Things That Go Bump In the Night
Posted on Sun Mar 20th, 2011 @ 12:22pm by Lieutenant Commander Eliza McAdams
1,702 words; about a 9 minute read
Mission:
The Ties That Bind
Location: Medical Holodeck, Earth
Timeline: Reasonably current
The warm, spring breeze was the first comfort; a gentle caress through hair that lifted strands and set them to lazy spirals. Like the breath of a lover, it soothed without overheating, a cocoon of warmth that promoted, some would say, indolent thought. The long grass underfoot rustled with each gust and the occasional gossamer seed drifted upwards, tumbling in slow spinning circles as it set off in search of a likely place to settle and, perhaps, spawn new life. The temperature was mild and pleasant, the gentle patter of water over stones a rather tranquil arrangement that announced the meandering stream's existence but promptly coaxed one to forget about it. The day was lovely, the setting even more so.
The season of blossoms on Rega V was the least comfortable, in many respects, the commencement of the six months that would see the inhabitants contain their movements and keep to the indoors as much as possible. The sun overhead, once brought to bear with full intensity, was poison for the planet's susceptible population and yet its effect on the landscape deserved at least quiet contemplation from time to time. The central domes provided protection, tinted surfaces at least allowing some examination of the world beyond, but they were restrictive; you couldn't feel the wind on your face, or hear the birds overhead, and the myriad of wildflowers which covered the hilltops surrounding the capital city remained safe from childish romps and the attention of would-be florists plucking samples to take home for display. Unspoilt, unsullied, the landscape stretched into the distance as pristine as an artist's rendition. Such was the planet's ultimate contradiction; the world outside the city domes was far different to that which existed on the inside.
As far as holodeck programs went, this would normally have rated high on Rose's least favourite list. If scenery was inclined to impress her, her preference veered more towards ferocious rivers or meandering mountain ranges with a small measure of nostalgia reserved for the open plain but green meadows and pretty posies were quite assuredly not her thing. Perhaps, in her more mischievous moments, she might have entertained a quick perusal simply because the depicted planet was the home of isolationists and very rarely explored by non-natives but the appeal was hardly a strong one and her mood was far from impish. Dark glasses were an appropriate adornment but the protection was perhaps better felt by the passing rodent who remained blissfully unaware of the glowering stare being directed at its retreating fuzzy form. The twitch in her trigger finger was not an uncommon affliction but recent uncertainty had made impatience a frequent companion and the brunette found herself forced to turn away before the urge to hurl a rock at the unfortunate creature became too much of a distraction.
It helped that she had no desire to fall on her face today.
Convalescence. In the days since her surgery, the word had become synonymous with hell as far as Rose was concerned. Physical therapy had become a daily escape, something akin to the usual workout she was used to pursuing as a means of curbing her energetic tendency to become restless at the drop of a hat. Just how excruciating the rehabilitation was had yet to feature in any conversation the Lt. Commander had contributed to and it was unlikely that her ongoing pain would be more than a passing reference to appease her army of doctors who somehow seemed to half expect her to fall to pieces at any moment. Yes, it sodding well hurt. Having parts of your spinal column replaced tended to lend itself towards physical discomfort but at least it was tangible. Up to a point, the pain meant progress. Healing. Past that point and it meant she was being foolish but that in itself was familiar and comforting. One foot in front of the other, days before they'd expected her to even be able to stand, and she'd actually wrestled back some sort of control over her life.
At least whilst she was awake.
Rose was no stranger to nightmares. A life of service had a way of exposing its officers to unpleasantness and even those most adept at squashing their perceived weaknesses weren't immune to the occasional meltdown. Usually she preferred kicking things until the haunting thoughts went away but tenacious though she was, Rose couldn't imagine being able to kick anything hard enough to rid her mind of the darkness that didn't go away when she opened her eyes. Consultation after endless consultation had resulted in the same reassurances about the transmitter now embedded in her mind, a relay for the new electronic signals being sent by non-organic components, but no matter what her doctors thought the situation should be, Rose was aware of the damn thing. A natural psychological reaction, she'd been told. Bullshit.
