Finding a Safe Haven

Posted on Friday May 3rd, 2019 @ 10:02 hours by Ares Onasis & Mayterial Droz & Alexandria Farron & Canaan Serene & Langar Tarn

Mission: Pixie Dust
Location: Bridge, Deck One, S.S. Fawkes
Timeline: MD02 - 0930 hours
3903 words - 7.8 OF Standard Post Measure

[ON]

Alexandria woke, feeling rested, and stretched with a yawn as she rolled out of bed--the captain's bed. May was not in it, and to the best of the pilot's knowledge, she never had been since the night before, when Alexandria had arrived at her door. It must have been a busy night for May, rounding up all those cats. What a mess! At least they'd been locked out of the captain's cabin though, for which Alexandria was very grateful. Since May had left on her roundup mission, she hadn't heard a single mew, but that wasn't surprising. She'd fallen asleep straightaway and hadn't woken up once during the night.

As she got up, Farron took stock of recent events. She rarely forgot things, but she found that adding the quick review to her morning routine helped her focus for the day ahead. The ship was struggling to travel through distorted subspace--fact. And everyone was acting crazy--also a fact. What Alexandria wasn't sure about was whether those two facts were related and if the keyword 'everyone' also applied to her. She was still feeling... twitchy like she had the night before. That was the only way she could explain it. At least she didn't hear any cats though. The corridors should be safe for travel. Hopefully, Captain Droz would learn a lesson from this experience. Yes, perhaps there were profits to be made exporting Terran housecats to far-flung outposts and colonies, but it wasn't worth the trouble. Cats were notoriously prone to mischief, as May had just learned.

Grabbing her pillow and leaving May's cabin, Alexandria headed back to her room to start her morning routine. She was a little self-conscious walking the corridors barely dressed in only thin PJs, but her unease was partially mitigated by the fact that half-naked crew roaming the halls at the early hours was a fairly common occurrence. She would never get used to the sight of people walking around in little beyond a pair of slippers and a bath towel. After taking a quick shower, Alexandria donned her comfiest pair of leggings and an Aerospace Corps tee shirt. Her hair was getting a little too tangled, even for her taste, so she spent a couple of minutes brushing it out. That was when she got the call to the bridge.

Canaan managed to find the bridge, stumbling at the edge of what felt dreamlike at times, his head in a fog, thick and unyielding. Had it not been for Mayterial's voice shattering the fragility between reality and dreamscape, Canaan feared he would've remained afloat in the void. Her voice was a guide, coaxing him to the here and now.

The doors hissed closed behind as he teetered toward his station. Canaan slipped into the chair, a wave of that strange feeling discombobulating the truth of the moment. He cradled his head, not as if to ward off pain, but so as a way of centering himself in that moment. With eyes squeezed shut, Canaan breathed deeply, believing it was his adrenaline that fed the visions. When a wave of calm relieved the tension, Canaan opened his eyes.

The flight deck remained around him, yet changed in a way that was reminiscent of his earlier experience. The surface of the console was wrapped in a thick layer of moss while wildflowers took root along its perimeter. In full bloom, they attracted an assortment of insect that was considerably larger than how Canaan recalled. The moss disappeared along the base of the station, transitioning into a bed of grass that carpeted the deck.

Canaan looked behind, surprised to see the towering wood, obscuring the bridges' door beyond. The trees swayed, creaking as a wind mussed his tangled locks of white hair.

The black iris of either eye was bold, leaving a thin ring of aquamarine as they fell upon the image of Alexandria. She stood nearby, having appeared so suddenly, a ripple of confusion welled up from within. His fingers dug into the thick layer of moss.

"Are you real?" His voice was breathy, uncertain as he cast a sideways glance at the young woman with wild hair. "Are you here right now or am I just imagining you?" As he spoke, the black-capped chickadee returned, fluttering about Alexandria until it finally landed upon her shoulder, affectionately pressing the dome of its head against her cheek, chittering a sing-song that drew all of his attention.

Langer had spent the last hour checking the sensors for any sign of the approaching Cardassians. He had also done something he had not done since he was in his early twenties, he prayed. He had no idea why the Prophets would have chosen him for a vision, but he knew it was important, that somehow the Prophets now had a plan for him. He was getting up when the Signaler arrived. Langer noticed almost immediately that the man seemed to be in a daze, he was staring around the Bridge like he had never seen it before.

Alexandria had walked up behind Canaan, who seemed quite out of it, staring off and seemingly fixated on a nearby bulkhead. "Nope. Definitely not real." She said, stepping around him. "Unless you're talking to yourself. In that case... I hope so?" Alexandria continued, with a slightly concerned tone. Only slightly. She had her own concerns at the moment. Unlike Canaan's illusory Alexandria, the real one had neatly brushed hair, which was uncommon for her, and probably didn't help the to solve the signaller's inner dilemma over which Farron was real. She walked around the bridge, clearly looking for something by the way she checked every nook and cranny.

