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     Lt. SG Maiko D'rall |
The bare easel in the corner of her quarters mocked Maiko as she flopped onto the couch after kicking off her shoes. It had been a while since she had painted - a lifetime it seemed, all manner of distractions combining to rob her of this creative outlet. The paintings hung on the wall - double-hung actually; since her quarters were so cramped, they were hung two high on the wall - were a testament to better times - before she had taken on the helm of the frigate. One, of course, was not present, having been given to the admiral as a birthday present - the painting of Coronado and Churchill in Reor orbit. Staring at her was another painting she had done before her stewardship at the helm. The lines of the ship were familiar to her, as was the name proudly emblazoned across her hull: DAUNTLESS. Barefooted she made her way to the wall and took the painting down, noting the flaws and imperfections that marked her earlier work but made it all that much more valuable. The gift to the admiral had been not only as a present, but as a way of saying 'thanks for not kicking me off the ship'... sometimes she was still amazed at how long it had been. She had been advised by her crack legal counsel - part of her still wondered if she was insane asking for help from a hormonally-imbalanced pregnant Romulan/Vulcan/whatever attitude she wanted to show this week and a sentient computer program who had manipulated the very fabric of the universe and... well, being 'real' in the Fourth Chamber didn't help the helmswoman's feelings. A famous Terran politician had once said "We have nothing to fear but fear itself.", and for Maiko, the Fourth Chamber was a very real Fear. Still, the friendship she had fostered with Savant meant more than unease, and while she and Tal had clashed, she felt that for a brief moment, fighting on the older Coronado, that perhaps for a minute or two they... well, friends was probably pushing the term. But on the other hand, Tal had shown an interest in Maiko, even if only as an overprotective or overachieving parent. Both had years of experience in the fleet, and in terms of intelligence, probably among the smartest people she knew on Coronado. What happened, of course, would happen - if anything, the time travel, loops, and confusion of the past few months had given her a healthy respect of fate and the rather difficult process of cheating it. As Savant said, she could end up stripped of her flight license and detailed to the small penal colony on Reor or some other Defender world. For that reason she avoided the newscasts, only sending a message to her father - which was returned with the same error message from long ago - and setting up an automatic response to any press inquiries that made it past Savant that simply read 'I am unable to comment on my actions at this time.' Her legal defense had also advised her to not contact Captain Valentine, but at the same time, the letter from the past made her feel it wouldn't be right to deny either the two women the elder's request. Perhaps not a letter or conversation - that could come later - but at least an "I'm here, I'm alright, and Welcome Home" present. Still performing her duties, it didn't take much to arrange it's delivery - she knew a shuttle was scheduled to head to Reor to drop off and pick up crew, and she knew most of the surviving shuttle pilots, one of whom admitted he'd be heading up on a similar run to the Churchill, where it would be delivered to her captain, compliments of a Miss Maiko D'rall. This, she decided while carefully putting the canvas down, then padding over to the replicator to arrange for a package for it, would certainly suffice for now, though she still wondered what the nature of the letter had been from grandmother to granddaughter. Maybe she would find out in time. For now though... For now, she looked at the bare spot now on the wall amid the canvases there. In one, a junglescape with the Reorsan pelceptis mutaris - a Reorsan equivalent of the Terran butterfly, named for its brilliant purple plumage - fluttering about. Another a rough charcoal of the Spirit of Reorsa in flight. And now, a blank spot. In just the space of two years, she had seen her people go from the Pfhor occupation to finally getting to talk to home, seeing the arrival of people from the Milky Way. And in herself, she had certainly changed. For a moment, the Maiko her friends on Reor knew ceased to exist, replaced by a distraught bundle of nerves that bounced from one incident to another. Only just now was she starting to finally feel like her old self... but better for it. A crash-course - no pun intended - on stress management and just what Starfleet meant. For months it had sat in the corner, canvas turned against the wall. The occaisional lurch of the ship, undampened by the IDFs, had knocked the canvas face up time and again, and each time, she had turned it back to the wall, unable to deal with the fact that she felt a horror looking at it, and a familiar one. Another time - another Maiko. Having packed the Dauntless canvas up, she now proceeded to pick up this forgotten work and carefully put it in place on the wall. Its chaotic colors clashed with the calm, pastel imagery of the other canvases, and yet in its own way it symbolized an equally turbulent part of her life. Overall, she mused, it felt right. The canvas no longer had the same effect on her, but served to remind her that even the darkest moments of life were just that - a part of life, which itself was a true treasure. Smiling, she put the packaged canvas by the door to drop off at the shuttlebay the next morning, then headed to bed. Tomorrow would likely see the start of legal proceedings; the day after they finished she would talk to Valentine personally, and then the day after that, her training - blessed training she had finally realized she needed - would begin. Tomorrow would be the first day of the rest of her life, and it would be a good one. |