Kiss with a Fist
Posted on 21 Mar 2018 @ 10:17pm by Lieutenant Lake ir-Llantrisant
Edited on 21 Mar 2018 @ 10:19pm
1,642 words; about a 8 minute read
Previously on "Catch and Release... But He Won't Let Go":
Lake ir-Llantrisant’s Personal Log, Supplemental:
I can't--
I can't go back. Computer, do you hear me? I can't go back to Starbase Seventy-Four. He died there. He's really dead. I mean, what's the point of Starbase Seventy-Four now? Kellin's blood has stained the bulkheads. Jetara and Molly's too. I mean, I can't just, I can't just refuse the offer they've made me. I can't abandon my post, and I can't refuse an opportunity to advance. They don't, commanding officers don't forget that kind of thing, and I don't like taking orders. You know? I prefer to be the one giving the orders. Giving. It feels better that way. It feels good. If I can't get out from under Seventy-Four, I need to go around it. I need a parallel track.
And previously on "Promotion Party of One":
Aren was usually an early riser and today was no exception. Running a cadet cruise required more work than just about any starship that he had been aboard previously, even during the Kreanus Incident. Usually his inbox felt like it contained more messages that required his attention than a being could possibly process. And yet, they all would be reviewed and at the very least skimmed. However one message certainly caught his eye. The message that came across the day previous was one of the best ones a commanding officer could receive. Promotions. Lieutenant JG Lake ir-Llantrisant.
The promotion message had come across his desk. Aren had taken some time to become familiar with Lake's file as well as the recommendations for promotion. He had arranged a meeting with Lake, wanting to meet him and exchange pleasantries before pinning on his new pips.
The door panel receded into the bulkhead, clearing the way for Lake. Shoulders back, Lake strode into the compartment like he owned it, allowing his arms to sway with the motion. "Good morning, Captain," Lake said, by way of greeting.
Lake's eyes remained on Aren most of the time he spoke, but whenever he took a breath, he allowed himself to scan his surroundings. Lake took notice of the lack of personal touches in the compartment, which made the carafe of coffee, the scattering of PADDs, and the small box on the desk all the more noticeable.
Aren nodded approvingly. While the medical field wasn't quite his forte, he could identify competency. "I see...since we are on this path, lets say that particular approach didn't quite work, what else would you have in mind in order to draw out her full potential?" The question was pointed, but he was curious of other possible ideas that the Lieutenant Junior Grade had.
Tilting his head from side to side as he thought it through, Lake rattled off, "There's the directive approach. I could micromanage her for a month or six, in the hopes of her developing a stronger muscle memory, regardless of her own intentions. Give her very clear directions, very candid feedback. Don't allow for independent thought, and maybe that tight cage will bring out her creativity as a rebellion." At that point, he had to force himself to look up at Aren. His eyes were drawn down to the box on the desk like a lonely shuttlepod dragged into the gravity well of a black hole...
And now, the conclusion...
Circa Episode 15, "Emanation", MD 99 - 2200 hours
[ON]
Lake ir-Llantrisant’s Personal Log, supplemental entry:
I held tight to the small box in my fist. I couldn't bring myself to look at it. I can't tell you why. I can't tell you why because I don't know why. I gripped it in my fist. I could have crushed the small box and I was careful not to. I had accepted the small box between my hands when Commander Aren Ban --my Captain aboard USS Hathaway-- had first given it to me with the good news. I had promptly tucked the small box away in my quarters and hadn't given it a second look since.
Now, I looked up.
The widescreen LCARS panel set into a bulkhead in my quarters flickered. The logo of the United Federation of Planets was replaced by a leathery and serpentine face that never looked well-pleased at the best of times. That visage certainly did not look well-pleased at this time of night. Like many of Ariolo heritage, Admiral Achelous had a scaly, reptilian look about her, from the angular slope up from her low forehead to the downward slope of her jaw. She set that jaw when she saw me. I never gave her a chance to--
I swung my arm back and I hurled the little box at the LCARS display. The box cracked open when it hit the black polymer surface. A solid gold rank pip burst out of the broken box, like a victim of explosive decompression.
