Someone To Talk To ***Attention: Adult Material discussing a Rape. Do not read if you do not like material of a sexual nature or violence.***

Posted on Tue Nov 1st, 2022 @ 7:48am by Lieutenant Etrara Khalten

Mission: MISSION 0 - History Speaks
Location: Corridor
Timeline: TBD
2719 words - 5.4 OF Standard Post Measure

Sean Conner O’Keefe was atop a building across from Daystrom Institute. He was sulking and had one of his weapons from his ancient collection. He stroked the Barrett M82, believing he would get sweet revenge upon the person that killed his da. He knew if the person thought they’d be successful once breeching the Institute, they’d try again.

Below, he saw two figures walking toward the Institute. He didn’t know how, but he knew the one figure was the perp. The other, he didn’t know. Sean pit his eye against the scope to get a glimpse of the second. They stopped just under a light.

O’Keefe steadily swept the scope to the second man’s figure. His back was turned, so he held it sure. The first man patted the second upon the shoulder. The second turned, as if to verify if anyone was behind him. It was at that precise second that Sean got the shock of his life. The second figure was his youngest brother Paddy.

Sean awoke with a start, his shorts and blankets soaked. “Paddy, Paddy, Paddy,” he muttered. “What’d ye git yerself’ in to?”

He threw on some exercise clothing, flex shorts and shirt, and ran out the door. The only person he could think to talk to was Ensign Sr’au, his pseudo Lil’ Sis, who came aboard the same day as him.

Hurriedly, he ran to her quarters and rang the chime. Upon no answer, Sean pounded the door. Still no answer, O’Keefe pounded again.

“Lil’ Sis!,” he called through the door, “…Kitty! I nee’ ye!”

The other side of the door remained silent. O’Keefe needed a drink. He rubbed his chin trying to think whether he had some in his quarters. His chin went down as slowly he walked back toward his quarters.

Rounding the corridor, he was suddenly met with great resistance as he collided with what seemed a brick wall. Looking up, his eyes met eyes with an officer of the Klingon race. She was dark, tall, and sexy in appearance.

Sean was not quite himself. Usually loud and boisterous, Sean was more reserved at the moment. “S-a-sorry,” O’Keefe sorrowfully said.

Etrara would certainly have ‘oofed’ if she hadn’t been so fit. She recognised him as the CPO Master at Arms Sean O’Keefe. She prided herself as Chief Tactical Officer on knowing most of the crew, something she really did not have to do but it was just her thing. She arched an eyebrow. The first thing she noted was his piercing blue eyes. “Are you allright? You seem ……. Upset.” She asked.

As Master at Arms, it was O’Keefe’s responsibility to know the crew. He was well on his way to doing so, despite only being aboard a short while. He had all the officers memorized, especially the ladies.

“Lieutenant Khalten!” the Chief responded. “I’m sorry fer runnin’ inta ye. Yeh, I was lookin fer Ensign Sr’au. I nee’ed someone ta talk ta.”

He was opening up to an officer. Sean couldn’t believe that. Perhaps it was because she was a Klingon and most likely endured hard training and came out on the honorable side. Perhaps it was because she was a woman. Maybe, it was the dark eyes that seems to pull Sean inside.

Etrara knew he was troubled, it took one to know one she thought and decided to offer her time. “Please call me Etrara, look if you have time would you like to talk to me?” She knew she must look a sight in her Klingon armour with her B’atleth over her shoulder so she felt she had to add. “I was just in the holodeck.”

Sean’s eyes widened at the B’atleth. It was one weapon O’Keefe didn’t have in his collection. That, and a daqtagh. “Nice weapon!” Sean exclaimed in admiration.

Then O’Keefe came up with a idea. She was the Chief of Tactical. She must like weapons. “‘Ow woul’ ye like ta see my weapons collection? We can talk then.”

“Weapons” Etrara’s eyes lit up. She moved aside the leather skirt covering her thigh to show him the daqtagh strapped to it. “Lead on.”

O’Keefe was know grinning. When Etrara showed the him the blade, he wasn’t sure if he was more excited about the daqtagh or seeing her muscular thigh.

“Follow me,” he stated with a beaming smile.

