Irritation
Posted on June 8th, 2021 by D'bryn Zoë and Hannah Ziredac

USS Atlantis
Main Engineering
June 2, 2400

Hermione Yamura would have written something like, And that evening, which had come not a moment too soon, she happened at whiles to glance up from finishing her minute duties to notice that Main Engineering, though ever-shimmering with the arcane white-blue of the warp core, was a little darker for the new absence.

Run-on comma-abuse and all.

Zoë did indeed glance up from finishing her minute duties, but Main Engineering looked not a whit different. Shift change saw the usual busyness: the catch-ups and delineations, the reinvigorated leave-takings destined for the forward lounge, the smell of coffee and tea as the nightfolk took up their positions.

To Zoë the place was not a whit darker. This troubled her.

Engineering felt every tremor of Commander Ilaihr’s departure. Word had spread that the advent of war played no small part in his decision, bolstering the dreadful anticipation everyone had felt since the possibility became real. Losing the chief officer of the department also meant a shift in rank and duty, and Zoë was not the only one to feel the inherent discomfort. Acting Chief Engineer D’bryn Zoë? Come the fuck on, that isn’t anyone’s reality. Welp, modulate emotional shielding phase variance to compensate for incoming wave of Imposter Syndrome, I guess.

Neither of these factors were the cause of Zoë’s current consternation, however. As she watched the last day-shifters bound toward the turbolift, and gathered her own belongings, she reflected on an old pattern of behavior. It stretched all the way back to the misty borders of her longterm memory, like a dark and still pond on a chilly gray dawn.

The thought began with Ilaihr. Here was a man of a thousand stories, many of which originated from his long service on the Atlantis, and Zoë had not yet heard one, even secondhand. Here was her direct superior, and she had spoken to him once. Granted his style was a little more lassaiz-faire when it came to running Engineering, and Zoë was nothing if not a self-starting busybody, but one brief exchange? And her only takeaway from the conversation was umbrage at the epithet dear girl?

Life in constant commute between households was rough on a social life. Episodic conversations and intriguing encounters teemed aboard those civilian transports of her late childhood and adolescence. One such conversation had led her to the transport’s engine room, where her interests began. But you never saw these people again, and no one approached these chance collisions as anything more.

You get used to this loneliness, and call it solitude. You’re comfortable here, so comfortable that it begins to resemble addiction. You’re presented with the opposite of loneliness yet choose it anyway.

It was the same on the Meridian: another group of full, real people who, to Zoë, had just been dramatis personæ. Ephemeral though her assignment on that ship had been, there wasn’t a single person there she could have called a friend. Lieutenant Kenton had tried, with the invitation to the Tea Club and all that. Even Commander Leirone had cast a line of professionally cordial conversation her way.

Arm’s length, every time.

Then she transfered, and those people were out of her life, opportunities bust.

And it was happening again, here.

Of course it wasn’t just about friendship; you can’t be friends with your commanding officers, and you don’t need to be friends with everyone in your department, or beyond. It was about openness, about just knowing people.

=Λ=

Zoë got back to her quarters, pulled off her uniform, jumped into her comfy, baggy house pants, repped a California burrito (a favorite of Neil’s) and a cup of peach ginger tea. She and her old friend The Middle Distance had a long telepathic tête-à-tête as she ate.

This day had been a real bite in the ass. Hard work down on Refuge, the Chief vanished, Commander Leirone told her to keep a really uncomfortable secret, then there was Captain Ziredac, and Hannah…

Bozhe fucking moi, what the fuck was going on there?

Hannah. This past fortnight had already seen a ripping tornado of emotion surrounding that girl, such that Zoë should have anticipated this paradigm shift. One moment Hannah’s this jazzed-up party-hard hotshot with a libido that could deplete the hydrogen of a dying star; the next moment she’s a tachyon wave of emotional honesty, a good listener, a good talker; the next moment she’s this impulsive ding-dong who thinks she knows how to fix something because she peered over Zoë’s shoulder once.

Now she’s…what, a fugitive too? Made sense, with all that equipment the Skylark had. Salvaged Section 31 tech could not have been anything but ill-gotten, even if the transaction was above-board.

