Lost in Darkness: Found in Stars
Chapter 2: Chess
"The key to chess, my darling," a soft voice, speaking an unfamiliar tongue, said from across the board, "is to always be two moves ahead of your opponent."
The sunbeams were soft as they filtered in through the window. Dust particles danced on the rays of light and the sweet Indian breeze, as the lovely smell of grass and tropics floated in. Green eyes—far too large for the beautiful young face they were set in—gazed longingly out the window, before turning back to the black and white pieces and squares laid out before her.
The room was dark, except for the bit of sunlight coming in through the window. Neither of the pale figures seemed to mind as they sat in the shadows, watching one another with sharp and playful eyes. Their voices were like song over the quiet of the morning.
"How can you stay ahead if you don't know what the other person is going to do?" The girl replied in the same language, a rarely used dialect of Russian. White teeth, brilliantly sharp and menacingly deadly, grinned, almost warmly. Long adept fingers brushed through tangled waves of hair as the man considered his answer.
"Life is all about probability, bāgha." He switched languages as he spoke. His harsh Russian words giving way to a smooth Middle Eastern purr. "You must anticipate and prepare for all options, moving towards one as the probability changes."
The little girl bit the tip of her tongue as she focused her gaze on the board. She was a small thing, even for her age. No more than seven, with her pale skin crinkled in concentration. Short inky locks and wide brilliant emerald eyes were set into her angelic face.
She reached for a knight before freezing for a moment and retracting her hand. Her eyes flickered back and forth across the pieces as she tried to work out the solution. She did this several more times, before letting out a huff.
"This is hard," She wined, switching to her native and familiar language as her lips trembled with frustration.
"Of course it is," the man replied, switching languages again. This time, allowing his voice to take on the soothing cadence of Spanish. "All good things are difficult to achieve, but that is what makes them worth achieving. You are more than a beautiful face, my yōd'dhā. You have a brain, use it."
She gazed up at him for a moment, her eyes searching, before she nodded slowly.
"Good." He spoke Greek now, his lips hitching into a smirk at the look of distain on the girl's face for the long lost language. "Now, what is your next move?"
XxX
Star Date: 2260.050
Location Unknown
Eyes—cold ominous storm clouds rolling on the edge of the horizon—stared unblinking across the table. Pale thin wrist, encircled by bulky metallic rings, sat calmly as slim bare ties tapped rhythmlessly on the floor. Buzzing echoing silence, with an unnatural metallic edge, filled the sterile space. The grey room was painfully well lit from fluorescent bulbs imbedded in the perfectly flat walls and ceiling. The only grove in the flat grey cube was the dent where the chains attached to the prisoner were sodded to the floor. There were no visible doors or windows. The only furnishing was a bed—a simple mattress atop an old rotted wooden frame—and a metal table with two chairs. In one chair sat the prisoner. She was a young woman, no more than twenty, with long greasy black hair that hung lifelessly around her pale features. She was muscular and thin, her prisoner uniform hanging off her skeletal frame. Across from her sat the doctor.
"Yes, well Miss..." The man trailed off as he met his patient's eyes. Dr. Richard Whitman was an intelligent man. He may be old, fat, and bald, but he was smart. He had been a psychiatrist for over forty years: first as the head of psychiatric medicine at the top mental health institution in the country, then as a CMO and head of mental health on a major star base. Even after retiring, he had kept up his license to practice, and continued to read the newest finding in the world of medicine. In that time, he had learned a lot about people. How to tell when they're lying, trick them into the truth, read their subtext, and, of course, get them to take their medicine (because in truth everyone was a bit of a child when it came to needles and couch syrup.) But, perhaps the most important thing he had realized was the truth to the saying: the eyes as the window to the soul. He had seen a lot of strange things over the years, but that had always remained a constant—even with his non-humanoid patients. He could always look at someone's eyes and tell if they could be pulled back from the edge, or if they were too far gone to help. It all depended on that glint of humanity and how much of it was left after their internal battles with whatever demons they were fighting.
That all said—he had never seen anything like this.
The eyes across from him were cold, blank, and practically frozen in their stillness. The irises had ribbons of gold, glowing from their place embedded in hard emerald stone. The pupils were dark and limitless in their depths. The doctor felt his hands begin to shake as he met those eyes, eyes empty of emotion, empty of life, empty of any glimmer of humanity.
He cleared his throat and looked away. He had come in to see this girl as a favor to an old friend. (Possibly the oddest favor he had ever been asked. They had found the girl buried in the bowels of an unused prison block, guarded by six heavily armed black ops officers. There was no record of her trial and imprisonment, or even her existence. The guards only knew her name, and their order. Very strange.) He would follow through with his promise; he would try to talk with her. He just didn't think he could look at those eyes while he did it.
"Ummmmm... Miss Harrison, my name is Dr. Whitman," He paused taking a breath as he tried to center himself. "I have been asked to come in and examine you on behalf of Star Fleet. I am a well-trained and vetted psychiatrist, so if you have any concerns please feel free to tell me." His eyes flickered from their position, gazing at her forehead, to her eyes. She stared back. He wondered if she ever blinked. "Yes, well," he felt sweat start to accumulate on his brow. "Why don't we start with why you're here?"
