PLOT - JL | erie'Ssiebb V'rith T Rochelle Ivanova (mirrror universe), Gul Almar Dahe'el (mirror universe) - "Duplicity"

Posted on Sat May 7th, 2016 @ 9:47am by Rochelle Ivanova
Edited on on Sun Sep 3rd, 2017 @ 5:16pm

2,516 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Ebbtide

Japori II was a strange little planet filled with strange little people. The unwanted and wanted alike brushed shoulders on city streets, caught up in the hustle and bustle of trade of every sort. Where the sun shone brightly on the avenues, merchants peddled their most benign wares. Food, textiles, pretty jewelry, bits and pieces of scrapped or junked ships, household goods all spanned as far as the eye could see. If someone wanted it, it was there. It was where the sun failed to reach and gave way to the condescending snicker of the shadows that made Japori II what it truly was; a safe haven for the misbegotten, callous souls that had long since been shunned by main society. It was a place where Cardassians, Bajorans, Vulcans, Klingons, Romulans, and more sat level and eye to eye. Race meant nothing in a world where actions spoke louder than words and success was measured by bloodshed and the haul of the most intriguing of prizes taken at weapon point from the very same merchants basking in the sunlight… And the freighter Captains hauling across the stars with cargo bays filled with souls destined for places like Terok Nor.

Rochelle, while a rarity by race alone, wasn’t a strange face to be seen on that planet. Any number of the pubs could be called her home for at least a night or two, and that particular night wasn’t any exception to the rules. She sat with bored eyes, watching an impudent display of jack assery being committed between a Nausicaan and an overzealous young Klingon. Stools shattered to splinters beneath their bodies as they grappled and heaved one another into the furniture while patrons hooted and hollered and the bar keep feverishly worked to keep the goods from winding up on the floor. Liquor was still expensive. It was the nectar that kept the unsavory going and the unsavory were what kept Japori II in financial orbit. She sighed a heavy, loaded sigh, running fingers through her close cropped hair. “These idiots need Jesus.” Her voice, the callous roughness of it, was quickly silenced by the last spoonful of her ratamba stew and washed away by the last swig of Vulcan brandy. It burned in reminder that she was still alive after destroying her ship and a good hefty percentage of its crew. The only way she herself had remained alive was by the simple fact that she hadn’t lost the haul. Doing so would have left her better off going down with the archaic vessel than returning to any semblance of society. It would have meant not only disappointing her financer, but earning his deepest level of ire and that… That meant being sent back to the mines or worse. Never again.

The orbit around Japori II was just as chaotic as the surface. The coming and goings of a multitude of starships, each with their own agenda, and no sign of formal traffic control – save for a handful of crudely over powered ships with no transponders and poorly masked warp signatures marking them to persons of illicit trade. “Our contacts said that she would be here, erie’Ssiebb,” the voice of his first broke Vrith Tr’Bak’s line of concentration, “but where to look is going to remain a mystery because Japori II is a relatively large planet.”

Each word grated against Tr’Bak’s sensitive pointed ears like sand paper. They weren’t melodious or helpful, in fact they were downright irritating and far from what he wanted to hear. Having traveled so far to reach that point only to be told there would be yet more strife and trouble in the way of reaching his goal only served to further fuel the Romulan’s growing frustrations. “Do I really have to think for you as well, Sub-Commander?” he glowered, “Humans are almost extinct in this universe. Scan the fucking planet for human life signs and then distinguish the females from the males. How about you start there?” It wasn’t long before the depth of his vexation caused his upper lip to curl and the bright emerald of his eyes to flash in brilliant warning.

The Sub-Commander knew when enough was enough. More importantly, he knew just how quickly officers met untimely and unfortunate ends when faced with the disappointment of their charge. “Yes, Sir. I’m sure we can take it from there. Stands to reason she’d have the same bio-rhythms as the Commodore, I’m sure.” He nodded hopefully, searching the pensive Senator’s face for any sign of approval.

“See?” Tr’Bak smiled, looking up from his perch, “It didn’t hurt too much to use your fucking brain for once. Did it?”

