PLOT - JL | Cmdr Neyes, Mei'zha Ilex - "Blurred Lines" pt II/II

Posted on Fri Aug 14th, 2015 @ 8:56am by Commander Tristan Neyes PhD.

1,693 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Agua Mala

"Hold still. You're bleeding internally." Tristan said calmly, his voice soothingly soft and steady. His eyes tore away from her battered form to look up at the street around them. The young girl had defended herself and fled, thankfully. The guards were gone, and still no one batted an eyelash at the whole scene. A few people shot curious looks his way and he tended to her wounds, wrapping a piece of cloth around her head and wrist.

"I don't suppose anyone would have stopped to keep you from bleeding to death." He said, his rage getting the better of him for a moment. "Anyone?!" He yelled aloud at the people passing by.

Awake only by the grace of the so-called Gods, Mei’zha was hardly in any form to protest when the Trill had come to her rescue like some spotted knight in... She couldn't quite make out what it was he was wearing, but was certain it most definitely wasn't armor. Her head pounded and each pulse only seemed to intensify a distinctive and alarming ringing that was only punctuated by the chirps and bleeps of the tricorder in the man's hand. He was Federation, that much the former leader of the Makta was certain, as she studied the device with eyes that wanted to do anything but focus. "Give... It up." She coughed wetly, more irritated with the taste of her own blood than she was with his poking and prodding. In fact, she was certain her body had become numb to the sensation of anything more than pressure as he worked, "No one cares nipa awọn dọti ruwa , Federation..." (... about the dirt caste, Federation) Standard just didn't want to work anymore as the shadows crept along the lonely street to reach for the cyan haired Stenellis and her eyes rolled away from the tricorder to quietly study the sight of her own blood as it seeped from a cut on her arm.

"Standing up for that girl... You don't strike me as the fighter type." Tristan said as he continued to work, his eyes feverishly concentrating on the movement of his hands and her injuries. Talking was more to keep her conscious and aware than anything else. He saw her wilting gaze slowly tread the course of her arm. It was at least fractured in a few places.

"Your name?" He asked, keeping the same steady tone.

However bent the Trill seemed on saving the pink-blooded creature, she seemed equally intent on being unimpressed. It may have been concussion, skull fracture, shock, or some heinous combination of all of the above, but the woman's interests failed to appear centered on survival. He buzzed about her, working to stymie the external bleeding while trying to do what he could to stabilize the internal injuries enough to do... What? She blinked just as her eyes threatened to close and hushed her own internal dialogue with the realization that the spotted boy wonder was at least planning to move her.

Her mouth opened to respond to his statement regarding her being a 'fighter', but closed with grimace and low groan when she tried to shake her head in disbelief. He didn't need to know that she'd once lead the same merry band of morons that had rendered her broken and left to rot in the heat of Apsha's summer. She'd been bred, born, and raised Makta and had remained so with honors until her brother's bravado overtook his brain and disconnected it from the rest of him. That had created the avalanche that ultimately lead to her being left without so much as the right to die in peace. Instead she would be burdened with the incessant panic of a spotted alien that had been called in by the crown she'd dutifully served. He didn't deserve her name, she reminded herself while quietly remembering the old xenophobic codes written during the dawn of her people's civilization. Then again, the man was trying to help in ways that no Stenellis would have dared once they'd witnessed the royal guard's work being done for fear of reprisal and loss of status. "Mei’zha." She grimaced again, trying to force her wrist to bend in an attempt to pry him off of her. He wouldn't relent. "It's Mei’zha." She repeated.

He smiled a little as he stabilized her head again, "Hello, Mei’zha. My name is Tristan Neyes." He left out the obvious information about him being a Starfleet officer, as most people seemed to pick that up from the uniform. Insulting her intelligence wouldn't alleviate her pain. The inevitable knowledge that she needed treatment at a medical facility loomed in the back of his mind as they continued their clipped conversation. It also presented the unfortunate diplomatic quagmire all too familiar to Starfleet officers faced with doing the right thing, and keeping the local population happy. Bringing an injured local up to the ship to quickly ensure proper care was not always seen for the act of goodwill it was intended to be.

