The Seneca Voyages
Episode One: The Spider's Lair
Rating: PG-13
~***~
The Constitution class Federation vessel, the USS Seneca, cut gracefully through the stars at an almost leisurely Warp 5. The crew of the Seneca was allowing themselves the breath of fresh air that they so richly deserved after their most recent mission of diplomacy at the edge of debated Klingon territory. True, they were no Enterprise and they never quite endured the rough-and-tumble style of exploration that Captain Kirk regularly indulged in, but then again, so few were. In the end, the Seneca had been commissioned as one thing and one thing only…a glorified bodyguard vessel for whatever ambassador or diplomat they happened to be ferrying at the time. Missions aboard the Seneca ranged anywhere from painfully boring to hair-raisingly tense at a moment's notice and rarely with little warning. Captain Joseph Hart wasn't going to complain about a wee snip of downtime. After all, his body still needed time to recover from all the adrenaline that had been forced through it in the past week.
Hart himself was a formidable man, a creature of sleek muscles. He was a true proud American, always surveying the stars with jaw squared and laughing black eyes the color of space itself. He cut quite the figure sitting there in the captain's chair, back ramrod straight, legs folded neatly over one another and fingers steepled just beneath the roman line of his nose. Joseph Hart was a true man of the north, honest and unshakeable in the face of almost certain danger. Truly, was there a man more suited for the Captain's seat in the oft-uncertain realm of diplomacy? His crew did not think so…although currently they had a few opinions concerning his style of command…mostly that he was doing too much of it and too little of the necessary life functions.
Joseph had neglected himself since almost the beginning of the tense mission, content to run the ship from the Bridge, never giving over the Conn. The ship's loyal doctor had decided that it was time to give their dedicated captain a bit of an intervention.
Carefully, the tall, blonde Amazon of a woman approached the right hand of his chair with far more delicacy than a female of her stature should have been able to manage. With the light touch of a kitten, she laid her long-fingered hand against his arm, relieved when he didn't jump. She put a gentle smile on her face, pearl pink lips curling up to reveal a row of perfect white teeth.
"Joseph…it's time to get some sleep. You've been at the Bridge for 72 hours straight, sir," She ventured.
Joseph looked up at her with his drowsy panther eyes and sighed, his chin slipping below the plane of his hands, "Has it been that long, Zoe? I suppose that I hadn't noticed. The rest of the crew…?"
"Are already on full rotation shifts, Joseph. Come on now. Get yourself a bath and some rest," Zoe intoned with a level of warmth that was impossible to fake.
Joseph's eyes swept the Bridge once more, looking carefully for his most trusted crewmen. He discovered that half of them had indeed already rotated out. It seemed that the only one of his usual staff remaining were T'Jenn (who sat loyally at her communications console), Helmsman Wolfram and his counterpart Helmsman Adair. His First Officer, Engineer and dedicated Scientist had already slipped away. Zoe had probably already gotten to them and sent them away while he was more pre-occupied with the view screen or any other of the million micro-emergencies he convinced himself existed. Realizing that he was practically alone (excusing the miniature herd of yeomen who still bustled about), Joseph levered himself up out the captain's chair and stretched the small of his back. He dared a small yawn.
He flashed his medical officer a low smile, "Alright, Zoe. I'm going. How much sleep has Aaron had?"
"First Officer Hill? He's just about ready to return to the Bridge. I tried to coordinate his break with yours, sir," the blonde doctor said.
"Brilliant as always, Zoe. Lieutenant T'Jenn!" Joseph called to the Communications Centre.
The Vulcan woman he had spoken to straightened up even more (if such a thing was possible considering her already stiff posture) and turned to regard their captain with a clipped, precise, "Aye, sir."
"Contact First Officer Hill and see to it that he returns to the Bridge as soon as possible. Double Time, if necessary," Joseph replied smartly, softening the snap of his command with a smile that lingered around his dark eyes.
T'Jenn nodded, her plaited pigtails shifting against the small of her back as she did, "Aye, Sir."
The prim Vulcan woman flipped her earpiece around and clicked a switch on her array, speaking in her abrupt way, "Commander Hill, report to the Bridge. Commander Hill, report to the Bridge."
There was a brief pause before the speaker buzzed to life, "Acknowledged. Reporting, fair maiden!"
Joseph had to stifle a low snort of amusement as T'Jenn's elegant eyebrow shot nearly into her hairline. It never failed. Aaron simply couldn't address the woman without trying to get under her skin somehow. Pet names and random come-ons were relatively normal during their interactions, no matter how hard the Communications Officer discouraged them. For an un-emotional woman, T'Jenn could be pretty firm about decorum, especially when on the bridge. Joseph didn't even want to imagine the look on her face if she were to find out about Commander Hill's private little betting pool on how long it took before she lost her temper. He didn't want to imagine it at all.
The Captain shook his head at the antics of his at-ease crew before striding over to the door and listening to the pneumatic hiss of it, walking through to the lift. He almost ran into one of his science officers, grinning when he recognized Len.
Len was a tallish youth of almost no muscle mass to speak of. He was sleek looking, almost like a cat, but there was absolutely nothing imposing about him. He was slender with delicate hands and huge, brown eyes that stared out from under the edge of a knitted wool cap pulled down tight over his ears. His face was framed by chin-length, thick black hair that slipped out from beneath his cap. He was one of the Captain's closest friends and always a delight to see, even when you were about to run headlong into him as he hurried out of the lift. Joseph caught him by the shoulders.
"Joe! Are you finally getting some sleep?" Len asked, his whole face seeming to light up.
"Yeah. Zoe came and made me leave the Bridge. Aaron is going to be taking over for a few hours. You?"
The smaller man had the good grace to look sheepish, "Ah…no. I had to run scans of the crew for foreign viral infections. I've been in the biopsy lab for a few hours, sir."
"Try seventy-two hours, Len," Joseph teased.
"Oh…I guess I'll have to log those in once I've gotten these Padds to the Bridge. Hey…T'Jenn isn't working Communications right now is she?" Len asked. The boy never seemed to tire.
Joseph shot a smirk at his friend, "I'm afraid that she is."
"Shit," Len hissed, almost cringing.
"Don't worry so much, Len. She's Vulcan. It's not like she can actually hate you. She just…doesn't approve of you, I guess," the Captain said, standing in the lift while Len shifted out.
Len gave him a comically ominous look, "Oh Vulcan's can hate, Joe. They can hate a lot. The tricky part is that they don't SHOW it."
Joseph chuckled as the door to the lift hissed shut again. He reached out and twisted the start Lever, asking for the floor with the Officer quarters so he could finally hit the hay. Nothing had actually come to blows with the Klingons this time, but debating with the recalcitrant menaces was almost as bad as actually fighting them. It was just as tiring anyway. The Captain hadn't ever been happier to see his bed.