Heavy silence echoed in the room.
"Ms. Harrison? Can you tell me why you have been imprisoned? What charges you were brought up on?"
More silence.
"Anne, I understand how frightening this must be, but I cannot help unless you let me. So please, talk to me." Her eyes flickered away from his, her cold gaze drilling into the wall just behind him. Richard could almost feel the physical presence of her line of sight over his shoulder.
Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the door behind him opened, two heavily armed guards stepped in, followed by a young man dressed in a beautifully tailored deep blue suit. He was young—just a boy really—and had the look about him of being too put together. His posture was too straight, his hair too flat, his smile too fake as he stood in the doorway.
"Commander," Richard said in surprise. He sat, half turned in his chair, his shock clearly written across his features.
"Hello, doctor, how good of you to come in." Commander Zabulus spoke, his false pleasantry hanging cold and flat in the air.
"Yes, Dr. Williams asked me to stop by…"
"I thought he might." The Commander mussed, "although I did not expect you to arrive in such a timely manner."
"I was in town..." Richard explained hesitantly. His eyes flickering nervously to the guards on either side of the man. They were tall bulky fellows, dressed in specialized armored uniforms. They each held a large automatic-weapon which the doctor couldn't have named if he tried.
"Yes, thank you for coming, but your services are no longer required. We have brought in a specialist to take care of Ms. Harrison." His voice took on a hard edge near the end of the statement.
The young prisoner met the Commander's gaze with a chilling fire burning in her eyes. Her feet pressed hard into the floor as she tensed, ready to move at a moment's notice.
"I'm not sure that..."
"Again, thank you for coming doctor, your hard work and dedication to Star Fleet, even after retirement, is most appreciated." The Commander continued. Richard knew when he was being dismissed, and despite the nagging feeling that something terribly wrong was happening, he nodded and rose out of his seat.
"Always happy to be of service, sir." He walked between the two guards—their burly figures taking up most of the doorway—and out into the hall.
"Nathaniel," Commander Zabulus said coolly, not taking his eyes off the girl across the room. "Take care of Dr. Whitman. I don't want any loose ends." The guard on the left nodded before walking out, closing the door behind him.
The sound of scraping medal filled the room as the chair was pulled out. Aarini suppressed a shiver as the sound assaulted her sensitive ears. The commander smiled. It was a twisted sort of grin, the smooth, evil, kind of smile you see on a mask or statues of the devil.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk…Aarini—may I call you Aarini?" Zabulus said, his patronizing tone dripping with fake pleasantry. The girl's only response was to draw her lips back from her teeth in a terrifyingly deadly snarl. Her eyes burning with promises of retribution and pain. But, the look didn't seem to deter the man in the slightest—making the prisoner think he was either incredibly brave, or stupid. If she were to bet, however, it would be on the later.
"I feel as if we're old friends, you and I." He continued, "Working together towards a common goal, comrades in arms, if you will. Which is why I was so…upset," He settled on the last word with a slimy sneer, which made Aarini uneasy, "Upset to hear about the trouble you've gotten yourself into.
"The people hunger for justice." His voice boomed in the small cell as, if he was making some grand oration. "They must have justice to sooth their anger and pain. And with Khan dead…" Aarini froze. Suddenly, every muscle in her body seemed unable to do anything. Even the most mundane task, such as breathing and beating her heart, seemed so difficult they had to be considered simply unachievable. Andrews glanced at her his smile now truly sadistic. "Oh, didn't you hear?" He smiled. "The torpedoes you manufactured were fired at a desolate moon where he was in hiding." Aarini exhaled, the air catching in her throat as she trembled. No.
Her felt her hands tremble as her vision became blurred and hazy. Her heart pounded, heavy and sore, in her chest. Her chest cried out in pain as she sucked in a slow breath of air. NO. He couldn't be dead. Her father—most brilliant and feared warrior in the world—couldn't be dead. He was always leaving, but he ALWAYS came back. He wouldn't leave her alone. Not here. Not with these people.
"Yes, yes, a tragedy, truly. Such a brilliant mind. Such a young death." He said, shaking his head in fake pity. "But, that doesn't help us resolve the issue at hand.
"It seems to me we have two options. I can put you on trial for war crimes against the federation. A case which, I assure you, I will win. Then, you will spend the rest of your life, however long that is, rotting in solitary confident on some maximum security asteroid." Suddenly, he smiled. "Or, you can work with us."
"Because, you see Aarini, we're comrades you and I. Cut from the same cloth, and the powers I work for would be very interested in your…services." Aarini felt her pulse quicken beneath the medal collar she wore. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she fought every instinct in her body that screamed at her to run as fast and as far away as she could. Because although this boy was only a pawn, in that moment Aarini knew that she was up against an opponent the likes of which she had never seen. Someone just as clever, just as powerful, just as ruthless as her father had always taught her to be. Someone who was already three moves ahead in a whole new type of game. And this time she was all alone.
"So," He grinned. "What is it going to be?"