Chapter Text
Cardassians…
Of course it’s Cardassians, why wouldn’t it be?! The moment Mariner sees one aiming at her is the very instant her day somehow goes from bad to worse. Not that it started off great, of course- being called into the Captain’s quarters usually results in one of two things.
One. Captain Freeman informs her that she’s being sent to the brig- this usually ends with someone dragging her there.
Two. Something completely unrelated blows up into an argument that, in turn, gets her sent to the brig.
Turns out, there’s a third option- and it’s worse. Mariner- despite all her prayers to whatever Gods she knows and her mother’s suddenly severely lacking common sense- is issued a command .
Really, she should have just called in sick.
It looks like a pretty standard mission, at a glance- The planetoid Batraxxi VI, just at the outer edge of the goldilocks zone in a star system towards the Cardassian empire’s border, had come into Starfleet’s radar with some strange readings, readings that somehow sent them three weeks’ off course into unaligned space.
Batraxxi VI, as it turns out, is a shitheap. The atmosphere is breathable, but it moreso resembles a sea urchin than anything vaguely planet shaped, meaning that the already cold planet consists of mostly snow-capped mountain ranges with ice-laden windstorms capable of turning a man into spaghetti in moments, meaning space-suits are required for this seemingly routine mission.
Furthermore the planet’s rotation is, well, fucking insane. It spins so quickly that a full day/night cycle only takes two hours, and, adding to the terrifying speed of the windstorms and making teleportation all but impossible, leaving them to descend onto its surface via shuttle. Because of course literal teleportation tech isn’t a match for a sufficiently windy spinning ball of ice.
Typical Starfleet- but that isn’t the worst of it. Batraxxi VI, at a glance, reminds her of Antarctica. Cold, and barren, and more than a little boring- I mean there aren’t even penguins. Instead a quick peek into the next valley reveals occupation of a different sort.
As it turns out, Batraxxi VI, is a Cardassian pirate base.
-
“Come on, come on! Get the fuck onboard the shuttle NOW!” Mariner roars, struggling to make her voice audible above the shriek of the wind between the mountains. They’re almost out- at the tail end of an hour long running retreat through winding valleys and caves filled with strange furry monstrosities (Turns out the planetoid does possess life after all!) they’re finally at the location of the Shuttle, halfway buried in snow it might be.
Phaser fire fills the air, and the space between them has turned to ice as the residual heat of their blasts sears the snow into water, which freezes in the minute delay between shots.
Three ensigns and her provide covering fire for the research time to board the shuttle, phaser beams launched back and forth at the general direction of eachother’s shots. It’s almost nice, getting shot at, the heat from the Phaser beams warming her slightly with every shot that whizzes by.
Pressed flat against the rock-face, she aims for the direction of a phaser which nearly struck the man next to her providing overwatch straight in the face, the beam falling silent moments after.
“I think I got one!”
“Nice shot!”
She can’t help the slight grin that spreads across her face at the sudden praise. It’s nice, being recognised in such a way.
Still, Mariner got a decent look at the Cardassian forces, and knows they’re more than outnumbered. They need to get out of here, and fast.
“On my command, stop firing!” she yells out over the comms, and the feedback from them all yelling her way nearly has her rip the badge off.
“EVERYONE SHUT UP! They’re aiming for our phasers- so when I tell you, stop firing and make a break for it! Do you copy?”
Silence
"I Said Doyoucopy!"
A chorus of sir yes sir floods the channel. Looking over her shoulder, she can see snow and little else. The Shuttle’s lights are little but flecks in the snowstorm, but she can’t see the eye-bleeding yellow of the others anymore. “Alright, on three, two, one-”
The Cardassians stop firing.
“...Are they falling back?” asks one of the ensigns.
“Cardassians, no way!” another interjects
“Well-”
It’s amazing, how years of pretending to listen to the lectures of her commanding officers has given Mariner the ability to tune out people speaking- even shouting at her. Makes it so much easier to pretend the bickering ensigns on either side of her are just annoying gusts of wind, rather than men under her command.
It allows her to focus instead on the pass ahead, and the howling wind that whistles through the sky-scraper peaks on either side of it. Like the warble of some malformed bird it twitters along, leaving but brief pauses in the malformed song.
Brief pauses that give away the crunch of snow underfoot.
Mariner’s heart skips a beat.
“They’re charging us, RUN!”