While the Captain of the Seneca nested down to get some well-deserved rest, the unfortunate Len continued on his path towards the Bridge, delicately avoiding a female ensign who didn't quite seem to have the mental capacity to watch where she was going. It was a little quirk peculiar to the Xenovirologist, the distaste of touch. Oh, naturally one was going to get touched from time to time on a crowded starship, but Len seemed to have cultivated special techniques to avoid it whenever possible. Padd in hand, he strode out onto the Bridge, looking over to the most dreaded station of all…Communications. Oh how he absolutely loathed working with their alien crewman sometimes. She seemed to delight (in her own subtle Vulcan way) in deliberately finding ways to make their interactions like pulling teeth.
For some reason that anyone who noticed couldn't understand, T'Jenn's bizarre penchant for torment extended to Len and Len only. Naturally, she was a decent Vulcan woman and so her idiosyncrasies were never allowed to get in the way of the ship's smooth operation, but there was still something…different about how she treated the ship's resident Xenovirologist. To anyone else, she was cool, distant, neutral…everything one expected from a lady of her venerable race. For Len though…for Len the room always seemed to get a few degrees cooler and she always had an unhealthy doubt for his scientific findings or some new level of red tape he had to wade through. For whatever reason, T'Jenn didn't seem to respect Len and so made it quite an exercise for him whenever the two were forced to interact.
Unfortunately, this seemed to be one of those times.
"T'Jenn, how many days out from Starfleet Command are we?" Len inquired as he walked up to her station.
The Vulcan woman didn't turn away from her post, "I believe it would be more logical for you to inquire with Helmsman Wolfram about our heading."
The scientist took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Under normal circumstances, yes it would be. However, I need to speak with you as well and I know that you are privy to our heading so it seems superfluous that I should go across the Bridge to speak to Helmsman Wolfram and then all the way back over to your station to talk to you."
Finally, the Communications officer turned around in her chair to face him, their brown eyes locking in a battle of wills. Her earpiece was rotated away from her mouth again and her arms were folded neatly in her lap as she considered her opponent. Len felt his stomach drop, realizing that his attempts to side-step an argument with the woman might have very well 'thrown down the gauntlet' so to speak. He tensed a little bit, more than just a little bit surprised when she spoke again.
"We will be, in the next five minutes, four days away from Earth and Starfleet Command if we continue moving at Warp 5."
Len checked his sigh of relief, "Do we have an open frequency with them yet?"
"Affirmative," T'Jenn replied as fast as possible without making it seem at all graceless.
"Good. Please notify them that medical has run scans on the entire crew and we report no signs of biological sabotage or communicable disease. No quarantine will be necessary upon return to base," Len said, handing over the PADD with the full report in it.
His temper had to be sharply restrained when he noticed that T'Jenn, instead of opening up a frequency, took a moment to read over his report in a manner that was a little more than cursory. Len blew air out from his nose and folded his arms, "Is something wrong, Lieutenant?"
"I do not know yet. That is why I am reading the report," the Vulcan said without even the smallest hint of apology in her deadpan tone.
Len gave the top of her head a withering, defeated look before he just conceded the point, "Right. Well, when you're done with that, open a channel, please?"
"Provided that there are no errors, I shall," T'Jenn replied smartly.
The scientist took a deep breath and forced himself to relax, realizing that it was the closest thing to cooperation he was going to get out of the woman. T'Jenn rarely budged on a decision after it was made, especially when it concerned one of Len's requests. She was the sort to cut straight to the logic of a matter even without voicing that she had done so and once she DID find the most logical way of going about things it was impossible to sway her. Such was the way of the Vulcan people and such was the way of T'Jenn. She had her good qualities too, for the most part. She was just as loyal as any other officer on this ship and her dedication almost outshined the captain's on occasion. Almost.
Still, Len would have greatly enjoyed if she was just a little bit less…well…Vulcan.
"I'm going back to Sickbay," Len sighed to himself, "At least it's safe there."
He tugged his cap down a little bit and straightened the front of his Science blues as he walked back towards the lift. Len vaguely heard Commander Hill fighting down a bemused snort after witnessing the scene between the two and it brought a little bit of Len's good cheer back. Sometimes their womanizing First Officer left the young Xenovirologist utterly baffled, but more often-than-not it was nice to have his devil-may-care personality floating around the Bridge. It certainly made things feel a little bit less tense, anyway. Who knew? Maybe by the time Len had made his way back down to the deck, Commander Hill might have done something to direct T'Jenn's less than savory attentions. He loved to try and get her riled if such a thing could be done.
All it took was a short ride in the lift before he was back on familiar territory, headed towards the Sickbay and the comfort of his cozy little lab.
~***~
In the confines of the USS Seneca, the hours drifted by, measured in the continuous murmur of computers and the tap-tap of polished boots. The ship powered along diligently, manned by hundreds of dedicated and learned hands. At the Bridge, T'Jenn's keen, sharp eyes poured over Len's report for what had to be the hundredth time that hour. She ticked down the PADD over and over, searching meticulously for errors that didn't seem to be present. Every so often, she would reach out with one hand to keep her station in line, but it seemed that ninety percent of her attention was focused on the words and numbers in front of her. She seemed to be made completely out of stone, save for the lone eyebrow that would rise up every once in awhile.
"Lieutenant, sometimes it is painful to watch you," Commander Hill sighed from the Captain's chair.
"To what are you referring?" the female Vulcan countered.
The large, tanned human rolled his shoulders and his eyes, "I'm referring to the fact that I've been sitting here watching you for no less than an hour as you've tried to find SOME reason to pick apart Lieutenant Commander Len's work.
Her eyebrows arched a little higher, "You are suggesting that I should send in an unexamined and possibly incomplete report concerning this vessel's medical records?"
"Lieutenant, the report isn't incomplete. If it were, you wouldn't have been sitting there for an hour," Hill drawled.
"Careful analysis is never unreasonable," the Vulcan replied with that same infuriating neutrality to her tone.
"You're nit-picking, lieutenant."
"I am afraid that I do not understand this colloquialism."
"The report is fine. Just open a hailing frequency with Starfleet Command, would you?"
"Commander?" A lovely, thick voice cut smoothly through their argument like a fine blade slicing through a stream.
Aaron Hill turned the chair to regard Helmsman Leila Adair. She was a whip-thin woman, rich brown in color and serene in expression. Her hair was as black as T'Jenn's but she kept it far shorter, trimmed up around her small ears. She wore petite, wooden gauged plugs in her lobes and a small stud flashed briefly in the side of her nose. Her eyes were bright hazel with lashes so lush that her eyes appeared to be ringed with kohl. It gave her a very intense look and only served to enhance the concern that was written across her features at the moment.
Aaron seemed to straighten up a bit, "Lieutenant, what is it?"