Sean lead the Lieutenant back to his quarters. Opening his suite door with a swish, the CPO led her to a room strictly dedicated to his weapons. The sniper rifle was on the wall. He had a medieval crossbow, a Winchester 1965 repeating short rifle, an M1, all of which were hanging upon his walls. On shelving units, O’Keefe stored a disruptor next to a Varon-T disruptor. A Bowie knife was beneath them. A kar’takin was leaning in a corner of the room. A teral’n leaned in the opposite corner. A glavin glove was sitting on another shelving unit. Other ancient weapons included a scimitar from Terran Middle-East, a long bow, most likely from the British Isles, and a katana ninjato with some ninja stars about it. These were the first acquisitions of his collection. He bought them during his time growing up in Okinawa while his da work at Daystrom.

Sean held his arms out from his sides. “My pride an’ joy! Can I fit ya somtin’ ta drink? I may not ‘ave bloo’wine, but I do ‘ave whiskey!”

“Whiskey would be just fine, thank you, the stronger the better. Not many humans have a taste for bloodwine but, of course I am only half human.” As she talked she looked round his weapons room reaching out to stroke the bladed and bow weapons. Her eye was caught by the long bow and she caressed the shaft with her fingers. It seemed to be made of a wood called yew, if she remembered her weapons history. “May I handle the longbow?” She asked.

“Aye,” O’Keefe insisted. He was in heaven now with a woman, weapons, and whiskey. He ordered two highball glasses with ice. Grabbing a bottle of Redbreast, he poured a glass for himself and Etrara. He returned and handed her one.

“Ye are a woman af’ me own ‘eart,” the Chief stated. “It seems ye like weapons as much as I. An, ye like whiskey!” Most women he knew preferred the sweet stuff, like rum.

The sniper rifle caught O’Keefe’s eye. He walked over and took the sight of the powerful weapon. He sighed, remembering the dream. “Ye e’er wan’ ta kill someone, Etrara?” he asked in a cold tone.

She took the bow down reverently sizing it up in her hands and holding it against her shoulder. “feels and looks like English yew. An good archer could fire 12 to 16 arrows a minute. Imagine a field of 40- archers and the damage they could do. The longbow was commonly 1.8 meters tall and the best longbows might have required a force of as much as 70 to 80 kg to draw, with an effective range of 140 to 300 metres depending on the weight of the arrow. The longbow played an important role in the battles of Crécy, Poitiers, and Agincourt, some of the most decisive battles in history.” Etrara stopped talking when his tone changed. She took a swig of the whiskey and felt the heat travel down her throat. “I have killed during my time with the Klingon Task force but yes, there is someone I will find and kill one day, my father, why do you ask?”

Sean downed his drink and reached for the bottle to pour himself another. “That’s w’at was eatin’ at me tonigh’. I drempt I had this gun an was waitin’ ta kill me da’s murderer. Trouble is, I don’ know ‘oo tha’ is. Yet, in the dream I couldn’ see ‘is face, bu’ some’ow I knew it be ‘im.” O’Keefe’s voice changed slightly to less cold, glad he had someone there that understood how he felt. “The while lad talkin’ wit’ ‘im was Paddy, me youngest’ bro’her. Tha’s when I woke. Ye wanna kill yer da?”

Etrara held out her glass hoping he would pour her another. “Oh yes I will when I find him. He was a small Klingon from a small house when he met my mother. She was too trusting when he told her he loved her and would marry her. He made her pregnant with me. The day she told him she never saw him again. I was born on Earth and my mother never recovered. She hated me when she saw my Klingon features and all my life she punished him through me. I was 16 years old and came home one day to find her dead. She had committed suicide.I vowed then that I would find and challenge him to the Klingon rite of vengeance. He will die by my hand .” She stopped talking as she remembered and downed the whiskey in one. “What happened to your father?”

O’Keefe refilled Etrara’s glass. “Me da was the Director of Security at Daystrom Institute in Okinawa. They ‘ad a breech one nigh’. He was dea’ afore me Uncle coul’ get ta ‘im.” O’Keefe hung his head after finishing another. “I miss ‘im.”

A poem came to his mind:

Jes’ close yer eyes an’ ye will see
All the mem’ries tha’ ye ‘ave o’ me
Jes’ sit an’ relax an’ ye will fin’
I’m really there insi’e yer min’
Don’ cry fer me now I’m gone
Fer I am in the lan’ o’ song
There is no pain, there is no fear
So dry away tha’ silen’ tear
Don’ t’ink o’ me in tha dark an’ cold
Fer ‘ere I am, no longer old
I’m in tha’ place tha’s filled wit’ love
Known ta ye all as “up above.”

His eyes were reddened and glassy, more from the tears he was holding back than the whiskey. He hung his head and took a sip of his drink.

“I am sorry for your loss.” She said simply as she regarded him. She replaced the bow and sat down. “Have you considered counselling?” She asked him.