At once, they break cover, and a dozen yellow and purple beams crowd the air. It’s fifty yards to the shuttle, fifty yards of bare snow and shards of flying ice. It doesn’t take long for her to put together that they’re aiming for the shuttle, now. No doubt simply hoping to hit whatever is between them and the shuttle as a by-product.
Something tingles on her neck, and she ducks, letting her pony-tail take a hit that would have caught her straight on the spine.
The smell of burning hair fills her nose, disgusting enough to make her gag even in the middle of a firefight, but there’s not time to hurl abuse, just an ever pressing need to get the fuck out of here.
A few yards before the ship she turns, just as the first of the three ensigns makes it inside, firing as she retreats, nearly stumbling over a snowdrift as she slams back-first into the shuttle. “Come on, we don’t have all day!”
The second ensign scrambles inside clutching his arm moments later, no doubt sporting a nasty array of burns. If she’s lucky, the ice-cut on her thigh might be another good scar, should T’ana not try to remove it without her consent…
Wait…
She can’t see the third ensign anymore
“Ensign! Ensign come in!” she calls out over the comms. “Anyone seen Ensign Davies?”
“Sir…” this time the voice doesn’t come over the comms, instead from the hold, where the other Ensign looks at her, no, he’s looking at something else-
Mariner follows the line of his eye, and promptly forgets how to breathe.
There, already halfway buried in the snow, lays Ensign Davies, eyes open, and a circular hole burned through the center of his back, the snow across him bears track-marks that give a name to the so-called snow drift she nearly fell over just moments prior.
When, why, how-
“No, no no nonononononono,” the tears that well up in her eyes freeze, leaving her to almost blindly scramble in the snow towards him. “Get up, come on, get UP!”
She grabs hold of one of his shoulders, wrenching at it, but he won’t budge. “ENSIGN COME HERE, I CAN'T GET HIM OUT!”
“I already tried!” comes the reply. “He wouldn’t budge!”
“OF COURSE HE WON’T BUDGE HE’S FROZEN TO THE DAMN GROUND, NOW- AAH”
She’s cut off when a Phaser barely scrapes by her leg. Even still it’s enough to flash-melt her uniform to her skin. “Damn it! Ensign, that’s an order-”
Shoving a clump of packed snow against her wound, she fires again, this time hitting her mark, as two gray-skinned forms go limp before being swallowed by the gale in turn.
There’s the sound of footsteps, then, and she looks back to find the two other redshirts moving towards her.
“Alright, now-”
“Sorry, LT,” the first says, cutting her off. “We’ve got to go!”
“On those fucking command-”
“The Captain’s!” The second cuts in again, and Mariner looks down dumbly to find her own combadge missing.
There are arms then, two pairs. They drag her off of Davies and into the ship, and though she should fight them, she wants to fight them, she lets them. All the while never taking her eyes off of the man’s own.
They throw her in the pilot’s chair and instinct takes over. She barely registers the on-board medic cutting away at the fabric of her pant-leg.
She barely notices anything at all, really.
As Mariner pilots the shuttle into orbit past the maze of mountain peaks capable of swatting the Cerritos out of the sky like a gnat, she can only focus on one single thing.
His eyes were green.
-
“No, and that’s final.”
“But-”
“Lieutenant Jr. Grade Mariner- that is the last I’ll hear of it,” says Captain Carol Freeman, in her oh-so familiar captain voice that Beckett has never once found anything but grating. “I… understand your grievances, but I can't risk another team, much less continued aggression with the Cardassians.”
“Then make it volunteer only!” Beckett cuts in, raising her hand. “ I’ll go, and I know at least three others that will,” at her mother’s unconvinced look, she crumbles slightly. “He was my responsibility, I just… I just. I want his family to have something to bury.”
“Ensign Davies had no living relations,” comes Commander Ransom’s voice- hard, even if his eyes are kind. “And even if he did, reports state that a few hours were enough to almost bury the shuttle in snow- it has been a full day now, even if we could, there’s no guarantee we’d be able to find him-”
“THAT’S NO EXCUSE NOT TO FUCKING TRY!” she roars , rounding on Ransom.
His mouth shuts with an audible click, the finger jabbed into his chest still there by the time Beckett realizes just what she’s done. She half expects a visit to the brig, blinking up through the sudden tears in her eyes.
No, not here, not in front of them.
“Even without the Cardassian interference, this was a difficult mission. I mean, hell. I’m impressed you even landed, much less got off that rock again, there’s a reason this was a special assignment.”
