"To Kill An Admiral" - Part 1

Posted on Sat May 23rd, 2015 @ 12:50am by

Death haunts us all. Elizabeth remembered when Stern had said that to her. It was shortly after she had begun to help him in his effort to find a cure. He knew the chances of her finding a cure was incredibly slim, but he wasn't ready for anyone to know.

"Things like this..." Stern had seemed conflicted. "I don't want to spend my final moments locked away, being studied. If I am going to die... I want to die doing something that matters." She had snorted at the idea.

She didn't laugh at him anymore. She knew... Understood... What was truly at stake. The Kvilla virus was out there, and he was the only one searching for it.

She just wished she could save him in the process.

5 Months Ago

Stern looked up as the doors opened and he smiled. “Lieutenant,” he said, standing to greet the junior Science Officer. “Enter, please,” he said.

The request had been a strange one to Elizabeth. It had only been a day since she had been released from decon and things had still not quite settled down and she had a sense that the events of their classified mission had yet to truly unfurl. Elizabeth had immediately gone back to work, storing away the information she had gathered on the yacht and encrypting it until she had further orders from the Commodore. If she was to receive further orders. She had just settled into her quarters to do some external research for her grandmother when the call had come in.

She couldn’t understand what purpose or reason she could possibly have to report to the Intel Officer of the ship, but there it was. She knew nothing to report on the mission, nor could she anyway. Her very brief exchange on the Yacht had been uneventful. As much as she tried to reason the request, she could not.

Still, a request was a request and Elizabeth always did as she was asked.

To the letter.

Immediately.

She dressed in her Uniform, tidied her hair, and was now standing in his doorway. He had a worn look about him. Almost tired but, like all intel officers, a welcoming demeanor that would set a person at ease immediately. Everyone, that is, except her.

“Sir,” she replied formally, her face unexpressive. She stepped into the office as the door shut behind her.

He allowed her a moment. “Thank you for seeing me,” he said. He motioned that she should sit as he returned to his seat.

She nodded once and moved over to the chair across from him, sitting down and folding her hands neatly in her lap. “How may I be of service, Sir?” she asked.

Stern seemed unsure for a moment, but he hid it well, instead getting a distant, thoughtful look on his face. “I find myself in a strange place,” he said. “For my entire career I’ve never needed anyone’s help to do anything; I’ve always simply done what was necessary to serve Starfleet and the Federation.” He looked at her suddenly. “And you, Lieutenant… Have you always done what was necessary to serve?”

“Of course, Sir,” she replied plainly.

“Heyworth,” he said, allowing the name to hang in the air. “Specifically Charles Heyworth, Admiral. He is your father, correct?”

“Yes Sir,” she replied again, nodding once.

Stern couldn’t help but smile. What a small universe, he thought. What were the odds? “I worked very closely with your father for many years,” Stern said. “Actually much of what I know about my job is directly resulting from him,” he said. Even though Charles was only perhaps twenty years older than Stern, the man was, as far as Stern was concerned, the wisest Intelligence Officer he had ever met, and a legend in the private circles of Starfleet Intel. “I remember sitting in his study and seeing a picture of you when you were, oh, I suppose seven, maybe eight years old?” He shook his head.

“That is possible,” she replied, her expression and tone unchanged. “I was that age once and pictures were often taken by my mother.”

Stern chuckled. He realized just how poised she was; the mannered way she sat in her chair, very ladylike, scooted to the edge, her legs together and hands placed carefully on them. Her uniform was pressed and spotless, and not a stray hair out of place on her head. She was the model of decorum and professionalism. Damn Charles, he thought. He had a hard time thinking the man he knew raised her to be like this. He remembered Charles’ wife, Eugenia, though.

There was a hard woman, if Stern had ever met one.

Still, the young Heyworth was surrounded by people who had her best interests at heart; he remembered meeting Admiral Colchester once; Stern had liked the Admiral a lot, had admired her fire and passion despite her age. A real no-nonsense type. He also knew she had a real soft-spot for her granddaughter, as did Charles.

But Charles was a busy man, and so was Admiral Colchester.

He decided to try and find out more about her; not her career, it was an open book as far as Ibraham was concerned, but her personality. The few reports he’d read before she had arrived were scant when it came to her social life; her previous Chief had even gone so far as to officially note that she had none. “When last did you speak with your father?” Stern asked.

“Two months, six days, and…” she paused in thought for a very brief moment, “twenty-two hours ago, Sir,” she replied perfunctorily.

He felt pleased. Precise he thought, efficient, and exact. “You should call him more often; I’m sure he would be pleased to hear from you Lieutenant,” Stern said. “Not an official order, merely a suggestion,” he said, anticipating what she might say next.

“I will certainly speak with him when the situation necessitates. He is quite busy, as I am sure you are aware. “ She nodded once as if done speaking, but then parted her lips in a second of thought, brusquely speaking once more. “I will make note of your suggestion.” She stopped again, but again spoke with another thought. “Thank you.” She could hear her mother’s voice in her head. Always remember to be polite and say thank you when offered advice. Clearly you do not need to follow that advice. You do what is best, but say thank you anyway. People like that.

Stern was amazed; she had just, for all intents and purposes, disregarded his suggestion in the most polite possible way while simultaneously offering him a thank you for it. None of what she said lacked any sincerity; she was as honest in her thank you as she was about calling him when the situation necessitated it. When would the situation require her to call her father? He nodded. “Good,” he said. He turned to his console. “I am sure you are questioning why you are here,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “You have a background in biological sciences, correct?”

“Yes,” she stated plainly, “A PhD in developmental and theoretical biological sciences. I am sure you have my record at hand,” she prompted.