“No, sir, certainly not.” Answering, however, was the wrong answer. The smile twisted into more of a snarl, sending the Sub-Commander off in a flurry to complete the aforementioned task. Tr’Bak didn’t bother to watch him go. His eyes closed and rolled in their sockets until he was certain that the only thing he’d see when they reopened was a screen bustling with the incessant traffic of the planet below.


Warm water soothed the soul. Better, it worked magic on tired muscles and old aches and pains made worse by the concussive force of the explosion she’d just dealt with. Rochelle yawned, stretched and settled deeper into the confines of her bath tub. Far too long had passed since she’d last been able to enjoy the proper luxury of a bubble bath and she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that once the morning rose she’d likely be sent back off into the black. New ship, new crew, new mission. Darker mission. Deeper mission. Something designed to prove that she was still worthy of Dahe’el’s mercy and employ. Death was always an option there, especially for those who had already ‘screwed up’ a time or two before. The quiet should have been unnerving, but for her it was a chance to forget the past and ignore whatever it was the near future holds. Carpe diem and all that. If it hadn’t been for the sound of her own heartbeat stealing the show as her ears drifted beneath the surface of her scented bathwater, she likely would have heard the telltale squeak of hinges. She certainly would have picked up the creak of floor boards and the scuffed shuffling of footfalls as they picked their way through the scattered ruins of her lackadaisical approach at ‘house-keeping’. All of it and more was lost upon her, letting her fall deeper into the lull of her own bio-rhythms and the womb like entombment of her bath.

The water had just crept up over the swell of her upper lip when the four men entered her bathroom unannounced and certainly unwelcome. It still wasn’t until the sound of Dahe’el’s voice shattered her perfect world that she startled awake, inadvertently being rescued from what likely would have resulted in a drowning. “A hundred thousand gold pressed latinum for her?!” The Cardassian Gul hissed incredulously, his thumb hiked towards the flailing, sputtering human woman as she clawed her way out of the water, “I have far better product than this.” He chuckled, “She can barely do anything right. Just lost me a ship.”

“No. This is the one that I want.” Tr’Bak responded coolly, “She has far more potential than you’re aware.” His eyes taking in the sight of his goal as she finally managed to roll over the edge of the tub, landing on the floor with a wet thud.

Dahe’el look back and forth between the two of them, “You sure? Because I have this Orion female that can do things that you can only imagi—“

“No no. She’s the one I’m looking for.”

Rochelle quickly pushed herself up from the floor on shaking arms and worked to gather the nearly awkward length of her legs beneath herself. The shock of being walked in on, and apparently sold, sent shivers of adrenaline racing along the reaches of her central nervous system, forcing her heart to race in a combination of fear and anger most exquisite. Who the Cimmerian strangers hidden in hoods and standing beside the Cardassian trader were was beyond her, but one thing was for certain… He, the tallest of the three of them, was her new owner. “What the fuck, Dahe’el?! How many times have I told you not to just come barging into my quarters?! Who the fuck is this?! What the fuck do you mean I’m the one you’re looking for?!” Her mouth ran just as fast as her heart as she found her feet and her hands found her hips, demanding answers for the questions flying off her tongue.

Before Gul Dahe’el could ever hope of putting her back in her place, Tr’Bak stepped out from his position beside the man, blocking whatever blow he intended to rain down upon the little pirate. The Sub-Commander behind him followed closely, handing off a bundle of iridescent black fabric when his boss held out his hand. It unfurled at Tr’Bak’s behest, shimmering in a myriad of blues and purples all interwoven. Even under the dingy light of her bathroom, it glistened in a manner far more pure and delicate than any satin Rochelle had ever seen and as he reached to drape it above her dripping shoulders the origin of the robe, and of its holder, became very apparent. The crest of the Romulan Star Empire prevailed, embroidered in the finest gold thread across the back. “Your questions will all be answered in due time, my dear.”

Her fingers clutched at the front of the robe, tugging it tight around her while Tr’Bak carefully tied the delicate sash about her waist and effectively concealing his prize from the other sets of eyes in the tiny room. “I see, and just who the Hell are you?” She asked, boldly reaching to remove the hood that obscured his face from her view. Dahe’el choked from behind Tr’Bak.