"Sir, we seem to be detecting something in our immediate area. Mass would suggest a crippled space craft. No forward momentum indicated," the woman replied, turning back to her scanners.
Lieutenant T'Jenn's station whirred to life and she turned, forgetting the PADD for the time being, "Sir, I've opened a hailing frequency and we are receiving distress calls."
"Lieutenant Adair, continue running scanners. I want to see if we can't get a more precise reading on that ship. Display forward screens. Lieutenant Wolfram, drop us out of warp and try to pull alongside. Override that order if Lieutenants Adair or T'Jenn catch a whiff of hostility off of that thing," Aaron snapped out orders easily, his New Orleans drawl making them roll. He flipped a switch on the arm of the control chair, "Captain Hart to the Bridge. We've got company."
A voice echoed out from the speaker, "Acknowledged and on my way, Mr. Hill. Hart, out."
Aaron nodded, slipping out of the chair and striding over to the helm, looking over the stations, "Anything yet, Adair?"
"It's just a freighter, sir, and a mangled one at that. Take a look at the screen," Leila commented, pointing up at the screen that dominated the forward wall of any Constitution class star ship.
Up on the screen there was indeed a crippled freighter floating helpless in the vast nothing of space. She was severely burned and pock-marked, perhaps the victim of a crossfire or perhaps a pirate raid. With hostilities so volatile in this region of space, either one of the possibilities was a reasonable assumption, especially since this thing didn't look any more important than a basic supply ship. Pirates, then. Aaron's eyes scanned the screen intently, almost trying to divine an entire story just from the pictures in front of him. He hummed low in his throat, a tuneless sound of thought.
"Lieutenant Adair…T'Jenn…is this thing a threat?" Aaron asked, rubbing a hand over his scruff.
"Sensors aren't indicating anything serious, sir," T'Jenn replied, drifting from Communications over to the Science Officer's station.
"Continue on course, Mr. Wolfram," Aaron said, turning as Captain Joseph Hart walked at a fast clip through the doors and towards the command chair, tugging at the front of his yellow uniform shirt. It seemed that he had dressed in a hurry.
Hart settled into the chair, legs folded, leaning forward intently, "Commander Hill, tell me what we know."
"We're pulling up alongside what looks like a crippled freighter, Joe. We've been getting distress calls since it hit our sensors and T'Jenn doesn't detect anything out of the ordinary. Looks like a routine search and rescue mission to me, Cap," Aaron said, standing behind the chair.
"That remains to be seen. T'Jenn, have our damsels in distress identified themselves?"
"Negative, Captain. The distress call seems to be on an automated rotation. It is possible that it was activated by crewmen who are either dead or too incapacitated to respond to us now," the Vulcan woman responded, gravitating between two stations with ease.
Joseph steepled his fingers and leaned his head back a little, scrutinizing the screen, "We'll make this easy then, shall we? Lock on alongside, Mr. Wolfram. Mr. Hill, assemble a rescue party. There's no need to utilize the Transporter for this, especially if we're going to have to pull out fast. Put the ship on a low priority alert. I'll be going down, so Mr. Hill, you have the Conn."
"Aye, sir," Aaron replied, "Anyone you want for the Rescue Party?"
"Medical staff and for god's sake, make sure they know how to handle a phaser," Hart sighed, half-remembering a disastrous situation a year or two past.
"Permission to accompany, Captain?" T'Jenn said, standing sharply, "I believe it would be logical. I am standing Science Officer, sir."
Hart nodded, "Permission granted, Lieutenant. Report to the Portside Airlock. We'll be taking the gangway. Get three Security Officers to accompany. We'll be needing them."
"Understood, sir," T'Jenn replied and proceeded out.
Commander Hill made a token argument as T'Jenn left, "Captain, why not use the Transporter?"
"With all due respect, Commander, that ship is an ugly wreck. If we used the Transporter, we'd risk tossing them right into a danger zone. It's better this way," Helmsman Wolfram said, turning in his seat with a chagrinned look on his face, his accent thick.
"Exactly," Hart agreed.
Hart turned to follow the Vulcan woman out, but found his shoulder caught in his First Officer's grip before he could even get out of his chair. He turned back to see the hidden concern written across the deepest part of Aaron Hill's eyes and he chanced a gentleman's smile, standing and facing his second-in-command. The Captain clapped a hand on his Commander's shoulder, recognizing what an effort it was for his friend to express his worry so clearly.
"Routine search-and-rescue, remember Aaron?" Hart reminded his first softly.
"Sure. Just make sure to get your ass back here, got it? I don't' even care if it's in one piece or not," the Louisiana native intoned with a grin.
The captain stifled a chuckle and departed, running checklists in his head even as he stepped into the lift and gave it the floor he needed.
~***~
It only took a remarkable ten minutes for the crew of the USS Seneca to yield a Rescue Party and make sure that they were well outfitted. Captain Hart was pleased to note that there was a phaser on every hip at the very least. He surveyed his team, appreciating the faces he saw. T'Jenn was present as well as Len…although they seemed quite content to stand with a fair amount of distance between them. There was a nurse at Len's side and three larger Security Officers flanking them. It was a bit large for a Rescue Party, but something in Hart's gut told him that he'd want the muscle if push came to shove.
"Alright, I want one of the Security Officers up here with me, two in the back. Lieutenant Commander Len, Nurse Ramirez and Lieutenant T'Jenn are in the middle. Keep your eyes open. We're going out on the gangway, now," the Captain said, getting the party arranged to his liking.
With no ceremony, the small group moved into the gangway extending from the port-side airlock to the other ship. An ominous air hung over them as they moved carefully across the expanse, watching the hulking tombstone of a ship that awaited them. The recycled air seemed even more stale here and there was an unpleasant chill from the mouth of the opposite airlock. T'Jenn shuddered, her Vulcan blood rebelling against the cold despite the fact that she suffered in resolute silence. The party halted abruptly and awkwardly as a loud clunking sound rattled almost deafeningly through the gangway, shaking the whole structure alarmingly and raising a small cry from Nurse Ramirez.
Before panic could even begin to set in, T'Jenn had her tricorder up, scanning the gangway and saying, "No structural weaknesses, Captain. It was probably a faulty locking mechanism sliding into place. We are safe to continue."
"Thankyou, Lieutenant," Captain Hart said lower than he meant to, beginning the crossing once more.
The interior of the freighter was even more distressing and lonely than the outside had been. Ugly black burns lanced up the walls of the gutted interior. They were the leftovers of the electrical fires that had doubtless started as the ship's systems had malfunctioned under the unyielding photon fire that had ravaged the exterior hull. Only emergency lights served to show the way, occasionally augmented by the startling bright spark of a dangling live-wire. To the small Rescue Party it was unclear where the real war-zone was on this ransacked freighter…the outside or the wasteland that lay within. Joseph Hart felt his jaw tighten a bit as he ran a hand absently over a melted metal casing that had once housed a small garden of colorful wires.