Langar watched the Navigator for a moment. "Lost something? Because whatever it is, it won't matter much if we don't get moving before the Cardassians turn up! So I'll help you find it later, but we need to go, now!

Mayterial stepped into the bridge, head pounding like crazy and her neck itching beyond belief. It probably had something to do with the mix of medication she had administered to herself to try and suppress whatever was affecting all of them, "You're not still on about that, are you?" She snapped at Langar before taking her seat in the centre chair, she dug in her pocket and lobbed the drug inhibitor in the direction of the Master-at-Arms, "Take this, it'll take the edge off." She looked forward towards the Signaller and Navigator position, a distant memory of a forest seemed to stir inside her, which was odd because she was always more of an urban kid. She shook her head a bit before leaning forward in the chair, "I requested an emergency detour to an outpost, please tell me you've found somewhere for us to land."

Canaan followed Alexandria's movements around the bridge, her presence out of place in the aspen trees that lined the forward edge of the compartment, obscuring the viewport. A dark shadow lingered behind the navigator as she weaved between this tree and that, searching. The darkness mirrored Alexandria's movements precisely; its feathered edges sharpened with each movement until it became more three-dimensional. There was no mischief in the shadow's movements, it simply followed Alexandria, lingering but a foot or two behind. When Langer's voice cut through, Canaan glanced over a shoulder to see the Bajoran standing nearby, watching Alexandria with as rapt interest as he.

"Why would the Cardassian's come here?" Canaan asked, assuming they saw the same paradise he. The master at arms didn't have the chance to respond with the captain weaving her way through the forest. Roots sprouted through the bed of grass, tangling upwards in a growth that was shockingly fast. The sprigs braided, bending this way or that in remarkable ways to weave an ornate chair that sprouted orange poppies in full bloom. Mayterial sat upon the chair, where the roots threaded a crown upon the woman's head where white daisies popped as jewels around its perimeter. Like a queen, the woman spoke with an authority that garnered the attention of all.

"Land?" Canaan wondered why they would need to land when the queen could clearly see the snow-capped mountains in the distance.

Alexandria hadn't been looking for somewhere to land. Actually, she'd been looking for cats. But there didn't seem to be any. At that moment she became aware of the fact that everyone on the bridge was staring at her. Like she was the crazy one. With a sigh Alexandria reluctantly abandoned her search and took her seat in the pilot's chair. She didn't really need to look hard to find nearby places to stop, as it had been her job to keep track of such places since their departure. The captain's particular choice of words, however, did give her a moment's pause. Fawkes was not capable of atmospheric entry. It did not land.

"Our detour options are still the same. We are still a week away from our destination. A direct abort back to Starbase 72 would take us approximately sixty-five hours, though of course, that would take us back through the subspace distortions. There are several outposts within closer range... J-19 being the nearest at twenty hours away at Warp Five. Records on that outpost are scant though, and I can't determine what types of vessels it can accommodate." Alexandria glanced back toward May. "I have not found anywhere for us to land. Unless you wish for us to crash-land. In that case there are several options..." She seemed poised to list them out to Captain May.

"Let's keep crashlanding as a contingency plan for now." Mayterial cynically remarked before wondering about the mentioned outpost, "Going back isn't an option, so tell me about J-19" She leaned forward in the chair, her heartbeat drumming in her head. The pushed the intrusive thoughts of a forested area away, she looked to the orange flower in the corner of her room and the moment she did it disappeared into nothing, "Canaan, are you seeing something that doesn't belong on a Starship?"

"What do you mean? How could any of this possibly be on a starship? Those mountains alone would dwarf any ship, right?" Canaan pointed toward the mountainscape just beyond the aspens. "I don't recall exactly how we got here, did we beam down from the Fawkes? Did the ship crash land?" Canaan looked with sincere concern from Mayterial to Alexandria to Langer. A large honey bee had found its way to the captain's daisy crown, checking each bulb for its sweet pollen.

Langar had caught the item thrown to his by Droz, but stood holding it while he watched Cannan and Farron. What is up with these people? he wondered. He approached Droz. "Look Captain, I have no idea what's up with these two, they might have been drinking! But we do need to get out of here! So where ever this Outpost is, we need to go. And what is this for?" He asked, holding up the hypo.

