A chance encounter

Posted on Sat Jan 14th, 2012 @ 12:49pm by Lieutenant Commander Torvyn Rue

Mission: No Room for Enemies
Location: Narie

Torvyn had left the orbiting ship only a handful of times since arriving on Narie, mostly to check in with the brass or attend key meetings, such as the fiasco that had been the summit opening. Truth be told, he was not surprised. He could only hope that the more focused smaller meetings were more productive. Some of the crew was very prepared to communicate with others. Some he was less sure of, although he had to admit, he was still a more recent member of the crew and had ample chance to be surprised- as he had been when he'd heard of the results of Boris Kerlin's earlier part in the Technology talks.

On his way to the Admiral's office, Torvyn crossed from the designated transporter site through a large modern open air market between tall pristine buildings made of modern transparisteel and shaped into smooth undulating curves. Architecturally, the materials of the 24th century had made buildings the play things of imagination, able to support almost anything imaginable. Torvyn was actually surprised at the design restraint generally still adhered to in light of the ability to create forms previously only drawn on old paperback novel covers. Betazed had some of the more fanciful forms expressed in landmark towers on the southern continent mostly. He frowned a little, remembering that some of the originals had been destroyed during the Dominion war. Betazed, being simultaneously traditionally proud and innovatively futuristic, was still bickering over if the towers should be restored to previous exactitude or replaced with new imaginative structures more elaborate than the first. Torvyn knew he would be pleased with either choice and so was generally just enjoying reading the editorials from Betazed over the matter.

He paused admiring the sheen of daylight colors in the opalescent surface of the buildings and the way that it cast a glimmer over the whole steet market. He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down at a Flaxian girl.

"Hello..." He paused realizing the child looked especially cross at him.

"Hey mister, you're standing on my Buzbie!" She accused.

Torvyn looked down. There was a sort of hairy looking toy with four googly eyes and a great deal of arms. Three of which were restrained by his right boot heel. "Indeed I am." He bent down and picked up the alien creature, dusting it off. As he did so it began to make a great deal of whirring and electrical noise and then started singing in something that sounded like a dialectic cross between French and Klingon.

"My apologies, Mr. Buzbie." He said as he handed the doll to the girl.

"Buzbie is a Miss!" She flung her hair over her shoulder and ran back into the crowd to her father. The Larger Flaxian eyed Torvyn across the path and Torvyn straightened under the unfairly judgmental glare before moving on.

He couldn't help but hum the annoying little tune the doll had planted in his head.

But all music stopped when he saw the reflection in one of the faces of the windows. Biadoj. He was average height for his species, with a skin tone slightly whiter than the more commonly ash grey tone of his kind. He was distinguishably bald so that every scaly mark on his head and neck and face were well displayed. The severe crown of his heavy brow set his eyes deeply cast in shadow, leaving their expression always cast darkly in thought. The military uniform made his chest seem broader and more menacing, the collar leading up into the ridges of his neck.

Torvyn backpedaled, his palms sweating and a clammy feeling coming over him. He tried to steel himself by murmuring part of the Vulcan katra. He shook his head and closed his eyes, thinking he was having a flashback, but the image in the reflection turned and Torvyn saw the Cardassian come around the corner, talking to another Cardassian, a woman, whom the Cardassian man lead by the hand, her's tucked under his arm as though out for a country stroll. Had Torvyn not felt like he'd been gut-punched with memories, he might have noticed the woman's unfocused eyes and her civilian clothing.

They both froze on the street , looking at one another.

"What is it, Gul Biadoj?" The blind woman asked, uncertain why they were stopping. She squinted, trying to make out the forms of people that were to her blocks of light and shade in muted colors.

"It is a ghost, a specter of my past."

"Well then, introduce me." She insisted.

"Representative Ytre Gutak, this is.... Torvyn Rue. He is a Vulcan-Betazoid Starfleet officer who served his Federation during the Domion war. At one time, he was a prisoner of war. But he is said to have escaped."

"I see. That is quite a feat for any soldier. Was he your prisoner then, Biadoj?"

"Indeed he was. He went unaccounted for during a transport when we had to relocate the camp."

"How fortunate. It's an honor to meet you, Rue. I also fought for my freedom on Cardassia while you fought for the Alpha quadrant."

"Many Cardassians gained respect for their kind thanks to the rebellion." Torvyn managed to agree as he stood still, waiting for some trap to spring. Even an age later he realized he was still partly that trapped man looking for any way out. He felt the madness creeping back in the recesses of his mind as he looked at his warden.

"We did. We gained respect for ourselves as much as from anyone else. It was a turning point in our history. At least I hope it will prove to be. I hope we are able to learn from our past."

Torvyn knew she was genuine, and yet his distrust was almost a base survival instinct. Had he been speaking only with her, he may have been able to reason the instinct away into something of no substance, but here, before his old prison warden, he had nothing but the urge to grapple the man to the ground and slit his throat. Torvyn's nostrils flared as he instead grappled for control of his instincts.

His com-badge chirped. "Commander Rue-" Came the voice of one of his bridge officers.

"Excuse me," Torvyn gladly bowed out of the encounter.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Mister Rue." The Cardassian woman said graciously, suspecting Torvyn would need to take the com call.

Torvyn did not reply but ducked between a tool cart and an art display. He was gasping for breath while counting his pulse and trying to get the rage of his blood under control. "Go ahead, Nimitz."

"The Chief Medical Officer has arrived on Narie. But there's some kind of confusion at the spaceport. She's being held by local security."

Torvyn put a hand through his head of curls, pulling a little at the roots to sort of yank himself awake from the emotional indigestion of decade-old nightmares. "Understood. I'm not far from the security office. I'll handle it."