Branzino de Alstroemeria
Posted on 31 Aug 2023 @ 10:16pm by Captain Corvus DeHavilland
Edited on on 31 Aug 2023 @ 10:25pm
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: Captain DeHavilland's Quaters
Timeline: MD1 - 1949HRS
3471 words - 6.9 OF Standard Post Measure
It was always hard finding a new rhythm in a new place. Always difficult to get comfortable in that space and come to feel as if it was home. Having personal affects always helped her. Pictures, knick knacks and of course the only children she was likely to have anytime soon - her plants. Lining the long window of her quarters on Obsidian Command was her brood of children, plants of every variety in their pots from various worlds soaking up a bit of glow off of Loki and the overhead glow of the UV lights. Just for ease of things, she preferred plants that liked low light or a little more than average light so that she didn’t have to have special apparatus’ like they had in the hydroponics bays. She wasn’t trying to grow them big and large, just have a companion of sorts.
It felt a bit surreal being back in her quarters here on OC. She’d gotten used to life on the move again, of stars sweeping past her viewport at warp and the constant thrum of the engines beneath her feet. Life on a station was very different and of course very still. Unless the artificial gravity went off line it was very easy to forget you were in space, especially if you were in the environmental ring where you couldn’t see it. She knew that it was going to take her a few days to be able to get a good nights sleep again. It’d be easy to fall back into that rhythm on the Pathfinder as she’d been at sea for her whole career. This stable life. That was going to take some time getting used to again.
She was glad to back though. Even though she’d enjoyed the challenge, she hadn’t felt herself on this mission. She’d questioned herself and her every move to the point that it’d almost cost lives. She’d second guessed herself into causing the problems she had been trying to avoid, and she knew that wasn’t her. She knew who she was as a person, as an officer and as a leader. She was capable of decisive decision making, that was how she’d been so successful as the First Officer of the Praetorian and why she’d been hand-picked for this role by Admiral Sepandiyar. She was capable. She just needed to remind herself of that. Apparently, more than she used to.
Regardless of all the baggage she’d brought home with her, it was good to be back. To take a sonic shower in her own space, to put on her favorite robe and of course to tend to her plants. It was nice to be home, even if it didn’t quite feel like that at the moment. Give it time, Amelie, it’ll feel that way soon.
As she replicated another watering can full of water, she stared absently at the viewport as a shuttle swept lazily by going about whatever duties the small crew had. She saw the ship but her mind was light years beyond that, wondering about the things sh wasn’t supposed to be wondering about. The thoughts had crossed her mind previously here and there but she’d used the urgency of their escape and the endless list of things to do to shut it out. Here, now, in the quiet silence of her quarters, her mind drifted to it again.
The battle before Korin was replaying in her minds eye and that feeling she’d felt in those moments hit her hard. That sense of clarity in face of their pending doom, of accepting that they might not be coming back; that they were going to give their lives in that moment to seal that rift hell or high water to save the Korin. It was a sobering memory, but it had been how she’d checked herself and her second-guessing. It had given her a clarity of thought that she had been missing thus far, burdened as she was with the weight of everything else.
She hardly noticed that the watering can had long ago been replicated on the pad and with a slow sigh, picked it up and returned to watering her plants. Her mind was still on the events, though. Corvus allowed herself to think about the Alabama and Captain Bowdler. She’d never expected to have the opportunity to meet anyone of that pedigree in the Fleet. To her mind, Captain Dansby was the biggest celebrity she’d ever meet. Or maybe Vice Admiral Isfahani who had been Dansby’s predecessor. But never the likes of Bowdler, only a short stones throw away of having the kind of reputation that Picard or Janeway celebrated.
When she’d been a cadet, she remembered reading about the Okuda and her crew under Captain Perkins Watt. The kinds of missions that they had found themselves a part of after the war had been the kind that every Starfleet officer dreamed of. While the likes of Picard and Janeway were managing the remnants of the Dominion War and the fall out of it, the Okuda was doing what Starfleet had always been about doing. Seeking out new life and new civilizations. Captain Watt was the kind of Captain and scientist that other aspired to be and he led his crew with distinction.
Their advancements, their first contacts and there conflicts were readily studied both in the public media and in the halls of Starfleet Academy. As a flight control cadet, she’d had the chance to sit in on some of the seminars that the academy put on in the tactical lane as it was a natural congruency to her focus. She remembered meting Captain Watt and his Chief Tactical Officer, Lieutenant Commander Bowdler. Even then she recalled the both of them being somehow larger than life.
By the time she graduated the Academy, it was Commander Bowdler and the list of accolades piling up under the Okuda belt had only grown as had Bowdler’s legendary status. It was hard not to notice the continued advancement of the crew that Starfleet liked to call ‘Starfleet’s Crew’. Their faces were on recruitment posters, they spoke in public service announcements to the fleet and to the population of the Federation and were featured speakers at starbases and assemblies across the Federation. The last she’d heard, or seen, Captain Bowdler had assumed command of the Okuda when Captain Watt had finally seen fit to retire. So finding him at the helm of an odyssey class vessel fresh off the yards was completely unexpected. Just as it was unexpected that a man like Bowdler, the quintessential paragon of Starfleet ideals, was running what was effectively a black op. Something Starfleet simply didn’t do.