Whilst she was okay with the idea that she was perfectly entitled to the persistent thought of 'what the fuck did you put inside my head and what is it doing?', the brooding brunette had lost no stubbornness despite being virtually broken in two. There were lights, on the corner of her vision, too fleeting to actually look at but relentless in their game of cat-and-mouse. And there was the noise. She couldn't hear it but she could feel it. During the day, ordinary hustle and bustle made it less of a distraction but in the dead of night, in pitch darkness, with nothing to fill the void but the inside of her own mind, Rose was aware of the stranger lurking. Experts be damned, part of her had died and it had been replaced by things. Things that went bump in the night.
Well, maybe it was more of a bleep.
And still they'd humoured her, ordered a whole heap more tests and then dragged her to this section of the rehabilitation centre to undergo 'psychological recuperation.' What that entailed, as far as her current situation suggested, was shoving her inside a holodeck with a bunch of pretty flowers and hoping some kind of osmosis effect kicked in with all the sunshine and lollipops. She'd been given no instructions when lead inside and told to wait for the program to commence but Rose had a sneaking suspicion that the general idea was to keep her here until she started spontaneously farting rainbows. God, she wanted to hit something.
The frustrating thing was, there was nothing to hit. Nothing satisfying, in any case. Sparring sessions had been good for channeling frustration but although her physical recovery was well ahead of schedule, Rose was a long way from being able to send someone to the floor and, besides which, any attempt would probably result in them initiating more psychological 'happy-happy, joy-joy' outings. More to the point, there didn't seem any chance of redirecting her anger this time, it was too raw and far too entangled with the intense fear that she was viciously denying any form of expression because the dark pit it was forming seemed unfathomable and something of a one-way ticket to oblivion.
Rose would admit there had been times in her life where she'd been concerned, perhaps even worried. After a few drinks and if she was in a mellow mood, she might have gone as far as to recall a few times where she'd been a little intimidated but fear was not something she tended to tackle front on and the ugly hulk of terror looming over her seemed as good a reason as any to justify her refusal. It was too big. It lacked definition and seemed instead to embody every little uncertainty she'd ever encountered with an amplification beyond her ability to fully comprehend. When left to brood, it became a suffocating fog that coaxed pure fury only because she had no other means of self-preservation. Rose was a fighter. She confronted life with passion and determination that knew no sense of reservation. Death, on the other hand; death was a foe she wasn't altogether sure she'd won the fight against.
A ridiculous concern, of course, because nobody did win in the long run. Rose would never have said that the notion of dying bothered her. She was in no hurry to call it quits, of course, but her line of work had always left her pragmatic in terms of the inherent risks and the knowledge that her own skills and instincts were her best weapons had only served to strengthen her resolve without leaving her blind to her own mortality. If she'd been asked, Rose would have expressed a desire to die in service and had always fully expected that it would be the way she'd eventually go and whilst it took no psychology degree to realise that a shuttle accident wasn't quite what she'd had in mind, it wasn't really humiliation that Rose felt. Too many of her thoughts remained half-formed because they appeared too ugly and hostile for full expression but if pressed to say anything, the young Commander would have said that she simply felt wrong. That her existence, the circumstances surrounding her survival and the permanent changes that would now become part of her identity were wrong. Moralistically, Rose couldn't have given a damn about ethics, all she cared about was being returned to a life that no longer felt like her own. She felt....
Well, dead really. Like a dead mannequin brought back to life by puppeteers and left to dance endlessly for the entertainment of those who coveted her. Somehow she didn't think mentioning that at her next psyche chit-chat was going to lead to less daisies and buttercups though. Alone amidst the rambling fields of sickening, lush greenery, Rose put her hands on her hips and scowled at the far domes. The old Earth saying suggested that Hell was other people. It was almost right.
Hell was yourself. The other people were just there to stop you forgetting it.
Something frivolous to semi-emerge from LOAness brought to you by:
Lt. Commander Rose McAdams
Cyborg/Terminator/Borg Queen
USS Ranger
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