Elle s'est souvenue de l'espoir que le transporteur n'ait pas remis ses molécules en place. Peut-être qu'il serait pris dans une anomalie espace/temps et au lieu de se pointer sur l'USS Orion, ce jour-là, elle se pointerait... un jour plus tôt. Une semaine plus tôt. Une guerre plus tôt. À chaque fois que ce n'était pas aujourd'hui, et que son père était encore en vie. C'est tout ce qu'elle voulait. C'est tout ce qu'elle espérait, car elle attendait que les transporteurs de l'Orion la contactent, l'identifient et la déconstruisent. Appelle ça une dernière prière pour cette version exacte d'elle, moléculairement parlant.
C'était une prière qui, comme toutes les autres prières avant elle dans sa vie, est allée sans réponse - ses yeux s'ouvraient et elle était là. Se tenant sur le tapis de transport, engourdi, blessé, et désespérément se perdant dans chaque once de logique vulcaine et la bonne canalisation des émotions. Elle ne s'était pas montrée à Starfleet Command en uniforme, et donc elle n'y était pas maintenant : elle portait des pantalons gris clair à taille basse et serrée, le haut était de soie de sable vulcain et aussi gris clair avec un éclat de brillance lorsqu'elle était en lumière directe, sans manches coupées et avec un cou qui s'est effondré. Ses cheveux foncés sont tombés sur ses épaules dans des tumbles qui brillaient de douceur presque autant que la soie de sable.
Lorsqu'elle s'en alla et que l'officier de transport se présenta pour la saluer, elle entendit le Vulcain répondre par un simple, détaché, « Enseigne ». Tout le monde le long du chemin jusqu'au pont a tout simplement eu des clins d'œil. Même lorsque les portes du turbo-ascenseur sifflaient et que le pont s'ouvrait devant elle, elle se sentait peu et moins. Elle avait été sur le pont quelques heures seulement avant que la réunion au commandement n'interrompe sa réunion prévue à l'origine. Mais d'une manière ou d'une autre, ces heures étaient devenues des vies.
Au moins, une seule vie. Celui de son père.
FIB attendait qu'elle sorte du commandement de Starfleet, pour lui dire ce qu'ils pouvaient lui dire. Ils savaient où elle était, ils savaient où se trouvait l'Orion. Les deux n'étaient pas séparés - où elle était, l'Orion était, où l'Orion était, elle était. C'était comme ça depuis le jour même où elle a été nommée commandante. Elle s'est retrouvée sur le pont avec des bottes grises à talons hauts qui étaient sans bruit sur le plancher mou du pont, soudainement heureux de l'Orion et c'est la mission d'une toute nouvelle façon.
Vulcain était là où elle devait aller. Pour l'Orion et c'est la mission, et maintenant, pour des raisons personnelles. Voide comme son image extérieure était d'un soupçon visible d'émotion, il y avait le ton le plus étrange, le moindre, quand elle a finalement parlé, s'approchant de la chaise de commandement: "Allons, CONNE." Un soupçon de détermination, et peut-être si vous écoutiez assez fort, un soupçon d'obscurité.
Le V'Shar avait les réponses dont elle avait besoin. Ils les lui donneraient. Ou bien. Elle pouvait le faire dans les limites de son devoir envers l'Orion, elle en était certaine. Même si cela signifiait travailler furieusement les canaux de communication privés - et personne n'avait un meilleur accès aux communications externes que le capitaine Vaella. Et encore moins la grande tâche de même essayer de déchiffrer ses communications privées entrantes et sortantes, même si vous vouliez regarder. C'était une tech whiz combinée à la formation et à l'expérience en matière de renseignement; bonne chance.
La seule faiblesse sur le plan de la sécurité était la personne avec qui elle correspondait, et Charlie était un meilleur pari pour un chiffrement sécurisé que même elle l'était. Le nerd. Le message qu'elle avait envoyé était simple, c'était du texte, et c'était trois caractères:
SOS
Quand le XO s'est déplacé pour se lever de son siège, elle a levé la main, sortir de la paume. "J'ai besoin de changer. Alertez-moi s'il se passe quelque chose. Gardez un œil aigu sur toutes les lectures du capteur." Il n'y a pas d'espace sûr. Il n'y en avait pas eu depuis le début de la guerre. San Francisco avait fait un beau travail pour se lever et courir après l'attaque de Breen, mais ça faisait toujours mal. À l'intérieur, et dehors.
Elle pourrait s'en rapporter à l'un d'eux. Sans un autre mot, elle se tourna sur son talon et fit pour elle la Salle Prête. À l'intérieur se trouvait son uniforme, couché sur le canapé. Sur le bureau, c'était sa console, et ça clignait.