That was probably the part that ached the most. She had given her life to Starfleet, as had the rest of the beings on this station. Doing so holding an ideal close to her heart, the ideals of peaceful exploration. She had been ready to give her life for that, to save the Korin and uphold that standard. Yet, there was Bowdler, lurking in the shadows with banned technology and with the demand that they ‘forget he was there’. She didn’t give a shit that the orders had clearly come from a flag level officer somewhere in Starfleet, all she cared about was that everything she held dearly. Everything she believed in had been put into question by the actions of Captain Bowdler. Ordered from on high or not.
How was she supposed to reconcile that? Part of her wanted to walk right into the Admiral’s office and come clean. To tell him exactly what had happened from start to finish, but she knew that even his powers of protection would not be able to cover the backlash she would suffer. If she did that, she’d be defying an explicit order. It would be the end of her career and, possibly, put her in legal jeopardy. She could be spending time on a penal colony somewhere for her blatant insubordination. Of course they knew that, those in charge of this top secret mess, and knew that there was no way she could operate outside the mandate without major consequences.
It just didn’t sound like the kind of behavior that a man like Bowdler, or at least of his reputation would be guilty of. How could he have gone along with this? How could he have allowed a cloaking device on his vessel, as well as a Romulan officer all so they could spy on the Pyrryx in secret. He hadn’t told them that’s what they were doing, but she wasn’t stupid. That’s what they were there for, there was no other reason for it. They had been spying, and now had a physical specimen to go with their information.
As she sat the watering can back on the replicator, done with this evenings feeding, an errant though floated into her mind as she raged quietly at these ‘Flag’ officers who had issued Security Protocol 786-B. What if she wasn’t the only one stuck between a rock and a hard place here? What if she was just looking at it from her own perspective? What if Captain Bowdler was just as powerless in this situation as she was? She harrumphed to herself as she brought up the computer terminal alongside the replicator to pick out something for dinner.
How perfect would that have been for some clever, ‘ner do well’ Flag Officer to pick out the poster-child of Starfleet to run his black ops. Who would ever think that the infallible crew of the Okuda, the standard to which so many others held themselves, would ever be involved in a black op? The simplicity of it was almost staggering. The Pathfinder and the Theseus thought themselves the victims, never even once considering that the Alabama may be just as powerless as they.
“Computer. The Branzino dish on this week’s Chef’s list, please,” she ordered.
”With broccolini or artichoke?” the computer asked.
“Both,” she answered, “And a glass of white wine, cold. A chardonnay,” she ordered, “No. Wait. Make it a Roussanne,” she changed her mind.
The replicator hummed and in a moment her plate, silverware and glass of wine were waiting for her. She took it all and walked over to the couch and coffee table and set it down as she sat.
It seemed pitiful to have such a meal alone but, she wanted to be alone and in her own head for a little while. She could think of one person she might want to spend some time with otherwise, but she thought it wasn’t the worst idea to let a little distance between them. Things hadn’t exactly been distant since his return to the Pathfinder and subsequent recovery. If fact, things had been as non-distant as it was really possible to be. Something she’d not had for a very long time. Not since the disaster on the Challenger had changed her outlook on relationships.
This was really the first time since then that she’d allowed herself to open up to someone as she had with Declan, and she had to admit to herself that if she’d been in her right mind during the whole outing she might not have allowed it to happen at all. But in and amongst all of her questioning and second-guessing she’d let her guard down enough to allow the connection and now that they had it, she wasn’t keen on letting it drift away. She didn’t know that it was going to stand the test of time or not, but she was cautiously optimistic and willing to allow herself to try this out again.
Well, she hoped it was something to try out. As she thought about it, she supposed that maybe they hadn’t really made that definition to one another. There was obviously a connection between them that was more than just the physical. They had a personal, emotional connection but that didn’t meant that it was the kind of thing meant to link them long term and not just something that they would enjoy for the short term. As she speared a bit of broccolini on her fork, she considered that at the very least she needed to define the ‘general’ ongoing interests with Declan.
That begged the question. What if it wasn’t something long term. What if Declan had just assumed this was them answering their baser needs with no intention of cultivating something greater? There was no denying that if that were the case she’d have been upset. Upset, but not terribly surprised, she admitted to herself. She’d married a man that had been unable to put aside his baser needs and clearly had no intention of cultivating something greater. Only a facade to present to the world so that his misdeeds would have a cover. Corvus didn’t get that feeling from Declan, but then she hadn’t really been on her game, had she? Had she missed the subtle cues? Was him asking her if she was ready to make this decision simply him asking if she was prepared to be heartbroken, or was it genuine concern for their shared future?
Corvus tried to shake the thought of having finally let her guard done for a fling and turned her attention to the meal in front of her. It had been a long time since she’d just sat down and had a meal, even longer since she’d had one with someone else. Maybe that was how she’d have the conversation with Declan? That was how she’d do the thing she knew would make any many squirm in his chair. Ask the always dreaded: ‘what are we’ question. Would Declan cringe and run, or would he answer? Would the answer be one she wanted to hear.