It’s subtle, but Mariner watches her mother freeze. “special… how?”
“Special in that the crew was picked both for competence and… effect on morale in the event of something going wrong-”
“Commander Ransom-” her mom hisses, and Jack freezes, eyes flicking between the two women in such a way that it might as well have been morse, for the message it sends is pretty clear.
Mariner wasn’t supposed to know about that tidbit, and for good reason, because now she’s really pissed off.
“Effect on morale…” Mariner mulls the words in her mouth, and finds she doesn’t like the taste at all . “You mean the ones nobody would miss, right?”
“Beckett, that’s not-”
“Then what? So you just picked the expendable ones- geez, what a message that sends, mom!”
It’s petty to see her mom flinch like this, but Beckett has always been good at that, twisting the knife as it goes. “Well I’m sorry for coming back in any case, then!”
“ They might have been picked as such,” comes her mother’s voice, with special emphasis on the ‘they’ bit, even if she’s only in a mood to halfway believe her. “You, however, were chosen because you excel in situations like this.”
The snort she lets out is not a pretty thing. “Yeah, and look how that turned out…”
“Beckett…” That’s, that’s not the captain's voice, that’s the mom voice. And Mariner, for her part, refuses to look up. She knows that if she does, she’ll break. “I picked you for this mission because I knew you would get it done!”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t, now did I…” Mariner says, and turns on her heel to leave, her mother’s voice follows her out of the room, but she ignores it, decades’ worth of practice paying off as she makes for her next destination
-
“...Did you hear about Mariner’s last mission?” Boiler asks in the middle of dinner, glancing over his Chili to find her seat conspicuously empty. “Heard things got really out of hand on that planetoid.”
“Yeah,” Tendi replies with a constipated frown. “Apparently there were some Cardassian pirates on the planetoid. We had to deal with phaser burns and frostbite at once, which is… surprisingly more difficult to handle than you’d imagine.”
“Yeah, I heard one of them didn’t make it off,” Rutherford cuts in then, and the silence is palpable.
“ What?!”
Tendi’s panicked shout draws half the cafeteria’s attention, but the Orion doesn’t care, too busy pestering Rutherford for information. Meanwhile, Boimler slides over to T’lyn who is still working on something on her PADD to ask the foremost question on his mind.
“So…. What are the chances Mariner is going to take this well?”
“Zero,” T’lyn interjects.
Boimler sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Yeah, thought as much- where is she?”
“Holodeck!” That's Rutherford again, half-heartedly fighting off Tendi, who is halfway on the table trying to literally pry information out of the man. “I saw her storm in at least- not sure if she’s still in there!”
Well, the Holodeck is a start, better than nothing at least. “Alright, I’ll go check it out- T’lyn?”
“Understood.”
“Hey, mind helping me?” Rutherford calls out, still fighting off Tendi’s prodding assault.
Boimler, helpfully, scoots out of his seat and makes for the Holodeck, vaguely aware of T’lyn’s footsteps behind him as he makes for the Holodecks.
-
They run into Ransom- almost literally- as they turn the corner towards Holodeck 3. Boimler skids to a halt just inches before most likely bouncing off of the Commander’s chest. “Oh, sir Commander Ransom sir!”
“Lieutenant Boimler, T’lyn,” he says, sneaking a look at the Vulcan over Boimler’s shoulder. I assume the both of you are here with regards to Lieutenant mariner?”
Oh Boimler so hates getting put on the spot. T’lyn merely raises an eyebrow in reply when he looks back at her for something to say, which makes turning back to the creased frown on Ransom’s face ever more awkward.
“I- uh, yes, sir! We heard something went wrong on the mission and wished to check up on our friend, just to make sure she’s alright!” he says, opting for the truth. “Wait… how do you know sir?”
“Because I’m here to do the same thing,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder at the Holodeck. “I don’t know what she did, but I can’t get in.”
“Oh that’s probably ru-” Boimler begins, before he bites back on possibly indicting Rutherford of (further) tampering with Starfleet property. “Rude- I don’t know, maybe? Maybe she just wants to be left alone?”
“Yeah, it doesn’t work like that lieutenant,” Ransom says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’ll be honest with you- if you make sure she doesn’t do anything insane. Like steal a shuttle to retrieve ensign Davies, or eject the Warp core onto the Cardassian base or something, alright?”
“Ensign Davies is dead?” Boimler hates that he only vaguely remembers the name. “I- I remember the name, vaguely.”
