— Gary Mitchell’s Dram-o-rama Verse - Blog Posts

DIVIDING THE SELF INTO CONTRARY PARTS can very easily tempt the elasticity of the mind into snapping; only those with the right mental dexterity and constitution can withstand conditions of such deep social and behavioral shock. In the methodology of a daily routine that consisted of combing through her procedural and implicit memories, Nyota, as best she could, established some kind of inward touchstone - a method on which to rely that would remain even amongst the tumult of their situation. In doing so it allowed her to also suss out the underlying emotions that would betray their identities, risk their lives. To take those memories and carefully place them in the sacred and secret places of the mind and heart. The memories shaped like people she longed for, that she dreamt of in the night - only to wake with that familiar feeling of a weight sitting on her chest, compressing the air from her lungs; reaching out across the bed for someone who was light years and light years away.

The hollow aches of home filled by further retention of data, schematics, all things that would have to be recorded down to be deliberated with the Federation after the fact. All a part of a stringent order and application so as not to be discovered while gleaning the necessary intelligence they were sent for; operating like the spies of old fallen regimes like the Soviet Union and United States.

And through it all she had Pavel - her comrade, her brother in arms. Her dearest of friends.

Her last hope at this seeming edge of darkness.

[ Or so it had the bitter way of feeling like. ]

Uhura had been sitting on the edge of her bunk, wide legged, forearms on her knees, while she inspected her hands. They were chartreuse, as they had been for these long months, posing as Orion Arms Dealers. Though the color, on this dreary and aimless night in space, struck a different chord - one that plucked a bittersweet note from the stretched out sinew of her heart.

The thought that was lending itself to the painful sting of welling emotion in her throat was mercifully cut short and snuffed out by Pav’s harried return, but before her questions could be asked, her friend was already answering them and swiftly pulling out a cloth - on it all Pavel could scribe. Uhura and Chekov knew better than to recite aloud their intel while still aboard the Chonnaq; leaving them often to simply scribe things down, speak in code, or simple vagaries. So the clever Lieutenant naturally made use of anything and everything available to him; she often considered herself immeasurably lucky to have had Pavel Chekov with her on this mission. For reasons that seemed beyond counting, but presently he was demonstrating one of those many brilliant points of why right then.

This information was invaluable.

“You know what this means though? When we dock at the next outpost - we can make our way back, finally. This pattern proves what you’ve been saying, Pav,” Nyota, fully in agreement with her cohort that even in what was supposed to be their sleeping quarters, they couldn’t be entirely direct in what they said. “One of the moons of XurXur is the next Outpost,” her voice was low, rushed “ – this isn’t just all that the captain needs, but … ” Uhura lowered her voice even further, “Pav, this is what the Federation needs to try the The Orphan for – everything.”

@ensnchekov

While each day onboard the Chonnaq grinds away at his already fraying nerves, Pavel is still mildly surprised to find that every day he wakes up, the interior of the ship has not morphed around them into the abysmal dungeon he'd always imagined a Klingon Bird-of-Prey to look like on the inside.

It doesn't make their mission any easier, but he will take whatever small comforts where he can find them when surrounded by enemies who would not bat an eyelash at stringing them up and using them as leverage.

The reports about the Orphan have not been exaggerated.

Pavel waits until the door is fully shut behind him, double-checking for good measure, before walking up to Nyota, voice conspiratorially low. He still does not trust the Orphan is not yet on to them, that he does not have eyes and ears in the walls even he couldn't find.

"Normally I am not the one to say this, but I think the captain is wrong. You know as well as I do that for someone to change, they have to want to, and the Orphan does not. I've been digging through some of the ship's files, and—" He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded up scrap of cloth which has been repurposed as paper.

"I was not going to risk the chance he finds out I downloaded information. But look at this."

@haiiling, sc.