Chapter 3:Flight Or Fight:
Beverly had dismissed her medical staff and sat alone in the heavy chair in her office, with the gloom of the darkened sickbay her only companion. There was a holo-still on her desk of Ingrid, which was haloed by a ring of light that shone down from a single recessed lamp directly over the desk. In the still, the blonde haired woman was smiling from behind polarized UV shades. The body was svelte and lithe and was covered in a royal blue body suit. With trembling fingers, she picked up the framed still from where it sat on her desk and gazed at it as thought not comprehending what it was she held in her hand. Almost absently, Beverly ran her fingers over the surface of the frame imagining that it was Ingrid's warm and supple flesh that she felt under the tips of her fingers instead of the cold laminate of the still itself. Beverly had in the past many male lovers, all of which sought her affections with great aplomb, but the one thing they could never get past was her seeming devotion to her first love, medicine. To her, medicine was life. She lived it, breathed it, and slept it. The course of her studies and her profession was like that of an ever present lover and the thrill of the operating theater, at times, made her drunk with ecstasy as she practiced her art with a precision unmatched in the Federation. Many of her male companions had been soldiers and intimidated at the fact of her independence and that she could hold her own with them. That coupled with the fact of her sharp tongue and famous temper had earned her the nickname "The Red Fury." She had never backed down from a fight and had, on more than one occasion, laid an upstart cadet or lieutenant cold on his ass when they had pissed her off. She never flew into a blind rage, but she could match cut-down for cut-down and God help any man that was fool enough to try to physically restrain her. She was a black belt in the ancient Earth art form of karate and other obscure martial arts forms as well as the fact that she was possessed of a mean right hook.
Fighting hard to hold them back, Beverly felt hot tears force their way from beneath her clenched shut lids and choked back a sob. Never, in some of her worst times in some of her more disastrous relationships with men, had she ever allowed a man to see her cry; she had vowed to herself long ago that she wouldn't allow the sadistic bastards the satisfaction of seeing they had hurt her. However, when she had met Ingrid, all of that had changed, almost overnight. As the woman began her intern with the doctor, the two began to gradually warm to the idea of one another and as time had passed, had become good friends. Beverly had coached Ingrid through the rigorous trials of the Federation's Galactic Xenobiology clinicals and interns that were required for all future doctors. The two women grew closer and during this time, Beverly first opened up to Ingrid some of her fears and aspirations. It wasn't long before Ingrid returned the gesture. Time passed and Ingrid excelled at her practice of medicine and soon, she had graduated and was a full-fledged member of the Galactic Federation's highly esteemed medical community like Beverly herself. It was that night after the commencement exercises on Cerebrus Alpha, at the celebration for the graduates, that Ingrid had opened the slightly older woman's eyes to the hidden pleasures to be discovered in the soft brush of another woman's lips. Beverly was surprised, for she felt no fear or revulsion. To her it simply seemed as natural as breathing. It left Beverly with a lot to think about. Not much later, the war with the SG's had started and Beverly, through some considerable effort of will, had managed to get Ingrid transferred to the Hesperus. The excitement of the war had driven the two women closer together and while they were on duty, they complemented each other as day does night. However, at night, when they were alone in the close confines of the crew quarters, Ingrid would tease Beverly through a round of sexual gymnastics that left both women panting for more. Beverly had come to dearly love her, to love everything about her. Her scent was that of lavender and jasmine and her hair would shine with the light of a thousand suns in its honey-colored strands. But for both women, there was a strong sense of unity and family that filled a need in both of them that neither could deny. With each other there was security, and in these days of war, that was indeed a rare and precious commodity. Beverly sighed and sat the holo-still back on the desk and dried her eyes. Casting a glance in the mirror on the wall to her right, she brought the lighting up with a single word so that she could get a better look at herself. Silently she cursed the image that stared back at her, hating herself for the spot of emotional weakness she had just displayed. She buried her feelings away in the strong box of professional duty and decided to head to the ship's mess hall to force some nutrition into her tired and depleted system.
