Maquis Reborn

Posted on Mon Jul 22nd, 2013 @ 9:04pm by Lieutenant Colonel Jillian "Phoenix" Sullivan
Edited on on Mon Aug 5th, 2013 @ 4:50pm

1,364 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Mission 83 - Recovery
Location: The Green Dragon
Timeline: Few Days After Returning From the Last Mission, 0340 Hours

Even at third shift, the station moved with up most importance. However, for Phoenix and others of her ilk, the late hours held a different culture and feel, especially in the several hundred promenade decks. Which, the reason the riff-raff came out was because of the fact it was third shift.

Starfleet's finest were in bed, and the least-thought of usually ran the mall floors of the civilian business district of the station. Jillian, in many ways, felt she had more in common with the rejects and misfits of the fleet that got stuck on the graveyard shift, but that was a different story in itself.

As it were, she wore her tan bomber jacket with several major campaign patches on it, and waltzed into one of the most seedy parts of the promenade. Her purpose here was to see someone ominous, with information equally ominous about people she loved.

The Green Dragon was the station's main hub of black market dealing and information brokering, unofficially, and the best pub on the station officially. Its decor was medieval along the walls. Mostly murals of famous fictional dragon battles and knightly sigils upon tower iron shields.

What gave the place character was the authentic alcohol, the smoke-filled atmosphere, and the fact that it was a popular watering hole of all sorts of spacers. Phoenix fit it well with this crowd, as she, like most of the other patrons, wore comfortable jeans.

So as not to draw attention, she took her bomber jacket off and held it in her arms as she sauntered over to an occupied worn brown-oak table by the right-rear window.

The air was a bit cold for Phoenix, as she had on a short-sleeve black baby-T, but she ignored the chills as she approached a thin, tall, and very tan male with a hardened appearance. She knew him well, which was why she became instantly apprehensive.

"Jill," he opened in a bumbling grin that seemed to overshadow his pitted face, and weathered clothing.

"Phoenix, really," the pilot countered as she gave him a polite smile and sat across him. "Jillian died a long time ago."

"Shed new skin as it were," the old man nodded in understanding. "Sullivan isn't a popular name in the more citified parts of the Federation."

"It wasn't like I was given a choice in the matter," she replied coolly as she flagged a waiter. Once she came over, she quickly ordered, "Aldaran bourbon, leave the bottle."

"I want your biggest steak, with mashed potatoes and green peas, to go with the drink." The older man smiled, as if he had not eaten a whole lot in a long time.

Phoenix waited until the waiter left until she prodded, "What's this about, Oxly?"

"Do these people you're in bed with now, know about the hole you were dragged from?" Phoenix paled upon that question, but only for a moment. The thought about the labor camp brought back memories that still haunted her.

"Political prisons are designed for a reason - to be forgotten about so the inmates suffer in secret," Phoenix evaded. "Besides, most of these Federation militants are idealistic fools... I doubt any of them would care to know what happens in those camps."

"Your mom did a lot get you looked at, for possible drafting when there was talk of war with the Dominion," Oxly pointed out as he ruffled his mustache. "What happened to you in that camp, was not right, and she saw you serving in the Fleet was the lesser of two evils."

"So in exchange for my indentured servitude, she suffers in my place?" No one could miss the fire and venom in her eyes. "I got the op compromised. I deserved it, and I would bare it a thousand times, instead of her."

Both of them stayed silent, at least until Phoenix downed three glasses of booze, and Oxly cleaned his plate, for which he finally said, "Your parents never blamed you for getting the cell arrested. All of us knew there was a risk, in asking you to get us more information."

"...And using it to bomb a Federation government building on Thelar VI, was about the dumbest thing the Maquis could of done, to gain support," Phoenix countered bitterly as she rubbed her temples.

"We had to. Gul Halyo sent troops into six of the colonies along the DMZ and the Federation didn't give a damn," Oxly pointed out grimly. "He was there, so we had to take the shot."

Phoenix looked about, almost paranoid that someone in security might be watching. After all, two people from the same Maquis cell, was never a good thing in Starfleet's books.

"I didn't sit down so we can rehash things I prefer to burn from my memory. Get to the point, Oxly," Phoenix finally prodded with an impatient grunt.

"Your mother wanted me to tell you that your friend Aryssa is doing OK," Oxly smiled warmly. "It's not hard being in the colony there, without you."

"I'll send her a few more holovids," Phoenix promised, and she actually appeared a bit anxious about the topic. "Mom recovering from the flu nicely?"

"Very much so. The work conditions have gotten a bit better for the inmates, since there is less demand for merilite crystals," Oxly spoke with relief. "Your father is still working several hours out in the purifying pits."

Phoenix cringed outwardly at that. It had once been a job of hers that she would not wish upon her worst enemy. "But news about my family is hardly a warrant for visiting me, Oxly."

"Well... No, it's not." He gave a very dark nod of agreement, then cleared his throat. "I trust you heard that the Federation is releasing most of the Maquis prisoners, right?"

"I'm aware. Though no one from our cell made the list yet - except the ones that brokered deals with the Federation ADA," Jillian noted with a roll of her eyes, then brushed back her strawberry blond bangs.

"It's causing a big stir, actually. I mean, fourteen years since the war, and many coming out are finding their homes are no longer there," Oxly spoke with a glint of anger in his eyes.

"The boarder lines changed only a little after the treaty," Phoenix tried to console. "The worlds that used to belong to most of the Maquis, were bombed heavily during the war, since most colony worlds held listening posts on them - Left over from the previous war the Federation had with the Spoonheads."

"Have you had on their uniform long enough now, that you no longer care about what happens to the homesteads in the DMZ?" Oxly made Phoenix feel very guilty with that accusation.

"I don't care about what happens to anyone, anymore." It was a bitter admission. One she did not like to have. "Caring gets you into trouble and I'm done bringing trouble to innocent bystanders. So now I kill what brass tells me to kill and I don't ask questions."

"You joined the Maquis to fight for the innocents the Federation ignored. That is not an ideal the Jillian Sullivan I knew, would let go," Oxly challenged and looked at her more intently. "She would still want to fight for the worlds that the Federation quietly keeps signing over to the Spoonheads."

Phoenix filled another glass of booze and began to down it. "...Jillian Sullivan, the idealistic fool of a girl you knew, died in that labor camp. And she aint ever coming back."

"Your parents would want you to finish what you started with us," Oxly called to her, as Phoenix stood up and began to walk toward the exit.

For only a moment, she turned to look at him, and he could see the broken woman under the surface. "What good is fighting the big dog, when ya aint got the teeth to chew at its hind legs?"

Oxly never got to answer her, as Phoenix left shortly after.

Both of them stayed silent, at least until Phoenix downed three glasses of booze, and Oxly cleaned his plate, for which he finally said,

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