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Irina Pavlova

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Everything posted by Irina Pavlova

  1. Come on and post your entries people, its getting lonely in here.
  2. I want to read them all!! Hey, not done yet. I still have my "darker" one to post as soon as someone else makes it so I don't automatically lose (if I post twice and nobody else does, at least one of mine would win, making the other a real loser. LAST PLACE. Back of the pack. Zero not hero.
  3. You'd better enter. If I was the participant and lost I wouldn't be able to handle the shame.
  4. Dust in the Wind “What’s wrong mommy?” Katya asked as Irina sat on the edge of the bed unmoving. “I’m scared” Irina replied. “But you aren’t afraid of anything. You said you are stronger than the monsters and bad people.” “I am Printzyessa, but it isn’t monsters or bad people I’m afraid of.” “Then…” Irina placed her finger to the child’s lips and then reached down and picked up her daughter. “Come on Printzyessa, we’ll be late. You want to go down to Ba’ku with the other kids, right?” “Don’t you want to go down to Ba’ku? mommy? “Yes, very much.” Irina walked out of her quarters on the Thunder and made her way to the transporter room. Like her daughter, she wore civilian clothes, though rather than the pretty dress and the correctly matched red socks (Katya matched them), Irina wore a pair of faded bluejeans, a black sleeveless shirt and the same brown leather marine bomber jacket that had survived over two centuries on the harsh planet of Kjenta II with her, patched bullet holes, road rash and all. Black leather boots and dark sunglasses completed her visible outfit, with nobody having a need to know about the 500+ year old Walther PP pistol its holster concealed within the jacket’s lining. She didn’t expect to need it, didn’t expect anything or anyone to remotely care about or even think about her on Ba’ku, but she was still convinced that this was, perhaps, the most dangerous place for her in the known universe. As she stepped onto the transporter pad her eyes caught those of Colonel Tyr Waltas, and right away his words from just over a year ago echoed in her head. The regenerative effects of Ba’ku were very well known to Irina Pavlova despite the fact that she’d never stepped foot on the planet. Ba’ku was a word that just about everyone brought up when they learned Irina’s true age. At 247-years-old, the only frames of reference anyone had was either stasis, or Ba’ku. Ba’ku was an idyllic fantasy to most humans. Eternal life in a place that they imagined as paradise. Gentle climate, lush vegetation and a rustic, peaceful society focused on the arts, philosophy and a simpler way of living. Of course, nobody who thought about Ba’ku could imaging that there were other worlds with similar regenerative effects that didn’t also have similarly paradisiacal climate, vegetation and lifestyle. Kjenta II shared Ba’ku’s regenerative qualities, but that was where the similarities ended. Unlike Ba’ku, Kjenta II was a post-apocalyptic wasteland, barely L class on a good day. 2.8G gravity, frigid winters and merely freezing summers along the equatorial belt, with anything North or South so cold as to be inhospitable. Then there was the near infrared radiation of the Kjenta star, so powerful as to fuse the cones in the eyes of most humanoid species in a matter of weeks, irreparably within a year. To the environmental pleasures of Kjenta II are added the joys of a sentient humanoid species that, five centuries before the arrival of the NX-class USS Columbia in 2171 had blasted themselves back to the stone age in an ionic and nuclear war, the residual ionization of the atmosphere, much like Ba’ku’s Briar Patch, made the planet both impossible to scan and extremely difficult to approach or depart, with the upper ionosphere serving to suck all power from anything and everything that passed through it. No communications, no sensors, and most importantly, no transporters could penetrate that ionization layer, which is why Irina Pavlova and the other 31 members of Columbia’s away team couldn’t leave for 219 years. No, the regenerative properties of Ba’ku didn’t scare Irina Pavlova, nor did the idyllic lifestyle and temperate climate, which she quite looked forward to. Not even the nefarious plans of Starfleet some 40 some odd years ago to claim the planet. No, it was the words of Tyr Waltas, former captain of the USS Discovery, just over a year ago after he had successfully rescued Irina and far too few of her shipmates from Kjenta II that scared her to her core. “My sons are mixed race" Waltas had said, "and somehow the radiation that normally regenerates the cell structures accelerated theirs. They went from infants to teenagers in several weeks’ time. My daughter removed them from the planet when she learned that a Federation Doctor was intent on studying them as they aged. I fully intend on bringing this to Starfleet’s attention as well. My point is, with as much outcry as the Ba’ku, my sons, and now you will create, the Federation will have little choice but to leave you alone. And if they don’t, then I will make sure no one can find you. You have my word.” It wasn’t Waltas’ promise or anyone messing with her that concerned Irina now. The other three survivors from Kjenta II were already dead and at least one attempt had already been made to grab Irina, but she doubted anything like that awaited her on Ba’ku. No, it was his words. “The radiation that normally regenerates the cell structures accelerated theirs” Waltas had said of his sons, aging them from infants to teenagers in several weeks. Irina was 247-years-old, and had lived that long due to the metaphasic radiation of the Kjenta star, as filtered through the second planet’s heavily ionized atmosphere. Would Ba’ku regenerate Irina’s cells like it did almost everyone else’s, or would it rapidly correct her cells to their correct biological age, which would most likely be a quite unpleasant, not to mention instantly fatal experience. “Energize” Fleet Captain Turner said clearly, and then Irina felt the transporter beam take hold. The sensations were very familiar, but somehow far slower, as though she could feel each and every molecule disassembled, separated to the atomic and then the sub-atomic level. Then there was a strange stillness that seemed to last hours as the atomic particles moved between the transporter pad of the USS Thunder and the surface of Ba’ku. Then came the familiar feeling of recombination, but something was wrong. She could feel, and then see the outline of her body appear and was happy that Katya had a big grin on her face as Irina held her in her arms. The tingling subsided, but the five-year-old was getting heavy. That wasn’t supposed to happen as she only weighed 40 lbs and Irina had