The Lion's Den

Posted on Fri Oct 28th, 2011 @ 11:02am by Anaia Viel (Halliwell) & Lieutenant Cedric Shepherd

3,067 words; about a 15 minute read

Mission: Taylforth
Location: USS Ranger, Deck 9, Armory
Timeline: Mission Day 1

Though the prospect of remaining alone inside such a large space that seemed only to taunt her with its emptiness had seemed far too unbearable to consider, it had not taken long for Anaia to realise that there were, in fact, worse things than oppressive solitude. Unable to reconcile herself with the enormous space she was being expected to call her own, the tiny waif had fretted for over an hour behind the closed doors of her quarters, alternating between pacing and staring out of the viewport before her nervousness reached its peak and forced her to timidly look beyond the door for all the things she had been invited to explore. Courage had not last long, however, and indeed it had taken her six attempts just to reach the end of the corridor, so reluctant was she to encounter anyone that might expect conversation. The turbolift had become an escape in the end but, as it turned out, the infernal contraption had created more problems than it had solved.

Astute and observant, Anaia had seen the lifts operated enough times since her arrival to have a basic understanding of how they functioned. She couldn't begin to understand how it was that a simple command could be translated into an executable demand but they did work and that was all that mattered for the time being. The biggest challenge was the voice-activated requirements. Back home, that distant place that was currently be usurped of its title, the lifts had been manual affairs, as had all the equipment used within the Complex. Speaking to herself was not something Anaia could profess to be innocent of but this wasn't exactly the same as inner ramblings. The ceiling spoke back. She understood enough to realise that the on board computer was responsible but the illusion was still that the walls were alive and capable of communicating.

That alone had been enough to make her stumble, to leave her throat so dry that no voice would emerge at first and, when she finally managed to blurt out a direction, the girl had very little concept of where exactly it was she had told the lift to take her. Her painstaking efforts to study the ship layout before leaving, in identifying a small observation deck that seemed far enough removed from busy areas to represent a safe destination, was all for naught as fear robbed her of coherent thought. Now, wandering a deck that she hadn't studied, the brunette shivered slightly as she stood in front of a rather nondescript door and swallowed deeply. She was lost. Though all the corridors were similar, her obsessively precise memory had picked up enough detail to make her realise she'd been walking in circles for ages. If this kept up, she'd be forced to seek out someone and actually ask for help.

The thought made her sick.

It was only as she turned to look up the corridor, aware of approaching voices, that her movement triggered the door's automatic release mechanism and Anaia realised that it wasn't actually locked. So far, her terror had outweighed her curiosity and the girl hadn't been tempted to explore any of the myriad of doors she had past but the voices were getting closer and, though she knew she needed help, being unprepared with a speech to ask for it was enough to have her darting forward almost instinctively and feeling momentarily relieved as the door slid shut behind her, only to be greeted by the dawning realisation that she was probably somewhere she really ought not be. The list had been extensive and, more to the point, no where on this ship really felt like a place that would welcome her. She swallowed deeply and peered around.

The room she entered was oddly shaped, but brightly lit. Dozens of tall narrow cabinet doors lined the walls--no vertical surface was spared. The whole room felt at once antiseptic and dirty, for on one hand the cabinets stood mute and clean, and on the other was the central worktable. It was long, not especially narrow or wide, and held it's position in the room like a general standing before an army--at once noble and terrible. Across it's length was spread a vast array of tiny pieces, some colored, some plain grey, some blinking with powered light, some flat and inert. There was clearly a pattern to the layout of the pieces, but the observer would have been hard pressed to discern it, as attention was quickly drawn away from the pieces and to the figure overseeing their dispersement.

He (for while the gender of the figure was not immediately clear, it carried an unmistakably masculine air which percolated into the entire room) was roughly human-sized, and uniformed in the gold collar of Security crewmen. His collar carried no pips, however, instead sporting an asymmetrical patch adorned with dots and stripes. From his sleeves and collar sprang rich tawny fur, and his clawed hands and lionine head announced that he was far from human.

Though it was not a survival instinct particularly reputed to be highly successful, Anaia froze upon realisation that she was not the room's sole occupant and stared, wide-eyed, at the hulking form currently representing the most alarming thing she had seen since leaving the ignorant comforts of her old home. Reading about other lifeforms and certainly living amongst a plethora of their representatives had given Anaia an impressively unbiased and unprejudiced view of the universe but that did not mean to say that she was immediately comfortable around the new and unusual. With each new inhabitant that had arrived, it had always taken the girl a while to relax around them, as was the case with anything new.

