Joint Duty Log | Lt Cmdr Waterhouse, Cmdr Grant, LtCmdr Neyes, Captain Neyes, Commo Levine, Noah (NPC) | "Immersed In Echoes" - Pt IV

Posted on Fri Oct 31st, 2014 @ 8:30am by Commander Logan Grant, PhD. & Commander Tristan Neyes PhD. & Commodore Andrea Levine PhD

2,245 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: All Hallows’

"Tristan, go ahead and wake him up. Let's see what he can tell us and we'll go from there." They all knew the story. Landon Neyes had violated protocol to rush off into the ice cold alps of Notura to rescue Rochelle and while both had died in a moment of both beautiful revelation and brutal desperation, one had paid the ultimate price. Landon, like Rochelle, had been rescued and revived - only he'd died not but a week or so later at the hands of the Trill Symbiosis Commission and the course of the Vindicator's history had been permanently altered and left in the delicate hands of who many had considered Landon's widow.

Now, just shy of five months later, the story was set to take a new twist. Logan could feel cold anxiety begin to lace its merry way through his veins, poisoning his circulatory system with its potent brand of heart pounding ice. He was quick to be sure his lanky frame was between the powerfully built, though injured, Trill and his wife. He nodded to the other counselor, reaffirming the call to bring Landon back from the dream world.

Noah had stayed quiet and out of the way once he'd seen the commodore in. He'd listened, of course, how else could he know if he could help with something, but he'd settled on the couch with the brown leather bag in his lap and waited. It was when he heard the Witchdoctor tell Tristan to wake the man up that Noah reacted. Into the bedroom with the bag he went, holding it in front of him up justify his presence. He set it down on a table within reach and stood leaning against the wall near the door. His sister had told the Witchdoctor to keep an eye on the two Neyes, but Noah suspected the Witchdoctor was a little distracted, so he'd keep an eye too.

"The sedative will keep him from moving too much. I'll just bring him up enough to wake him." Tristan slowly turned and held the hypo in his hand. Looking down on his brother, Neyes felt the moment freeze for a moment. Anything could happen from this point forward. Would he be the same man that this crew remembered? They couldn't turn back now. They'd found him in the midst of Romulans, and what that meant was nothing was certain now. He pressed the hypo to Landon's neck, and it breathed its awakening medication into the sleeping mystery.

Like a slow rolling boulder the former Captain groaned, and he once again climbed back into consciousness. His reddened eyes felt like sandbags, and refused to open past the thin sliver barely large enough to let in the hazy light of the space around him. It was a refreshing sight, for lack of a better word. In The Room, he'd been denied the most basic of stimulation for weeks at a time, and between Tr'Bak's sessions there was nothing louder than his private silence. In the misty light around him, a few figures moved. And he cringed as a blindingly shrill noise filled his senses.

"L a n d o n ", something barreled a wall of shrill noise into his ears. He turned to face someone else standing over him.

"You're... not green." Neyes muttered, lazily forcing the words to form on his lips.

Tristan knelt in closer to the bed and lowered his voice. "Landon, how are you feeling?" He pulled out a medical tricorder and started to take readings, looking back at the others. "He's alright, and brain activity looks fairly normal. Given his injuries I'd give him a break on vision for a while though. Some of the medications we've given him have hit him pretty hard."

From his roost between Landon and Andrea, Landon and Noah as well to be perfectly logistically accurate, Logan watched as the Trill Captain's eyelids fluttered open to little slits. They were wide enough only to confirm that his eyes were the correct shade of blue, that his pupils were focusing, that his cerebral cortex was processing images and... colors. "No. We're not." he responded, inching closer to the downed man. He heard what Tristan had said, nodded in return and sighed. "You were picked up with fifteen little green bastards," Logan offered, waiting to see how Landon would react, "Welcome aboard the USS Vindicator."

Landon's head pulled back, "Picked up?"

"Picked up." Logan's head tilted, "You know... Plucked from the wreckage of a D'deridex that was blown apart and brought aboard this ship so we could render aid and what whatnot." He nodded and shrugged, blinking at the Trill's reaction with no small helping of uncertainty.

Andrea observed. Silently, carefully, taking another step backwards to let the two men speak to the injured Captain. She watched as Landon's eyes opened, examined his expression, his doubt, the confused look in his eyes. And she watched the screen above, silently collecting data.

This was either a miracle or a disaster. She looked at Logan carefully again, watching as he looked at the wakening man, noticing the small changes in the lines near his eyes, the ever so small stretching of the edges of his lips, the way he shifted his weight gently from his injured leg when he leaned closer to the injured man. It was more than simply hope; he believed. Be it a hunch, a gut feeling, a little blue bird whispering in his ear --whatever it was, he believed it was true.

Andrea leaned back against a small drawer that stood against the wall and continued watching. She trusted Logan without a shred of doubt. If he believed so strongly, if he felt it, like he said, like he seemed -- then she does too. She took a quiet breath and watched. Now it was only a matter of explaining it. Of figuring out what to do next.

"Where am I." Landon asked. The words came out like an order, bitter and cold. He pulled himself up further against the backboard of the biobed, allowing someone next to him to assist. He still didn't know who any of these people were, but they were speaking Federation common, which of course was welcome enough. To say he felt comfortable or safe, well... those were words he hadn't thought he'd get a chance to experience their meanings ever again.

The possibilities streamed through his mind as the formless humanoids stood around him. Monitors were making sounds. The dull hum of energy. A ship. He listened for the pattern. It was so familiar....