His Vulcan Communications Officer moved away from the group, sweeping about with her tricorder, eyes half closed in concentration before she turned back, "I'm detecting life forms up the northwest corridor."
"Very well. I want Len and Ramirez to take the northwest corridor and find those survivors. Take Ensign Willis with you. Check in on communicator every five minutes," Hart ordered.
Len nodded, looking momentarily to T'Jenn before steadying himself and walking away down the corridor, the dark seeming to swallow his tiny contingent whole. He hardly felt more comfortable with the red-shirt Security Officer at his back, despite the fact that Ensign Willis was twice his size and probably capable of cracking a Klingon in half. Subconsciously, he pulled his cap down a little tighter before rummaging in his bag for his own tricorder. He'd need it if he was going to pick up the vital signs of any survivors down this wing. He could already feel the fraying, tenuous fingers of hopelessness starting to stroke at the edges of his psyche, but they were easily staved off. Still, how would a place like this feel to a wounded (perhaps dying) man if it was capable of affecting a healthy, reasonable scientist?
Their group turned a sharp corner, then another, leaving behind the flickering light and the small amount of questionable safety they had felt with their companions.
Only a few feet after the second turn, Len stopped up short, unable to find his tricorder in all the clutter of his bag with no light to guide him, not thinking to warn Ramirez or Willis of his sudden halt. The Xenovirologist mentally cursed his inability to properly organize as he fumbled around for anything that resembled his equipment (or a light for that matter) for long moments. Had it been five minutes yet? Was he supposed to communicate with Captain Hart yet? Damnit.
The small scientist grumbled to himself again when he realized that his Communicator was in the same place as his tricorder…lost in the jumble of his haversack. Double damnit.
He lifted his head a bit to call out to Ramirez and Willis, hissing when it clanged against an overhanging shelf that he had failed to see in the darkness. Len clutched the top of his skull and knelt back down, his ears ringing under his hat as he tried to get his scrambled thoughts together enough to give a yell. He had to admit that he felt like world-class jackass sitting there on his rump, nursing a bruised skull, unable to find any of his equipment or even to call out to the rest of his team and he knew when T'Jenn found out, she'd never let him live it down. He felt his face burn in embarrassment but he quickly fought it down. He couldn't afford to blush.
Swallowing, Len stood up once more (slowly this time) and found his voice, "Ramirez? Willis? Are you still in here?"
For a moment there was only deafening silence.
Len narrowed his eyes and tried again, a little louder this time, "Nurse Ramirez? Ensign Willis?"
This time, there was a definite answer.
A crack of disruptor fire tore through the air next to his right ear and the Xenovirologist threw himself to the floor in an attempt to avoid it. His heart thundered in his chest as he scrabbled to un-holster his phaser, pointing it down the hall. He could hear his own ragged breathing as he forced himself to lie still, fighting to keep his aim on the darkness, as ridiculous as it was. He couldn't see his assailant, couldn't even hear them. If he were to attack now, it would literally be a shot in the dark. He'd try and appreciate the humor in that later when someone wasn't trying to kill him.
He yelled out, "Stop shooting! We're here to help your survivors!"
Another deadly bolt of disruptor fire scorched the deck notoriously close to his face and he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He didn't even bother to see if his Phaser was set to stun or not before he returned fire. He mentally congratulated himself for a moment when he heard a cry from down the hall in the direction the disruptor bolts had originated from, but his celebrations were short lived. A spotlight fell on his face, blinding him and exposing him to his attackers all at once. He was a dead man. It was time to put on his brave face…which was awfully hard when you were squinting into the glare of a spotlight, by the way.
Len let out a small hiss as a booted foot pressed down hard on his hand, effectively disabling his phaser and leaving him helpless on the floor. Two scraps of fabric fluttered down in front of his face. They were the gold Starfleet crests worn on the breast of every uniform, spattered with blood and rimmed distinctly in red and blue. Ramirez and Willis had already met the bastards and it seemed that their ends hadn't been as neatly found at the end of a disruptor pistol. Len's delicate, almost Asiatic face twisted with some hybrid child of despair, regret and utter shock as the weight of the situation finally penetrated his brain. The chill metal of the disruptor pistol's muzzle pressed against his temple.
A voice echoed off of the walls, "We are pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Lieutenant Commander Len. We're sorry for what happened to your subordinates, but we don't have time to accommodate the small fish. We are, however, happy to inform you that your date with your maker has been postponed for awhile, despite the harm you managed to inflict on my bodyguard's leg. Get up."
It was a human voice…a dignified human voice. The man who owned that voice had no respectable business operating a disruptor pistol or even having one. Of course, a man with that sort of voice had no respectable business murdering Federation employees either. Len snarled a little bit as strong hands dragged him up off of the floor, pinning his arms behind his back. His head still hurt from the earlier bump he'd suffered and his eyes were stinging from the bright light that they insisted keeping in his face to avoid proper identification on his part. He bared his teeth a little in a pitiful display of defiance, constantly reminded by the disruptor at his temple that any more of a struggle would have dire consequences.
Narrow chest heaving, Len gasped out, "Who are you? Why all these theatrics? The ruined ship, the distress calls?"
A fist landed in his gut and he felt the air leave him as the voice spoke again, "All in good time. Now let's go. Double-time."
~***~
Up one of the southern corridors there was a small control room where Joseph Hart had called his team to rest, already utterly confounded by this entire mission. A freighter this size would have to have been fully manned by one hundred men at the very least and yet there wasn't even a body to show. An attack of the magnitude of the one that had gutted this ship would have…SHOULD have…given them at least a few corpses to work with. Yet there was nothing. There were no survivors, no bodies…no signs of life at all. He could not understand and it was beginning to frustrate him in ways that he was not comfortable with in the least. It did not help that Len, Ramirez and Willis had failed to check in approximately ten minutes ago. None of them could be reached by their individual communicators.
Studying a cracked viewscreen, Hart addressed his Communications Officer, "T'Jenn, I would appreciate your input on this."
"In my opinion, sir, we find ourselves at the center of a rather elaborate ruse," the Vulcan woman replied, her tricorder dormant for the moment.
Hart's communicator beeped insistently and he flipped it open, hoping that it was good news.
It wasn't.
::Seneca to Captain Hart. What is your location?::
"What's going on over there?" Hart asked with a dangerous undertone to his voice.
::It's a mess here, sir. After you left, the adjoining airlock door on the freighter closed. We can't get you out that way and it looks like the Transporter isn't viable either. We can't beam you out.::
"Our location is being cloaked?"
::It's like you're not even there, sir. Commander Hill has everyone working as fast as possible, but there just doesn't seem to be anything we can do here, sir.::
"We'll try to open the airlock doors from over here, then. If we're not on the ship again in two hours, tell Commander Hill that he is to get the Seneca out of here and continue on to Earth. Am I understood?" Hart issued his orders, feeling distinctly dismayed.