Be that as it may, such introductions had always taken place within an environment she found familiar and, therefore, safe and the others had always been there to drive conversation and ask the questions she'd never have the nerve to ask herself. Anaia loved learning about people, loved hearing about other cultures and ways of living but her inquisitiveness often lay buried beneath her bashful introspection. Now, as she backed into the door-frame and caused the doors to hiss violently open again, the lithe girl was far too overwhelmed with intimidation to find the intrigue in the moment. For a single, entirely irrational moment, as she took in the...man's...appearance, Anaia wondered if she had literally stumbled into the lion's cage and a frantic thought rattled through her mind over and over. Please don't eat me. As the giant, golden head turned towards her, horrified terror forced vocalisation out of her that normally would have been repressed by too much thought and she repeated, out loud, "Please don't eat me!"

The lion-man arched an eyebrow and quirked a lip in a way that might have been a smile for his species, but did little to ease a frightened girl's mind, as it bared several teeth that a foreign evolution had designed for destroying prey. Displaying them provided no peace of mind to the observer. He made a sound as well--a punctuated purring deep in his chest that may or may not have been what passed for a chuckle among his kind.

"Hello, little one. You must be Anaia," he said simply, setting down the piece he had been holding and folding his hands on the tabletop. "Don't worry, I won't eat you," he added, almost an afterthought.

He knew her name. Whilst it was astounding and, in the intensity of the moment, seemed to make no rational sense, Anaia actually found it somewhat soothing. To be given an identity by such an intimidating stranger suggested that at least someone had considered her important enough to mention and being known gave her a place, the tiniest of niches that could be molded into a sense of belonging. It wasn't enough to pry her away from the door-frame but it was enough to stop her from fleeing, her eyes glued to the unfamiliar yet increasingly fascinating face. It had whiskers.

Pets were not unheard of back home, though Anaia had never owned one herself. Though she could identify many similarities between this man and lesser creatures touted as obedient companions, the girl's remarkably perceptive mind was already cataloging his uniqueness for later scrutiny. As her shoulders gradually relaxed and her initial over-reaction abated, the girl's gaze dropped to the object he'd placed on the desk and then flitted around the table's other contents, darting furtively from piece to piece as they too were added to her mental inventory. She didn't recognise any of them but that, at least in part, was what made them an appealing target.

"Would you like to sit down?" he asked. The voice was resonant and full, his enunciation clear and measured, and he pointed at one of the swing-out seats half-folded against the side of the work table. "I don't get many visitors here in the armory."

Normally, given the newness of the situation, the first question would have been easily answered by a resolute and yet possibly entirely silent 'no'. Unfamiliar experiences had never been Anaia's preference and though they were an inevitable part of life, she was used to being lead into them by much stronger personalities. Alone and pressed as far against the bulkhead as she could get, there was no chance of a welcomed cavalry arriving to escort her but there was the undeniable lure of the furry man's voice, which had a purring quality that made it almost soothing. Given how frayed her nerves were, the effect was not without temptation.

There was also the inherent loneliness and subsequent empathy of his claim. Anaia had never been one to attract many visitors either, something that certainly suited her but had always compounded her lack of identity and left her wistfully wondering what it would be like to be interesting enough for others to seek out. She didn't know why this astoundingly unique man might be so mundane to others that they chose to avoid him but the thought struck a chord and stirred within the young girl a compassion that was actually far stronger, at least at times, than her fear. In this instance, it was enough to pry her from her perch and coax her several steps into the room. She was still terrifyingly out of her comfort zone but it seemed somehow more terrible to give the impression that she too thought him unworthy of attention.

Timidly, spurred on by her desire to nurture and a maternal instinct that sought to console despite her own short-comings, Anaia crossed the room cautiously until she could place her fingertips on the tabletop opposite his workspace and bit uncertainly down on her bottom lip. As he glanced up, she mustered the courage to murmur, "Are they weapons?"

He hesitated a moment, glancing away to consider his answer, but only for a moment. "When they need to be, yes," he stated matter-of-factly. "At its core, the phaser is a tool more than a weapon. Many Starfleet personnel have saved their own lives by welding, cutting, warming, or disintegrating things with their phasers, but it can certainly be used as a weapon when the situation is dire. Sit. I'll show you how it goes together."

Given her initial scare, Anaia's promptness in taking a seat showed a remarkable change of heart though perhaps would not have seemed so unusual to those who knew her as a girl who found comfort in following the directions of much stronger personalities. Even without her eagerness to learn, ignoring such a succinct command would actually have taken far more courage than following it but there was little fear left in the girl's eyes as she squirmed on the bench to see over the pile of disassembled parts and then rearranged her legs so that she was sitting up on her knees. Keenly, her gaze flitted from one unfamiliar component to another as she watched the large, deft hands finish cleaning the piece they were holding and remarked, "Are they really all from the same appliance?"