Name: Vashara Vaella
Age: 26 (Human years)
Rank/Position: Captain/CO of the USS Orion
Race: Vulcan/Rihannsu
Appearance:

Personality: 
Vashara Vaella is an overachiever; independent minded and determined. Though her early life on Vulcan was that of a taboo outsider as a mix of a Vulcan and Romulan origin, 'Vash' would prove quite socially capable once she entered Starfleet. Brilliance in multiple fields is weighed down by a strange nature, necessity has brought Vashara Vaella to the Captain's chair--not desire. This strange nature often manifests in behavior many in Starfleet would find unusual for a ship's CO: whether it's thrill-seeking in a holosuite, smoking cigarettes and talking micro-M/ARA assembles with engineers, or tinkering furiously in her own little work shop in her private quarters. This oddness creates a distinct advantage in combat operations: few living Starfleet captains show Vashara's resourcefulness, and none may match her ability to think outside the box in a fight.
History:
Vashara comes from an exceedingly bizarre pairing: a Romulan noble father that felt an outsider upon his home world of Romulus, a man that would leave the Star Empire to explore ancient stories and forgotten sites. While her father would change his name, he would drop the Romulan structure of his name but yet keep the name that meant the most within the Empire: his family name, Vaella. Hailing from an ancient noble line that had been on the wrong side of political in-fighting too often and seen it's fortunes fall in recent times, Artos Vaella found himself entranced by a unique soul he came across in his travels, a Vulcan woman that rejected the teachings of Surak.
The love affair would not last. The Vulcan woman would leave Artos and the newborn child, and disappear just as quickly as she'd come. Desperate for help raising the halfling child, Artos arranged a meeting with a merchant from Vulcan, a meeting that would eventually lead to the self-exiled Romulan noble to Vulcan itself. On the surface, Artos Vaella would become a trader stationed at Vulcan, leaving for extended periods of time, agreeing that Vashara would be best if she were mostly in the care of Vulcan tutors.
Despite Artos' best intentions, there was no easy upbringing for a half Romulan on the surface of Vulcan. Her earlier years were difficult, rejected by peers and harassed for her bloodlines, many times over did Vashara question the wisdom, let alone sanity, of her father to be a Romulan run-a-way that settled on Vulcan, of all places. Even if it was a struggle, Vashara benefited from the education Vulcan provided; going so far as to be accepted into the Vulcan Science Academy, though only after intervention from several forward thinking Vulcans.
Halfway through her time at the Vulcan Science Academy, Vashara Vaella made history: becoming the first VSA student to transfer from the VSA to an Earth based educational institute, The Massachusetts Institute of Technology. In Cambridge, Massachusetts, Vashara would find herself more comfortable than she ever was on Vulcan itself. After graduating the top of her class in Astrophysics, Vashara would go on to Starfleet Academy, focused on becoming an Engineer for Utopia Planitia. But war would have other plans for Cadet Vaella.
While on live field exercises with Gold Squadron during her time with the Advanced Tactical Training school of Starfleet Academy, the Defiant class vessel Gold Squadron operated came under surprise attack from a group of Breen. Vashara's Senior Instructor, Cadet Commander, and Cadet Executive Officer were all dead in the first minute of the Breen attack. Chaos and fear spread through the remaining Cadets like wild fire; forcing Vashara in the command chair with a hobbled Defiant against two Breen attack craft.
One Breen vessel was destroyed when it cloaked, losing the protection of shields--allowing Vashara to find the small traces of radiation emitted from it's older cloaking device. The other Breen vessel was destroyed with a weapon Vashara built during the battle with assistance from several Engineering major friends: nick-named the "Toy Box Bomb", Vashara took every plasma mine in the Defiant's arsenal, stuffed them in torpedo casings, added transporter remote tags to each, and teleported the seemingly single large bomb in front of the Breen vessel. The Breen awaited the explosion, diverting full power to the forward shields--just as most any starship commander would, and just as Vashara hoped the Breen commander would. Just then, Vashara and her fellow Cadets activated the transporter tags upon each mine. After the quick fire bluish-white light of the transporters finished, the Breen vessel found itself surrounded by plasma mines...mines the remaining Gold Squadron cadets remotely ignited. Such an explosion across the entire surface area of the Breen vessel overwhelmed the shield grid; Vash and her fellow cadets were ready with pulse phasers, blowing the Breen vessel into space dust.
The instructor, Cadet Commander, and Cadet XO were buried upon the return to Earth with full honors. After Academy officials finished an investigation, an Admiralty Board cleared Vashara and her fellow Cadets of any wrong doing, instead awarding them medals for bravery. Each survivor would graduate the ATT with the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade--save Vashara, who was awarded the rank of full Lieutenant and given command of a small patrol vessel, the USS Hawk, assigned to an area near the Cardassian/Breen border. Lieutenant Vaella would register a quick string of combat victories with the Hawk, showing Starfleet Operations Command the Gold Squadron incident was no accident.
