Ziz I

Posted on 18 Feb 2013 @ 12:11am by Trija Natyal
Edited on on 18 Feb 2013 @ 12:11am

1,820 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Episode 03 - Frontier
Location: USS Galileo: LTjg Liyar's Office
Timeline: MD2 1020

ON:

Enough.

Trija started with a gasp, fingers clutching the heavy duvet as she shot up awake on the couch in her quarters. When she'd first arrived on board, she'd been almost excited to remember that this was Kestra's ship. The Thirteenth formed close family bonds, some might say closer than average. Trija had grown up close to them when they remained on Betazed, first her parents, then the young girl. Who wasn't so young anymore. She'd made chief of security on a starship. Then, she'd heard about what happened. Kestra was diagnosed comatose and remained in their sickbay, attached like a magnet. Never touching, locked together. But it was her voice.

After experiencing similar events over the last two days, Trija shook herself awake. She couldn't ignore this any longer. Trija didn't even remember falling asleep. Fenta, Zaren and Baker had long left, her surroundings blissfully silent. Except for the pulse in her head, whining pitifully in the shape of her heart. Kestra. Alive, without being seen. Trapped in some hellish world.

She stood, forgoing usual vanity for once, face hard and determined, and moved to her console. Not on her watch. Not when she was here, she would not leave Kestra to that. But she knew, she wasn't strong enough to form a link, deep enough, to reach the blip of a presence she had felt. While everyone scurried to and fro, Kestra fell further into the otherworld. She brought up a list of psi-capable officers. One of the names stuck out at her as she surveyed the crew roster. She couldn't do this by herself. She'd need to talk to their doctor, none of their medical staff was telepathic. Kestra had probably created a shield to protect herself, until it started backfiring. The only way to get out of those was to be taken out.

She paused over a name, recognizing the diplomatic officer from before. A man who enjoyed talking to his plant. Like normal people. She rolled her eyes. P11. On a Vulcan. She'd heard the rumors, spoken to an overchatty doctor on Vega IX. She keyed up his file and displayed the statistics. Her fingers flew over the console typepad. With a connection like this, she was starting to get the impression that this person was an Amplifier. Receiving input, fraying and dismantling it as the volume rocketed forward and siphoning it outward in every direction. Trija had met only one other telepath who had abilities similar to his, a Halanan named Reyo. Reyo had been a veritable powerhouse, with little direction. When combined with someone who could direct that energy, she had witnessed some of the most combustive, reactive telepathic connections in her life.

She knew she was crazy. This man was crazy. She didn't need refined, or skilled. She needed power. If she had a spare Reyo lying around she'd use him, but she was lacking. This Liyar person was going to have to do. And he would do. There was no option for refusal. She was of the Thirteenth House. She would not leave Kestra behind. She set her jaw as she prepared to leave, the whispers of memories lapping at her mind repeatedly.

***
Without grace or subtlety, she knocked once on his office door and then barged in. In her hand was a PADD with various bits of information on Betazoid abilities. He looked up from his desk and stared at her, a bored look on his face. Vulcans. She gave him the quickest, simplest explanation she could for interrupting him. "I need your brain."

"I beg your pardon?"

Trija permitted herself a small smile. She had forgotten how very literal these people were. "Your abilities. I understand you're a P11 telempath. This is you, right?" she held out the PADD with his file on it.

"Where did you obtain this information?" Liyar asked sternly, lips forming a thin line as he scanned the words. "This is not a matter of public discretion. You will hand over to me any additional copy and cease prying into my affairs at once." He was growing very weary of dealing with Trija Natyal, whose bluntness and sheer vanity were only exceeded by her foul temperament. This was looking to be one of his last nerves, and she was trodding the toe of her boot into it, grinding it to dust.

"I don't care about your stupid file!" Trija ground out impatiently. "I need you to help me."

"That is impossible. Good day, Miss Natyal." He stood as though prepared to herd her out of his office by force.

"Oh, for the sake of the Four, sit down!" she snapped at him, crossing her arms, not in the mood for the battle of wills that inevitably arose out of any conversation with a Vulcan. "Do you know who Kestra Orexil is?" she asked, not allowing him to leave.

He regarded her as though he were unsure if he wanted to slow-cook her over a fire and make a meal of her flesh and bones or airlock her. "Kestra Orexil. The former active chief of security aboard this vessel," Liyar supplied slowly, cautiously.