He would at least attempt to pursue his due diligence, "Is there anywhere we can go to treat your injuries? There must be a medical center nearby." He began to call up topographical and bio-scan data from the ship.

Silence again pervaded the thick atmosphere between and all around them after the sound of his name filtered away on the stagnant air. In a world where names and pedigree meant simply everything, acknowledging him would have been a sin in and of itself. The name Ilex had, until recently, been one of privileged and valor -- but her brother's assumption that house Ilex could become like house Watt hadn't born anything but pain. Her eyes flicked back towards the Trill's spotted face as if to question the validity of the name of Neyes and what virtue, if any, it spoke of. It was all she could do. No matter how she willed her limbs to move, or how hard she wished the ability to just get up and head back into the darkness of the slums to lick her own wounds without the feel of alien hands poking and prodding at her, she was stuck. Something wasn't working right; a lot of somethings. Her ankle refused to flex when she demanded that it do so, fingers, toes, knees... And her head screamed something vulgar any time she moved it, or her eyes, even a fraction of a degree.

And then her ears exploded with the sound of the young Trill's voice again asking a question that made her chuckle and cough. "Not for us, Federation." Mei’zha replied bitterly, instantly regretting her snide guffaw.

The list of ways he was about to violate the Captain's fragile trust in him was much too large to think about. To bypass that, he simply put it out of his mind and offered his conscience the disingenuous 'I'll deal with it later', instead choosing to focus on the young alien's serious injury. It wasn't the most difficult choice in the world, really. It was one he knew would hold consequences later down the road, however.

He pressed a hand to his commbadge and tried not to hold his breath. "Tristan to transporter room four."

Lieutenant Cole had all but fallen asleep when the call chirped in. The crew, for the most part, had disappeared down to the planet's surface with no attempts at returning to the 'boring' scenery of the ship for the duration of their hard earned tropical shore-leave. "Cole here." He replied, his heart racing as he slapped the com and made a mental note to find a double shot of espresso just as soon as whoever it was was beamed safely aboard.

"Two to... uh." He slurred and paused his words for a moment, a thought striking him. Maybe there was a way he could get her on board without suspicion... It was out of his character, but perhaps not outside the realm of possibility.

"Come again?" Cole questioned, frowning at the sound of the male voice crackling through the com. His fingers slid over the controls, locking onto the caller's location -- somewhere in the winding alleyways just south of Aleine's border. Without a doubt Commander Neyes was sloshed and rendered useless in some bar or brothel -- an assumption made all the more ironclad by the fact the 'two' part of the equation wasn't Starfleet, or at least had cleverly forgotten a combadge. "Two to beam aboard?" He asked, trying to help the guy along.

Neyes silently cursed his new independence from the symbiont. At the very least Neyes was a fountain of deviance and antics. Without the well of memories to pull from at a whim, he had to do his best to remember what he could about being "deceptive" in such a way as to really not tip his hand. "Yeah, ...Cole. Lieutenant. How are you? ... Your um- thing? That issue you had. That clear up?" Tristan laid it on thick.

Cole coughed. It was more of a surprised sputter, really, but a cough all the same. His eyes widened in surprise as they darted around to be sure of absolute privacy just in case the good doctor slipped a little more info about his little 'issue' without realizing it. "Uh... Yeah... Good. Good. We'll... Uh... have to talk more about it. I'll schedule another session." The Lieutenant cleared his tightening throat.

For effect, the Trill added a subtle moan and a giggle. "Hey I.. I mean I could use a favor? Can you beam us up to my quarters, please?"

"Sure." Cole nodded even though the Trill certainly couldn't see him, shifted uncomfortably, and hit the controls. "Stand by for transport." He added, hardly able to cut the com link fast enough before sending the counselor and his 'friend' off to their preferred destination. At least one of them was getting lucky.

-- To be continued… --

Commander Tristan Neyes
Chief Counselor
USS VINDICATOR, NCC 78213-E

&

Mei'zha Ilex
Former Head of the Makta Caste
Stenellian Ascendancy

 

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