the strength of a strong Klingon after 219 years in high gravity. Still, it was unmistakable, the little girl was getting heavier by the second and Irina was forced to put her down as the last of the transporter’s tingles faded. Katya looked up at her mother first with concern, but then screamed when their eyes met. Irina was briefly shocked, but as she looked down at her own hands, hands that were withered, spotted and frail, she knew instantly what her daughter must be looking at and quickly turned away. “Take her” Irina said pleadingly to anyone who would listen as she turned away, and saw Tyr Waltas quickly move in and take her child. Looking back to her hands, she saw the skin was cracking now, taught and brittle against aged bones. She felt someone take hold of her and heard shouting, but couldn’t understand the words. Her sight faded, the lush vegetation replaced by the void of the transporter and then the sterility of sickbay, but even that was fading as the damage had been done. She could only see shadow now, her eyes completely clouded, and couldn’t hear anything. She tried to speak, to call her daughter’s name, but even her tongue felt dryer than dust, and as her mouth opened to speak the name, that was the last thing she felt, her tongue crumbling to dust as her conscious did the same. The last thought in her mind was that there was no light, no tunnel. Her lips cracked as she forced them into a smile, satisfied that at least Katya would be taken care, and secure int eh knowledge that the struggle was finally over. It was time to rest. She felt a soft breeze across her face and could literally feel the dry and dead skin blowing away from her skeletal remains, just dust in the wind. Major Irina Pavlova Chief of Strategic Operations Duronis II Embassy / USS Thunder As always, I am inspired and moved by music. This story shares its title with a song that I loved when it first came out in 1977, quickly grew tired of as it was horribly overplayed, and now finally enjoy again almost 40 years later. As with everything to do with my character, it deals with the passage of time.
  5. Ooooh, this one has my name all over it. I've always enjoyed the darker side of trek and just might have to write two entires here, one for Irina, my current character, and one for something or someone far darker.
  6. Congrats to Jalana for an excellent story. I was gripped until the end, and then shocked by the ending and its abruptness and finality. Not every story has a happy ending, and I like that this one didn't.
  7. Dress Greens Everything had changed. 219 years had passed, people grew old, withered, and died. Buildings were built, treaties were signed and wars were fought. Irina had changed herself, though not nearly to the extent everyone else does over such a long period of time. There were red flecks in the whites of her eyes, while the lustrous deep yellow gold of her hair was now more of a platinum blond, bleached in the same ultraviolet radiation that had long since fried all of the cones in her eyes and reduced her vision to black and white, with a somewhat limited pallet of grays. Thirty-nine members of USS Columbia’s away team had shuttled down to Kjenta II from their ruined hulk of a starship all of those years ago, and now four of them were back. There were nine others who had survived the whole time in stasis, including Irina’s own four-year-old daughter Katya, and now, today, they were to be presented back into a universe that had long since abandoned them. It was a strange sort of occasion, originally scheduled as a eulogy/funeral type ceremony to mark the loss of a much more modern ship, the Sovereign-class USS Discovery-C through the very same Aurix wormhole that had claimed the far smaller and more primitive NX-class Columbia two and a quarter centuries earlier. Something about Discovery not having working comms prevented anyone from notifying Deep Space 285 until a few hours before their arrival, and he funeral was quickly changed to a welcome home party, again more for the benefit of the Discovery crew and their families who thought their loved-ones dead than for anyone on the Columbia, most of whom having been forgotten long ago. Captain Waltas had ordered everyone in both crews to wear their finest dress white uniforms, and for the crew of the Columbia, that meant 22nd century uniforms. Waltas wanting to show off his treasure or something like that. Being a marine, Irina's dress uniform was green rather than white, but the idea was the same, fancy and stiff with all of the frills. Irina stood in front of the mirror as she looked at the two uniforms laid out on the bed. One was crisp and new, only worn on three occasions and perfectly preserved across time in the cold vacuum of space that was her quarters on the Columbia. The other, not a dress uniform at all, was the clothes she had worn her last day on Kjenta II. The pants and undershirt were marine issue, but faded, sewn, patched and more recently thrashed by bullets, road rash and more than a little of her own blood. The leather flight jacket also had bullet holes and blood stains, but the thick hide had stood up to the road rash with only some abrasion and discoloration at the left shoulder and back. Standing at the mirror in her underwear, Irina desperately wanted to put on the ruined pants and jacket and walk out onto the stage as she really was, damaged goods, faded and worn by time with the color long gone. Just like the uniform pants and marine flight jacket, she remained obviously military, yet also wild, even savage. It was strange the things one remembered. As Irina put the dress uniform pants on, she had to give a bit of a tug as the material stretched a bit to conform to legs far more muscular than those that had worn them before. She was almost the same height, generally the same shape. Her waist was only an inch bigger around, while her thighs and biceps had each grown a bit more. She stood a little over an inch shorter than when the uniform had been made, now a few tenths over 5’6”, instead of a few below 5’8”, but had gained a full 100 lbs in bone and muscle density. The uniform fit, mostly on account of the synthetic fibers it was woven from and their expansive properties. Uniform on, Irina proceeded to attach the various and sundry ribbons, medals and insignia until she was so festooned with militaria as to look more like the old recruiting posters than the woman marooned for 219 years on that inhospitable rock. She looked, civilized. Some other things besides Irina’s weight and physique had changed, including some additions to the uniform. There was a modern 24th century purple heart medal, alongside the two 22nd century versions, not to mention the rank of marine captain instead of first lieutenant. Irina thought it funny she was going to what was originally a funeral wearing a rank