How They Met for the Second Time

Posted on Fri May 22nd, 2015 @ 1:33am by

Elizabeth Heyworth stared at the small transport ship, her expression nearly blank. It was cut with an edge of frustration, and more than a little fatigue. She sighed as she boarded it.

There was nothing she could do. Every possible sequence failed to beat the virus. Every equation came up short, and even her attempts to break it down had failed. When it had been created, it had been created with the intent of being unbeatable. An entire race had been wiped out because of it, and she knew that. She had read the files.

Ibraham Stern was going to die, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The least she could do, she thought, was tell him in person. The ship she chartered would have her there by the middle of the week.

Her mind began to drift back to all of the significant moments in her life since she met the man. She thought about her own father, Charles Heyworth, and the way the old Admiral would beam when someone mentioned Stern. He was so proud, he treated Stern like a son. Nevermind the chubby daughter hiding behind the curtain in shame.

But now that chubby daughter had become a thin, tall, scientist. And, sadly, her father still didn't seem to care.

She didn't resent Stern for it. He was old enough to be her father too, but there was a charm to him. He treated her kindly, and talked to her like an adult. He was always there for her, and now...

She squeezed her eyes shut. She wished, for a moment, if she could start it all over again. If she could just, for a moment, go back to the beginning. She would have run up to him and held him tight, and swore to never let go.

--

Starlight faded in and out through the massive windows at his back. The light was slight; a slip in the darkness, but it was enough to outline the shape of his form as he sat up. The sheet slipped down, revealing a corded, powerful frame.

A powerful frame that had seen better days.

Gnarled scars traced along the lines of his form; his back was lined and stripped, huge chunks of flesh missing. His chest had crisscrossing scars like someone had taken a pen and outlined a road-map across his flesh. His left shoulder was a perpetual bruise, and as he stretched out his arm loud, painful cracks broke the silence.

He stood, agonizing aches echoing through is form, and stretched. Every muscle sang as he reached up towards the ceiling, his eyes screwed tightly shut.

His bare feet dug into the carpet, and as he relaxed and strode forward the familiar fire in his right ankle shot up his leg, the needle-sharp pain causing him to wince and limp.

Ibraham Stern stared at himself in the mirror, his eyes roaming along the lined and weathered, yet still handsome face. A faint scar traced down just under his left eye, and another across his chin; scars so old they had begun to fade.

Fade, but never go away.

He washed his face in the basin and limped back into his room, quickly donning a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. His running shoes were next, and he smiled at the mundaneness of lacing shoes. It reminded him of his childhood, and he could hear his father’s voice as he told him about the bunny and its hole. “What is a bunny pa?” he’d asked, and his father had nearly fallen over in stitches as he realized his son had never actually seen a rabbit.

He walked towards the door and looked back at his new quarters, still very much standard issue in every way. Had he made the right decision? He didn’t know, but he did know it was better than dying the slow death that was remaining planet-side. He was a spacer in his core, and his very nature craved those shining beams of light that ripped past the window as the ship flew at high warp.

As he stepped into the corridor he took a moment to give his ankle a good stretch and then, with some grunting of pain, began to run.

--

She found herself settling in to her new assignment. Elizabeth’s idea of settling in was defined by being left alone to her work. There had not been much for her to do quite yet, but she had reviewed the manifest and mission so that she would be prepared.

Then was her work for Black Ops Laboratories. The latest problem sent to her by BOL had her flummoxed. She needed to think through it. She rubbed the back of her neck and stood up from her console. Only one thing helped her clear her mind.

--

Ibraham felt his mind drifting as his body began to adjust to the run. The first twenty minutes were always the most agonizing, but he knew if he could get past that it would get better. He just had to remind his body that it wasn’t completely broken yet.

The gym was quiet, and he was happy for it. The last thing he needed was some junior officer seeing him limp his way around the track. He tried to think about work. He had a whole department to try and reorganize, not to mention streamline and get mission ready. He knew he had a stack of classified files to sort already sitting on his desk, not to mention encrypted messages from Starfleet to sift. He also knew that the Captain would need him on the current mission.