“Probably from karaoke night,” Ransom offers. “That man could sing a ballad.”
“Indeed,” T’lyn says, popping up between them and scaring Boimler halfway to a heart attack. “his voice was… soothing.”
“Forgive me, Commander- but why are you looking out for Mariner? Did Captain Freeman ask you to check up on her?” it’s not like him to be so forward, but curiosity has its claws in him.
That, and the fact that whenever Mariner is involved, Boimler finds it that little bit easier to say the things he’d normally think best remain unsaid.
That being said, though. It takes about all the unwanted experience he has facing increasingly more terrifying aliens he’s gathered over his stay on the Cerritos to keep a straight back in the face of Commander Ransom’s quirked brow.
“I- uh, I mean no respect, sir.”
Ransom just snorts, clasping him on the shoulder. “At ease, Boimler, I can forgive a worried friend a slip-up. One. ”
“yes sir I’msorrysiritwonthappenagainsir…”
“See to it that it doesn’t,” he says, taking a look at the Holodeck again. “As for your question, no. I am not here because Captain Freeman sent me here. I am here because Mariner is my responsibility, as I’m sure she’s told you, I have direct oversight on her- including anything that might adversely impact her.”
“Indeed, it would only be logical to assume the mission on Batraxxi VI to have adversely affected her mental state.”
Ransom gives the Vulcan a side-eye, but nods. “Losing someone in a mission is hard enough- when you’re directly responsible for them it’s even harder, but Mariner? What has she told you of her past?”
Boimler wants to answer, but finds he can’t. “A stint on DS9, some familiarity with Captain Riker, among other things. Is there something we should know?”
“Probably, though that’s her story to tell,,” Ransom says. “I’ve waited here for three hours already- I’m not likely to spend a fourth here. I could be filing reports, or working out, or both. Regardless, I can see she’s in good hands here… just tell her to report to me within 24 hours, alright?”
“Will do sir,” Boimler says, then, because he’s an idiot, he asks the one question you’re not supposed to ask an officer. “Does it get easier, losing men?”
As it turns out, whatever Gods- or God-like entities- in the cosmos exist, are smiling down on Boimler today, because Ransom does not turn around and feed him his teeth, instead limiting the expression of his discomfort with a snort that sounds almost wistful…
“No, it never does. But if you ever hope to make captain, it’s a feeling you best end up getting used to,” he says, in a rare show of commanding competence not likely to be repeated this century.
No sooner has Ransom turned the corner, does Mariner step from the Holodeck. Sweaty, smiling, and altogether surprised to see the both of them. “Hey guys, what are you doing here?” she says, in an altogether tired but happy tone.
“We uh- we were looking for you!” Boimler says. “We heard about the mission, and…” he trails off, not sure what to say, but thankfully T’lyn does.
“Lt. Boimler expressed concerns with regards to your mental state- I agreed, though you seem… more centered than I expected.”
Mariner snorts, and Boimler can’t help but notice that the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I just spent the last three hours blasting Cardassians, I’m fine. Though it’s sweet for both of you to check up on me!” she says, turning on her heel. “I’m off to the sonic showers, see you later!”
“Wait, Ransom said he- aaand she’s gone,” he says, watching her turn the corner without breaking stride. “She seems… off, doesn’t she?”
“Correct,” T’lyn agrees, which means he’s not crazy, because T’lyn notices everything. “She is lying.”
-
-End log,”
The computer gives an affirming beep, the mission report joining the data banks of the Cerritos, a copy being shipped off to Starfleet command for clarity’s sake. The mission on Batraxxi VI officially labeled a failure, with the planetoid itself being marked as a danger zone and known pirate hideout.
In her nearly fourty year tenure with Starfleet, Captain Carol Freeman has had to deal with many things, the death of crewmembers an unfortunate truth of the line of duty. Shaxs’ death notwithstanding, it's always a somber affair, though time has hardened her to it.
Things go wrong, unforeseen consequences cost lives, sheer dumb luck or simple malfunctions. At least it’s not another war, the Galaxy has been relatively peaceful these past few years. She remembers the Dominion war firsthand, and half a dozen conflicts before that. Bajor, even the odd skirmish with Klingons… those were bloody times.
Absent-mindedly, she looks over the file again, pausing as her daughter’s name looks back at her. Standard procedure, after all, is to include the mission’s highest ranking officer. Below that the mission status blinks back an ugly red, reading [FAILED] in bold lettering.