"We're getting to the outpost, Langar, don't you worry." Mayterial gave him a comforting smile, she realised that this man was in no way considering that what was happening to him was a hallucination from some unknown drug, "The turbulence caused some sort of radiation leak. They fixed it but we need to take this to prevent some of the effects. You know, nausea, that sort of thing." She looked over at Canaan and Alexandria, she knew what was going on with Alex but Canaan's hallucinations were rather worrisome. Almost as bad as Ares' in terms of intensity and despite the inhibitor and all the other things she shot into her veins she still had some of that leaking through.

"Huh, OK" Langar nodded and stuck the disposable hypo into his thigh, after being chosen to receive a Vision from the Prophets, that last thing he wanted to do was disrespect them by becoming sick with radiation poisoning. He pulled the empty hypo from his leg and tossed it into the recycler. Then he went back to scanning the sensors and tactical screens, waiting for the first sign of the arrival of the Cardassians, unaware the inhibiter was doing it's chemical work and purging the hallucinogen from his system.

Mayterial was relieved that Langar injected himself with the inhibitor. She hoped that it would have the same effect on him as the humans, "Miss Farron, set a course for the outpost. What's the city itself called?" She leaned back trying to push down the feeling in her stomach to prevent herself from hurling up the contents, which she realised was not much. She hadn't eaten since last night. Maybe that, combined with the drugs and lack of sleep, was causing her bad reaction to the inhibitor.

The green from Volok’s smeared blood was beginning to dry on their clothing as Ares and Colt moved swiftly up the turbo lift to the Bridge. They remained silent, their bodies pounding from the exhaustion. Ares looked down at her bare legs and noticed there were some dark green spots that she had missed when she quickly wiped down with the towel handed to her. It was haunting. After a year of running away from everything that happened to her, the long rope that tied her and her past finally snapped back. She had pulled it too tight. What goes up, must come down.

Colt, leaning back against the lift’s rear wall, looked over at the solemn and quiet woman. All he wanted to do was wrap his hands tightly around her aching body and kiss her squarely on the lips. Anything to help comfort her was foremost on his mind. He was feeling the end was near but still just slightly out of reach. He hadn’t felt a course change yet and that concerned him. May hadn’t called for their help either since they left the Infirmary so that was maybe a good thing. Or maybe…

The lift’s slight shake into a stop cut off the chain of thoughts that were leading him down a rabbit-hole. He held his breath, expecting the unexpected when the doors opened. At the best, everyone was in one piece; At the worst, everyone was slaughtered and lying lifeless around the room.

Without turning to look at him, Ares reached over and grabbed Colt’s hand. She gave it a small squeeze, letting him know she was still here with him. The doors slid open and her hand dropped as if nothing happened. But that touch was everything to Colt right at that moment. It was a bit of an extra charge for his mind and his soul to push him through their next obstacle.

Colt’s blue eyes looked all around the room and his lungs let out a sigh of relief. No blood, no guts. Everyone just had a bewildered look of confusion on their faces and May was in the center of it all in her chair. He followed Ares, who had made a beeline for the center and placed the case she was carrying on the floor in front of May’s feet. “We struck gold, Captain,” he stated with a bit of elevated joy, hiding the fact that he had just witnessed her First Mate’s near-death experience. He never entered a room hitting people with bad news first. It was bad for business relations. He placed the bag that carried Ares’s portable pharmacy down next to the mask case and pulled out one of the masks. “These should help augment the hypos.”

Ares tossed one of the masks to May. Her eyes were looking at May but seemed slightly out of focus. She needed to tell her what happened but feared causing more chaos if someone else heard. “Droz, I need to talk to you… in private if possible.”

"There are no cities.... well, not any populated by real people." Alexandria said with a heavy sigh. She was starting to feel... twitchy, again. But at least she seemed to be grounded in reality. She was in her seat, trying to work, while some of the others were lost in fantasy-land. At least May had rounded up all the loose cats. She hadn't heard a single meow since waking up. That was the only reason she wasn't complaining over being called a drunk.

"Outpost J-19 orbits Olimar IX, an M-Class planet. Barely M-class." Alexandria continued, opting to finish her report while she had the chance. "The Aerospace Corps has used it as a weapons test range. There are mock-up cities for staged planetary assaults, and derelict ships in orbit to practice strafing and torpedo runs on. Ships... kind of like this one." Alexandria turned her head and grinned like the Cheshire Cat. Alexandria had never been to Olimar IX, but she had fond memories of places just like it. Good fun, torpedoing ships that weren't shooting back. To those who had never seen her smile--and perfect teeth--before (and no one aboard had) it must have been unreal... and worrying. The information she relayed wasn't on any civilian database, and may or may not have been out of date. Which meant they would have to take her report at face value. Was she for real, or also lost in fantasy-land? Fifty-fifty chance of possibly being mistaken for target practice?