that was awarded to her “posthumously” in 2172. Uniform complete, the last pieces were shoes and gloves, which she’d had new ones made on Discovery. The inch and a half of height she’d lost to Kjenta II’s high gravity were made up with non-regulation 2 1/5 inch heel, with regulations the furthest thing from her mind. She’d spent some time trying to put her hair into a neat and professional bun like she used to wear it, but her left hand wasn’t cooperating with her right due to nerve damage she'd suffered when their shuttle crashed so long ago, and in frustration she just let it hang, though cut now to shoulder length instead of mid-back as it had been on Kjenta. She wore no makeup, which combined with the wild-looking straight hair and the ever-present red flecks in her gray eyes presented an image somewhat different than that of her personnel photo. Of course, Irina couldn’t see any of the colors, including the one red and one green sock that to her were the same shade of medium gray, and didn’t care if anything was out of place or incorrect anyway. Dressed, Irina made her way to the small antechamber to the large auditorium where the ceremony was taking place. She looked at each of her 11 surviving shipmates, all of them wearing Starfleet uniforms while she as the lone marine rather stuck out, even in Irina’s monochromatic vision. The 8 officers revived from stasis tubes kept looking at Irina’s mismatched socks, while the other three who had survived the ordeal on the planet and were every bit as colorblind as she, didn’t notice. Mismatched socks or not, nobody in the small room said a word. Waltas spoke over the PA system telling tales of bravery and sacrifice and other such nonsense. He made the empty promises of how the federation in all its benevolent nicety niceness would be so very nice to the Columbia survivors and help them transition into this wonderful, enlightened and yes, nice century where everything was flowers and unicorns and feces no longer stunk. Then as the applause died down, Waltas’ voice took on a more triumphant and less somber tone. “Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you the crew of the USS Columbia, Naval Construction Code number Zero-Zero-Three.” There was thundrous applause, which died quickly as Captain Waltas raised his hands. “Lieutenant Commander Graciela Solis, chief medical officer. Lieutenant Rebecca Moore, assistant chief engineer. Lieutenant Michael Thomas, assistant chief science officer.” The names were called one by one, and each was followed by the loud applause that to Irina’s sensitive hearing sounded almost like gunfire and despite her knowledge of what it in fact was, her heart still was beating fast and her hands sweating more than she would like. When she was alone in the room, Waltas spoke again. “Lastly, Marine Captain Irina Pavlova, Chief of Security.” Irina walked out onto the stage and felt every one of the ten or twelve thousand eyes on her, heard the applause increase in volume and frequency. Her heart beat faster and she fought the overwhelming urge to run. Two steps, three. The incessant applause wouldn’t stop. Twelve steps, thirteen, left face, halt. She stood there at attention, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles cracked, adding to the staccato horror. Waltas spoke again. “Ladies and gentlemen, true pioneers.” The audience all stood up and cupped their hands as they clapped, the roar deafening. Irina could feel her grip on reality slipping as she her eyes started darting about, looking for the nearest exits, the path of least resistance while her rational mind tried desperately to keep her feet from moving. She couldn’t hold it anymore, and pushing through Crewman Saunders Irina bolted from the small formation as the applause suddenly came to a stop in sync with her motion. She didn’t look back, just quickly closed the 15 feet to the side door, veritably threw the security guard out of the way as she slammed against the door and found that the push bar was quite locked, but the wooden door itself was no match for almost 200 lbs of fast-moving marine desperate to get out of the room. Irina wasn’t sure how far she’d run, only that she’d gone through about three more doors and finally found an empty room where she could stop and try to get her wits about her. She had no idea how long she just stood there, and while she knew there were people on the other side of the door she’d come in through, they were, thankfully, not crowding in. Finally the door did open, but it was a familiar face to come in. “Come on back, Irina, its fine now.” “What’s fine Grace? Did the 24th century pack up and leave? There’s no going back, and I’m afraid to go forward.” “I know” Graciela Solis said as she walked up right in front of Irina and held out her hand. “Come on back, we’re all afraid to go forward, but we have to do it anyway.” “Its different for you, you slept through it.” “Yes, I slept through it. You didn’t. But as you said, there is no going back, but you can, you must go forward. If not for you, then for your daughter. Katya needs you, and from I heard from the Discovery’s team that went down there to get you, I think this century might need you as well.” “We are over 200 years out of date, they don’t need us to be anything except museum exhibits.” “Your wrong. The machines get bigger, faster, more powerful, but its always the people behind them that make the difference. Don’t ever forget, we were picked for Columbia because we were the best that Earth had to offer. I’d wager we still are.” “And if they don’t give us a chance to show it? If they put us out to pasture?” “Don’t let them. If you run and hide your fears will come true, but if you go back out there and face the future, somehow I’m sure you’ll get another ship, maybe even one of your own someday.” “I’m a marine, we don’t get ships.” “Rewrite the rules then. You kept everyone alive on that planet all those years. You kept Captain Waltas and his crew alive when went down to rescue you. I have a hard time believing the Starfleet of the 24th century would be stupid enough to throw that away.” Irina just listened, while her eyes kept going back to the door. Finally she unclenched her fists, took a deep breath and locked her gaze on the Columbia’s doctor. “Okay Grace, we’ll try it your way.” With that, the two women walked out of the supply room, back through the personnel and finance offices and finally to the main hallway and back into the auditorium. The security guard at the broken door shot her a dirty look, but Irina just smiled and walked past him, and out into the seething mass of humanity and other species. Major Irina PavlovaChief of Strategic OperationsDuronis II Embassy / USS Thunder-A OOC: My character was actually based partly on the song "Veteran of the Psychic Wars" by Blue Oyster Cult, which is linked below.
