Lieutenant Valesha Sienelis - Dazed and Decorated
Quinn Reynolds
((Shuttlebay, USS Juneau))
Valesha hadn't joined any of the small groups gathering in the shuttlebay, though she was hardly the only one. Neathler had stood apart as well, as had Genkos, tugging at his collar until Raga had sidled up to him. It was only when Chris sought her out that she had company, and she gave her Russian a tired, half-hearted smile when he pressed a glass of crystal blue liquid into her hand. The aroma was unmistakable, a pungent taste of her long-lost home. She murmured her thanks just as Oddas called for their attention, drawing all eyes forward and onto the captain of the Juneau.
Oddas: A few years ago I was a young Lieutenant who did some math which didn't make sense and asked a mentor for advice. I didn't imagine it would lead me here, to a ship, an engine, and a crew redefining what the Warp Scale looks like. Our voyage was meant to be a simple cruise but like all things, in Starfleet, it became something more, proof officers from across the fleet could be thrown together and perform under pressure, get the job done, and do it with a grace befitting and expected of the service. I am proud to serve with you and to call you my colleagues.
A polite wave of applause rolled across those in attendance, echoing across the cavernous walls of the shuttlebay. It seemed so often that something simple in Starfleet was anything but — a simple nebula mapping mission sucking the Gorkon into an alternate reality, a simple journey to a conference turning into a fight for their lives, a simple shore leave on a beach dragging her into conspiracies and undercover work.... the list went on.
First, the whole crew were presented with the Maiden Voyage Ribbon, along with unique commendations for the project itself; Warp XV Drive Pioneer and Project Capstone. More applause rippled through the crowd, and Valesha absently tapped the back of her glass-holding hand to join in. It was a mark of honour to have participated, to have been a part of a project that could redefine how the Federation and Starfleet explored space. Sometimes she wondered where her own people were on their equivalent projects — they'd have them, one way or the other, if only for the fear of being outpaced.
Then came the Legion of Merit and the Orion Syndicate Service Medal, and Valesha saw Chris' gaze drop to the bottom of his glass, the same feeling echoing between her ribs. There had been tears shed over what had happened to the Ascent Vine, nights that she'd cried herself to sleep over the events and her part within them.
((The Past: Transporter Room One, USS Juneau))
Materialising on the transporter pad, it felt as though time had stopped. Crystallised and frozen, set apart from the fundamental laws of physics that demanded they be in constant motion, moving forward, forward, forward...
Then she blinked, and the sound of the doctor's stomach contents splattering over the transporter pad reached her ears, the rancid stench assaulting her nose. The tap of Chris' boots, the Russian using every iota of his dancer's strength and grace to cross the transporter pad in a single stride, the transporter chief shifting aside to let the other man peer at his console. Hazel eyes roved over the information, his fingers white-knuckled on the edge of the workstation, and she just couldn't move.
Johns: Raga’s trying to get a lock on the civilians… Wait, no… ::He paused, and Valesha waited, her heart thundering in her chest. It all felt as though it was happening to someone else, some character in a holonovel, a fiction that she wasn't really a part of.:: He’s lost it…
Adea: What?! No...
The doctor's exclamation was so faint as to be barely audible, heard only courtesy of her sharp ears. She could understand the sentiment, even if it did feel as though it was happening light years away.
Johns: Even the biggest Syndicate slaver ships can only transport a few hundred at a time. ::He forced himself to take a breath as he gripped the console.:: The power demands are too great.
Wearing his heart on his sleeve, as he always did, Genkos' eyes fell toward the floor for a few moments. Then he looked up, the excess dampness of his eyes catching the bright lights of the transporter room, his voice rough and raw with emotion.
Adea: How many?
Johns: Six thousand people.
His words were soft, as though if they weren't spoken firmly, they might not be true. But as Genkos' tears began to roll down his cheeks, she could see Chris' jaw tighten, see the fire kindling in his eyes at the knowledge that it was. It was probably interesting, from a psychological standpoint, the array of reactions on display; grief, anger... and in her case, a dissociated sense of numbness. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. How could the first time she led an away team result in six thousand deaths?