He fretted momentarily about inserting himself tactfully into the team onboard; he was the new guy and they all had their ways. He hoped they would mesh well.

He hoped he could keep his problem under control. Even as he thought that he felt a tremor rush through his body, and a familiar thirst creeping into the back of his throat.

--

She glanced at herself in the mirror. She had on a deep purple tank top and her yoga shorts. She turned sideways and looked at herself. Her ankles looked small against her running shoes. She caulked her head and grimaced, placing her hand on her stomach. She grimaced once more.

With a sigh she headed to the gym.

-

She stretched her arm above her as she entered the track. She noted one other person doing laps but paid no attention and began her stretching and warm-up routine.

Stern had seen her come in, but did his best to ignore her. It was just what he needed. How many laps had he done? Four? Six? Maybe two, he admitted to himself, but it sure felt like six. He wanted to slow down and stop, and he felt his feet scraping across the floor as if on their own accord. Just as he was slowing down he narrowed his eyes and grit his teeth hard, picking his pace up again. He wasn’t finished, he couldn’t stop.

The thirst was still there.

Just one more, Stern told himself. Just one more lap and then you can rest.

As he passed her he saw that she was fretting suddenly, catching a glimpse of herself in the tall, broad mirrors that lined the wall. She was staring at herself and holding a hand across her stomach as though something were wrong.

Despite the nagging thirst that was drove him onward he slowed his pace and came to a stop. Out of breath, he took a moment to try to regain some composure before smiling. “Pregnant?” he asked.

She lofted a brow and turned, taken aback by the sudden interruption. “A rather impertinent question to ask someone you have not been properly introduced to,” she scolded in her posh accent, stepping back slightly. She caulked her brow trying to quickly assess who this person was. She’d not seen him on the ship or on the manifest.

Ibraham sucked in a breath and then laughed. “Right, sorry,” he said. “Lieutenant Ibraham Stern,” he said, holding up his palm and staring at it for a moment. He considered holding it out but his hand was covered in sweat so he thought better of it. “Chief Intelligence Officer,” he added pointedly.

‘Intelligence Officer,’ she thought quickly to herself. ‘That makes sense.’

She nodded curtly. “Lieutenant Elizabeth Heyworth,” she said brusquely. She thrust out her hand rigidly.

He accepted her handshake, a twinge of familiarity crawling around in the back of his mind.

“It is rather impolite and impertinent to ask personal questions of that nature when the person whom you ask is someone you do not know, unless, of course, it would be professionally related. It is not,” she continued. “Since you have asked,” she carried on, “the answer is no.” She caulked a brow, her expression clearly displeased.

“Right,” Stern replied, a quizzical brow lofted. What a curious girl, he thought to himself. “Then what?” he asked.

“I do not know to what you are referring,” she replied confusedly.

“What was it?” he asked, pointing at her stomach. “Not feeling well? Do you need to go to the dispensary? I know that sometimes stomach bugs go around on ships.”

She lofted a brow. “I believe in a well-balanced physical regimen,” she replied, “all areas of the body operate best when they are kept equally at balance physically. I was simply checking ratios,” she replied coolly.

“Ah,” he said. A thought occurred to him. “Why does that make sense?”

“I usually do,” she replied quickly. “One should never speak nonsense. You can hardly get anywhere when you espouse nonsense.”

“What you thought earlier,” he said. ‘Intelligence officer, that makes sense.’ “What did you mean by that?”

She lofted a brow and spoke hesitantly. “Because I did not see you on the ship’s manifest. I am entirely aware of profiles of all those assigned to the ship.” Her brow remained lofted. “Please explain how you know this.”