  8. ::As Irina practically flew out of her seat and Katya screamed, the blue light of the transporter faded and she found herself face to face with the man who, just over one year before, had arrived on Kjenta II and started a chain of events that led to this moment. Of course there was the small matter of him holding a sword.:: ::Tyr raised the katana in a defensive stance, knowing that Irina was probably armed to the teeth, and the blue haze of the transporter faded Just in time to see her using none of them except her own body. She fell on him with all of the focus and determination of someone 220 years held captive and now with freedom in sight. She didn¹t want to kill him, just to get the sword out of his hands and then delay him for the two minutes and twenty-four seconds it would take to hit breakaway speed.:: ::She slammed into him with the full force of her almost 200lb weight simultaneously delivering a punch to his gut with the full strength of a male Klingon or female Vulcan, one of the benefits of 219 years hazardous duty on a high-gravity planet. While outwardly thin, Irina¹s bone density and muscle mass were off the charts for humans, and the resulting hit was so strong that in addition to doubling over from the punch, Waltas dropped the sword which Irina promptly kicked away. The blade slid across and to rear of the runabout's cabin, out of reach.:: ::Irina didn¹t wait. She knew that he was likely a more experienced melee fighter than she was mainly on account of her having little beyond what she learned at Marine academy. She was a sniper, not a boxer, and while she desperately wanted to go home, she wasn¹t willing to kill the man who made such a voyage possible to do so. Still, she had the initiative on account of the powerful punch, now all she needed was time.:: ::Before he could recover, she closed in again, tackling him and wrapping her powerful arms around his waist and across his chest.:: Pavlova: Kirk went back in time twice, why not me? ::Tyr was stunned both by the trip through the transporter and the sudden attack once he'd materialized, but most disturbing of all was Irina's strength. His ribcage, seemingly the target of all of his foes, hurt like hell, and now she was trying to squeeze the breath (life?) out of him. He was trained in Judo and Aikido, and knew what to do.:: WALTAS: Kirk had to...to save the planet and the Federation. You're doing it.. GAH! ::He winced as the grip grew tighter:: Because you're a coward. ::This distracted her just long enough for him to grab the inner muscle of her underarm and squeeze with thumb and forefinger. The pressure point had the desired effect as Irina's arm went numb to the wrist, which he then grabbed and snapped the vice-like hold. He then pulled the arm toward him and turned his back, hurling her over his shoulder and sending her sprawling to the deck.:: ::Irina crashed hard into the passenger seats, and her momentum combined with her weight destroyed the seat back and ripped the entire seat out of the floor. What the impact did not do, however, was slow her down in the slightest, and she was instantly back on him. Her left shoulder slammed hard into his chest sending both of them forward under her momentum into the opposite wall while she simultaneously delivered a powerful right to his left shoulder. Her right arm quickly came back for a powerful rabbit punch to his face, which he easily dodged.:: ::He dodged the second punch, standard Starfleet-issue, and grabbed the arm as he did so. Slamming his foot into her ribcage he pulled hard and a distinct pop echoed through the cabin as the shoulder was dislocated. With nerve damage to one arm and a dislocated shoulder on the other, he knew what would come next. A hard kick he barely was able to deflect, and the Ba'ku dropped to the ground and swept her feet out from under her. Gripping her ankle he turned it in a direction it wasn't meant to turn, to the breaking point. He glanced at the viewscreen as the sun grew ever closer.:: WALTAS: Dammit Irina stop! I can help you! This place is my home and it can be yours too. You can't live in the past forever! It's worse than death. ::From the ground, Irina slammed her right shoulder had into the floor, popping the shoulder back into the socket just as audibly and even more painfully than its exit, but as she did so he tightened his grip on her ankle. PAVLOVA: Don't you see, it isn't the past for me, it's my home. ::Tears started streaming down her cheeks:: : They are all waiting for me. WALTAS::gently:: No, Irina. They're dead and gone. I could go back and save my father, or all the people that died on my homeworld when the Son'a attacked. Or all my shipmates who perished when I was assimilated by the Borg. The past is the past but it makes us who we are! PAVLOVA: Katya and I, we have nobody. WALTAS: You've got the Corps, and you've got me. And if you try, I think you'll have plenty of people. ::turning to Katya:: You want to see Bolt again don't you Katya? PAVLOVA: And the people who took Thomas and Moore. They've already made a play for me once, what happens to Katya when they finally succeed? WALTAS::Relaxing his grip a bit and lowering his voice:: Let me help you. Please. PAVLOVA: You can't guarantee that they won't get me. Katya needs me. ::He let go of her ankle and backed toward the console, tapping in codes to disengage the warp drive and shutting down the warp core for good measure. If Irina had any further treachery in mind it would take several minutes to repower the core. He saw Katya curled up in a fetal ball and gently touched the top of her head, then walked back to Irina, still on the floor. He extended his hand to help her up.:: WALTAS: As I said before, there's a difference between living in a moment, and getting lost in one. For both our sakes', let me help you. PAVLOVA: How exactly would you do that? There is no going back, and whether they come for me or not, I can't survive in a cell. WALTAS: They'll have to go through me and the entire crew to get to you. And you're not going to a cell. Pavlova: What other option is there? WALTAS: I didn't come here to throw the regs at you, Irina. You should know me better than that. You're alone, and scared, and you're a prisoner of the past. And you're talking to the one person who understands that. Come home with me and we'll forget this. PAVLOVA: And what happens when we get back? WALTAS::shrugging:: You're the strategic ops chief. You're new. I took you on an escort flight to teach you the ropes. PAVLOVA::Sitting down in the pilot's seat:: : They, he calls me every night. Its always the same, him sitting at the window and looking out the night sky, wondering when I'll come home. ::Irina powered up the impulse drive and set course back for Duronis embassy.:: PAVLOVA::Wiping the tears from her eyes:: : I guess its time to take Katya home. WALTAS::smiling, tapping the console:: I'll escort you back. Just stay on my wing. PAVLOVA: Don't worry, I won't try to run. Jointly Submitted Colonel Tyr Waltas Marine CO Duronis II Embassy / USS Thunder And Major Irina Pavlova Chief of Strategic Operations Duronis II Embassy / USS Thunder