::Understood, sir.::
"Hart out," the Captain said, flipping his communicator closed and looking over to T'Jenn, "A ruse indeed."
T'Jenn looked distant for a moment, her eyes vaguely unfocused. It appeared that something had occurred to her while Hart had been dealing with their odd situation. She had both hands firmly planted on a console, looking remarkably dazed out, unblinking and almost subtly stunned. Her mouth was pulled into a thin line and her fingers were tight where they rested against the blistered metal. She came to when the dark-haired captain cleared his throat, coming to stand right next to her. Her brown eyes still looked a little bit distant even as her consciousness came snapping firmly back into the present.
When he spoke again, Captain Hart's voice was gentler, "T'Jenn…are you alright?"
"I am quite well, Captain, although I have a distinctly negative feeling about Len. I propose that we rendezvous with his team. It is clear that there are no wounded aboard this ship and that we are currently engaged in some form of theatrical falsehood. It is only logical that we avoid spreading ourselves thin, sir," the black-haired Vulcan woman replied in her usual, firmly grounded manner.
If Hart didn't know any better, he could have almost sworn he detected a tight, tense edge to her normally cool tone. It was as close to anxiety as a Vulcan ever got and he had seen it once or twice before in his highly cerebral lieutenant. He almost thought he saw that look again, just now. Was that strange half-concern for them? Or was it for Len? Had it even been there at all? Hart mentally shook himself and nodded, grounded firmly by the Vulcan woman's infallible logic once again. He called the two security ensigns assigned to them, preparing to leave the control room they had found their way into.
The door they had come from hissed shut in a rush of dying pneumatics. The cracked screen in front of them began to fill with life; something they had all assumed was past its damaged capacity. If Hart hadn't suspected a trap before, he sure as hell did now.
T'Jenn watched at his side with her damndable Vulcan curiosity and patience as a face took shape on the screen in front of them. It was blurry and intercut with static, but there it was. It was clearly a human despite the flaws of the medium and it was an older one at that. From what Hart could see, it was the face one typically expected of a diplomat; softening and folding in on itself with wrinkles, the crown of the head dusted with white hair, glasses perched on the end of the nose. Hart wasn't sure that the smug malice belonged around the eyes though. No, this man certainly was no diplomat. Before he could even begin speaking, there was a low groan of pain in the background.
"Ah, Captain Hart, I was wondering when you would join us," the man said, sounding pleased with himself.
Hart stepped forward and drew himself up to his full, imposing height, dark eyes glittering with barely concealed danger, "Would you mind telling me what it is you've gotten my crew into?"
"No concern for yourself, Joseph? I hadn't realized you were as gallant as the stories say," the man on the other side of the screen chuckled and the continued, "No I do not mind telling you whatever you care to know, Captain. That is why I'm here right now. You know, it's funny. You weren't the first one to express curiosity."
The man on the other side stepped to the side enough to reveal a nasty little surprise. Len sat behind him in a chair, his arms tied to the back of the furniture piece where he had no leverage to free himself. His legs were bound and he was held completely immobile, a bruise blooming against his cheek. A large, hulking beast of a man stood next to him, holding the disruptor pistol to his head still to discourage any acts of heroism. Hart felt himself take a step toward the screen unbidden and he could feel T'Jenn tensing by his side.
"Forgive my rough treatment of him, Captain. It seems that your heroic nature has rubbed off on your underlings and we were forced to take drastic measures to see that he didn't crash the little party that we have planned for you," the man intoned, at least attempting to sound sorry.
The Captain of the USS Seneca began to feel his blood boil and when he spoke it was neatly controlled, but clear that he was holding back a simmering rage, "What is all this? Why are we here?"
"Both excellent questions, Captain," the man replied, seeming to forget that he was supposed to feel bad for abusing his guest's subordinate, "this is quite a lovely little set-piece, no?"
"No," Hart ground out.
"I suppose it is a little hard for you to appreciate on your end. It really is quite brilliant from where I'm sitting," the man sighed.
Len surged forward in his seat and started to blurt, "Captain, it's – ," but he was cut off sharply when the butt of the disruptor cracked across his skull, causing pain to blossom across his vision.
"You see what I mean, Captain? They're such irrepressible scamps, your men," the man looked somewhat amused by the outburst.
"I have had enough of your games. Tell me what I've asked to know," Hart said, taking another step towards the screen.
"Very well, Captain. You are aboard what was once an Earth supply vessel bound for a colony not far from here. It was easy enough to ambush and the crew were easily dispensed with. Cleanup was easy enough once their bodies were put into airlocks and jettisoned. Oh it will be a dreadful surprise for someone later, I suppose, but war does have its casualties, Captain."
"Highly illogical. There are no wars or skirmishes recorded in this section of space, Captain," T'Jenn interjected.
The man's smile was absolutely predatory, "Oh no, none in this section of space, but you'll notice that I said nothing of the location of our little war, dear girl. Three days ago, your ship settled negotiations with a Klingon outpost at the edge of their space, Captain Hart. I am afraid that I cannot permit this. That outpost is prime territory and simply letting the Klingons have it is a far sight beyond common bad business sense."
"You're doing this for money," Hart simplified elegantly.
"Ah, but what is it that I am doing, precisely, Captain?" The man teased a bit, content to draw out his cat-and-mouse badinage.
"I was rather hoping you would be kind enough to elaborate for us, sir," The Captain said in a completely polite and utterly furious tone.
"Please, call me by my name. We're all partners here. I am Gaspare," the man's smile this time was punctuated with a small pained hiss from Len.
Hart's face was a tight mask of gentlemanly restraint as he spoke, "We are not partners."
"Oh, but we are! You will be a silent partner, of course. Dead men tell no tales and all that. You see, Captain. After your ship is tragically destroyed, her crew lost and bits of debris found scattered amidst Klingon space, Starfleet will be forced to draw the conclusion that negotiations went south. It will be an act of war, I'm afraid. I suspect that outpost will be wiped clean within the year," Gaspare was only too happy to provide.
"You won't be destroying any ship of mine. In an hour and fifteen minute's time, the Seneca has been instructed to pull away and leave us behind," Hart said.
"I wouldn't recommend that, Captain. You see, when your ship's gangway locked onto our airlock, it was like setting your foot on a landmine. If you make any attempt to withdraw, it will send an electrical impulse up into the wiring that will automatically trigger a self-destruct while we sit over here behind our shields. Oh it will be a terrible blow for us as well, but we'll survive."
"The disturbance while we were in the gangway," T'Jenn remembered blandly.
"Spot-on, my girl," Gaspare winked.
The man chuckled again, "You know I've always been partial to Vulcan girls. Never speak unless they've got something important to say and quite lovely on top of all else. You're quite lucky to have one, Captain."