* * * * *
Jester once again beheld the strangely pulsating key to the TARDIS model that the President had indicated. He was held amazed as it danced and seethed with a life as though performing for an audience. He found a piece of wire and attempted to fashion it into some kind of crude key chain to use with the key. However, at the moment of contact, the chain itself began to glow with a pale silver luminescence until it was consumed by the organic matrix. Jester watched in awe as the living key chain glowed softly at him. The President's instructions were precise and Jester knew exactly which time capsule he would use to steal away from the planet. He had been assigned Councillor Amishtanapadillana, or Amilana, for short. The councillor had been one of the President's inside folks in the development of the secret TARDIS model and she would be guide his guide to make sure he got away from Gallifrey before anyone could discover they were gone. When Amilana came tearing into his quarters that evening in a state high excitement, he knew something was definitely wrong. "Jester! Quickly," she gasped between deep breaths of air, "We have to get you out of here! The President was found murdered in his suites this evening. All the evidence points to you and the Chancellery Guard are convinced you did it!" Jester's mind was numb for a microsecond as he tried to take in the information. "B-but how!?" He stammered, "I was here all evening. I've been preparing to leave! I haven't left the dormitory at all."
"I know that and for the gods' sake, you know that," she replied, "But somehow or another, you've been found out and we HAVE to get you out of here now!" She pushed him out the door and started him down the corridor towards the TARDIS docking compound as she finished this last bit. He made the best speed he could, his dark chestnut curls bouncing in the air as he ran. As they sped through the darkened Citadel, Jester questioned Amilana on her thoughts as to who might be behind the murder. She, between trying to run and catch her breath, stated that she believed that the Celestial Intervention Agency had a plant on the inside who had managed to get the information through some illicit means, but of that, she could not be sure. She also told Jester that the guards had orders to shoot him on sight. At this revelation, Jester needed no more prodding and practically flew, borne on eagles wings, the remaining distance to the TARDIS docking compound.
* * * * *
Beverly entered the mess hall, and noticed that even at this ungodly hour, she was not alone. She could have taken her dinner in her quarters, but she didn't want to be alone just then. She noticed the varied soldiers in the hall, some were engrossed deep in conversation. She saw that the spot usually reserved for the Star Demons special elite force group was empty. When the SG's had hit the Aristolis system, they had been the first casualties in a massive ground assault and they had never even known what had hit them. She had lost a good friend when they had been mercilessly massacred and his death only added the grief Beverly was feeling.
Lieutenant Brandon Braddock had a heart of gold and was the head of the Star Demons special elite force group. His smile alone could light up a room and he was admired by all. Even thought he was just a year or two younger than Beverly, she had looked up to him as an older brother and had taken him into her confidence. He never looked down on her because of her relationship with Ingrid. He was business when the situation demanded it, but in the quiet confines of off duty hours in the heart of the Hesperus he was as soft and gentle a friend as she could hope for. Beverly remembered their last time together before they had been sent in to provide relief and cover for the geologists and terraformers. She and Ingrid had been in Beverly's opulent quarters sharing stories with Brandon over a dinner of filet mignon, new potatoes in a white cream sauce, Dom Perignon, and cherries jubilee for dessert. The wine had flowed freely that night. Before it was over, Brandon had stripped to his bare chest and had kept the ladies entertained as he flexed his chest muscles and made them laugh as it looked liked his nipples were jumping up and down. To Beverly's alcohol enhanced perception, he was like one of the mythological gods of old. His body was very nicely defined and his skin was bronze and contrasted nicely with his light blond hair. Eyes the color of the noonday sky peered drunkenly from a smooth and chiseled face as he continued his antics. It was during this escapade in Beverly's quarters that he earned the nickname they had made up for him out of thin air; Beef Swellington. The ladies were both pleasantly surprised at the very well endowed masculinity that hung between his legs and Beverly snapped a holo-still of him in all his unfettered glory. It wasn't until later, that the three of them recalled the events of the night and vowed never to reveal it to another living soul. However, neither Beverly nor Ingrid could resist calling out after Brandon, using the nickname they had chosen for him, often causing him to turn crimson in embarrassment.
