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(Open) The Stranger
Tasha hadn't want to scare anyone - or worse - have their pity. She'd been here on some nights before, but always in disguise and making it a point to watch, but not interact, with anyone. Also, she didn't like to admit it, but she loved make-up. Not the kind that Deanna or Beverly wore to bring out their features. That kind of make-up wasn't for her. It didn't feel right on. She didn't like extra attention regarding her appearance; a holdover from Turkana IV, she supposed.
But make-up to disguise? To conceal who and what you were and be able to become someone else? She had an incredible love of that. She justified her enjoyment by its usefulness as a skill, but it was more than that. It was a chance to be someone without the burden of duty or a past. Someone more normal - unless the part called for something else.
The risk of discovery also played a big part in both the thrill of the challenge and the growing irritation at her self-imposed isolation. Tasha justified it easily. She might disappear at any moment - or maybe even drop dead - because "dead" was still her official status, though Picard had assured her the wheels of bureaucracy were getting a firm push regarding all that. Starfleet's reluctance was understandable with all the strange happenings onboard the ship, but it gnawed at her patience. She didn't want to upend anyone's life, but she missed them! It would also mean opening herself up to stacks of unfinished business, too, but she was tired of avoiding her friends - even is she still thought keeping her distance might remain the best course of action.
At least her insistence on isolation had gotten her caught up on as much security information and protocols a civilian had access to. Well, a civilian and a cadet. It turned out the Academy hadn't cancelled her alumni access. There wasn't much dangerous in that, but "not much" wasn't "nothing" by a longshot. She'd have to talk to them about that.
Tasha's tired of keeping to herself and making Aggie feel like she's rooming with a crazy hermit. Tonight, she's keeping her "disguise" to a hooded sweatshirt. It's time to go Ten Forward, to stop being someone else, face what, if anything, comes of it.
But make-up to disguise? To conceal who and what you were and be able to become someone else? She had an incredible love of that. She justified her enjoyment by its usefulness as a skill, but it was more than that. It was a chance to be someone without the burden of duty or a past. Someone more normal - unless the part called for something else.
The risk of discovery also played a big part in both the thrill of the challenge and the growing irritation at her self-imposed isolation. Tasha justified it easily. She might disappear at any moment - or maybe even drop dead - because "dead" was still her official status, though Picard had assured her the wheels of bureaucracy were getting a firm push regarding all that. Starfleet's reluctance was understandable with all the strange happenings onboard the ship, but it gnawed at her patience. She didn't want to upend anyone's life, but she missed them! It would also mean opening herself up to stacks of unfinished business, too, but she was tired of avoiding her friends - even is she still thought keeping her distance might remain the best course of action.
At least her insistence on isolation had gotten her caught up on as much security information and protocols a civilian had access to. Well, a civilian and a cadet. It turned out the Academy hadn't cancelled her alumni access. There wasn't much dangerous in that, but "not much" wasn't "nothing" by a longshot. She'd have to talk to them about that.
Tasha's tired of keeping to herself and making Aggie feel like she's rooming with a crazy hermit. Tonight, she's keeping her "disguise" to a hooded sweatshirt. It's time to go Ten Forward, to stop being someone else, face what, if anything, comes of it.
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"Really?" Her eyebrows go up. "Might have to visit." She never considered roots before - or maybe she should say, "her last life."
"Been to at least 50 world and there's so much I still don't know." At least she knows Spike likes her. She may be the Best Human Ever right now. "Was this in the 20th century?"
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Given what Q can do...
Yeah. Tasha Yar has her most sincere sympathies.
"20th and early 21st, I'm from 2014." But if she'd turned serious about Q, now she smiles. A little. "I hope you like hiking, most of the Yars are rural. Then you have the Bely Yars... But, Russia is a beautiful country. And Kapustin Yar is, or was I guess, a launch site. Missiles, rockets. Space rockets, too."
There is another Yar she knows of, Babi Yar. But it's mostly cemeteries. And there's no easy way to bring up what happened there during the Nazi occupation.
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Tasha's fading smile (no matter that Nat's puppy is there is lick things away) is a reminder, though, that the woman needs a head's up.
Particularly as she mentioned being from a failed colony, which Natasha's seen enough social collapse to guess at what might have happened.
"As a head's up. If you look up the Yars on the computer? There's another one, very famous. Or infamous. Babi Yar, Ukraine, in World War II. It was the site of a series of massacres."
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Pregnant pause is pregnant.
"Thanks for telling me," she finally says. "Earth united long ago. The 20 and 21st century in Earth's history sound -" She shrugs. "Frightening. Almost chaotic. I can't see how anyone made a home out of it."
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"Number of conflicts, I doubt it's worse than most other times in human history. What's different is the number of causalities. But we humans are a stubborn lot.
We make the best of things. 'Sides, living there? Not so bad."
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"I meant no offense. History isn't my strong suit." She picks up a pliant dog and heads to a better seat. "When Starfleet rescued me on the colony, I never looked back, but -" She bit her lip. "I was the only one out of the people they found. I never really understood it. I wanted nothing more than to leave and, they all stayed." In her mind, it was a death sentence in Hell.
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"I can understand that," Natasha says, untangling Velikan's lead. "And, I'm sorry that happened to you."
She's silent for a moment, thinking. "Earth's history fights a lot of wars. And I, uh, I think that looking back, it's really too easy to go the whole planet was a mess when to the average Jane on the street, it might not even be affecting her that much. And the two world wars were horrific, don't get me wrong, but given the century before had Napoleon running around trying to conquer Europe, and American Civil War, other things in Europe, doubtless other wars in other parts of the world..."
She shrugs.
"History's not my strong point, either. But as far as chaos goes, it depends more on where you live. Or lived."
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"I survived." And that's all she has to say on that matter - and hopes this other Tasha understands as much. Some people are too interested in knowing about her homeworld.
"I don't think I have a context. The colony enveloped the whole planet. 'Region' is something of an abstract concept. Territory? That I understand."
"What is Russia - your Russia - like?"
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Uh, the people... Like people everywhere. Kind, selfish. We're still working out where we're going, as a country." Her mouth tilts wryly. "We have an unfortunate tendency towards tyrants, and changing political systems isn't ever a good time. But it's not the worst that the higher-ups have ever thrown at us, so. It'll be okay."
She hopes.
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You survive. That's what she learnt at Stalingrad: you survive.
It's a lesson she's carried with her for her entire life since.
"Helps? It can't hurt. But I'm not exactly one of the movers and shakers in my world."
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"Thank you, for letting me know what you know." She nods to Spike. "And to him as well. You move like you've been trained in some kind of sport or athletics of some kind. Competitive martial arts?"
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The Chief of Security. Of this ship. Tasha remembers. This is way she doesn't add anymore on that.
"Up for sparing sometime?"
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And, so do I."