He thought for a moment, and then realized what he had done. He had gotten so used to reading Liza Carson’s mind - everyone’s mind really – that he forgot that not everyone was okay with that. Part of his job on Earth was to scan minds for Admiral Gohan, it was almost second nature to him. He blushed sheepishly. “How rude of me,” he remarked, tapping his left temple, right next to his pitch-black eyes. “Half Betazed,” he said. “I’m sorry, force of habit. Won’t happen again,” he assured. “Still, there are over 200 officers, nearly 330 enlisted, and another 330 marines or so onboard this ship. That’s not even including the cadets and civilians attached to this vessel. You can’t know every single crewmember assigned. I could have been anyone.”

“There are 228 officers exactly,” she replied, “I can break them down by species and sex,” she replied nonchalantly. “I agree that I cannot know them all, nor do I wish to,” she continued, “but I can tell you each name and their basic defining features based on their personnel profiles. This is something anyone can do if they spend the time reviewing and learning the information that is available. I grant you, you could have been someone not in the manifest, but the likelihood of someone not in the manifest using the gymnasium in what was clearly training, is highly unlikely. Add to that your general appearance and it is an absolutely logical assumption that you are part of the crew in one fashion or another.” She shrugged and raised a brow. “It’s really very simple.”

“My general appearance?” He looked down at himself. “You mean an old man going to fat?” He laughed. “I’m sure I do,” he said.

She lofted a brow. “I don’t think your profile would mention anything about how much of an old man you are nor that you are fat,” she replied matter-of-factly. “That’s a very strange way for an intelligence agent to profile someone.”

Stern felt genuinely amused. “What did you say your name was again?” He shook his head. “Lieutenant Heyworth?” He scratched his chin, thinking back to when he had read the manifest before and the name came back to him. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Admiral Charles Heyworth would you?”

She nodded. “Yes, Admiral Heyworth is my father,” she replied with a nod.

Now Stern was truly surprised, and lofted both brows. “What a small galaxy.”

“If by small you mean 119 kly,” she answered with a shrug. “Most would not consider that very small. Unless you meant another galaxy? Still, a galaxy by any definition is large.” She knit her brow and looked at him with confusion.

“It was a figure of speech,” he said off-handedly. “I know your father,” he remarked. “Worked with him a few times during the war, and after as well. You aren’t an Intelligence Officer are you?” He furrowed his brow, trying to remember where she was posted.

“No,” she replied. “Science”

“Science,” he said, the word coming out at the exact same time as she replied. “That’s right, I remember now. Assistant Chief right? You were just posted here yourself, correct?” He felt his muscles beginning to stiffen up, and realized he hadn’t stretched after the run. He’d pay for it later.

“Yes,” she answered, folding her hands neatly behind her back. “I took a short break in London, after I had previously been appointed on a two year tour on the USS Beagle as a Science officer. Prior to that, I was a language specialist on the USS Farcry for the deep space exploration mission. That was immediately following my graduation from the London Academy of Science,” she continued, rattling off her dossier. She opened her mouth to continue her entire educational history, but he interrupted.

“Aren’t you a funny one,” he said, an amused smile on his face. For a moment he got serious though; he had no desire to offend her, it was quite the opposite; he found her adorable in a strange way. She talked too much, but he could tell she didn’t think she did. She was also very matter-o-fact, listing details that, on one hand, were too much, yet at the same time not enough. She kept it professional, but there was something more there. “How is your father?” he asked, shifting the subject back to something more personal. “The last time I saw him he was fighting Andorian flu. I’d heard he recovered, but that flu can leave some pretty lasting damage. Is he well?”

She nodded. “Yes,” she continued, “Admiral Colchester was able to arrange to have specialists come to London. I worked with them and we managed to isolate the virus in the vascular system and remove it before any lasting damage was done. I believe Doctor Tobias Keefer will be publishing a paper on this in an upcoming medical journal. It was quite a remarkable learning experience,” she added with a slight smile.

“Glad to hear it,” Stern said. “So,” he started, looking at her with a critical eye, “why not Intelligence? Didn’t want to follow in the old man’s footsteps?”