The light was gone from her life. She had only her one love left, medicine, and her father, in his official capacity as the admiral had damned near taken that away from her by confining her to the ship. Feeling like a caged animal, she wandered over to the food dispenser console and ordered up a bowl of soup from one of the Federation member worlds that was a livid green color and glowed like it was radioactive. Her drink of choice, as always, was hot tea, unsweetened. She took her tray and headed towards the closed-off section for the officer's mess which was elevated above the rest of the mess hall and afforded her a view of the rest of cavernous room and hadn't been two seconds in setting her tray down when she heard the deep guffaws of the one person who truly made her like aboard the Hesperus a living hell. She went to close off the balcony of the officer's mess when she came face to face with her nemesis, lieutenant commander Richard Carmichael. Her plans for a quiet and solo dinner slid with uncharacteristic grace down the tubes.
* * * * *
They had been running so hard, that Jester and Amilana nearly slid past the doors to the TARDIS compound. They rushed inside and closed the heavy metallic doors with a quiet whumph and barred the entrance against the oncoming Chancellery Guards. Crossing the room with fear quickened strides, Jester entered the docking control station and entered the coding for the TARDIS' time rotor. As the computer was cross-checking the codes against the ships registered in the compound, an alert began to flash on the ornately designed console. The Chancellery Guard would be able to pinpoint him in no time! He had to hurry. At last, after what seemed like an eternity, the computer spat out a hard copy of the TARDIS in question. He dashed out of the control station and cast his gaze around the docking bay's bare metal cubicles only to see the capsule in question sitting on the far end of the bay. He called out to Amilana and she took her cue and sped like a demon down the length of the stadium-sized compound. Hearts pounding and lungs afire, they came at last to the TARDIS capsule they had sought with all their might. The ship seemed ordinary, the only feature standing out was that its chameleon circuit had been activated. This component must be faulty, Jester thought, as the ship was hazy as though out of focus, and being seen through myopic eyes. He brought the key to bear and as he neared the sensor plate which hid the lock, the key began to undergo a transformation. At first, the key undulated in his palm and then it began to spin and writhe and seemed to dissipate until it at last coalesced into a miniature version of the Seal of Rassilon. As Jester neared the sensor plate once more, the key vibrated and at last he fitted the key into the depression which was the lock. As he slid the key home, it glowed brilliantly with a silvery white light that died and the door of the ship slid quietly open. The sight that greeted his eyes upon entry into the craft's main console room, however, was another matter altogether.
A cry of desperation escaped his lips and Amilana, who had been standing watch outside, tried to squeeze her way into the ship and found this feat almost impossible. The interior dimensions of the dimensionally transcendental ship had shrunk a great deal with the central six-sided console being compacted against by the rest of the surrounding room. The chameleon circuit's internal interface have reverted to its default setting of white roundels and the console was a strewn serpent's nest of wires, cables and electrical hodge-podge. The panels of the console were scattered about the floor and the usual hum of the ship at rest was absent from the air. The ship, for all practical purposes, was dead. Amilana's face fell when she managed to squeeze her way into the console room but she quickly regained her composure and pressed the TARDIS' main space time element into Jester's hand. He stared at it dumbly.
"What are you waiting on you boob!? The Guards are practically breathing down our necks and you're standing there gawking like a splayed-footed dodo!" Jester was shaken out of his fugue and inserted the space time element into the plinth of the console. When the connection was made, the circuitry surrounding the element glowed with energy and seemed to course outward from the console through the body of the ship causing the lighting to come up and a familiar hum to fill the air. In his mind, he sensed the TARDIS trying to communicate with him on a telepathic level and he opened his mind allowing the ship to bond with him. Feeling a tingling action in his hand, he noticed the key, still in its shape as a miniature Seal of Rassilon, was glowing again and he edged his way to the console seeking a clue as to what was happening. As he neared, he could feel the console shudder slightly under the maze of wires and almost immediately he found the object for which he sought. An indentation had formed of its own accord in the console's surface and it was into this depression that Jester slid the key home.
