truly an transphasic parasite or no, to be akin to anything we have seen before, and certainly not to a species of whom a member would be willing to fight against such a threat.'

The fact that he was indeed willing to do so was gratifying to her. Thus far none of those survivors from the Bellerophon had elected to leave the Theurgy, despite the range of beliefs and opinions on the ship, its crew, and its mission, and although Hathev would never compel anyone to remain — and she had to believe that neither would the captain do so — it was undeniable that the logistics of arranging for someone to leave without compromising either their safety or that of the Theurgywould be complicated at best.

With Lieutenant Smith's echoing of Zeshryr's statement, it seemed that such logistics would not be her concern today.

'I am glad you shall both be remaining,' she said. 'Of course, should you change your mind, or have any other concerns, you are welcome to discuss such things with me at any time. I would also recommend making an appointment with the Counselling department, if only for a single session. I can assure you the team here is both capable and understanding.'

Whether either of the men would do so had yet to be seen. Nevertheless, she supposed it was enough that they had both elected to serve aboard the Theurgy. What the future would hold, they would simply have to discover as it unfolded.

—FIN