Hart tried to avoid his goading, turning instead to T'Jenn, "Contact the ship and tell them to override the order to pull out."
"I have already made the attempt, Captain. It would seem that Gaspare's shields have the added effect of completely scrambling all of our methods of communication. We are stranded, Captain," T'Jenn replied.
"And the clock is counting down, Hart," Gaspare reminded.
~***~
Zoe stood on the Bridge of the Seneca next to Commander Hill, her fingers weaving in a worried knot in front of her. No communications in or out of the wounded freighter in half an hour according to the chronometer. It was too long. She knew that something was wrong which meant that Captain Hart and the others could possibly be in danger. She almost could have handled it if she knew what sort of danger they were in…but she didn't even have that. No one did. Even Commander Hill was in the dark and it was easy to see that it was driving him mad in a very real way.
He paced the Bridge like a feral cat, his eyes roving the control stations as though staring hard enough at them would summon back their occupants. He was beginning to take regular passes by the chronometer sitting by Helmsman Wolfram's elbow, counting down the minutes until they would be forced to honor the Captain's order and pull away, leaving behind his best friend to an uncertain fate. It sat wrong in his stomach, made him tense and made him sweat. Just watching Aaron Hill in such a helpless state of worry was enough to send a pang directly to Zoe Adele's heart.
Aaron Hill was, at any other time, a proud, outspoken, mischievous man with a reckless streak as wide as the sea. He carried the devil in his eyes and laughter in his heart, an indomitable force of nature like a southern storm. He was overtly confident and oozed a sort of careless, boyish charm that had seduced more than one hapless ensign between his sheets. He was an incorrigible rogue, but that was the beauty of him. He was strength when such a thing was needed; always so effortlessly sure of himself and of their Captain…to see his carefree air falling apart at the seams was like watching the last vestiges of hope slipping through your fingers.
Everyone on the Bridge felt it. It grew heavier with every minute that the chronometer marked.
All Zoe could do was just close her eyes take a deep breath and pray for the best even as everything seemed to collapse into the early stages of chaos.
"Damned if we do and damned if we don't," Hill growled as he practically threw himself into the captain's chair.
The tall CMO gave him a puzzled look, watching as he chewed anxiously at a hangnail, "Aaron, what are you talking about?"
The Commander seemed ready to snap at her question, but forced himself to soften when he registered exactly who it was talking to him. He sighed, studying Zoe and trying to sweep his anger under the rug so it didn't bleed out onto her. If there was one person on the whole damn ship who didn't do anything to deserve his ire, it was their compassionate Medical Officer, the woman watching him with such real, heartfelt concern in her green eyes. She really felt for him or at least she made a fine show of pretending she did and she was one of the two people on the ship that Aaron Hill trusted with his life.
He sighed again, finding measured ways to release his breath, "My conscience is dead if I honor Joe's wishes and pull out of here without him when our time is up. At the same time, it's mutiny plain and simple if I stay behind and wait for him. I'm fucked six ways to Sunday here, darlin'."
"Try not to be so fatalistic, Aaron," Zoe reminded him softly, walking to stand next to the chair.
"What's less fatalistic than your best friend trapped in a burnt-out metal sarcophagus?" The Commander asked the question with a measured degree of bitterness in his voice.
Zoe tried to smile convincingly, "I call the Captain friend too…and don't forget that Len is over there as well and he's very dear to me. However, I know that there's still almost an hour for them to figure out a way back to us if they really are trapped. I also know that our Captain is a very stubborn man. If he can find a way back, he will. We just have to be patient and give him the time to actually do it."
"I hope for the sake of optimists everywhere that you're right," Aaron said, studying the viewscreen with a renewed passion.
Zoe touched his shoulder softly, "And I hope for YOUR sake that I'm right, too."
Aaron managed a half smile and placed one of his hands over hers in a silent gesture of tense thanks.
~***~
Back on the freighter, Gaspare had gone rather silent, though the viewscreen stayed on. He was content to watch his four guests as they tried to puzzle some means out of the trap he'd laid for them. After all, he felt that it would be unfitting for their host to simply disappear and leave them to their own devices in the middle of the party. It simply wouldn't do for them to forget just what kind of situation they were in, so he allowed them to continue to see him, his bodyguard and their captured friend. Call it a friendly reminder.
Captain Hart watched as T'Jenn applied herself to the door, trying to find some means of escape and failing, "Is there a way out of here?"
"Negative, sir. The mechanics in the door broke down shortly after we were closed in here. It seems that they are effectively jammed shut and we are trapped on this side," the Vulcan told him in no uncertain terms.
Hart gritted his teeth and winced as Gaspare took it upon himself to start TALKING again, "It would seem that I have a captive audience, no?"
T'Jenn didn't even turn to the monitor, "Would you like for me to at least attempt to disable the viewscreen, Captain?"
"Oh I wouldn't try that, miss. Why, if you tried to kick me out of my own party, I might be inclined to do something unpleasant to your friend, here," Gaspare gestured to indicate their injured, but still conscious scientist.
His words seemed to send a tremor of tension through the Vulcan lieutenant that even Hart could sense. It wasn't exactly an emotion she was displaying now, no, but it was a very clear reaction to a stimulus. It was bizarre, more than he had ever seen from her before and more than Gaspare had ever seen from any Vulcan. The signs of her sudden discomfort had been small, but still easy enough for him to catch…a tightening of the jaw, the raising of eyebrows and her fists tensing just a fraction were clear enough indicators of her internal displeasure. It made Hart's stomach drop in worry and it fueled Gaspare's delight at the entire situation.
The older human leered at the screen, "It would seem that this boy's safety actually means something to you. I thought that Vulcans did not feel things like affection."
"It is impossible for me to feel affection," T'Jenn replied.
Gaspare's mouth turned up at the edges, "Then what was that I saw? It looked like you were feeling a little worried about your shipmate. Is he a lover? You'd be right to be concerned for him. He took a few hard blows to the head. I'm not entirely sure how many more minutes of consciousness he's got left in him."
"He is fine."
"You seem sure."
"I am sure."
"Then why the anxiety?"
"I would like to propose a trade, Gaspare," T'Jenn interrupted, carefully directing his attention elsewhere.
"A trade, dear girl? Why, it seems that you are beginning to figure me out," Gaspare said with easy delight.
T'Jenn allowed herself the faintest quirk of the eyebrow, "I propose that you give us the Lieutenant Commander. If he is as far gone as you say, then he will provide a poor hostage for you in the immediate future. In return, I will hand myself over to you."
"And what, dear girl, makes you think that this is an acceptable trade?" Gaspare baited her.
"Twenty minutes ago you informed the Captain that he was lucky to have me. This indicates that you have some interest in possessing a Vulcan woman for yourself. I am proposing to give you something that you have hinted at desiring."