"I need your help. According to that, you're the only person here who has the kind of raw energy I need."

"For what?"

"I think she might be..." Trija sat down on the spare chair in the corner and sighed. "Trapped. In the spiritual plane. You know she's in a coma. I heard her calling out to me. I don't think she can get out on her own. I need someone to jolt the connection I want to make. Lieutenant, if I had another option, I'd take it. She is my cousin. I have the skill to operate a mental link but not to establish one. Even if I did, I would want some backup." As always, Liyar marveled at her uniquely Terran cadence, despite being Betazoid, she managed to come off like a brusque Terran might.

"I can absolutely assure you, Miss Natyal, I am not the individual you seek." Liyar had backed up slightly, clasped his hands behind him. "How certain of you that this is not a product of faulty perception?"

"You mean how sure am I that I'm not a raving lunatic?" she bit back pointedly and then rubbed a hand over her face. He might have been Vulcan, but even she could feel that had stung a little. "That was rude. I'm sorry. I just know. I know it's her. This isn't the first time. Ever since Galileo has been docked at SB185 I've felt this pull, calling to me. Someone is trying to claw the shield. It's Kestra. I know it is."

"Even if you are correct, Miss Natyal," Liyar ignored the insult, "I would decline. I am completely unsuited to this." Kestra Orexil. He'd felt the disturbing flux in consciousness from her in the sickbay, partially why he'd avoided being in that room for so long, but it was like that with many comatose telepaths he had seen. Their own private horror show. He was motivated to add after feeling the sincerity of her words, "Perhaps Lieutenant Mialin, Cadet Im'er or Ensign Varek might be willing to assist you. To evaluate her mental status. Or you may return to Betazed. I cannot help you."

"I'm not leaving her there until we survey this system over 18 days, Liyar. There is no way. Varek and Mialin and Im'er are all great choices, sure," she agreed, "But they're not Amplifiers." She met his eyes. "If I could direct the flow of your abilities, if we could work together, I think it is our best chance of reaching her."

"The risk would be too great. If what you are saying is even accurate to begin with," Liyar shot her down. Why was he arguing to begin with? The answer was no. "However you have obtained these files, I must insist that your perception of me is incorrect. I do not have the abilities that you need. To trust me in such an endeavor would be an act of the highest illogic." He held up his wrists, encircled by the metallic psi-clamps, for reference.

"You're an amp. That's your job. You need focus."

Liyar's features tightened minutely. "If what you say is true then I would require to examine her."

"No. Not until we get some kind of baseline control. I saw the video feeds from Puam Digh. That wasn't some amateur, but I'm not willing to have that around Kestra until we know what we're dealing with. We can easily run a meditative sim first."

"I am exceptionally busy, Miss Natyal. I do not have time to chase ghosts. Nor do I comprehend your nomenclature. This discussion is adjourned."

"No, damn it." Trija cast her eyes about, frustration building as she was met with a continual brick wall. Why couldn't he just see what was happening? "Don't pull this on me. I am literally begging you to help me. Please." She opened the gates in her mind, letting her fear and desperation through the room. He needed to understand. He needed to help her. He would have to help her.

"I owe you nothing, Trija Natyal." Liyar hit the pad on his door, opening it to the corridor outside. He wasn't born yesterday. He wouldn't be played for a fool. He recognized the stem and tide of emotional flux, a deliberate attempt to induce empathy. After insulting him and reading his personal files, barging in his office -- he shored up his mental shields and spoke coldly. "It is time for you to leave."

"No -" she stood, shaking her head. "I can't just -"

"Get out."

Trija stood shakily, fists clenched. "This isn't over." She stormed out of his office, determined to find some way to make him listen.

Kestra Orexil. Trapped in some kind of shield. He shook his head. Even if he believed Trija, he couldn't help her. It would be too dangerous. He sat back down at his desk and began focusing on his assignment anew, only to be periodically interrupted by the vague chime of his conscience telling him that he shouldn't have ignored it, dismissed it so easily. He was used to being dismissed. He should not have done it to another.

But the anger remained. He did not appreciate being manipulated, he would not allow it. Idly he found himself overlooking cases of telepathic vegetative states, picking up his PADD and reading to himself as he left his office at long last, heading down to the mess.

OFF:

Lieutenant (JG) Liyar
Diplomatic Officer, VDF/SDD
USS Galileo

Trija Natyal
Assistant Producer, FNN
USS Galileo
(PNPC Liyar)

 

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