You’re acting like a teenager debating her first crush, she chided herself, taking a bite of fish and shaking her head at herself. It would be what it would be. She didn’t regret her decision with Declan, and she promised herself that she wouldn’t let herself be disappointed if in fact there was no path forward.
Stop it, Amélie. You’re not a child, she warned herself once more and pushed the thoughts out of her head by creating a distraction. “Computer, display Federation News Network feed,” she ordered aloud, looking forward to the view screen that dominated the wall opposite the couch, facing her.
At once the screen came to life and showed the latest broadcast from the FNN for this sector of space. The news caster, a Bolian female, was just starting her report on the latest from the harvest festival on Bolarus that had apparently been going on for the last week and a half. She smirked as she ate and watched. It was always so fascinating to her how the rest of the galaxy simply got on with their lives completely oblivious to the goings on around them. Days ago they’d been in a fight for their lives, and very nearly giving their lives to save a species that they’d really only just met. But there, on Bolarus, they were eating vegetables straight from the harvest. The woman on the feed was holding up a bright teal orb the size of a small watermelon and gesturing to the others behind her cracking them open on their knees and feasting on the gray and white innards.
Corvus cringed a bit as it didn’t look appetizing and had to wash it down with some wine just to be able to go back to her dinner. She set the glass down and picked up her fork, chuckling at the feed as two young Bolian kids started chucking the innards at one another, landing a missed shot on the FNN reporter who cried out in surprise.
Overhead, the door chime rang and the smile faded from her lips. With a sigh, she took a bracing sip of wine and set it down. “Computer, mute the feed,” she ordered as she got up.
Corvus adjusted her robe about her for modesty and professionalism. Whoever was at the door was knocking on the stations Captain’s door, so it was likely something just unimportant enough to keep them off comm’s, but important enough that they needed a word face to face. Her money was on one of the Yeoman. Thad was too competent to need to call on her late. At least, unless it was a big emergency. As she walked the last few feet to the door she couldn’t help but be worried it was something big. Not something unimportant that needed a face to face as opposed to a comms call - something so important that it had to be relayed face to face. She stopped at the door, rolled her neck gently, and then pressed the unlock panel to the left of it.
The doors hissed open and she found herself face to face with a middle-aged woman with dark black hair, streaked with gray. She had black rim, half moon spectacles on her nose held around her neck with a blue, green and bright pink set of glasses holders. She wasn’t wearing a Starfleet uniform but a simple flowery dress with a dark pink apron.
“Good evening, may I assume you are Corvus DeHavilland?” She asked sweetly.
Corvus looked her, mildly amused at the question, but nodded. “That’s… correct,” she all but laughed.
“Pleasure to meet you, Captain. I’m Zenia Mhram, I am the owner of Stem and Stalk. Thank you for approving my request to open my shop here on Obsidian Command,” she said graciously.
“Oh, well, you’re welcome,” Corvus smiled back. “I appreciate the personal touch, Ms. Mhram, but it wasn’t necessary. We’re just glad to have you, and all our civilian shopkeepers, here,” she declared diplomatically, kicking herself for assuming the worst.
“Thank you, Captain,” she smiled graciously. “But I’m not here to say hi,” she chuckled, turning around to a cart she had in the hall. She turned back to face her, and as she did Corvus could see a giant bouquet of flowers in her hands in a glass vase tied with a gold ribbon.
The look of surprise on her face made Zenia smile all the more, “There’s a card there, my dear,” she said, indicating the envelope on a holder inside the bouquet.
“C-card?” Corvus asked, turning the giant bouquet a bit to see the card. “These… aren’t from you?”
Zenia laughed heartily, shaking her head. “Roses, tulips, stargazer lilies, alstroemeria, a little greenery, eucalyptus,” she said, pointing out the choices. “I’ve saved a recipe in the replicators for a plant food laden water. Keep the water level up, and they should last for week,” she added informatively. “Enjoy!” She said, and turned to leave.
“Wait, wait,” Corvus shook her head, holding it strangely in her arms, utterly confused. “If these aren’t from you, who are they from?”
The woman smiled patiently back, obviously trying repress a laugh. “There’s a card, you should read it,” she said, “Good night,” she added, then turned and pushed her cart back down the hall towards the lifts.
Corvus watched her go, and then finally turned back into her quarters with the gigantic bouquet in hand. She didn’t know who sent it, or why they’d sent it, but despite the unknowns she couldn’t help but smile. The arrangement was magnificent. The choices of flowers and colors was superb and the gentle fragrance the collection of flowers emitted was nothing short of devine. She took it to the large table that flanked the back of the couch and then shook her head, walking it to the coffee table instead and setting right there in the middle so she could see it from wherever she was in the room.
Still grinning from ear to ear she picked off the envelope from the stem. Her name was written on it in a slightly untidy scrawl. Not ‘Corvus’ but Amélie. She flipped the envelope over, slid out the card inside, and beamed.