"They are," he replied. He seemed to choose his words with care as he continued, speaking slowly and cleanly for a listener's comprehension. "Normally a phaser doesn't get disassembled this completely. The pieces you see here are all the components, which fit together into just a few neat subassemblies. In just a few hours, every phaser on board can be given a regulation check-out. Once a week I select two or three and spend a shift tearing them down completely for close inspection, just in case. See here?" He held up a slightly spiraled ring with the look of tarnished brass. He indicated a spot on the metal with one of his claws, the tip hovering precisely over a darkened patch.

As a natural reaction to an unfamiliar situation, Anaia had slipped her hands beneath her legs upon sitting and now strained forward to peer intently at the fragile wire, stretching her neck upwards just a little to compensate for their vast differences in height. The delicately sharp claw was precise and, though the imperfection was indeed only very slight, the girl could see it clearly. Slowly, she nodded.

"This is an overcharge burn. Left untended, it would corrode this stator-coil, and eventually cause a failure. This burn is still very small--too minor for the phaser's internal diagnostics to flag as a problem. But while we're here, we should replace it, wouldn't you say?"

A needless question since it wouldn't have occurred to Anaia to disagree. Nevertheless, her reaction was not exactly one of docile obedience either, rather a mute acceptance punctuated by unwavering concentration as her eyes darted about the phaser's innards with the intent, it seemed, of mentally cataloging each component and its designated position. Lulled by a sense of commanding reassurance so understated that she hadn't even noticed how much her pounding heart had settled, the little girl frowned thoughtfully and then asked, "So the phaser would normally fix itself?"

"Not by itself," he smiled his lionine smile again. "But it would tell me it was broken, and which piece needed repair. Then I would fix it."

The girl's delicate brow creased slightly as she watched the Caitian dismantle the intricate assembly. Computer systems back at the Institute had been sophisticated enough though the Habitat had been simplified over the years to meet the desires of the majority of its occupants. Repairs had been handled by the Maintenance Division, however, and she had rarely if ever had the courage to actually watch them at work. She concentrated and fell into a familiar habit of numbering the steps he took, not yet having been forced to make eye contact with the hulking beast purring softly beside her.

"Why would someone overcharge it?," she eventually asked, more fascinated by the enigmatic uses of the device than what seemed to be the very methodical and easily memorised practise of maintaining it. Violence was not common at the Institute and weapons were outright banned. Aside from several unsavoury holo-movies, this was the only glimpse she'd ever had of one.

"It's usually not intentional," he replied, beginning to reassemble the phaser. She noticed he used a different coil from the spread of parts, placing the damaged one to one side. "It happens most often when the beam's intensity is adjusted during firing. Of course, you can overcharge on purpose, but usually that leads to overload, and then the phaser explodes. But that's ... rare."

Beside him, the tiny frame shivered. Children tended to view violence with a degree of fear in the most normal of circumstances but Anaia's sheltered upbringing had given the very idea of aggressiveness an exaggerated menace. In the absence of fact, her active imagination had painted a false reality that was truly terrifying and she could barely conceptualise any situation that would lead a person to intentionally blow up their weapon. For a moment, her interest turned into wary distaste as she viewed the phaser with a look that was almost reproachful.

She couldn't criticise, however, had no capacity to voice her judgments and instead smothered her faint frown with another question, one that diverted the conversation away from the topic that was becoming increasingly more uncomfortable. "Why do you do this by yourself?" Braving eye contact, the earnest face turned upwards towards the armory attendant. "Wouldn't it be faster if everyone checked their own?"

"I am the ship's Master-at-Arms," he murmured, slotting a handle grip into a gracefully curved cowling. "This is one of my duties. Besides, I'm not doing it by myself today, now am I?" the rhetorical question was punctuated by a moment of eye contact, world-wise to wide-eyed, and then the moment passed and he snapped half the cowling onto its mate and keyed it once. It made a warble, and he nodded in satisfaction.

It was a comment well-received, he noticed, at least for the thoughtful silence it seemed to elicit. The terrified, pale face he had first been greeted with had brightened to an inquisitive gleam that only showed slight deepening of the colour about the cheeks, a pleased flush rather than outright mortification at being acknowledged as part of a moment she had almost attempted to remove herself from. The expressive blue eyes studied his profile openly for a moment before a bashful smile graced her lips and Anaia found herself instantly grateful to this giant man, alarming in appearance but entirely gentlemanly in his disposition. She had only willed herself to stay because he seemed so lonely sitting here in the semi-darkness but it was her own overwhelming solitude that had been alleviated and, suddenly, the impossible job of finding a place in this strange environment didn't seem quite as daunting as before.

Suffused by warmth that was so easily coveted, the young girl relaxed into a far more obvious smile and then, with assertiveness that brought out a much-hidden impish delight, reached out towards one of the other phasers set aside for examination. "Then I guess I better do the next one."

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There's nothing like a bad influence to brighten up a day brought to you by:

Master Chief Petty Officer S'teis
Master-at-Arms
USS Ranger

and

Anaia Viel (Halliwell)
Lost soul.

 

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