  9. ((Parker Residence, Embassy)) ::Tyr continued his conversation with the only person he knew older than him-the enigmatic Irina Pavlova. He still wasn't sure if he wanted to put the woman through a wall or give her a pat on the back due to her experiences. He'd poured himself a double-shot of Jagermeister, his favorite, and sat staring into the dark brown depths that threatened to swallow him whole.:: PAVLOVA::Looking at her daughter, who was reading a book to Bolt:: I don't remember very much. Her first smile, her first word. I can almost remember the color of her hair, but when I concentrate on it, it just fades to the gray that I see. It was a peculiarly dark shade of gold, the same as my own hair in fact, but its all lost across the ages. WALTAS::Nodding in sympathy:: I didn't get to witness any of my children growing up. I didn't know about Daisha at all until she appeared on the bridge of the Discovery at 8 years old. Tye and Sanuye..well, you know what happened there. I've focused on making new memories with them. ::He threw back the shot, letting it drain down his throat and burn:: although there haven't been many to speak of with the boys. PAVLOVA: Yes, there are new memories. On the day before her fourth birthday she surprised me by announcing that she knew how to read. I didn't believe her, so I handed her my copy of Anna Karenina and while she couldn't understand it, she most definitely could read it. WALTAS: The boys seemed to age mentally as well as physically, so they just needed formal education. The scientists still can't explain it..not that I've let any get close. I don't think Daisha will either. PAVLOVA: Did you make peace with your sons? ::He found he'd poured himself another drink, and downed it like the first. He wasn't sure if the bitter taste had been there all along, or had been caused by the conversation.:: WALTAS::Sitting the glass down:: It never affected Tye. Trouble rolls off of him like water off a duck's back. He loves unconditionally, wrecklessly...::Smiling ruefully:: Like his father at his age. Sanuye.. ::He paused, smile faded, letting the sentence trail off:: PAVLOVA: Children are all that matter for people like us. Too many grains of sand in the hourglass, too many faces when our eyes close. I can still see them all, the faces of those who died on my very long watch, and the faces of those I've had to kill. Tell me, Tyr Waltas, do your demons visit you at night? ::The question was a chilling one. He could remember them all if he tried. All of his foes he'd struck down. All of the battles he'd been involved in as a Starfleet Captain and before that as a Security and Tactical officer. He remembered every face on every crew he'd served on, from his first days aboard the USS Constitution to those last, sad days aboard the Discovery-C. From Xan Hebron to Raj Blueheart, he remembered them all. And he recalled those who had fought him. Friend had become foe. Enemies of enemies, serial killers, power-mad dictators, even Starfleet Admirals. He remembered them all, and wished he didn't.:: WALTAS::His vision locked on the window overlooking the Embassy, his face a mask:: My demons don't wait until nighttime to visit me, Irina. PAVLOVA: Surely you've lost people dear to you to the sands of time? WALTAS::Still staring off in the distance, an image of dark-red hair and green eyes filled his mind, and he quickly dismissed it:: Too many. PAVLOVA: Next Tuesday it will be exactly 150 years since Dimitri died. He was the boy next door when I grew up in Sochi. I was older by a year, and he could never keep up. Running, jumping, pretty much any sport, he always was so clumsy, but he never gave up and always came in just behind me, like a shadow. ::He realized that, for perhaps the first time, Pavlova was opening up to him instead of holding him at arms' length. True, she had suffered and lived several lifetimes-something only a few could understand and sympathize with.:: WALTAS: What happened to him? PAVLOVA: Dimitri followed me into the Earth Defense Marines, but he didn't make the cut for sniper school. We were always just friends, but on the night I left we became something more. I didn't even know I was pregnant with Katya until over a month into Columbia's mission and by then we were too far out for Dimitri to join us or for me to go back. He proposed to me over subspace, but when I finally returned to earth he'd been dead 99 years, at the ripe old age of 95. He died alone, never married, never met his only child. WALTAS::Quietly, absorbing the story, he responded sincerely:: I'm sorry. PAVLOVA: Haven't you ever wanted to go back? To do it again, have a second chance? WALTAS::Sighing:: I'd be lying if I said no, but I've found if you spend too much time looking over your shoulder, ::his gaze drifted to Hella:: you end up missing the special things that are coming to you. I've made enough mistakes to count for four lifetimes, but I am who I am because I did what I did. I've learned to live with that. PAVLOVA: I've thought about it every day this past year. ::He paused, considering what her words meant, and the undercurrent of determination he sensed in them. There was more to what she was saying than what had been said, but what, he didn't know.:: WALTAS: You can't live in the past, Irina. It will consume you. You've been granted a second chance. Use it. PAVLOVA: That little boy is Irina's first friend. All I want is for her to have the tools she needs when I'm gone. Tell me Tyr Waltas, are my secrets safe? Are we allies or enemies? Am I safe here? I need to know, for her sake. WALTAS::Turning to regard her:: I'll give you the same answer I gave on Discovery all those months ago, Irina. You are safe here, and under my protection. These are good people of good character and they consider their crewmates family, just as we did on Discovery. And more than that, we are Marines. We are closer than family. You should remember that from your training. ::Pausing:: As for allies, again, I'll tell you the same thing-we are allies until you do something that makes us otherwise. I respect your past and the life you've lived. All I ask is that you do the same. ::He was going to say more, but Captain Turner walked in with a Marine at her side. Tyr gasped, realizing who he was-and the fact that he was supposed to be..well..DEAD. Angrily, he slapped his comm badge.:: WALTAS: Computer, bio file on Major Heath West to my PADD. ::The computer relayed the information, and he frowned at the results. Whether this was a trick or the man had indeed returned to play on Toni's sympathies was irrelevant-the Captain could possibly be in danger. Considering the Ba'ku still had his blade on his back, so was Major West. Stepping through the crowd as they sat down for a meal, Tyr made a beeline for the pair.:: WALTAS::Flatly:: Captain. May I have a word with you? TURNER/WEST: response WALTAS::Ignoring West and the introduction:: Captain? TURNER/WEST: response WALTAS::Turning on West, his voice rising slightly:: You'll explain yourself now, Major. TURNER/WEST: response OOC: Toni's dead husband returning should set off alarm bells for anyone in Security so I figure I'd have Tyr overreact. ================================= Colonel Tyr Waltas Marine CO Duronis II Embassy / USS Thunder