Despite all that, Zoë couldn’t stop thinking about Hannah’s denial that she knew anyone in Starfleet with her last name. Occam’s Razor: she and Jason Ziredac weren’t on good terms, and Hannah didn’t like talking about him. But the more Zoë reflected on Hannah’s tone, wording, pacing, and everything about that moment, it felt not-impossible that Hannah was afraid of Captain Ziredac.

The captain always did have a bit of a hotheaded streak, and the stories she heard about him did not paint him in the most practical, diplomatic, captainly light—but someone to be feared?

Zoë finished her burrito, belched, drank the rest of the peach ginger tea to soothe the storm.

Right on cue: Hannah Ziredac to D’bryn.

Badge. ‘Hey.’

Whoa, y’alright, Zo?

‘I just finished eating. And I’m tired.’

I feel that, sure. You back onboard, then?

‘Yeah. Been for a while.’

Gel. Well? Wanna come over? I still owe you those margs.

‘You and your fucking margs.’

Hey, they’re good, okay? And I figured, since we got my holodeck running, we could do somethin.

‘Like what?’

I got one of my game programs uploaded. It’s multiplayer.

‘I’m not really a hologamer.’

Oh, this isn’t, like, a shoot-em-up or anything like that. Actually feels more like a holonovel or -film. Very story based. Very relaxing too.

‘I dunno, Hannah, I’m pretty wiped, and—’

Come on, Zo, I swear, this’ll be right up your alley.

‘Hannah, I—’

Come on.

Zoë sighed. ‘I—’

I know you want to.

Another sigh. ‘Okay, but I’m not getting dressed.’

Whoa-ho-hoa! What? Are you trying to make me faint?

‘I mean I’m showing up in my grubby house pants and a sweater.’

Cute. See you when you get here.

=Λ=

Erikannah Farm
Spring 12, Year 4
06:10 AM

Zoë stepped out onto the narrow porch of her cabin and found the sun shining on a wide field. Sprinklers spun and sprayed upon many sewn plots of young crops. Next to her cabin on one side was a beautiful farmhouse, and far to the other side was a greenhouse shimmering in the morning light. Through the greenhouse’s half-opaque windows she saw tall crops bearing some kind of blue fruit.

Hannah emerged from the farmhouse carrying two plates. She gave a radiant smile, said, ‘I know you just ate, but have one bite of this.’

The plate held an omelet with some kind of white root vegetable in it. ‘What is that?’

‘Parsnip.’

‘Why am I eating a parsnip omelet?’

‘It buffs your farming skill.’

‘My farming skill?’

‘Yeah. Eat a bite, and the crops you pick will be higher quality.’

‘Um…’

‘Just one bite. You don’t even have to eat any parsnip; as long as you take a bite, the buff goes up.’

Zoë tore a small chunk of yellow egg with her fingers, popped it in her mouth. Nothing happened. ‘Did it work?’

Hannah shrugged. ‘Should’ve. Come on. Ancient fruit time.’

‘Ancient fruit?’

As she forked bites of parsnip omelet Hannah led Zoë to the greenhouse. There were dozens of these plants in here, all of them bursting with the grapefruit-sized blue fruits she had noticed before. ‘Alright, grab a basket. Grab any fruit with a gold star. We’ll turn silver-starred and no-starred ones into wine.’

‘What the hell is this game?’

‘What, you don’t like cutesy farm chores?’

Zoë began picking the fruits that had little gold stars on their skin. Weird. ‘It just never occurred to me that chores could be a fun game.’

‘Me neither, til my ex showed me this game.’

‘There are a lot of gold-starred ones.’

‘That’s the farming buff.’

‘And you make wine with these things? What does it taste like?’

‘No idea. Never had any. The wine is worth even more than the fruit itself, so I just sell it all.’

‘Is that the point? To tell all this shit?’

‘Kinda. The point, I think, is just to live in the world and do whatever you want.’

‘What else can you do?’

‘You can hang out with the townsfolk, make friends with them, even date and marry one.’

‘Weird.’

‘Yeah, I’ll show you my wife when we’re done.’