“I’m sorry for her insolence, she has the manners of—“


The sight of Tr’Bals gloved hand being risen quickly silenced the Cardassian, “It’s fine.” He practically hummed as he continued to appraise the woman before him. “I’ve just bought your freedom, my dear,” a smile punctuated his words, bringing an entirely new light to his eyes, “on one condition.” As he spoke the hand he’d lifted folded its fingers until only his index stood erect and came to rest in front of him.

“Sir…” His Sub-Commander interjected, “If I may… I really don’t think this is the right girl. I mean…” He scoffed, gesturing towards the soaked and soapy creature with a flourish of disgust, “she looks nothing like the Commodore. The hair’s wrong, eyes are wro—“


“Sub-Commander,” Tr’Bak sighed, offering Rochelle a smile filled with his apologies as he held out his hand, “your disruptor, if you will.”

“S..Sir?”

“GIVE ME YOUR DISRUPTOR! NOW!” Each note boomed with a certain degree of malice and power that, up until that point, Rochelle had highly doubted the quiet spoken Romulan capable of mustering. She flinched at the dramatic change, startling for the second time in mere minutes at the sound of his roar and could only watch in mild shock as the Sub-Commander handed over his side arm to his master’s gloved hand. Tr’Bak took it, his eyes leaving hers only long enough to study the weapon’s back as he toyed with the settings, “See… There’s one thing I hate more than incompetence,” he sighed, “and that’s pure unadulterated stupidity.” His eyes glanced up from his work to address her once again, “Would you please be a dear and inform the Sub-Commander of your name?”

One of her brows raised at his request and she looked between the two of them, and then at Dahe’el, with a large margin of confusion written within her eyes, “Rochelle Ivanova.” She finally answered, pursing her lips and hiding her hands within the pockets of the robe he’d draped about her.

“There you have it, Sub-Commander. This…” Tr’Bak rested a hand upon her shoulder, rubbing it gently as he spoke, “is who we were looking for. Now. I do believe you owe this young lady an apology.” The hand holding the disrupter waved in gesture between her and the Romulan officer he spoke with. It left her with a feeling most uneasy, to say the very least of the strange situation she found herself.

With a heavy swallow, the Sub-Commander nodded and offered her his best smile. “I… I’m sorry very very sorry, ma’am. I didn’t recognize you at all. Thi..This isn’t the kind of place I thought we’d find you.” His sniveling, however, would be cut short long before Rochelle could ever find an appropriate answer given how Tr’Bak sighed a heavy sigh and effectively cut him off at the pass.

“Thank you, Sub-Commander,” He drawled in boredom, “but I’m afraid your services are no longer needed.”

“W..what?”

The sound of a disruptor beam and the bright searing flash of green light would prove to be his only answer. He froze before their eyes, his face contorting in pain and his voice gripping the air in an agonizing scream as he vaporized before them, disappearing into relative nothingness. And then? Silence. It hung over them for several minutes of awkward lip biting while Rochelle and Dahe’el both attempted to find their voices and gather their thoughts after such a display. “Well,” Tr’Bak huffed, handing the weapon off over to his centurion, “That always gives me a thrill. Shall I help you pack, my dear?”

Between Rochelle and the Cardassian, it would be the fairer of the two that broke the spell by clearing her throat and raising both eyebrows with the shake of her head. “Yeah… Sure… Sounds lovely.” She offered with a small smile. Saying no wasn’t an option, not with the way a man had just had his existence wiped clean in the middle of her bathroom. “You got a name or am I going to have to make one up?” She asked, stepping around Gul Dahe’el, ignoring him and the pained expression he gave her. It was as if the Cardassian had been the one vaporized – a non-entity as she found herself caught up in a new web, “and you never did say what that one condition was. Gotta admit… I’m pretty interested in it. Wouldn’t want to wind up like your friend now would I?”

--- To Be Continued… ---

erie'Ssiebb V'rith Tr'Bak
Senator
Commander, 3rd Tal Shiar Task Force
Romulan Star Empire

Rochelle Ivanova
Privateer
Mirror Universe

 

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