Sienelis: I have to report in. ::The words didn't sound as though they were coming from her throat, but some distant recording, played through cotton wool.:: Get back to your usual duty stations for now.
Without waiting for an answer, without meeting anyone's gaze, she let her legs fire on autopilot and take her straight out of the transporter room. Alone, every decision she'd made slammed into her head at the speed of slipstream; the choice to prioritise communications over the engines, the decision to investigate one person's illness instead of focusing on getting six thousand people out of danger. Diving into the turbolift, she choked out a request for the bridge and clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling the sob that erupted from her throat, trying to stop hot tears from spilling down her cheeks.
She would cry later. She had to cry later. Right then, she needed to wear the uniform she wasn't sure she deserved, play the part of the Starfleet officer she wasn't sure she should be.
((The Present))
Reynolds: Congratulations, Captain. ::Her eyebrows quirked up, warmth on her freckled features.:: And very well done.
Another roll of thunderous applause and Valesha blinked, snapped back into the present. Somehow she'd ended up with a box containing a Purple Heart pressed into her hand, though she could barely remember how. Beside her, Chris supped from his glass, breathing out a sigh after swallowing down a mouthful of kali-fal. He turned toward her, hazel eyes darting down to the small collection of ribbons she'd acquired, and then back up again.
Johns: Is it a personal endeavour to earn enough Purple Hearts to sew a dress out of?
Sienelis: I don't even like purple that much.
Johns: At least it wasn’t so serious. ::He exhaled as the kali-fal swirled in the bottom of his glass.:: Marshall tells me the Gorkon picked up the Vulcan passengers. Dropped on a planet, given supplies, only the Fleet Commander missing in action. All heads accounted for.
The revelation came with a hard thump of her heart, and felt almost as unreal as the events that had preceded them; a dream, a tearful wish that somehow, somehow, those people hadn't died. As difficult as it had been to wrap her mind around their (apparent) deaths, now she struggled to imagine how they could possibly be alive. The entire asteroid belt had erupted into fire and hail, the Ascent Vine completely unable to flee the inferno
Sienelis: How?
Johns: There’s the assumption it was a slave ship but, ::he shrugged, his lips thinning,:: we’ll not find out. I’m just happy they’re not dead. I don’t need that on my conscience.
Sienelis: No. ::Relief came in a rush of exhaled air, and she lifted her glass to her lips, downing the rest of her drink in one. The pungent aroma of kali-fal was notorious for "opening one's sinuses" and the sense that a tornado had just paid her senses a visit was not an unwelcome one.:: Me either.
Chris' smile was warming, as was the soft squeeze of her hand that followed. Her Russian, whose presence alone was a balm, who kept her grounded with his teasing and reminded her to find the fun in the simple things, who introduced her to dance and delighted in the fact she'd come to love it almost as much as he did. They'd fallen into each other's lives in a dream, and now it was hard to imagine how she'd moved through the universe without him.
Across from them, the other members of their poker crowd — Teller and Peters — had struck up a conversation. Chris dropped a hand onto the ginger man's shoulder, and she had no doubt that the next words out of his mouth would be an affectionate tease for the engineer.
Johns: You didn’t kill us after all. I never doubted you for a minute. Whole hours, maybe. Not minutes.
Teller/Peters: Response
Johns: Well, I for one think we earned it. Campfire on the beach, get some diving in, ::with those words, he stuck Valesha in the ribs with his elbow,:: enjoy the sand, sun and relax.
Sienelis: With a bottle of tequila and no arrests?
She raised her eyebrows, a wry joke at her own expense that perhaps only Chris would catch on to. Sometimes she'd wondered how that evening would have played out, if Kotanne hadn't turned up to ruin it. While it had all turned out alright in the end, that was only because she'd had a certain Admiral on her side — whose sheer stubbornness wouldn't allow for anything else — and the fact that the equally stubborn Bear had refused to let her die when poison coursed through her veins.
Teller/Peters/Johns: Response
Sienelis: We should get one last poker game in, too. Drink some coffee, play some cards, say goodbye to the Continuum.
Teller/Peters/Johns: Response