"What," I asked thunderously, "does this mean?"
Achelous snorted at me all the way from Starbase Seventy-Four. The first time, it was a dismissive sound, but it grew into a self-satisfied chortle. "Trust a Counselor to look for meaning in a tiny disc of metal," Achelous said by way of retort. "Starfleet is one of the most bureaucratic institutions that's ever existed in the history of the universe. Entire textbooks have been written on what it means to be promoted to Lieutenant. And yet you ask me what it means?"
I didn't take her bait. She did this; she always did this: Avoiding answering a question that would make her feel vulnerable by asking me a question about why I asked my question in the first place. I didn't accept her deflection.
"To me," I said emphatically. "You approved my promotion to Lieutenant, Admiral. What does this long-distance promotion mean to me?" I shook my head and I said it. I said exactly the only thing I wanted to say from the moment I contacted her, and it was exactly the thing I was going to be too proud to actually say aloud: "Why me?"
The immediate replies that came from Achelous were a shrug and a sigh. Every inch of her --except for the words coming from her mouth-- communicated how utterly she bored was by this question. And even then, her tone communicated boredom too. "Lieutenant ir-Llantrisant," she said, "You have served... sufficient time as a junior-grade lieutenant and your performance ratings have been... satisfactory. By any measure of your promotion schedule, now is your time."
Between the ultimate compliment of the promotion, and yet the faint praise of her stated rationale, my head was swimming. Drowning in the gentle boil of my conflicted emotions surrounding my career and my ideas of home, I could barely articulate myself. "How can you-- All you--" I tried to ask, but all I could manage to say was, "I've been away all this time."
"My memory isn't as short as you think," Admiral Achelous replied. "Most of your service as a Lieutenant JG has been under my command and I have my spies out in the Fleet. I've been keeping my eye on you. It's time I accelerate your development as a leader. If you're going to be my Chief Counselor, you'll need the added authority from that pip until you learn your own way to lead at the next level."
And I nodded, I kept nodding at that. I was flattered, I think. Strong emotion welled up inside me, the kind of indescribable intense emotion that can only be triggered by a parental figure. Achelous had always known how to cross my wires better than my own parents could do. I wasn't thinking anymore. I was hardly thinking before, but I wasn't thinking now. "What if I'm not ready?" I asked.
"You're not," she curtly answered.
"...I'm not?" I asked, obviously stung by that answer.
"You’re not," she went on. "You won’t be ready until you’re deep in it. Might as well give you a try now, or we'll never know. I do know you won't want to hear this --it's grim-- but... but you know I have vacancies on my crew. I don’t have enough Lieutenants. Your time is now."
Kellin.
Another wave of emotion nearly knocked me down. A wave shaped like Kellin. I took a step back from the LCARS display so she wouldn't see the wetness around my eyes. My ex-husband, Kellin Nertlinge, was one of several Lieutenants killed in action under Achelous' command. Kellin's death had left an opening in her command staff, and she wanted me to--
"What if the thing I'm not ready for," I said, the words coming out before I knew I was saying that, "is coming back?" The longer this went on, the more I was dreading returning to Starbase Seventy-Four.
To her credit, Achelous didn't react to my emotional response. She didn't even have to think about her answer. She said, "It doesn't matter what you're ready for. That's not the right question. You have your orders. Your time as a leader of Cadets has been... cute... but I have officers, I have counselors in need of your leadership. You have your orders.
"Honestly, in my position, I don't spend much time asking myself what you think you're ready for." She leaned in to the screen, and she didn't blink, and she said, "If you think you have a question for me, you have a different question to ask yourself."
All I said was, "I have my orders." I didn't say: until I manipulate my environment well enough to make my own orders.
Log end.
[OFF]
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