“It is not where I am best suited to be,” she replied plainly. “In school I excelled in Science and Languages. As a result, it was determined that Science would be the best career path for me as it is the most beneficial to society, and the Federation,” she nodded once. “We all have our strengths,” she smiled, “and can contribute best to society by utilizing those strengths while bettering our weaknesses.” She caulked her head as if ready for the next question in a quiz.

“Seems boring,” he mused. “I can understand playing to your strengths, but sometimes doing what is in your heart is better.” He shrugged. “Then again, maybe none of us have a choice what we end up being?” He thought about his own life, and his career. “Were you going to run?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, looking confused by the strange question. “I wouldn’t be here if I did not intend to run.” She caulked her head.

“Tell you what, why don’t you run and then get cleaned up and meet me on the Observation deck,” he said. “You’ve been onboard a little longer than I have, and seem to have extensive knowledge of the crew. I’d like to pick your brain a little about what you’ve learned about the ship and crew, you know, Intelligence stuff.”

“Well there is a project I am working on for –“ she stopped herself. “It can wait I suppose. I really do not think I can tell you much that you cannot retrieve yourself. I have worked on my own mostly, and I do not understand what use I would serve in this capacity, however, if this is your request, I will make arrangements for this meeting”.

“Good,” he said. “Great.” He started to turn and walk away but stopped. His legs burned and he knew it was going to take everything he had to get out of the gym with his dignity intact. “Shall we say six?”

“If six is when you wish,” she said, taking account of the time and what she could accomplish between now and then. “That will be fine.”

He nodded, smiling. “See you then,” he said, starting towards the door. Every step was agonizing, but he refused to limp, his entire body going rigid as he strode powerfully out of the gym.

She never gave him or their conversation a second though, but instead just moved to the track and began her laps.

--

He was early, but that was okay. The orange colored drink in front of him needed a little extra something, and he obliged himself to make it better, pulling a slender silver flask out of his boot and pouring a careful measure of golden liquid into the drink, turning the entire thing a deep amber color. The flask slipped back into his boot and he took a sip of his drink, smiling to himself. “Refreshing,” he said.

“Glad you think so,” a passing civilian waiter said, nodding to him. He nodded and tilted his drink in the waiters direction. “Idiot,” he added, under his breath. He had zero patience for these sort of people. Bars on a starship that is part of a fleet that has a strict ban on alcohol; who’s asinine idea was that?

Not for the first time he thought about Cardassia, about Larkarian City, and missed it.

In more ways than one.

Cardassia had been such a harsh climate for him, such a harsh world in general. Its people were so utterly brutal in so many ways.

It didn’t deserve what happened to it.

He took another sip and felt the warmth of it radiating through him. Cardassia had no such ban.

He stared out of the window, and then looked at his wristcron. Two minutes till six. He glanced at the doors as they opened. It wasn’t her. “Hnh.” Was he wrong about her?

He reasoned that as the clock struck six she would step through those doors. In his first meeting with her he got the sense that she was punctual.

That wasn’t all he had gathered about her. He knew when someone was useful or not, he’d worked with plenty of useless people.

She was useful. He knew that the moment he met her. It paid to have good operatives working for you, and even in a supplementary role, having an ally in the Science department was invaluable; having Charles Heyworth’s daughter as an ally would be pure latinum.

It helped that she was smart.

Six on the dot. He looked up at the doors, and like clockwork she appeared. He held up a hand and she made her way towards him, her eyes darting around. He couldn’t tell if she was nervous or confused. As she approached he stood up and waited for her to sit before sitting back down. Had she been anyone else he would have pulled her chair out for her, but a quick reading of her told him she wouldn’t understand why he had. Instead he allowed her to do it herself. “Thank you for joining me,” he said. “As a professional courtesy, that is.”

She simply nodded and took her seat, tugging on her uniform before doing so in order to straighten out any wrinkles. “How may I be of assistance?” she replied coolly, getting straight to the point and thrusting herself into the business at hand. To Elizabeth, this was a particularly odd place to conduct business. On the Beagle and Farcry she had never once stepped foot into their bar. This was a first.