Tristan helped Landon gain some footing on the bed and put another pillow behind him to prop him up. Even with his bulky frame, Landon looked brutally deconstructed. His muscles were weak, but as tense with stress as he's ever seen. It was obvious Landon didn't understand what was happening, but was unable to do anything about it. Maybe that was what he had gotten used to in all those months on board a Romulan ship. Tristan felt his nerve beginning to fray as he thought about it. What had happened to Landon would have to be resolved later, for now they simply needed to know what to make of their situation.

"You're back on the Vindicator, Landon." Tristen said.

Landon's head snapped to the side. Until now he hadn't recognized anyone's voice. But this was unmistakable, and a flood of memories poured into the full scene before him. An image of his baby brother, their childhood together, his life stricken from the worlds out of greed and jealousy. Landon had mourned him for what felt like ages. He couldn't see the person next to him except for vague details, like his height and his build. A little shorter, just enough to tease, and a little soft with a touch of selfless.

"Who are you?!" Landon probed his voice rising to a dull roar, "If I'm on the Vindicator who are all you people?!" The monitor above him started to alarm that his heart rate was beginning to climb. His body went from tired to infuriated in a moment, and he slunk back into the bed. Unable to discern whether he felt fear or anger, Landon waited as his emotion built up, because he wasn't sure he knew the difference anymore. He had been poked and prodded for months by a crazed monster who wanted nothing more than whatever fictional secrets his twisted Romulan mind thought Landon knew. Of course as the weeks went on without victory, T'Bak's efforts had become increasingly penetrating, damaging, and permanent. Something like terror could not describe the feeling Landon sensed behind his eyes.

He kept waiting for the other show to drop.

Tristan looked to Logan and Andrea. Shaking his head, he knew Landon would never believe it was him. "It's me Tristan, Landon. Remember?" He suddenly wondered if he should ask about the time on Trill, but didn't. Was the Landon he'd spoken to on Trill gone? Was this someone else?

Neyes started to breathe heavily, his heart racing in his chest and nearly a decade's worth of pain bubbling to the surface at the mention of his dead brother's name. Tristan. Tristan had died in an attack by gangsters against him and his family. Both his parents, and Tristan, were vaporized in an instant when their shuttle was sabotaged above their home on Cesparia. Whatever hopes he'd had to enjoy life with a family were obliterated with them and his dead fiance. There was no end to his torture it seemed, and Tr'Bak knew that. He'd found a way past the unassailable armor of Neyes. Teeth clenched against his jaw as his eyes darted between the shapes. He didn't recognize any of them. None of them.

None of them were her.

A few wet, heavy tears fell back against his cheekbones, "If I'm on the Vindicator, where is she?" If it had a name, the question would have been called sorrow.

Swallowing hard, Logan cast a sympathetic glance in Tristan's direction, wet his lips and peered back at Landon. He could feel Andrea's eyes on him, watching and trying to read him much in the same way he often watched and addressed his patients. Landon, however, wasn't a patient. Landon was a special case of an entirely different sort. He was a member of a twisted family unit like no other, one that spanned across sectors and quadrants, held esteemed Admirals, Captains and common thieves. The latter of which had returned to him his wife and children, he'd be forever in her debt. Landon's connection came by way of one of the more esteemed members; Rochelle.

He took a deep breath to calm his own dramatically fraying nerves, the delicate nature of the situation hardly lost on him. "Landon... I'm Commander Logan Grant." He drawled slowly, watching the beads of saline rolling down the Trill's cheek, the pain of his question readily wrenching at the Kiwi's own heart. If it hurt him, it must have tore at Andrea and Tristan as well. The three of them knew what loss looked, tasted and felt like. It burned. Part of him hoped Noah was watching and learning this life lesson vicariously. Life was pain, anyone who said otherwise was selling something. "She... Captain Ivano--" He paused and sighed remembering there would be no denial of what had transpired. Being formal was out the window. "Rochelle's in sick bay being treated for a couple minor injuries." Logan chose his words carefully, lifting his eyes to Tristan and Andrea bit by bit. "For the last five months the crew has mourned your death, but Rochelle... She still grieves for you as if it happened only yesterday." He said, working alongside Tristan to help prop the man up, noting the chapped skin of his dehydrated lips. "Noah, can you get a glass of water for Captain Neyes?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at the young Pastafarian.

Andrea pushed herself out of her leaning position against the cabinet, and took a few steps forward, stopping just behind Logan, her arm gently brushing his. She Looked at Landon carefully, letting him see her better, hoping to provide a familiar face.

They have never served together, but they have met, in various functions Starfleet insisted on conducting in its headquarters. But more importantly, the both of them shared the unique privilege of having Rochelle Ivanova as their Executive Officer. She wasn't sure if Landon was in any state to make this connection to Rochelle, but she hoped that her presence, at least, would provide some context. Some... comfort. A verification, at least.
She looked at him with a tentative smile and nodded at Logan's words. Rochelle will be okay. For the moment, at least.

A knot stuck in her throat, and she cleared it, taking a breath. "She's okay, Landon. She's safe," she tried, not really managing to articulate the precise message that should have passed, the gravity of the emotions that swam and flooded the entire room like thick invisible fog, making it hard to breathe.

== to be continued ==

Lt Commander Amelia Waterhouse
Executive Officer
USS Vindicator

Lt Commander Tristan Neyes
Chief Counselor
USS Vindicator

Commander Logan Grant
Counselor
USS Vindicator

Captain Landon Neyes
Former Commanding Officer
USS Vindicator

Commodore Andrea Levine-Grant
Former Professor of Physics
Starfleet Academy

Noah Waterhouse
Pastafarian Minister
Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster

 

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