LtCmdr T'Lea - The Gain Of Time, Part 1
doggybunbun
((OOC: I'm gonna start dropping this series of sims to get it going for Shore Leave. I will backsim the tags I have outstanding. So I'll have two timelines running for a while. :D ))
((Lightside Station – The Hollows))
Tonight was the last fight of the week and it had been hyped to be an epic match-up. The battle would be between two undefeated fighters, The Borg vs. The Raging Romulan. They were both vicious brawlers, both “thinkers” in the ring, and both of them had always found a way to win when the odds were not in their favor. Tonight one of those Blood Bowl champions would take their first knock-out in the arena.
The packed crowd was buzzing with anticipation. And the Syndicate, the criminal master-minds that ran the Hollows, was salivating at the amount of profit this fight would bring them.
Announcer: Ten minutes! Ten minutes until the main event, people! The Borg vs. The Raging Romulan in the ultimate showdown. You came for blood. And you will have your bowl of blood!
The crowd cheered.
Announcer: You came for a glorious knock-out. And you will have your brain-bashing bombshell!
The crowd cheered harder.
Announcer: But I know, I know. I know why you’re really here, you sick bunch of voles. And if you are lucky, you will have a huge pay-out!
Now that really got the crowd roaring. The promise of latinum always made people excited.
Announcer: So place your bets at the designated areas now. You have eight minutes before the window closes. Oh, and just a friendly reminder, please keep your appendages behind the railing at all times. We can’t guarantee your safety otherwise. Eight minutes to the biggest fight the Blood Bowl has ever seen!
((Private Room))
A changing table, a warm up mat, and a duffel bag of personal gear occupied the small room. There were no trainers, and no support staff for the Raging Romulan. Unlike other fighters T’Lea had no one but herself and the thought of revenge to motivate her.
It was enough.
Sat in a meditative position in the middle of the soft mat, T’Lea went about her pre-fight routine religiously. Her posture was the pillar of perfection, and her expression was the embodiment of stillness within. Emotions were harnessed, tranquility was enshrined, and her Katra was aligned to the tuning fork of logic. It was a house well organized. It was the yen to the coming yang of the fight. These precious moments had been her anchor in the growing storm of primal urges, but lately… lately control was getting out of control. The scales of balance were not tipping in her favor.
She was destroying herself in order to destroy another person. It was the opposite of logic.
One week and three fights had almost ruined her body with little time to heal between. Broken bones, bruised organs, concussions, numerous cuts, strains, sprains, tears, and a great deal of pain had all been inflicted upon herself for one purpose – the gain of time. Time and timing was the essence of her very existence now. But the question was becoming more insistent… could she kill Dal Selta before killing herself, or somebody else?
She'd come so close to taking the lives of her last two opponents in the arena that the staff had to physically pry her off of her unconscious victims.
Pon farr was knock, knock, knocking at her door and she needed to answer it very soon.
Tonight was the first time that she was truly scared. Not for herself, but for her opponent. She questioned whether or not she could reel in her baser instincts. Could she toe-the-line and still burn through enough of that primordial Vulcan DNA to make a difference, or would this be her last fight?
Her worries dissolved when the squeaky metal door to her room opened, and one of the medical staff popped his head inside.
Medic 2: It’s time. They’re ready for you.
Instead of leaving though, he stepped further in and closed the door behind him. He watched her scooped up her mask from off the table. He was contemplating something. In his hands he held an item wrapped in a cloth. A look of concern reflected in his expression. He’d witnessed the end of her last two fights. She seemed to be “not all there”, that was the best way to describe it.
Medic 2: So, are you good?
T’Lea: Does it matter?
She had a point, and he shook his head no. Before she could move past him, he held out the thing he was holding.
Medic 2: Here. I was supposed to give this to you a while ago, but you know, you’ve been a little out of it after your fights. I thought now would be a better time.
T’Lea glanced between him and his cloth-covered offering. Her suspicion was up. Was this a trick, or a plot to throw the fight?
Medic 2: Just take it. Here.
He shoved it into her body in a way that left her no choice but to grab it lest it dropped to the floor. As he turned and made his way to the door, T’Lea unfolded the cloth and saw something that was about to change everything tonight. Inside the woven material was a fully intact Iconian power crystal used to fuel their gateways and other technology. Next to that shocker was a data chip.
The Medic’s job was done but as his hand reached for the exit his face suddenly hit the door instead. The Raging Romulan had him pinned by the neck, and wedged between the crux of her thumb and forefinger was his spine.
T’Lea: Where did you get this?
How could there be such darkness in such bright blue eyes, he wondered briefly between choking. The force and awkward position of his neck was cutting off his airflow.
Medic 2: I… ack…
She lightened the pressure from behind, but only just enough so that he could form his words, and maybe breathe a little too.
Medic 2: Just the messenger.
The heavy hand returned harder this time. She leaned in so seductively close to his smashed face against the door that he could feel her warm words penetrate the flesh on his cheek.
T’Lea: Where?