The balding man laughed and the sound was more like a hoarse bark, "Always to the point. I like that in a woman."
"Do you accept or not?" T'Jenn said with the same utter neutrality expected of her people.
A door at the opposite end of the room hissed open, clearly in better repair than its neighbor, to admit T'Jenn. The screen dominating the center of the room went dark and the Vulcan lieutenant began to walk without hesitation, picking her way effortlessly through debris. She didn't even blink when she felt the Captain's hand pressing against her bicep, holding her back for just a moment.
"T'Jenn, what are you doing?" Hart inquired in low tones.
T'Jenn turned and fixed him with a piercing stare that could have boiled oceans, "I am using my head, Captain. I suggest that you do the same."
Carefully, she slipped free of his grasp and proceeded down the corridor that lay beyond the yawning gap of the parted door. The Captain prepared to follow with the two security ensigns, making it as far as the door itself before the way was cut off. The door hissed shut behind T'Jenn, leaving her alone and her Captain trapped in the control room behind her. For a moment, T'Jenn closed her eyes and took a deep breath to steady herself, a moment of meditation stolen in the midst of crisis. Inner balance was not hard to find and it was only brief seconds before the tell-tale tap of her boots echoed once more down the corridor towards the steady glow of light at the end. She moved with alacrity, ever-conscious of the minutes counting down for the Seneca before they were forced to follow the suicidal final order of Captain Hart.
The room at the end of the corridor was plainly one of the lesser engineering decks judging by the sort of equipment that dominated it. For the most part, everything in this room looked remarkably well-kept considering the general disarray of the rest of the ship. T'Jenn didn't even question it. Of course the technical decks of the ship were still operational; otherwise they would have no means of life support or locomotion. Gaspare would certainly need some form of dependable transport if he intended to drag the Seneca's remains all the way back to Klingon space.
"There you are. I was beginning to wonder what was keeping you," Gaspare's voice echoed from behind her.
T'Jenn turned and found him seated at a console to one side of the room, his bodyguard standing and holding Len who had been released from his chair. He looked a little bumped and bruised, but not to the extent that Gaspare had suggested. The Vulcan woman hadn't expected him to be. At least his hat was still fixed in place. The two officers seemed to stare at each other for a minute in absolute silence before T'Jenn nodded.
"He will be fine," T'Jenn said frigidly, "Release him now."
Gaspare grinned, "No no, I think I will keep him here for just a little while longer. After all, I need a little bit of collateral while I test my goods."
"Don't touch her!" the little scientist yelled, suddenly putting up a renewed struggle against his captor and, surprisingly, making a decent fight of it.
T'Jenn turned to regard him sharply, "Selen, you are being irrational."
"My, have we got some unrequited love on our hands here? It seems that you've managed to charm the boy!" Gaspare teased, "Maybe he should watch."
The xenovirologist bristled, starting to struggle anew before T'Jenn caught his eyes. The two seemed to face off in a fierce staring match for a long moment until; at last, Len let his fight die and went still against the bodyguard that held him. The discontent written across his features was plain and Gaspare delighted in it. He chuckled and beckoned the Vulcan woman over.
"You wear trousers like the men, I see. I would have preferred a skirt, but I suppose I will work with what I'm given," Gaspare teased again, watching as T'Jenn broke off her staring session with Len to walk over to him, "Who knows? If I like what I am given enough, I may permit you to live. Of your friends, I cannot promise the same."
"You intend to kill them," T'Jenn said, completely unaffected.
Gaspare grinned, reached out to touch the back of her exposed neck, "You don't sound surprised. Of course, I doubt you can feel surprise. I doubt you even care whether or not it is quick and clean. Why, I bet I could slit your young gentleman caller's throat right here and you wouldn't even bat an eyelash."
T'Jenn could hear the low metallic hiss as a knife slid free behind her. She turned her head almost imperceptibly, enough that she could see over her shoulder. It seemed that Gaspare's bodyguard, acting on some sort of unspoken order, had drawn a long, wicked looking knife and now held it to the tender skin on Len's throat. She didn't even twitch, turning her eyes back to the man who seemed quite content to press his thick fingers into the back of her head. The traditional Vulcan in her rebelled at the touch, but the sharp spark of inner loathing was quickly tucked away where all emotions belonged and none of it registered in the depths of her rich, chocolate eyes.
"It would be logical to make their murders brutal," T'Jenn intoned blankly, "you intend to say that Klingons killed them and no Klingon death has ever been easy."
Gaspare ran his hands over her long, silken braids, humming in interest, "Clever girl. If you were capable of deceit, I'd say you were being duplicitous to cut a better deal for yourself. Luckily, I know better than that."
"I believe it is your intent to kiss me," the Vulcan beauty said, looking up at their captor with those deep, emotionless eyes.
"Well, if you're going to be blunt, then so am I," Gaspare smirked, wrapping his arms tightly around T'Jenn and leaning down to plant his mouth against hers possessively.
The sudden action gave Len a start and he struggled minimally again, jerking his shoulders fitfully in a token display of active disapproval. It fueled Gaspare's fire and he kissed the woman harder, holding the back of her head so that she could not move away. The scientist could feel the stinging bite of the blade digging into his neck, could feel the first hot rivulets of blood welling up under its deadly kiss. It stilled him somewhat, but did nothing to quell the disgust that burned bright and hot deep in his belly. The revulsion grew as he watched T'Jenn's hands slip down the human traitor's sides like a caress. Gaspare's eyes closed in arrogant ecstasy. How long could they breathe like that?
After a long moment, Gaspare drew back for breath, smiling over the Vulcan woman's shoulder at the bleeding young man. Something about him caught his eye and made him pause. He couldn't quite figure out what it was that drew him and distracted him, but there was something…the cut at his neck!
"That scientist - !" Gaspare started to yell before there was a loud whine of disruptor fire and he toppled over.
With the speed of a stalking cat, T'Jenn turned and fired a blast at the man who held her shipmate, watching with satisfaction as he crumpled to the floor with a thud. She sighed and ripped an edge off of her tunic, holding it out to Len who accepted it gratefully and pressed it to the weeping cut.
He sighed, "Don't get so into the part next time. That was gross."
"I do not comprehend your revulsion. I merely did what was necessary to attain his disruptor pistol and incapacitate them."
"It was still vile. Are they dead?"
"No, they are stunned. As soon as we disarm the detonation mechanism, we will deposit them in the Brig aboard the Seneca. Starfleet will dispense with them appropriately when we reach Earth."
"Too bad there's not a death sentence anymore. Maybe they'll make an exception for these two."
T'Jenn took a look at her wrist to check her Chronometer, "We will deal with your petty vendettas later, Selen. We have approximately ten minutes to disable the cloaking arrays on this ship. If we can at least open up communications with the Seneca, we can override the order to pull away."
"At least it looks like we're in the right place," Len said, looking around at the equipment scattered throughout the room.