‘“I’ll show you my wife.” What century is this?’

Hannah laughed. ‘Sorry, I’ll introduce you to my wife. Anyway, you can also go into the mines and find gems and fight slime monsters and bats and dinosaurs and ghosts.’

‘Okay. I officially have no idea what’s going on.’

‘You’ll get used to it.’

Zoë set down the basket, felt a hot heaviness behind her eyes. She clamped them shut, slumped where she stood. ‘Hannah, I have no idea what’s going on.’

The rustling at the far end of the greenhouse plot stopped. Hannah made her way over, concern drawn across her brow. ‘What’s up, Zo?’

Zoë looked into Hannah’s eyes and made a horrid, confusing, and breathtaking realization. If this had been brewing the past two weeks, she had not detected a single particle. Oh shit, she thought. Oh shit oh shit oh shit, I don’t need this, no no no no, this makes everything so much harder, oh shit oh god. Here amidst the make-believe fruits in some weird-ass farming-slash-slime-killing game, D’bryn Zoë began to fall in love with Hannah Ziredac.

‘Hannah, I…’ Tears welled. Confusion tears. Overwhelmed tears.

‘Hey,’ Hannah said, putting a gentle hand on Zoë’s upper arm. ‘Hey, Zo, it’s okay. Whatever’s itchin you’s gonna be okay, okay?’

‘I’m not sure it is.’

‘Wanna tell me what’s goin on?’

‘I’m not sure I should.’

‘I keep a secret like a motherfucker.’ Hannah proffered her pinky. ‘Honest.’

‘It’s not your honesty that’s in question. It has…’ Zoë sighed. ‘It has to do with you.’

Hannah flew her eyebrows but did not balk. ‘What…what’s up? You can say anything and it won’t freak me out.’

It took a while to get the thought together, piece it into words, and get the words through her teeth, but eventually she said, ‘I know the Meridian’s looking for you. I know that my old captain, Captain Ziredac, is looking for you. I’m confused because you said you didn’t know any Ziredacs, and I’m confused as to why a whole Starfleet starship would be after you, and I’m…’

Hannah’s expression flattened to a mere thoughtfulness, but she still did not back down. She only nodded.

‘And I don’t know what to do,’ Zoë said. ‘I don’t know what not to do. I don’t like the idea of being an accessory or accomplice or whatever, and I don’t like the idea of doing nothing—but I also don’t like the idea of you being in trouble. Then there are the Lights, and the rendezvous we’re supposed to have with that Destiny lady, and I… God damn it, Hannah, I don’t know what to do.’

‘Listen,’ Hannah said, looking down at her feet. ‘You’re gonna be alright. One thing is, you’re not helping me do anything bad; you’re just helping me fix a ship. Another thing: you don’t know what I did, if I even did anything.’ She winked. ‘And if did do anything, it’s nothing monstrous. I swear it. I don’t hurt people. Well, maybe a broken heart or ten, but…’

Hannah drew closer to Zoë, almost literally toe to toe. One of her hands landed on Zoë’s shoulder, then moved gently to where the shoulder met the neck.

‘There’s only one thing we can do now.’

Every molecule of Zoë’s body was lighter than air. All confusion washed away as her thinking gave way to some shapeless desire. Her eyes jumped from Hannah’s eyes to her lips and back again.

‘What do we do?’ she whispered.

Hannah smirked, gave Zoë’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘Computer, end program.’

The greenhouse vanished; the Skylark’s cabin reappeared. Hannah grabbed her jacket, slipped on her shoes. She then came in for a long, warm embrace and said again, ‘You’re gonna be okay. Thanks for tellin me.’

‘You’re not going to get hurt, are you?’

‘Jason’s a real bastard,’ she said, ‘but he can’t hurt me. Not in any meaningful way.’

Before she disengaged from the embrace, Hannah left a hand on Zoë’s waist, leaned in, and said, ‘Don’t think for a second I can’t read signs, Zo. Now ain’t the time, but I want you to hear me: I’m comin for that kiss. Let’s go.’

‘What…what are we doing? Where are we going?’

‘We’re gonna go have a chat with your captain.’