He blinked rapidly and patted repeatedly on her arm, as if trying to tap-out of a fight. Once more she softened her hold, and he sucked in a raspy gulp of stale air.
Medic 2: I don’t…. know her name. A Bajoran freighter captain… likes to watch the fights. Likes you.
The hand of doom retreated from his neck and the Medic bent over on his knees, once more free to breathe.
T’Lea turned and paced a few feet away in thought. The wheels were spinning in her head as she tried to make sense of it all. Logic was starting to rise to the surface like a frothy, delicious cream… something was about to fall into place and it all started with the deciphered message that SFI Agent Rune Jolara had given her…
((Flashback))
"Lightside station. Maintenance dock C-83. Engineer Marot. Ship repair request: PR-7849-CD-9001."
((Lightside Station – Maintenance Dock C-83))
Marot was a hard working engineer, but an even harder working opportunist. Some might say that he had Ferengi blood running through his veins, but in fact he was Betazoid through-and-through. He was pretty good with his hands, but he was even better with his mind. Telepathic skimming was the bread and butter of his gambling prowess. Cheating the gaming tables was his biggest money maker, but it also came in handy on the docks, until the day he touched the wrong mind. A Cardassian mind wearing a Bajoran face.
Marot: You had a question for me? About a service repair? Come on inside, I just need to run a system check. We can talk about it.
T’Lea: Yes. You provided maintenance for a ship I’m interested in locating. I sent you the service request number?
((fLaShBaCk))
((Orstand 3 – Kensale Shuttle))
Indobri: I’m sorry. There’s nothing else I can do. Tell me why? Why did you do this?
Marot’s eyes fluttered open again. He choked on his blood, splattering Indobri as he tried to speak his last words.
Marot: D- Al. Dal.
It was a Cardassian rank. The alarm from the ops console stopped, indicating that the threat was over.
Karise felt those old feelings stirring within her again. She despised them for what they had done to her people. If he was in league with one of them….
Indobri oO No! I will not allow those feelings to dictate my professionalism again. Once was one time too many. Oo
Indobri: What? Dal? A Cardassian? Dal who?
Marot: Sel-ta. Selta. ::wheeze:: Was. Her ship.
He gasped for breath as T’Lea knelt back into his view. She looked at the fresh blood speckled on Indobri’s face and neck. It was actually kind of pretty, like red Trill spots.
T’Lea: He said something. What did he say?
Indobri: Dal Selta. Does that mean anything to you?
It meant everything to T’Lea. Intensity rose as she turned her attention to Marot and shook him.
T’Lea: That was the Dal’s ship? Where did she go? Where is she?
Karise didn’t need her telepathy to know that name had raised some strong feelings from T’Lea. About as intense as her own feelings about Cardassians. But the man was dying and he deserved compassion right now, not their venom.
Indobri: T’Lea. Take it easy.
Marot: Was hired. To take you. ::he swallowed a wet slurp of his own blood:: To her.
((FlAsHbAcK))
((USS Juneau – Stellar Cartography))
T’Lea: We have a match. Excellent work.
R’Kala: You're welcome.
T’Lea quick-tapped the console and zeroed in on the new puzzle piece. The space lanes were clearly marked with four, no five points of interest where the Cardassian map overlaid. The planets were Murn, Phorth, Debenus, and two moons Honov, and Senov.
T’Lea: The Cardassian scout ship definitely paid close attention to this particular area. ::squinting:: I’ll have to do some research to determine which of these celestial bodies would be better suited for Iconian remains.
R’Kala: You think the Cardassians may have found some Iconian remains?
T’Lea: Maybe they found nothing, maybe they found something. Maybe they missed something. ::she shook a finger at the planets:: I have to believe this particular map was given to me for a reason. If there’s something out there, I’ll find it.
((End Flashback))
The ship repair request was for a Bajoran freighter. Marot said it was Dal Selta’s ship. T’Lea ran a hand over her face trying to piece the fragments of information together. It felt like it was harder to understand than it should have been, probably because of her rattled state of mind.
Was the Dal using this freighter Captain and her ship to search for Iconian artifacts?
Maybe the answer lied in her very own hands. She looked at the power crystal and the data chip that she was fisting tightly, and then turned for the Medic.
Seeing the Raging Romulan’s blue eyes cut through him like a knife, he moved quickly out of her way when she plowed right for him. Luckily, she didn’t want him, she wanted the exit.
Medic 2: He...rk.
He rubbed at his sore neck as the word failed in his throat, and then proceeded to follow her into the corridor.
Medic 2: Hey, you can’t leave! What ab—ack ::cough:: What about the fight?
He stopped and watched her continue on. She was headed out of the Hollows. Now that he knew that she wasn’t coming back he suddenly became very brave and forcefully barked after her.
Medic 2: The Syndicate won’t stand for this! They’ll come for you! You owe them a fight!
Gone. Just like that, The Raging Romulan was gone.
TBC in PART 2
Lieutenant Commander T’Lea
First Officer
USS Juneau
Author ID I238301T10