After suffering grievous losses of experienced starship captains, Starfleet Command directed Starfleet Operations Command to recommend a dozen junior officers who had shown exceptional starship combat command potential for immediate promotion and assignment; Vash was promoted to Commander, having already been given a field promotion to Lieutenant Commander by her Wing Commander. She was assigned the USS Cairo, an old Excelsior taken out of mothballs for the war. Though the ship wouldn't survive, Vash and her crew would, commandeering a Breen attack vessel, and use it to complete a mission given to them by Starfleet Intelligence Command; coming to the assistance of a Romulan Warbird under attack by Cardassian and Breen forces.
The Tal'Shiar aboard the vessel recognized the name Vaella, and quickly put two-and-two together: this Starfleet Captain was the daughter of Artos Vaella. Despite the Tal'Shiar's standing kill on sight order for her father, the Romulan Star Empire expressed faith in Vashara Vaella to Starfleet Command, leading to a new mission and a new ship: newly minted Captain Vashara Vaella was to take command of the USS Orion, on a mission that came directly from the Office of the Federation President.
Skills: Advanced Starship Tactics, Tech Specialist, Guitarist.
Other: N/A

"Jolan tru, daughter."
Her father smiled, though Vash saw little joy in the act. More a father feigning strength and a stiff lip for a child going off to war is how it seemed to her, as she stood there next to the busy cafe table. They normally met in San Fransisco. Today, however, he requested they meet in Paris. He wore a strange mix of Vulcan fashion with Romulan color added to it, and a few comforts of Earth, like a backpack. They were a strange pair meeting outside the cafe, him with his appearance, and she with a black leather jacket, black jeans, and black square framed sunglasses.
Eventually, she smiled back, and took her own seat. "How are you, dad?"
"I ordered Brandy."
Vash found her eyes opening a little wider, and a new found amusement in her voice. "Thanks for the confidence." Her tone had flipped sarcastic, and half-believing. "I might actually survive, you know--"
The old Romulan man she loved went white, his voice stronger than ever. "I believe you will, yes, but you and I must talk. I have learned through friends that the Romulan government has asked the Federation that you specifically be assigned something in some level of cooperation of the Empire."
"...the Star Empire?" Vash hushed herself as the waiter came and went, leaving a drink she very much, and very suddenly, found herself needing.
"Of course that Empire. Who did you think I meant, those brutes?"
Those brutes, he said. Klingons.
"Those brutes have been fighting and dying right alongside your daughter," her eyes rolled at the aging man as she took a long, deep, drink of Romulan Brandy.
Her father looked this way and that, before his dark eyes returned to her, his body leaning closer to the table just-so. "I understand," he said it with his hands, palm out, rising into the air for a beat before falling back to the table, "I respect what they have done and meant no disrespect, but if you are the daughter I know then you know--"
She knew, alright. "--I know we can't win the war without them."
"Yes," His head nodded, firmly, "and now the Empire has asked that you be assigned to some special mission. It's very disturbing, not to mention potentially dangerous for both of us, and I thought we should discuss it before you left."
Vashara Vaella stared, and sipped. Her mind ran every possibility twice over in her mind, then again once more just for good measure. In the end she was left with a look upon her face that mirrored the very words that came tumbling out of her lips: "What? What are you afraid is going to happen? Are you afraid they're going to try and kill me? Blow up an entire Starfleet vessel just to take out the daughter of someone they want to kill but obviously haven't ever gone to that much trouble TO kill?"
Artos Vaella, once Lord of Vallavan, merely narrowed his eyes, and lowered his voice. That's when she knew she was in trouble, since she was little more than a small girl it had always been that way. Once his voice lowered, instead of anger making it rise, she knew she was good and truly in trouble. "Vashara Tel'laa'vor Vaella, I'm a little surprised in your ignorance. They wouldn't want to kill you."
It wasn't until he said those words that Vash finally understood the game. "They wouldn't want to kill me, they'd want to convert me."
"Who better than a talented young Starfleet commanding officer to flip? I can hear the pitch now, 'Think of restoring your bloodline, with one decision. Think of restoring your father's honor. Think of your true home.' And that would just be the start of it. If the Empire is requesting you, their motive can only be suspect. You must be cautious, and guarded."
"I think I preferred it when you thought I was just going to die."
Her father smirked, crooked and deviant, rising his glass in the air. "To the good old days when I simply feared you dead, then."
That, Vash found, she could drink to.