  10. Note: This story was inspired by the song "River of Time" by Jorma Kaukonen of Jefferson Airplane fame. I've long been obsessed with stories dealing with the passage of time and my character, Major Irina Pavlova was created around that obsession. Combine that with me being a Jefferson Airplane and Hot Tuna (Kautonen's other band) fan and this practically wrote itself. There is a link to the song at the bottom of the post. It was the same dream every night. A ragged, worn and wild-eyed Irina Pavlova walking into the sanctuary at P’Jem doing her best to look confused. The Vulcan monks always rushed to her aid and that of her 4-year-old daughter, wondering how two humans could suddenly appear at their doorstep, no starship in orbit and none on the landing pad. Just the two humans, both tired, dirty and confused, neither with any idea of how they got there. Of course that was the dream version. The reality version involved a detailed plan, and Irina tried to have every contingency covered. The small scout ship would land on the planet only thousands of miles from the sanctuary, and then using its transporter Irina and young Katya would transport to roughly halfway up the long mountain pathway. The ship would then follow its programming and fly itself to the bottom of the ocean and power down, hopefully not to be disturbed, at least not until the 24th century from whence it will have come. P’Jem was selected carefully. Irina needed to find a place that in the 22nd century could at least call for a ship to bring her home, while being remote enough for her to slip in unnoticed. The P’Jem of the 2170s was the perfect spot, with only a few monks and one transmitter remaining after the monitoring station was dismantled by the Andorians in the 2150s, and not yet the mining colony that would would be founded there in the 2210s. In 2175 it was just an uninhabited rock, with a small sanctuary, four or five Vulcan monks and one powerful transmitter. The plans were months in the making. Her assignment as chief of strategic operations at Duronis II made things easy. The runabout was one of many available for the embassy’s senior staff to use, and as a marine major and department head Irina was in such a position that checking out the runabout for a week’s leave was little more than a routine requisition. She would have a full week before anyone started looking, and unless they looked more than two centuries in the past, she would never be found. Every night it was the same dream, and every morning the same reality. Everyone she had ever known was long dead. It didn’t matter what she did, their faces haunted her every night when she closed her eyes. Her father telling her that military service was a waste of her talent. Her brother who promised that grandpa’s old Mercedes would be running by the time she came back from her first tour. Most of all it was Dimitri, the boy next door. Clumsy, awkward Dimitri, her sidekick, shadow, best friend and worst enemy for as far back as she could remember. They had joined the marines together, and the night before Irina shipped out on Columbia, they had progressed from friends to lovers. Dimitri had been dead for 150 years now, never married, never meeting his only child. Much of his life was lost to history, but Irina was able to find out that he left the marines just months after her ship was reported lost, and the only other references to him are a college degree in astronomy, a retirement ceremony from the Moscow observatory and his obituary, which had little more than the dates of his birth and death, and that he was engaged to Irina Pavlova in April 2170 and had a daughter named Katya, born the same month. Irina saw his face every night, imagining him working everyday at the observatory, studying stellar data, but always really looking for just one thing, the NX Class USS Columbia, missing longer and longer as he grew older and older. She could imagine him an old man, no longer working, but still always looking upward and hoping against hope that somehow she was still out there. Of course he couldn’t possibly have known that she was doing the same thing, and continued to do so long after he had breathed his last. Stranded on the planet Kjenta II and essentially immortal while there, Irina had no clue regarding the true passage of time. Days blurred into weeks, months, years and ultimately decades as over two centuries passed her relentlessly by. Lan Treng, Columbia’s science officer told them that it was radiation from the planet’s upper atmosphere that prevented cellular decay and kept them young, but everyone, including Irina, didn’t believe it, thinking only that they had lost track of time. Irina woke in a cold sweat as she did every morning, but today would be different. Today she was on leave, had a runabout reserved and her bags packed. She and Katya were traveling light, with just some civilian clothes, her old uniform and a few of their possessions that had come with them from the old USS Columbia. Her modern uniform, commbadge and everything else that wasn’t made before 2175 would be left on the runabout, powered down and abandoned beneath the ocean of P’Jem. After a week, Starfleet would probably go looking for her, perhaps if they looked hard enough they would find a 2-year-old runabout that had spent the last two centuries at the bottom of the ocean. As Katya woke up, they ate breakfast as usual and made their way to the docking ring. Everything was in order, the runabout was ready and Irina logged her flight plan for P’Jem. In addition to meeting her needs, P’Jem had a few other points in its favor for Irina’s plan. It orbited a star of sufficient mass to make the slingshot calculations possible with a smaller ship and the radiation of that star was such that even the weak shielding of a runabout was more than adequate. Most important of all was the lack of curiosity it had as a