Below that still, reads the loss report. [KIA: 1]
She frowns, remembering her daughter’s words. A twinge of annoyance seeps in at the now-expected disregard for rank or authority. Honestly it’s a wonder any of her officers still respect her, with how much of a free reign she gives Mariner.
Still, there’s something that doesn’t sit right with her. It’s not an uncommon occurrence for Mariner to defend her friends, because for all her many, many flaws as a member of Starfleet, Carol can't help but be proud of the fact the girl she raised has such strong morals. But ensign Davies wasn’t a friend of hers, he was a Starbase washout with a foul temper and six demerits to his name, her ship is full of those at this point.
They would have gotten along like a house on fire, in retrospect. Still the mention of Davies brings her back to Mariner, and her daughter’s… she can’t quite find the word, in fact. She can’t quite remember the last time she’s seen her daughter so worked up. Even after Carol threw her off of the ship, a particularly dark day in their relationship that she’s sure Mariner still holds a grudge about, she seemed more calm.
In fact, she seemed almost resigned when no-one had believed her.
Even though she manages to shake the thought, she can’t help but sigh, pushing herself away to pull a small flask of Romulan ale from one of her trophies.
Her daughter isn’t the only one capable of hiding contraband aboard Starfleet vessels, after all.
It burns like fire going down, and the less said about the taste, the better, but it's a numb heat that spreads across her body, even down to her toes, stilling her fraying nerves, even as the thought of her daughter lingers.
They used to be closer, upon a time. Back when Mariner still attended the academy they were thick as thieves- Alonzo and his daughter had never quite had as close a reaction, Admiralty duties having seen her husband miss one too many birthdays to be completely forgiven for, but Mariner had never seemed to mind.
That was the crux of it, wasn’t it?
It was terrifying , when the Dominion war broke out, far too soon after Mariner’s graduation into an Ensign. She remembers well the restless nights pouring over casualty report after casualty report, hoping against hope that her daughter wasn’t amongst them.
She wasn’t… unaware of what her daughter had gotten up to during the war, her husband’s connections seeing the both of them relatively well informed, but she still vividly remembers the thought that first entered her head when she saw Mariner again.
Her daughter was alive, but the girl she’d raised was dead- instead there was a young woman missing the light in her eyes that had taken her so, so long to find again, and even then it was different. She was angry, erratic, bouncing around from ship to starbase and back again.
Both their reputations took a hit because of it, and that hurt. It felt like a betrayal, especially when nothing they tried seemed to work. No therapist would take her for a second session, no counselor could get through to her, and no punishment could get her to behave like the girl Carol had known.
It was an ugly truth, and not something she was proud of, but it was the truth regardless. Even in those first years, when Carol still tried to reach out, when she was still grasping for the girl that was gone… she’d always known.
The worst part? She had no idea if there was anything left to fix between them, half the time. They were on better terms now than in the years before, but that meant little, didn’t it?
Mariner never talked about what happened during the war- Freeman has heard her joke about some things, maybe even divulged a story or two, but everything she knows of her daughter’s tenure has been second hand, and too much of it hidden beneath black ink.
Another memory passes her by, drifting up with the waft of intoxication that slowly takes her over. She’s not sure how Beckett manages so much at once.
Still, she takes another sip, because it’s not a pleasant memory. It was one of those rare occasions where all three of them were on leave together, not that it mattered, because they spent most of those 14 days arguing, with Alonzo trying to mediate as best he could and not really making any headway in either direction.
She remembers the 11th night as if it were the day before, and how a single comment turned into a screaming match that saw both parties angry. She remembers hearing Mariner go out, and then come back in sometime around 4.
Despite her better judgment, she remembers getting out of bed, too angry to sleep and preparing herself to confront her inebriated daughter and likely have a second shouting match.
What ended up happening was her standing halfway hidden at the top of the stairs, watching her daughter softly weep into a pillow. For all Mariner is loud, and over the top, she’s never been one to bawl. Not one for crying at all, really, she still remembers an 11 year old Mariner breaking her leg during a football match and cursing rather than crying.
There’s bits, figments, words that pass her by like memories. She vaguely recalls the mention of an old friend, and a muttered litany of apologies.
She remembers walking away, unsure what to do, and wonders how things might have been different had she been brave enough to make herself known.
That’s the thing with being Starfleet- with being human , she supposes- you collect regrets like you do scars, and eventually you’ll have a lifetime’s worth.
She just worries her daughter has too many already.