Disclaimer: I don't own or claim to own Star Trek or any of the characters contained in this story.

Chapter One: The Call

Marla flexed her fingers over her hairline. She rubbed her ashy brittle red frizzed curls. Several strands fell into the sink. It was happening.

She could remember a time long ago when she could comb layers upon layers of red curls before getting the mess decent. Now she could barely touch her hair without it crumbling from her grip. She faced herself in the mirror. She still had her eyes. Ordinary as they were they were large, brown, and round. Her father often commented that she looked like an animated character ready to chase away furry creatures into space. Her brother would make her feel comfortable in her skin asking why she had been given such a small nose while he had been blessed by his father's oversized beak.

Marla could smile about it now. It didn't make the hairs in the sink disappear. She swallowed turning the water on to wash away the evidence. She ran her finger under her nostrils to sate some snot before looking at her face again. Her hairline was receding. It wasn't too noticeable. Her skin was fading as well. There wasn't a healthy glow to it only a pale mess of colorless cells and purple veins. She touched her dry rounded bottom lip hoping to steady the quivering. Peeled skin only joined her fallen hairs in the sink.

The woman didn't want to think it, but the words played into her mind.

She was looking at a dying woman.

The very same infliction that had overtaken her mother was infesting her system. She dyed withered, but not alone. She had held her mother's hand as she laid dying. The doctors called her a fool. Her mother had been exposed to great amounts of radiation in her last mission.

Marla had already been overexposed to her mother. However the woman didn't need to miss a chance to hold her mother. The image she faced in the mirror was one she had earned with pride. The red head smiled at herself for a moment before omitting a deeply powerful cough. She spit into the sink watching blood swirl down the sink. She could hear the beeping echo from her bedroom. Her guest picked it up.

"I'll relay the message, Sir."

She spit again closing her eyes at the idea of work, but she needed to continue. Her mission was not complete. She had to remain in Starfleet as long as there was breath still in her. She turned to retrieve her silk pink robe sprawled across the floor. She draped it over her naked body before going back into her bedroom.

She looked at the cadet in her bed. He was young, a recent graduate who was still wet behind the ears. He had shaggy hair that had yet to be cut, black and thick around his eyes. He crushed the sheets of her bed against his body hoping to hide his imperfections despite the intimacy they had recently shared. His eyes darted to her briefly before he looked to her communicator settled between his legs on the bed.

"It was Admiral Marcus, Miss." His shaky voice suddenly annoyed Marla. "He'd like for you to call him back." She smiled slightly. The admiral? She was glad to hear it. She had struggled to get his attention.

She crawled onto the bed uncaring that her robe may or may not have opened. The young man shifted as she reached between his legs for the communicator. She wondered what had finally brought a historian like her to the attention of Admiral Alexander Marcus. Her recent exploration to uncharted territory? Her travels to Australia and her new discoveries? Her book? It had to be her book. The title was too fitting for Marcus not to notice. The History of Our Violence: The Traumatic Expressions of War. It must have been that.

"Admiral Marcus please." Her voice chimed with much joy. "Dr. Marla McGivers." The assistant on the other side patched her in. She was sure Marcus had many people to go through in order to get to him.

"Lieutenant McGivers." The military admiral chimed. "I was hoping you would return my call sooner rather than later."

"I was happy to hear from you, Admiral." She smiled taking herself off of the bed. She looked at the young man again, strong shoulders, dense arms, yet a sheepish expression. She pointed to his clothes on the floor looking almost sternly at him as she did it. The young man hurried to retrieve his things. "What is it I can do for you?"

"The Kelvin Memorial Archives, Lieutenant." Marcus spat out. "I'd like to meet you there."

"The archives, Admiral? In London?" She was surprised. She had not worked at the archives since after she received her doctorate. That had been even before she had joined Starfleet. She also wasn't sure what the admiral was doing in her neck of the woods.

"That's the one." He sounded suddenly overwhelmed and frustrated. Marla was half glad she could make him feel that way. She nodded to the young man as he pulled his Starfleet uniform shirt over his head.

"May I ask why, Sir?" Her British accent shined through in that moment.

"I'm afraid I can't inform you of anything until you have entered the archives, Lieutenant." It all sounded so secretive, but she wasn't sure why a historian was needed in something as important as what Admiral Marcus was suggesting. "I will see you at O eight hundred hours." Marla realized that was soon, but the line was dead before she could say anything else.

The communicator snapped closed as she looked to the carpet. She watched her toes wriggled with excitement against the plush carpet. She had been hoping for an assignment since she had been relieved from the USS Bradbury. Her illness had finally caught up to her duties in the field. However the lieutenant was a firm believer in conspiracies. Her father had raised her on helpings of government lore about corruption between leaders. It always fascinated her. Now she may be living in one.

"Did you want me to go?" He had finally finished dressing.

"Hmmm?" She looked at the young man. He was straight laced with his back held firm. She could watch his body quiver when her eyes went to him. She raised her eyebrows in amusement. "Oh, yes. I think it would be best." She patted his ensign on his chest. "I enjoyed your company, Mr. Hadler." He raised his eyebrows surprised she had remembered his name. She looked at the communicator in her hands twisting it wondering what she could possibly plaster her body with to make herself more presentable. She then noticed the man was still there. "Please go now."

He hurried out without wasting a moment. Marla McGivers crossed her room letting her closet door slide open. She gazed at both uniforms, one gray with slacks and the other, a red short dress. Deciding wasn't difficult. Just as reminding herself how badly she wanted Admiral Marcus' blood on her hands wasn't hard as well.