destination for Irina and Katya in their 24th century existence as it was the place of retirement of one T’Sal, a Vulcan girl who was Irina’s roommate when she went through security/tactical branch training at Starfleet Academy back in 2168. T’Sal was one of the very first Vulcans to attend the brand-new academy, and was the last surviving member of Irina’s class. Irina had contact T’Sal a few days before, and nobody would possibly question her motives for visiting. The trip to P’Jem was uneventful and accomplished in just over two days. Irina and Katya passed the time on eduational activities and Irina even taught the little girl how to pilot the runabout, at least the real basics, and let her do so under close supervision. The normalness continued as they arrived at P’Jem and had a lovely dinner with T’Sal. Irina had never liked Vulcans and she and T’Sal were not friends all those years ago, but the passage of time had changed a great deal of things for both women. The two talked about time and timelines, and it was T’Sal who introduced Irina to the concept of time being essentially a river, with people wading in, swimming to the other side as the current pushed them until finally they would emerge on the opposite bank and end their journey. The current only moving in one direction, and no matter how hard one fought, one could never swim backwards. Irina told T’Sal about James Kirk and the slingshot maneuver, and how she was going to swim backwards to where she belonged. To her credit, T’Sal did not try and talk her out of it, but rather just asked her to be mindful of what might happen downriver. The next morning Irina and Katya woke up on the runabout, got dressed and ate breakfast as usual, only this day Irina was back in uniform, only it was her 22nd century uniform. The old flip-open communicator and first generation phase pistol were at her belt, both clearly showing the wear and tear of 219 years on Kjenta II, while the uniform was crisp and new, preserved in Irina’s closet on the Columbia in the cold of space. The runabout was programmed for the slingshot maneuver and Katya’s bag was filled with books carefully selected from the 22nd century with a science fiction theme all the better to explain the four-year-old’s inevitable comments about the 24th century as mere products of an active imagination. The runabout broke atmosphere and Irina put it on course for the P’Jem star, then engaged the slingshot program and sat back. She closed her eyes and thought of Dimitri waiting by his window. She did the calculations for an arrival date in June of 2175, 2-years after Columbia was reported missing. She had the wild-eyed look already, and figured if she just pretended ignorance, to have no clue how she ended up at P’Jem or where the Columbia was, nobody would be any the wiser for it. By the time USS Discovery found the Columbia in 2390 she would be long dead anyway, and hopefully history would just repeat itself. To Irina’s chagrin, Dimitri’s face didn’t remain in her mind for long. She thought about her 24th century commanding officer, Fleet Captain Toni Turner, and her mountain of an XO Lieutenant Commander Hannibal Parker. There was Colonel Tyr Waltas, who one year before as Captain Tyr Waltas was the main actor in her rescue from Kjenta. There were others, the Vulcan science officer T’Mihn who had helped Irina with the calculations, the marines and startfleet officers she had gotten to know at Duronis, and finally the little boy Bolt who had become Katya’s playmate. What would happen to all of them if Irina swam up instead of downriver? Would she disturb the waters of their lives? “Why are you crying mommy?” Katya asked as the P’Jem star grew larger and larger in the runabout’s viewer. “Because I can’t go home” Irina replied as she tearfully changed the runabout’s programming for a return to Duronis II. “Why not? I like Donis embsy. “I know, that is why we are going back. Its your home.” “We live together?” “Yes Printzyessa, we live together, but everyone swims in the river alone.” “What river mommy?” “The river of time." Major Irina Pavlova Chief of Strategic Operations Duronis II Embassy / USS Thunder-A
  11. Can the submission also be posted to our ships as a regular sim, if applicable?
  12. ((Irina’s Quarters, USS Vigilant-A)) ::For the last two weeks Irina’s days have been occupied with trying to solve too problems. The first was to find someone she could trust, and who was willing to assume responsibility for her daughter Katya in the event something happened to Irina. The second and more promising option was for Irina to try and way back to the 22nd century which would make the first problem irrelevant.:: ::In Irina’s era time travel was just the stuff of science fiction, but in the over two centuries that Irina had spent on the surface of Kjenta II time travel had not only been discovered, but had been successfully accomplished. Of course there were rules against going back in time, and upon her rescue from Kjenta II those rules had been clearly explained, but still the seed had been planted and in the year that followed, there was not a day that went by without Irina thinking about finding a way home.:: ::Home, as in a place, was easy. It was home, as in a time, that was more difficult. Home the place was Sochi, Russia, with considerable time also spent in St. Petersburg and Odessa. The two big cities on account of her father’s occupation as a professional symphony violist, while Sochi was the place of Irina’s birth and where the family had always maintained a small cabin in the mountains.:: ::Irina loved Sochi. It was a magical place to be a child, with unspoiled mountain landscapes, rivers flowing with clean water and to Irina’s particular delight since the age of six when she started it was a wonderful place to hunt. While Irina lost interest in most activities quickly after mastering them, hunting was always a pleasure. The smaller, faster and farther away the animal, the more Irina enjoyed it.:: ::Better than perfect 20/10 vision combined with naturally outstanding coordination and real feel for it to make in Irina a very rare breed of hunter. She only hunted animals that she and her family would eat, and only those that were overpopulated for the region. Rabbits were her favorite as they were beyond plentiful, extremely fast and quite small. She would, after the age of ten when she had truly mastered aim and trigger control, try to spook them first, making them run before she took the shot. She even had a sort of deal that she had made with the rabbit god, if there was such a thing, and that was that if she missed, the rabbit won and would go free. She never missed.:: ::After Discovery’s return to earth and before her assignment to the Vigilant, Irina had taken