He furrowed his brow as he stared at the computer screen carefully. “How familiar are you with the study of rare viral diseases?”

“Quite,” she answered quickly, her brow raising for the briefest of moments.

Stern turned the computer so that she could see the screen. On it was a profile of a Doctor, Lydia Kvilla, 2208-2246, Federation Biologist. “She had a rather noteworthy career, although her contributions to science were somewhat limited. Her greatest claim to fame was the discovery of a very rare disease, coined “Kvilla Virus.” It is so rare that since her death in 2246 there have only been two officially confirmed cases in Federation history; that isn’t to say others have not died from it.” He looked at her. “Just that it is very rare, and perhaps difficult to diagnose.” He snapped the computer shut. “So here’s where you come in; I need you to research everything available about this virus and tell me if it is possible to design a cure.” He stood up and walked to the large one-way mirror that allowed him to view the small Intelligence Department where his two lackeys were working. “Doctor Kvilla died trying to cure herself; 144 years ago the Federation decided the disease wasn’t important enough to be cured.” He turned back to her. “Doctor Kvilla herself suggested it wasn’t curable; that it was an engineered weapon from a race long-dead that never designed it to be cured. I think it was time fresh eyes were put on it.”

She thought for a moment, her green eyes flickering in thought. She watched him thoughtfully for a few moments. "This isn't an official request, is it Sir," she said as more a statement than question. She continued with her reasoned thought process. "Were it, this would be a request from the first officer, or the Chief of Science." She lofted a brow as she spoke, but her voice remained placid and even.

Stern’s expression was impassive, blank, and unreadable. “It’s a highly classified job, but no, it is not an official request from this ship’s chain of command,” he said. “I will tell you that it is of the utmost importance that you work this; however, it must remain secret. You cannot discuss it with anyone except me. This is a Starfleet Intelligence matter.”

"As you know, SI has their own scientists. Why me? Why now?" She furrowed here brow for a moment, "and why here?"

Stern thought for a moment about Admiral Damian Gohan; it was true, Starfleet Intelligence had an entire department of the Federations best and brightest, but Gohan’s reptilian fingers were everything.

Everything, except, he thought, her. She was Admiral Charles Heyworth’s daughter after all. Stern had a sick suspicion about the Kvilla Virus. “You are being conscripted,” he said, his tone flat and absolute. “This duty shall not interfere with your day to day, but it should be considered a priority.” He turned to face her. “As to why you… You are what I have on hand. This is part of a field assignment, and as such it remains in the field. Anything further, and we are talking about classified information.”

She lofted her right eyebrow for a moment and sat silently in thought. There was no doubt that this was a strange request, even for Intel. Something just didn’t add up. She had grown up in an environment where secrecy was the norm, but this was different. This wasn’t quite protocol. This request danced in the grey light of protocol. The long and short was that she could not trust the man who stood to face her right now. He betrayed nothing in his expression or tone, and stood as stoic as she did sit. She could see he was good at his job. Very good.

“Very well, Sir. If this is an order then I will certainly comply within the mandate you have just laid out.” Her own tone and demeanor remained unchanged.

He was somewhat surprised. “No questions?” he asked, lofting a curious brow.

“On the contrary, many,” she replied coolly, “but none that you would answer so asking them would be a wasteful use of time,” she added, standing up and clasping her hands behind her back.

He was having a hard time reading her. She was very good at masking herself, or… He wondered if that simply was how she was? There was some hesitation in her words, though. She disliked what he was asking her to do. “This is going to be ground-breaking work for the Federation as a whole; despite a limited number of casualties, if this virus is being weaponized finding a cure could hinder those plans.” He was skirting in very dangerous territory, he knew.

“I have little doubt of the research importance,” she replied coolly. Her face flinched for the first time. It was a flinch of thought, of wanting to do something that seemed contrary to her being. “Permission to speak freely?” she asked with faint hesitation.

Stern nodded that she should continue; he was interested in what the Lieutenant would have to say.

“I have no question about the research or its importance,” she started. “My questions, Sir, are about you. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust this request. You and I both know that this request is not a standard request and is not following through channel protocols. You know this as well as I do,” she stated bluntly, but without emotion. “You are lying to me...” She lofted a brow. “Sir,” she added respectfully with a nod.

Stern was silent for a moment as he digested her words. Charles, you have no idea, do you? If he did, the man would not have let her go into Science. “Can you do what I am asking you to do?” he asked, ignoring her accusation for the moment. “Right now it sounds like you aren’t sure,” he said, his tone somewhat challenging.

“I never speak without being certain,” she added calmly, “I am absolutely certain.” A small smile crept into her lips. “I’m already aware of Kvilla,” she added, opening up for the first time. “What I am not certain about is you.”

Stern smiled. “Good,” he said. “That’s how I like it. I expect your first report within the week,” he added. Ibraham liked the junior Lieutenant; she was precise, straight-forward… Everything a good officer should be. There was more to her, he felt, but he had time to learn that. Well, some time, anyway. “If there is nothing else?”

She lofted a brow. “Nothing of pertinence.”

Stern nodded. “Remember, classified. Need to know basis, and no one else needs to know,” he said. “I’ll contact you in a week. Dismissed.”

Ster watched her go and sat down. He drummed his fingers on his desk for a moment, lost in thought.

He figured his chances were slim, even with her working on a possible solution. He knew it hadn’t truly hit him yet; he was going to die. He always knew he would die, he just thought it’d be in battle, or in the old folk’s home, bitter and alone.

He turned the console to face him and hit out a few hasty keys. “I need a level one priority channel opened to Starfleet Command. Encryption code Zeta three, dash oh oh four nine,” he said. “Get me the desk of Admiral Charles Heyworth…”