“Humph!” Sean interjected, “A bloody waste o’ time! I alrea’y know why I be fecked off. I jes’ need closure.”

O’Keefe poured more of the whiskey into each glass. He hadn’t figured on getting bolloxed tonight, but he was beginnning to feel the affect of the alcohol. For some reason, he found Etrara easy to talk to. He didn’t expect that from a Klingon. Maybe it was her human side.

“Thank ye fer the banter,” he expressed as he turned to her. Thoughts of her sexy appearance replaced those of revenge. “Ye are a soun’ soul. We shoul’ git toget’er and have a craic sometime.”

“Would your idea of closure be the same as mine, revenge?” She asked draining her glass. “May I have another?” She asked.

O’Keefe mischievously grinned. “It’s like ye know me,” he stated as he poured another for her. “Etrara, I’m so glad to ha’e met ye!” He held his glass up as if to toast knowing her.

She smiled and nodded raising her glass to him before drinking it down. “This is a very…….pleasant beverage” she said. “It warms all the way down.” She stood and took off her heavy leather strapped jacket and put it over the chair leaving her leather bustier and split skirt. “She laughed, “it seems to warm all over….you know one day we should get together in the holodeck with our weapons and kill something.” She smiled wickedly. “To be honest it’s not often I get to to do that however I do prefer hand to hand combat. To look ones foe in the eyes before the blade sinks I is very……satisfying. However each real kill leave a mark on one.” She stopped talking and looked thoughtful.

Sean was feeling the warmth too, but it wasn’t due to the Redbreast. He was certain this heat was coming from becoming attracted to Etrara. He finished his drink after the clink of their glasses. Like him, she enjoyed weapons, knowing much about them. When she removed her jacket, the warmth rose. Her strength could be seen in her muscular features. Yet, the muscles did not detract from her looks. They complimented her sexiness. He had to remind himself she was an officer, a rather fiery one.

“Aye!” he quickly answered, “tha’ woul’ be grand! Can I ask, wha’ are ye after in life? I mean aside from revenge. Wha’ do ye wan’?

She reached over him to pour herself a large glass of Redbreast. She felt pleasantly chilled, a feeling she did not get often. She was enjoying herself being with someone who understood, and loved weapons. “Hmm,” she said. “I am afraid you will think me much less Klingon. I want to fall in love, utterly and forever and have a brood of children who will be the lights of my life.” She turned her head as a small tear escaped her. “That will never happen though, for me……” she stopped and took another drink.

Seeing the tear, Sean’s heart went out to Etrara. Her soul was as broken as his. He put down his glass and gently wiped away the tear.

“Aye,” he softly affirmed. “Aye! I’ twill!”

He stood now, face-to-face with her, his fingertip lingering where the tear was. The fact she was an officer didn’t matter to him anymore.

She took his hand and held it. “If you are thinking what I think you are Sean I have something to tell you that might change that. Before I went into the Academy my life was not good. I was teased and abused because of being half Klingon. I was asked out on a date by a tall Academy graduate. I was so happy and proud that someone, a man liked me.” Etrara’s voice became hard. “It was nearly dark. He had prepared a picnic and laid out a blanket for us to sit on. The stars came out and we could hear the ocean. He had brought some small lights which he lit and the flames flickered turning the darkness gold…..” her voice stopped as the room had changed into the scene she was describing. “It was the first time I had kissed anyone.

Then he changed, he held me down and hit me hard again and again until I was dizzy. He ripped my clothes off and raped me again and again telling me how worthless I was and that half breeds deserved to die. He fractured my jaw, my scull my right arm and broke my pelvis. My chest he tried to crush but, due to my Klingon skeleton he only broke eight of my ribs.” She took another drink of Redbreast. He left me for dead, out there amongst the golden lights and the stars. I was found the following day by a couple out walking their dog. I was in hospital for eight weeks. It was then I found out I could no longer have children due to the ferocity of his attack. I believe he graduated and is out here somewhere. I never told anyone his name but, since then I have only been with women, so, you see Sean I am soiled goods.” She trailed a finger down his cheek and turned to go.

Due to O’Keefe’s security training, he realized grabbing her hand and pulling her back around to face him could retraumatize her. He couldn’t imagine the strength it would take for someone to break the bones of a Klingon, who had dense bones. Sean manipulated around a chair to get back face-to-face with her.

“Etrara, ye ‘ave wort’!” he insisted. “Ye are nae more soiled than I be, Lass. Toge’her, we Can figur it ou’.”

———————

Continued in Two Lost Souls