Lt Vylaa zh'Tisav: The Sending

[Doz Finch]

Here's an engrossing, descriptive and yet sombre sim from @Vylaa.

Lt Vylaa zh'Tisav: The Sending (google.com)

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((Vylaa’s Quarters, USS Gorkon))

Vylaa sat in front of her personal console, staring into nothing.  In her hands, heavy and cold, sat a large, spindley crystaline cipher, it’s surface smooth and deep blue.  It had been the focus of her thoughts for hours, and would be for a bit more.  She turned, focusing at last on the blank screen.

The first thing she had done upon their arrival at Nassau was search through the docked ships until she’d found a familiar shape.  Long, narrow, cross-shaped.  Her stout wings bearing the heavy plasma cannon pods that made her such a formidable weapon.  Once the pride of the Imperial Guard, now battle-worn and weary.  An older class of battlecruiser, her black hull now patch-worked and worn.  A pure warship, with none of the fluff.  All Guard ships were the same, they had no need for science pods or diplomatic facilities.   Unlike Starfleet, they hadn’t bloated themselves in that way; the Andorian Astronomical Survey served the functions the Imperial Guard did not.  Or, at least, it *had*.

As much as Vylaa was afraid to know, she had to make the call.  She needed to know the fate of her people, how many had survived.  They had already been a species on the brink, with fewer children born each generation, and now, this.  The Borg had all but sealed their fate.  And above all that, she needed help.  The zhen glanced own at the memory crystal in her hands, the focus of every Andorian funeral.

She needed *their* help.

The zhen placed the call.  The face that appeared onscreen was not one she’d expected, but all the same was happy to see.

Riv: Lieutenenat zh’Tisav?  They said we might kno some of the people on your ship, but...

zh’Tisav: ::Happily:: Riv!

He straightened up, clearly irritated.

Riv: That’s Commander th'Viannis to you!  ::Pause, realization dawning on his face:: You were my weapons officer.  The last I saw you, you and Lieutenant ch'Rhekriq were holding the evacuation line at Gamma Hydrae, right before you both were assimilated.

((OOC: Since the ship was isolated from the timeline shift by the vortex, I’m running on the assumption that a different version of Vylaa still exists in the new timeline somewhere.))

He looked down, now suddenly uncomfortable.  The news that she and Sel were drones somewhere in this timeline was only slightly more damaging than Riv’s reaction to her.  There was no trace of love in his eyes.  Her big strong Guardsman was no longer hers, had apparently never been, in this version of the universe.

zh’Tisav: Wh-what do you mean?  You’re my th’se!

Riv frowned and glanced offscreen, his expression growing cloudy.

Riv: We were never bonded.

It was as if someone had pulled the rug from under Vylaa, and instead of finding the floor, she had found the Void.  She turned and looked away, to where Tyvya was mashing her tiny fingers through Alorrs dark fur.  She was all Vylaa had left.  Sivaa and Athyn, and little Thyl…  They’d never existed.  The entire sum of their existances was locked away in their Zhaveys memories.  The fist around Vylaa’s heart tightened even more.  She turned back, deciding not to mention their child.  It would be too painful, for both of them.

zh’Tisav: Ri… Commander, I need some help...

((Later – Nassau, Just Before Midnight))

The place was unfamiliar.  It had a dingy quality that reminded the zhen of the ancient subterranean depths of L’Uvan; the seedy areas where the youths of Andoria found certain freedoms they couldn’t find up on the surface.  The type of dark tunnels Vylaa had dragged cautious Sel to on numerous occasions.  As Vylaa exited the airlock, she found three Andorians waiting.  One, Vylaa knew would be there, the others were unexpected and redoubled Vylaa’s sense of anguish.  Two familiar females towered behind Riv, their faces radiating bewilderment.  Familiar, because they looked just like Vylaa, except wearing worn and patched Guard uniforms.  Identical to Vylaa except for the eyes, that is.  Their eyes had different colored flecks.  Sataa’s were blue with brown flecks, Thyssa’s blue with grey.

Riv: Erm… Lieutenant…  Welcome to Nassau.

