Back to the Basics

Posted on Mon Sep 2nd, 2024 @ 5:17pm by Captain Malcom Llwyedd & Petty Officer 1st Class Kipp Lak & Lieutenant Jackson Smith

1,907 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Interlude 1 Gamma Quadrant
Location: DS18, Deck 34, Holodeck 1
Timeline: 1300 Hours

[ON]

Kipp sat on a well-worn tatami mat, which was an exact replica of the one that covered a similar room back at home. He let his mind wander to thoughts of his wife. She was a treasure and he missed her. A chime sounded somewhere behind him and he opened his eyes. The room was a traditional Japanese sparing style. It was forty by forty feet, with open space centered on each wall. The opening behind him led down a rocky path with a steep drop-off on one side and the mountain looming to the other. The other three openings showed a grand view of the mountains and, far below, a vast swath of green trees swaying in the wind.

The holodeck doors parted with a gentle hiss, revealing the tranquil scene within. Jackson paused on the threshold, his eyes widening as he took in the breathtaking vista before him. It was a stark contrast to the sterile corridors and tense atmosphere of the Firebird.

"Ah, Kipp," he sighed, a genuine smile replacing the grim mask he had worn for days. "I have missed this. Things have been very intense of late."

He stepped into the serene environment, the tension in his shoulders visibly melting away. The events of the past few days - the ambush, the firefight in the SCIF, the betrayal and the subsequent confrontation with Gorlab - felt like a distant nightmare. Here, in this meticulously crafted simulation of a Japanese mountain retreat, he could finally breathe.

Kipp didn't move. He sat with his legs tucked beneath him, his sword next to him. He knew Jackson was behind him but didn't turn.

"Jackson," he said in a low tone. "It has been far too long since we trained together. Please, come and sit with me." He gestured to a space on his left. "How are things with you?"

Jackson opened his mouth, a witty remark poised on his tongue, but the words died in his throat as he looked toward his friend. The usual barbed humor that served as his armor seemed out of place in this peaceful setting. Instead, a wave of memories washed over him, dark and painful, each one a stark reminder of the blood on his hands. The image of the young Maquis girl, her life extinguished by his blade, flashed before his eyes, a haunting specter that refused to be banished.

He had killed for Starfleet Intelligence countless times, his actions justified by the greater good. But lately, the weight of those lives had become unbearable. Each death echoed in his mind, a symphony of despair that drowned out the whispers of justification. Jackson steeled himself, burying the darkness, the shadows within.

With a deep breath, he lowered himself onto the tatami mat beside Kipp. "Things have been... interesting, that's for sure," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "I can't imagine the craziness for you, trying to manage the Firebird and DS18."

Kipp made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "My troubles are not on our agenda today, Jackson. I'm much more worried about you. I've noticed that you have been withdrawn and troubled lately. I thought you might seek me or Captain Llwyedd out but you have not. So today we will return to the basics and see how I can help."

Jackson's brow furrowed, a flicker of defensiveness crossing his face. "I appreciate you and the Captain looking out for me," he said, his tone guarded, "but these are things I can work out on my own." He shifted uncomfortably on the mat, avoiding Kipp's concerned gaze.

"Does he have concerns about my performance?" Jackson asked, knowing that he has done well and deflecting Kipp's concern.

Jackson couldn't see Kipp's face, which had gone smooth. "Concerns about your performance? Is that what you think this is? A counseling about your work?" Kipp asked.

Before Jackson could respond, the wiry Yeoman plucked his sword from its resting spot, and, in one continuous movement, jumped up and whirled around to face his friend. He launched himself forward, showing no mercy in his eyes. His sword hissed toward Jackson.

Jackson's survival instincts kicked in, his body reacting before his mind could fully process the sudden attack. He rolled backward, the blade whistling past his ear, leaving a chilling breeze in its wake. His heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline flooding his system, sharpening his senses.

He continued the roll and sprang to his feet, his hands instinctively finding the comforting weight of his knives. His eyes met Kipp's, the playful warmth replaced by a cold focus.

"I had hoped this was more about good friends just chatting," Jackson said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. "But I see there is going to be more to it." He continued to backpedal, creating distance between them. Kipp's long blade gave him a distinct advantage, and Jackson knew he had to bide his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Kipp let the conversation slide and focused in a way that only someone who had faced death could focus. He was not surprised that Jackson had moved so quickly. But he thought he saw the effect of working too much and not physically training, as Kipp did daily. Kipp slashed from left to right, forcing Jackson to slide away and then he launched himself into the air, his foot extending for a strike to his friend's head, while the blade remained as a backup.

Jackson's heart hammered in his chest as Kipp's relentless assault continued, each movement a blur of controlled aggression. He parried and dodged, the tatami mats beneath his feet offering little traction as he was forced further and further back. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, the tension mounting with each passing second.