Beverly was just a hair shorter than Richard and as she came face to face with his unkempt visage, she gagged at the stench of alcohol that lay heavily on his breath. Blood shot eyes peered menacingly at her, surrounded by a sheen of stubble that was capped by thick, greasy hair. At times, Richard was actually presentable, but now he was just a damned nuisance looking for a place to happen and that place just happened to be Beverly's personal space. When he saw her, his eyes narrowed and he slurred, "Well if it ain't the pet whore of the whole fucking ship. Damn bitch, so fucking uppity, let me tell you what you need. You need a man!" After he finished speaking, he let out a whoop that resounded across the mess hall and had attracted everyone's attention. Beverly's first natural reaction was shock which was replaced by a growing anger as she regarded the drunk bastard in front of her. "Get the hell out of my way, you drunk son of a bitch!" she hissed at him. This only got him even more riled and set him off again, "What's the matter, you fucking cunt!? Command level cock not good enough for ya? Come on baby, why don't you get down on this slab of meat!" Wanting to avoid anymore of a scene, she tried to maneuver around him when he grabbed her arm and spun her to face him. Emerald green eyes flashed murderously. "Let GO of me, damn you!" she shouted. "If I wanted a good fuck, I'd sure as hell choose someone with a hell of lot more balls than what you've got, asshole!" "Ain't no man on this here damned ship with more balls than me!" He grabbed her hand and tried to force her to fondle his genitals and she grabbed and twisted for all she was worth. This caused him to yelp and he backhanded her across the face, knocking her to the floor. He advanced on her and she glanced up at him and said as levelly as possible, "The best man for the job, with the most balls, as far as I'm concerned, is a woman. How do you like them apples?" Richard stood stunned for a moment while the blow to his masculine ego registered the verbal gauntlet she had just issued. Having had the proverbial rug ripped out form under him, he roared, "You fucking dyke! I knew all along! The whole damned ship knew. You and that other doctor were humping each other from the start. You sorry bitch! Aren't you woman enough to handle a cock or can you only handle another pussy?" Beverly only glared at him, her eyes were shining a brilliant green and she said with absolute calm masking the maelstrom of rage boiling beneath the surface, "I may be a dyke, but she was a lady." He started in on her again, "You ain't nothing but a damned lesbian, and you know what, you and that other damned dyke fucking deserved each other. You know what? I'm glad the sorry bitch is dead. We didn't need her here polluting up the place. It's a damned shame your sorry ass couldn't join her. Here's to her, wherever the fuck she is, hopefully living it up in lesbo hell!" Richard's last remark caused something to snap in Beverly. He had pushed her too far and it was a good thing he was too busy laughing, because he never saw the right hook that she aimed his way.
When her fist connected with his nose, there was a shattering like glass breaking and a squeal of outrage and protest from Richard and a fountain of blood spurted forth from the injury. He didn't have time to react as she punctuated her next statement with blows from her fists, "She was my lover, you cock-sucking son of a bitch!!" Anger gripped Beverly and her next move was a well-placed kick to the stomach the sent Lieutenant Commander Richard Carmichael flying out the door and down the stairs of the officer's mess. There was a scream and a sickening silence which followed as his body tumbled to the floor below, unconscious. Beverly gave her bloodied knuckles a cursory glance and whispered, "For you, Ingrid." She gathered her regulation lab coat around her with one hand and the tray of dinner, what was left of, it in the other. In the altercation between Richard and herself, the walls had received a second coat of paint, compliments of the food dispenser. She walked her tired and shaking body down the small flight of spiral stairs and back into the main part of the mess hall and crossed to leave the room. On her way out, she fixed her gaze straight ahead, ignoring the stares of the other officers and soldiers. She stepped over Richard's unconscious form as though he were not even there and was suddenly caught unawares by the resounding and thunderous applause of her crew mates and the chanting of her name. She turned and gave everyone a smile, leaving the resounding echoes in her wake.