May her eyes narrowed, it was difficult to focus on what was actual information and what was caused by the hallucinations. She felt that she should just take their chances. "Set a course for Olimar nine, Miss Farron, Mister Serene, hail them prior to us arriving in the sector, make sure we're not mistaken for their latest target." She couldn't take the chance that this was a figment of Alexandria's imagination. She turned to Langar, "There's sure to be defensive systems in place, Mister Langar, if the Cardassians want to try something we'll be safe." but I doubt it she added only in her own mind.

Langar nodded from the Tactical Panel. He was not feeling too good, his stomach was queasy and he had a headache coming on. The feeling's distracted him from thinking of the impending contact with a Federation facility, where noramlly he would have been wary, right now he just felt like he was going to throw up.

She got up from the seat and put the filter of the mask in front of her mouth, the smell of the thing immediately made her stomach churn. She lowered it again and pointed in the direction of her quarters, "After the conn has been properly inoculated, meet me in there, Miss Onasis."

Ares shook her head. "No, Droz. I need to talk to you now." She pointed down towards the dried blood stained across the skin of her legs. The slight desperation in her voice caused Colt to immediately stop handing out the masks and turned to watch the interaction. He needed to be ready to jump in if necessary.

Canaan shooed away a giant butterfly from his field of vision, its broad wings a vast assemblage of vibrant colors. "Yes, ma'am." His fingers touched upon the console's surface, ripples like water following each tap. Canaan blinked rapidly before tightly squeezing his reddening eyes shut. The watery display icy-cold, the signaller popped in the earwig as he opened a channel to the station. "Outpost J-19, this is the S.S. Fawkes, commercial registration Charlie-Foxtrot-One-Four-Two-Alpha-Charlie, en-route to Langley Station. We encountered a patch of space with massive spatial turbulence and request permission for a temporary stay to assess the overall condition of the ship, crew, and cargo. Outpost J-19, please respond." Canaan didn't want to volunteer the possibility of a hallucinogenic contaminant without the captain's permission. His earpiece buzzed with static as the communique was picked up by the station.

May stood for a moment to make sure the Outpost responded to Canaan's hail, the second the static was broken by a confirmation she stepped towards the doors exiting the bridge, "Let's make it quick." She wasn't quite sure why Ares was pointing out the grime on her outfit, but everything going on around her, the headache and nausea made it hard to focus. As she entered her quarters, which were situated directly off the bridge, May turned to face Ares, "what's so important that it couldn't wait at a time like this?"

“It’s Volok,” Ares decided to jump in immediately and rip another bandage off of May. Her voice was direct and unemotional, wanting to get through the bad news as quickly as possible. “Colt and I found him in the Cargo Bay barely clinging onto life after getting attacked M’erah who pretty much has turned into a feral beast, probably from the environmentals. The medic is working on Volok right now but half of his blood content ended up on me. I gave M’erah a high dosage of sedatives and locked him in the Cargo Bay. He should be out for several hours.”

Mayterial staggered a bit at the announcement, her stomach turning as she realised that the green grime on Ares' clothing was Vulcan blood. The different colour making her miss the connection in the first go. She leaned forward and grabbed onto one of Ares' shoulders to keep herself steady, looking at the ground. Before she knew it she felt the semblance of her breakfast making her way back up through her throat, with an undignified hurl and a wet thud it hit the ground and splattered on both women's boots.

“Easy does it, Droz,” Ares hesitated slightly before placing her hand on May’s upper back in comfort. With all of the drugs flowing through her body and keeping the crew together and hearing that her First Mate was on his deathbed, her Betazoid body was bound to fight back and try to start over. Ares had nearly gone over the edge that night, so May was allowed to have her not-so-bright moment. May probably felt an immense relief after anyway. “Hoped it tasted just as good going up as it was going down.”

May wiped her mouth with her sleeve before looking up. Rattled and sweaty. She hated throwing up. Though, in a way, she was happy Ares was here. She took in a sharp breath through her nose when the quartermaster cracked a joke, and smirked. "I need to go. I need to see to him. He was hesitant to come aboard. I convinced him." She looked away towards the flight deck where they had just exited from before looking back at Ares, "Miss Onasis, you have the bridge." with that she left her quarters and jogged towards the turbo-lift.

Ares’s jaw gaped open slightly as her mouth dried up and her lips mouthed out the words that were now echoing in her brain: You have the bridge. But May was gone long before she could even question her decision. Everything was ass-backwards, making her question her position in the whole operation. She had backhanded May and was now in charge of keeping the Bridge crew together. Looking from the closed doors down to the green and brown and yellow smear across her shoes, she let out a rough breath. “Well, fuck it. Can’t get worse from here anyway.”