“Well, for starters you can order a drink so I am not the only one drinking something,” he said with a slight smile on his face.

“A drink?” she queried. “Why would I …?” She suddenly answered her own question and frowned slightly. As if on cue, the waiter appeared.

“Can I get you something, ma’am?” he asked.

She folded her hands on her lap and fidgeted a moment. She knit her brow and her eyes darted around the room as if taking in information. “A glass of water, if you please,” she said, “with one slice of cucumber and no ice,” she added.

The waiter looked on at her for a moment as if waiting for more.

She looked up at him. “That will be all. You may leave,” she said abruptly. She then reverted her attention back to the man sitting across the table from her. “This is not just a business meeting, is it?” she asked abruptly.

“No,” Ibraham confessed, “it’s not.” He toyed with the lip of his glass, rotating it slightly. “There is certainly an element of business involved, but it is only part of why I wanted to meet with you here.” He took a long drink and then set the glass back down. “You are relatively new here, and so am I. The truth is, I haven’t actually served onboard a starship in over five years. Before this posting I was dirtside,” he said, looking at her. “Earth. Something I never in all my life thought I would do either,” he added. “I was born in space and I always swore I would die before I took a planet-side posting, but there it is. And you,” he said, looking at her, “young, junior officer, only a few postings under her belt. The people on this ship have been through a lot together, and we’re the new blood.”

“I don’t quite follow this line of reasoning,” she said quietly. She narrowed her eyes. “I will not do anything illegal, or morally corrupt,” she stated bluntly.

He shook his head. “I’m not suggesting you would. Look,” he said, sitting back suddenly, “how much do you know about what your father did?”

“Only what is permitted,” she replied, cautiously listening.

“Right, a lot of it was classified. Why is that?” He took a sip. “Intelligence Officers serve a unique function within Starfleet, and, to be honest, within the Federation as a whole. We are here to provide just that; Intelligence, but we do a lot more than just that. I am expected to report to the bridge each day and provide our Captain – or Commodore, depending on who is up there – with accurate information so that he can make sound decisions based on that given information. But what other function do Intelligence Officers serve?”

“Any number of functions that protect and serve the Federation,” she replied, listening carefully, wondering if this was some sort of quiz.

“We’re spies.” The statement was blunt, but there it was. He had said it. Such a dirty secret that the Intelligence community tended to keep to itself, but there it was, bold as brass and half as shiny. “We spy on the enemies of the Federation, but we also spy on the Federation’s allies. Twenty years ago and you’d be pressed to find an Intelligence Officer onboard a Starfleet vessel. These days almost every ship has at least one assigned to it openly; back in the day we were still operating on Starfleet Vessels, but it was under different titles and positions. We reported to our Captains, and we reported to our Intelligence Supervisors.”

Stern could see the wheels turning, and decided to close it up. “I’m here to make sure everyone stays loyal; you are about as loyal as they come. What I need is an ally… A friend, if you will. Someone I can trust, someone I can turn to. I’d like that person to be you.”

“A friend?” she queried. “Why?”

“Why?” He finished his drink off, the warm, buzzing sound in the back of his mind increasing. “The official reason or the personal one?” He shook his head. “I’ll give you both. The official reason is because as a member of the science cadre you have access to the labs, which could be of a huge benefit to me should I have need of them. Often what I am watching for is not the loyal crew, but someone infiltrating within our ranks; shape shifters, for example. There are other uses, but we needn’t get into it.” He wanted to flag down a waiter and get another drink, but he had no way to doctor it up with her sitting there so he thought better. “The personal reason is that I like you.”

“You don’t even know me,” she stated bluntly. “You cannot like someone you do not know.” She furrowed her brow, finding this confusing and unusual. “I do not have friends, Lieutenant,” she replied coolly.