Vylaa stepped forward.  A stretcher, bearing a shrouded figure, floated on anti-grav waves behind her.  She carried the memory crystal, containing all of her memories of Shrev, but nothing else.  She’d left Tyvya with a friend.  There was no need to complicate matters further.

zh’Tisav: C...Commander.  ::She looked at the sisters who were not her sisters:: Thyssa, Sataa.

Sataa: Vylaa…  ::Her eyes drifted to the shroud::  You really killed Shrev?

The zhen’s eyes never left Sataa’s face.  She had to stand by what she did.

zh’Tisav: Yes.

The shen focused on Shrev’s body for a moment longer.

Sataa: Good.  Assimilation is hell.  I’ll die by my own hand before I let myself…

She trailed off, uncomfortable at sounding accusatory.  *Her* Vylaa had allowed herself to be captured, and it must still sting.  She was living a life Sataa most feared, and Vylaa’s mere presence here was reminding her of that with every passing second.  Thyssa stepped in, filling the uncomfotable silence.

Thyssa: Come, we have a place set aside in the Slims for the Sendings.

The group departed the airlock.  Their route took them through the narrow streets of the residential district.  They walked in silense past building after building, awkwardly not speaking to each other.  The people they passed stepped aside for them, standing silently until they passed.  It seemed this was a common sight.

Finally, Vylaa could stand the silence no longer.  The zhen looked to her sisters.  Well, not her sisters…  Well... Whatever...

zh’Tisav: In my timeline, you studied seismology… ::Her eyes shifted to Sataa:: And you were a Master bladesmith.  You made such beautiful weapons.  Did you…

Thyssa snorted, her face hardened by too many battles.  Too many losses.

Thyssa: There’s no time for foolishness like that.

Vylaa looked down to the ground, saddened.  It hurt that her sisters had never realized their passions, their potentials, and it filled her with regret, and a nagging sense of indescision.  The honorable thing to do would be to resign and join with her people, take her temporal dopplegangers place.  There were so few of them now, far, far too few.  They needed to stick together.  But she couldn’t just leave everything.  She still had an obligation to Starfleet, even if it might only be one ship.  She couldn’t leave her friends behind.

Could she?

Their route turned a corner and opened up into a large open space.  It was some kind of large plaza on the outskirts where numerous streets and alleys met.  The ground bore the dark, oblong scars of many funeral pyres.  Near the center stood one such pyre, waiting for Shrev.  Vylaa reached into her robes and withdrew a handmade death mask, donning it while her companions did the same with masks of their own.  As the zhen pulled up the hood of her robe, a bell chimed five times.

Silently, what seemed like the entire remainder of the Andorian species appeared, all dressed similarly to Vylaa, save for those still wearing their Guard uniforms.  So, so few.  Were they really all that was left?  The entire Andorian species, squeezed into one place…

Numerous keths were present.  This was not how it was supposed to be.  Shrev was supposed to lie in the Temple, cared for by the priestesses, until all his kin could gather to imprint their memories of him upon the memory cipher.  Not here, on some foreign asteroid surrounded by strangers.  Yet they all came, strengthening the numbers of Keth Shaalil.  They were all one clan now.

Three hooded figures stepped from the crowd and joined Vylaa alongside Shrev’s stretcher, a thaan, a chan, and a shen.  Shrev had no bondmates to send him off, so the strangers and Vylaa would stand in.  They walked forward, timing their footsteps to the droning of an old priest, ariving at the pyre just as he began the final prayer, and worked carefully to slide Shrev onto the pile of flammable material.

The crystal was laid beside the body.  Vylaa had been told they’d already burned one cipher when Shrev had been taken.  They’d already said goodbye, moved on; this was just a pity gesture to the her.  She was the last to leave his side.  As she backed away, the zhen spoke her last words to him.

zh’Tisav: I’m sorry, Shrev.  You deserved a better life than you got, in both timelines.

As the clock reached midnight, Riv raised his pistol and fired, igniting the fire.  The flames roared high, sending Shrev and the crystal to Uzaveh.

 

Lt Vylaa zh'Tisav

Chief of Engineering

USS Gorkon

C238601TB0