No Way In

Posted on Mon 8th Jul, 2019 @ 1:38pm by
Edited on on Sun 11th Aug, 2019 @ 12:31am

922 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: A Diplomatic Affair
Location: Wandering the Base
Timeline: MD 6, 1545

Frustration was a constant companion to Victoria Briggs on this day which had started with such promise. Witnessing the attack on her husband and being unable to do anything to stop it was the first, and perhaps worst, annoyance of the day. She pushed her mind away from thinking about that, but let it rest on the moment she had been able to interact with Dallas for a few minutes, when she had touched him and not passed through his body leaving no tickle or feeling behind, when she had been able to seal the wound in his chest with her hand.

Never before had Vic been able to have any physical impact on her husband. Or on much else. She didn't actually sit in a chair. She floated above it, giving the illusion of sitting. Locked doors were no obstacle to her, since she could pass right through them. She had labeled herself ghost ... or was it Dallas who had done that? She couldn't remember now, but the designation fit. Except ... why did she never see other ghosts? Surely the ghostly plane should be filled with the dead, or at least those who were not happy with the state of being dead.

Which was another thing. She was not unhappy to be dead. It seemed natural, sometimes it seemed she had always been dead. In fact, she didn't feel any different at all as she floated around her environment. Shouldn't she be unhappy not to be corporeal any more? Or maybe she should be dissatisfied that she had been stuck here, wherever here was, instead of passing on to the next point of ... time? No, of existence. There must be one, else why would anything of her survived?

At the moment, Victoria Briggs was drifting, going wherever air currents took her, paying no attention to anything around her. She was barely aware of having passed through someone's shower, of the smells in the food court on the deck where she drifted, of living people rushing to the places they were supposed to be. Instead, she was focused on herself and on the experiences of her day.

After Dal's fight with the attacker, the ghost had given no more thought to the attacker. She'd watched from above as the medical team had brought stability to her husband. Later, she'd tucked herself into the space near the head of his bed, occasionally aware of people coming and going to check on her husband. She had wondered if she would feel anything with any of them, as she had with Graves and Addams, but there was nothing. Maybe that was because she was drawn into herself, watching Dallas breathing, trying to absorb what she'd done that morning, sort out how she could have done it. She'd reached out to touch her husband's hair, run her fingers through it, but it was impossible. She went right through, as she always did.

Technically, that wasn't true. She didn't actually pass through any part she touched. She never felt any contact at all, and her hand ceased to exist and then existed again, outside of him. It was easier to think of passing through than ceasing to exist in any way. It wasn't that she was afraid of not existing. She didn't believe for a moment that could happen. There was a self in this plane where she existed. It only intersected with Dallas. If only she could find a way to force an intersection with someone else ... anyone else ....

Her self was real, even if no one could see it or hear it or touch it or smell it. That much, she was sure of. Now there was another problem. Victoria drifted onto Deck 160 and looked around. Not only consciousness, but subconscious, too, she smiled grimly to herself.

Something had brought her back to the scene of the crime. Floating over to the spot where they had been standing this morning, the ghost looked out at the view. There were a few people walking and observing, but they passed through her without knowing she was even in their way. She saw the small blue disk of the planet, just as she had this morning. It was a beautiful sight, and she refused to let the evil of the attacker spoil this place and this day for her. Dallas was going to live, and they would have many times to look at this sky and watch the large lighted ships move into dock, some looking like small toys, at this distance.

She turned to look at the area around her, to rebuild the scene in her mind, to see again the face of the attacker, to hear his voice and the words he'd spoken. She moved toward the airlock and floated through the door. There was nothing left to show there had ever been an attack there, but she visualized again the moments when she had feared Dal would die. Nodding her head once, the ghost drifted back out and stood in a different spot, seeing the docked ships, but thinking about how she could share the information she carried. Who was the most likely candidate for getting through whatever blocked her from communicating with anyone other than Dallas?

Finally, she decided the best choice was Dr. Graves. She knew he was aware of her. She had only to increase his awareness, in some way, and let him know what she knew. And then she could wait.

 

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