her three-year-old daughter to Sochi for the weekend. The cabin was where it had always been, but in a horrible state of repair. The windows were mostly broken and much of the wood rotten. The place had been thoroughly looted a very-long-time-ago, but in the floor she found the loose board under which she had always hidden her treasures, and inside remained the small metal box she had last opened 224-years-ago. Inside were the rotten remains of the friendship bracelet her neighbor, friend and later lover and fiance Dimitri gave to her in junior high school, which she removed prior to reporting to Earth Defense Academy. There was a .303 caliber bullet, the first bullet that Irina had ever loaded herself at age 9. A rabbit’s foot, properly preserved by her father who in addition to being a professional musician was also an video taxidermist. A pair of keys to the car she and her younger brother were helping their father to restore. It was a 2092 Mercedes-Benz convertible that her grandfather had purchased new and maintained well, but sat neglected after his passing in 2130. In 2160 father had declared that if they got the car running, it would go to Irina and Gregori. Sadly, the garage behind the cabin no longer existed and there was no car anywhere on the property, restored or otherwise.:: ::The last item in the box was the most precious. A plastic envelope containing old-fashioned pictures on paper and a small book. There was a mixture of photographs ad drawings, and the book was Irina’s diary. She opened the book to the last entry and read it aloud for young Katya to hear.:: Pavlova: My bags are packed and tomorrow Dimitri and I leave for San Francisco to start our careers in the marines. I still remember grandpa re-telling the stories of his youth, about first contact, early warp travel and even about his playing chamber music at President Archer’s inauguration. I cannot help but wonder what stories I’ll have to tell my grandchildren. Katya: Do you have any stories yet mommy? Pavlova: Oh yes, Printzyessa, I do. ::Could a year really have passed? Irina took the metal box out of her night table drawer and looked at the diary inside. Someday she would have to put in entries for her time on Columbia, the 219 years on Kjenta II and then her year on Vigilant. She had thought about many times, but if she did find a way back to her time, such a record would be problematic. No, she would wait, and hopefully a successful return in time would solve the problem for her.:: ::Irina and T’Mihn had solved the equations earlier today, and she had the release codes to steel the small dispatch ship out of DS6 impound. Tomorrow would be the day, and so with contented thoughts of Russia in 2173, Irina finally turned out the light and drifted off to sleep.:: ((Sochi, Russia, October 10, 2173)) ::Irina stood up on the hilltop looking down on the valley below. The cabin was there, mother in the yard, brother Gregori polishing the old Mercedes which was no longer on blocks. Smiling, she started walking down the path, excited that she had finally made it home.:: ::The walk was peaceful, with a crisp breeze, flowers in bloom, birds chirping and animals seemingly at play. She heard the sound of a rifle bolt being rammed forward and turned, expecting to see her father.:: ::It was father, but not. He was himself, but he was also, somehow, a rabbit. A 6’ tall rabbit, with father’s face and father’s rifle. He smiled as he brought the rifle up to eye-level and aimed it at Irina.:: Rabbit Father: Run, Irina, run. If I miss, you win the game. Pavlova: And if you don’t miss? Rabbit Father: Then we eat you for dinner. Pavlova: But, I’ve come home. Gregori, the car, mother in the yard. Rabbit Father: There’s no coming home Printzyessa. Now run! ::Irina watched as her father the rabbit smiled and slowly leaned down to look through the scope, and without even realizing it she was running.:: ::She could see and hear him through the trees, but she was very limited in where she could go. Out in a clearing and he would have an easy shot. In the trees her advantages of strength and endurance were negated.:: ::It didn’t escape her how ironic that she had survived over two centuries on Kjenta II, broken all of the rules to come home, only to find herself hunted by her own father, who had somehow taken on the identity of the rabbit god to whom she had made that promise so many decades ago.:: Rabbit Father: I see you, better run faster than that Printzyessa. ::Irina pushed herself, harder and harder, trying not to present a target, but knowing that eventually she would come into the rabbit’s sights. oO The car Oo.:: ::Irina headed in the opposite direction, but slowly looped back around until she had a view of her brother Gregori and the old Mercedes. The metal box was in her shoulder bag and the car keys were still inside. The car looked clean, had new black tires and everything sparkled, but as she approached she noticed that Gregori too was a rabbit.:: ::Staying hidden in the bushes, she called out to him.:: Pavlova: Gregori, its me, Irina. I’m back, but I need help. Gregori: Irina! You shouldn’t be here. You have to leave. Pavlova: Yes, I know. Let me take the car. I can’t run fast enough, but with the car I can get free. Gregori: Where will you go? ::Irina stopped cold.:: Pavlova ::to herself:: : Where will I go? Rabbit Father ::from behind, touching the rifle barrel to Irina’s back:: : There is nowhere for you to go Irina. You should not have come back. Pavlova: What else was I to do? Rabbit Father: You needed to stay where you were. Katya needs a mother, not a prisoner. Pavlova: I am a prisoner on Vigilant, no, anywhere in that time. I do not belong there. Rabbit Father: The universe says otherwise, and while you always have a place here, that place is in our memories. You have to go. Pavlova: Please. ::Irina collapsed to her knees and started sobbing uncontrollably.:: ((Irina’s quarters, present day)) Katya: Mommy, don’t cry. ::Irina opened her eyes and realized her pillow was veritably soaked while Katya stood above her, tears in her own eyes.:: Pavlova: Its okay Printzyessa, go to sleep. Katya: Who were you talking to? Pavlova: Just a rabbit I used to know. Katya: Are we going home tomorrow? Pavlova: Yes Printzyessa, mommy found a way. ::Irina hugged her daughter in tight, weird dreams aside, her plan was well in motion, and this time tomorrow would be this time 219-years-ago.:: Rabbit Father:: distant voice:: : Run, Irina, run! Lieutenant Irina Pavlova Security/Tactical, USS Vigilant-A
  13. Can the story submitted ALSO be posted to our ship as a regular sim?
  14. Anyone who has lived in Asia knows Pooka. Going a bit further back in time however is Usagi Yojimbo.
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