“I know enough,” he said. “I knew more about you in the first five minutes than most people do in a year of being around you.” He steepled his fingers across his broad chest. “I knew you’d tell me you didn’t have friends. I also know that you have a difficult time getting close to people. I’m guessing this is due to an overbearing authority figure in your life; not Charles, he adores you. Someone else.” He considered his options. “Your mother,” he suggested. “She was very strict on you. Did she want you to join Starfleet before she passed away?” The question was rhetorical, and he didn’t give her a chance to respond to it. “Your father is quite the pillar, but you barely knew him. He was always on assignment, always at work. That’s hard on a child. You don’t form attachments because you know that more often than not those attachments go away, like your mother did. Like your father.” He mused for a moment. “There was another voice in your life… Perhaps an aunt, or grandmother, that pushed you towards Starfleet. Am I right so far?”

She sat back for a moment, clearly not upset by his assessments. “It seems you excel in perceptions of human relations,” she said flatly.

He shrugged. “I’m good at my job, Elizabeth. Scary good. I don’t need to be a telepath to read someone; the way they carry themselves, the way they walk… You were fat as a child, am I right?”

She took a sip of the water the waiter just delivered, taking a moment before speaking. “Carry on,” she said coolly, not answering him.

He waited for the shock to dissipate from her face. “It was a source of contention in your home, and it left you obsessed with your physical form. It’s why you were staring at yourself in the mirror when we were in the gym. Someone, I am guessing your mother, put a lot of pressure on you to lose weight.” He had met Elizabeth’s mother a handful of times, and he felt a twinge of pity for Elizabeth.

He let silence wash over them and, just as it was becoming unbearable, slapped his knee and stood up. “Well,” he began, smiling as he looked out of the massive observation windows, “this was nice. We’ll have to do this again sometime.”

She eyed him closely. “Unlikely,” she replied matter-of-factly, but without any trace of contempt.

“Oh,” he began, his smile full of mirth, “we’ll do this again.” He let it hang there for a moment. “Have a good evening, Lieutenant Heyworth,” he said.

She lofted a brow and took a drink of her water. “Perhaps we will, and perhaps we won’t,” she replied, “but if we do, you might want to leave the alcohol at home.”

He started, a look of surprise and embarrassment crossing his face. He quickly covered the look up and waggled a finger at her. “You are your father’s daughter, aren’t you?” he said, chuckling to himself.

He walked away without another word. What a surprise she had turned into. What a gem, he thought. Sure, she was a little rough around the edges, but she was about as perfect as they came.

She took another drink of her water, lost in her own thoughts for a moment. It had been a strange encounter. She shrugged it off and her mind immediately went back to her work.

She looked around the room and suddenly remembered where she was. The Lieutenant had left and she was suddenly keenly aware that she was in a bar. She stood up to leave and knocked over her glass, nearly tripping over the chair as she tried to make a graceful, and unnoticed, exit.

Mission failed.

--

Ibraham felt satisfied by how his day had gone. He’d gotten through a fair portion of the files on his desk, organized his department a little better, and worked out who was useful and who was useless.

Everyone in his department: Useless.

Everyone named Elizabeth Heyworth: Useful.

She’d have made a fine Intelligence Operative. Shame that, he thought. Still, a science officer, what a perfect find.

And she had caught everything perfectly. Everything he had told her, she took in stride. Even the comment about being fat. He still had a crisp memory of seeing the framed picture sitting on Charles’ desk of the round little girl, her face smiling somewhat somberly. He’d thought her such a roly-poly then. She’d filled out well, he mused.

Even the alcohol. A gamble, he knew, but one he was willing to take just to see. She hadn’t missed it; he’d seen the tingle in her nose as she caught a whiff, her eyes casually glancing at his leg when he’d stood. ‘Such a clever girl!’

Now to put that clever little mind of hers to work, he thought.

--

Ibraham Stern
Intelligence Operative

&

Lieutenant Elizabeth Heyworth, PhD
Science Officer