Suddenly, an opening appeared. Kipp's foot, propelled by a powerful kick, arced towards Jackson's head. In a desperate gamble, Jackson dropped to the ground, sliding beneath the attack. The kick whistled harmlessly overhead, and the maneuver brought him within striking distance.

As his knife hand rose, a chilling sensation stopped him cold. The cold, sharp steel of Kipp's blade pressed against his throat, a silent reminder of his vulnerability.

A surge of anger flooded Jackson, hot and blinding. Kipp had set him up, played him like a novice. The realization stung, a bitter taste in his mouth. With a grunt of frustration, he lowered his knives and pushed himself back up, creating distance between them.

His anger simmered beneath the surface, a volatile force threatening to erupt. He tried to shake off the tension, but his body trembled, and his breathing remained ragged. He raised his knives again, his eyes locked with Kipp's, a silent challenge burning in their depths. He forced a semblance of calm, but his racing heart and ragged breath betrayed the turmoil within.

Kipp lowered his blade, he shook his head, frowning at what he saw. "And so your mask slips, Jackson. I see below the surface of image of self-control. I don't think there's any way that you could defeat me today. You lack the focus. You lack the discipline. What has happened to you?" Kipp asked in a soft voice.

Kipp's words pierced Jackson's carefully constructed defenses, unleashing a torrent of haunting images: faces of the dead, victims of his actions in service to Starfleet Intelligence. The mantra of "the greater good" echoed hollowly in his mind, the weight of their lives growing heavier with each passing day. A grimace twisted his features as he fought to suppress the rising tide of guilt and remorse. With a shuddering breath, he forced the darkness back, burying it deep within a well of cold, focused anger. Silence hung heavy in the air, a stark departure from his usual quick wit. Then, with a primal roar, he lunged at Kipp, his knives flashing in the tranquil light of the holodeck.

Kipp slid to his left, avoiding Jackson's lunge entirely. The expert swordsman saw the lack of control as his friend slashed at him. He didn't bother to raise his sword, simply letting Jackson continue his relentless attack. Only when Jackson began to tire, his chest heaving, did Kipp engage. He brought his sword up from the down position it had been in and extended his arm, slapping Jackson on one wrist and then the other. He knew the nerves in the wrist and how to hit them to cause a loss of control.

Jackson's blades fell to the mat with a hushed thump. Kipp slid his own blade into its sheath.

"I have been your teacher, your partner and your friend for years. Will you let me help you now or are you intent on your current course of action?" Kipp asked.

Jackson winced, the sharp pain shooting up his arms a physical manifestation of Kipp's cutting words. His friend was right, painfully so. The turmoil he'd been wrestling with was evident, his mask of control slipping. Yet, the thought of surrendering to that vulnerability, of exposing the depths of his despair, filled him with a chilling dread.

He envisioned a future where he was no longer useful to Starfleet Intelligence, stripped of his purpose, cast aside like a broken tool, thrown in jail for life. The fear, the uncertainty, it fueled his every move, propelling him forward into the darkness.

Jackson's hands trembled, not from the lingering sting of Kipp's strike, but from the maelstrom of emotions threatening to engulf him. He could unburden himself to Kipp, find solace in his friend's unwavering loyalty. But the fear held him back, a paralyzing grip on his heart.

With a Herculean effort, he steadied himself, burying the darkness once more. His jaw clenched, his eyes hardened into a mask of cold resolve.

"I appreciate you, my friend," he said, his voice strained but firm. "But what you ask... is more than I can give."

He turned abruptly, his back to Kipp, and walked towards the edge of the holodeck. "Door," he commanded, his voice a clipped, emotionless monotone.

The doors slid open, revealing the stark reality of the corridor beyond. Without a backward glance, Jackson stepped through, the weight of his unspoken burdens heavy on his shoulders. The door hissed shut behind him, leaving him alone in the sterile silence of the Firebird.

Kipp moved back to his original position, sitting and looking out at the expansive view. He put his sword where it had been and clasped his hands in his lap. He thought of his friend and of his struggle. He had tried. His honor and their friendship demanded no less. But it was not his place to continue to force Jackson to act in a way he did not choose.

"Michi ni wa hito ga ichi-ri shika tōrenai koto ga aru," Kipp said and press his head against the cool matt.

"Anata ga watashi o hitsuyō to suru toki wa, watashi ga soko ni imasu. Anata no soba ni aru ken. Watashi no kyōdai."

He sat up and centered himself, letting the tension run out of his body until he felt at peace.

[OFF]

Lieutenant Jackson Smith
Chief Intelligence Officer
USS Firebird NCC-88298

Petty Officer 1st Class Kipp Lak (NPC by Llwyedd)
Yeoman
USS Firebird NCC-88298

 

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