"Most fortuitous," T'Jenn agreed.
Len looked around, "I'm going to leave that task to you. You're more familiar with these kinds of systems than I am and I need to find my bag. I need to patch myself up before we get to the others."
"Affirmative."
T'Jenn moved over to a console almost hidden behind a power conduit, beginning to work switches and cut wires at her leisure while Len went on a search for his absent belongings. It only took him two minutes to locate the thing, giving out a little crow of triumph before rummaging through it. He sighed happily as he began to find his tricorder, communicator, medical supplies and chronometer one-by-one. He bandaged himself quickly, keeping the chronometer in one hand and calling out a warning every two minutes.
T'Jenn's fingers flew as she worked. Len only prayed she was fast enough.
~***~
The outlook on the Seneca was grim.
Aaron Hill stood, death-gripping the back of the command chair as the seconds ticked by and he lost valuable time. There was still no word from the freighter and no way to get in to their absent captain and missing crewmen. He felt adrenaline crawling through his veins and under his skin like an army of little biting ants. He didn't want to leave. He couldn't imagine the Seneca pulling away without the dark, aristocratic captain at its helm, in this chair. It was an incomplete picture and Commander Hill hated not having the whole picture. He was not a man to go wanting.
Lieutenant Wolfram called from his spot at the helm, "Commander, we have one minute until the departure time."
A soft hand settled on Aaron's shoulder and he turned to find himself looking into Zoe Adele's serene face. There was an intense sympathy in her eyes as she said, "Aaron, I'm sorry."
"Don't you talk like that. Not yet. Captain still has 58 seconds to get his ass out of there and I've seen him pull out of closer scrapes," the Cajun man snapped, pulling away from the ship's CMO.
"57 seconds, Commander," Wolfram's crisp german accent echoed across the bridge.
Aaron narrowed his eyes and Zoe could feel his muscles coiling like steel beneath her fingers.
"56 seconds."
"Come on, you bastard…give me a sign…" Aaron hissed, stalking over to the communication station.
"54 seconds."
Zoe looked over to the helm, her eyes meeting the deep hazel of Lieutenant Adair's. An unspoken concern lingered there.
"52 seconds."
"Commander," Lieutenant Adair tried to coax him in her thick, velvety voice.
"No! We do not leave until the absolute second Captain Hart ordered us to go. I will not pull out even a nanosecond sooner, am I understood?" Aaron turned back to the others and glared.
The Indian woman turned back to her console, silently re-checking their departure course for Earth before uttering an obedient, "Aye, sir."
"Good."
"30 seconds."
"Commander Hart, this is Engineering. You're not going to believe this, but it looks like our Transporter is coming back online," the comm in the captain's chair flickered to life.
"25 seconds."
"Zoe, take the Communications Center," Aaron ordered as he stalked back to the chair, hitting a switch and answering, "Keep them online, I repeat, keep them online. We may need them yet."
"Aye, sir. Engineering, out."
"15 seconds."
Commander Aaron Hill felt his tenuous control start to slip and he banged a fist down on the arm of the Captain's chair, gritting his teeth. It was getting too close for even him to believe.
"10 seconds."
"Commander! Aaron! The freighter is hailing us," Zoe practically yelled across the Bridge, "I've opened up a frequency."
"5 seconds."
"Lieutenant Wolfram, shut up!" Aaron yelled as he dashed back across the bridge, eager as a schoolboy to hear what was being said. He didn't have to listen very hard. Whoever was at the other end was yelling as loud as they could.
It was Len's voice, "Do not pull out! Belay the order to pull out! The Seneca is set to detonate if you go! Repeat, repeat, do NOT go!"
"Len, where's Captain Hart?" Aaron asked, feeling his lungs expand in unconcealed relief.
"He's alive, Aaron. We've been separated on this damn contraption, but he's alive and we're alive. It was all a trap. We'll explain more when we've got the time to, sir, but for right now just settle for the knowledge that we're safe with only two casualties and two arrests," Len said, catching his breath from the sound of him.
Lieutenants Adair and Wolfram both collapsed into their seats, releasing all the tension of the past two hours. Zoe allowed herself the guilty pleasure of a happy smile when the realization hit her that nobody was getting left behind today. She handed the earpiece over to Aaron before quietly slipping out to go back to Sickbay. She needed to be there when the injured came aboard if there were any, smiling like nothing was wrong and ready to welcome her crewmates back into the safety and comfort of the ship they loved so well. She mused to herself that they might as well make her Chief Hospitalities Officer as well as Chief Medical Officer with all the different roles she could play in a day.
Commander Hill watched her go with a smirk before turning back to the Communications Center, "Put T'Jenn on if she's there with you."
"Lieutenant T'Jenn reporting, Commander."
"Give me options and recommendations, Lieutenant."
"Recommend that Engineering make their way to the gangway immediately to disarm the detonation trigger. Have the transporter room lock on to our locations and initiate a beam-out once you've cleared the gangway."
"Acknowledged lieutenant…we'll get right on that," the smile in Commander Aaron Hill's tone was practically palpable.
~***~
It was an easy thing to negotiate the doors to the control room back open once Len was patched up and T'Jenn had finished communication with the Seneca. The pneumatic hiss of them seemed to rouse Captain Hart, who had settled into a deep brood in one of the chairs since T'Jenn's disappearance. He and his security officers immediately stood, reaching for their phasers in the event of a firefight, pleased and relieved to see that it was only their Communications Officer and their wayward scientist. Their relief doubled to see that, despite the circumstances, T'Jenn was unharmed and Len wasn't too much worse for the wear, all things considered. He'd already had time to bandage his forehead and his neck.
"Len! T'Jenn! You're both alive. Where's Gaspare?" Hart asked, his black eyes shining.
T'Jenn replied, "I will never understand the human capability to state the obvious while under states of stress. As for Gaspare, he and his bodyguard are both stunned and bound in the next room over. We have already contacted the Seneca and they will be beaming us out as soon as they've had time to disarm the trigger on the detonation device."
"He's saying that he's happy to see you, T'Jenn," Len smirked at her and nudged her in the ribs, earning a raised eyebrow and a frigid stare.
Hart laughed softly at the both of them and shook his head, glad that some things would remain the same no matter what the situation. However, recalling the situation itself quickly brought his mood back down to earth and he frowned deeply. Len caught his sudden drop in buoyancy and canted his head.
"Captain…what's wrong?"
"This is wrong. All of it is wrong. To think that one man would endanger the lives of over 400 Federation men and women just to gain a parcel of space…it's almost beyond comprehension. If Gaspare had succeeded, he could have very well escalated this damn war of ours," Hart said, privately calculating all the potential casualties and shuddering at every one.
"I agree captain. His behavior was most illogical. I believe that sort of egocentric personality pattern is something you humans call 'selfish'," T'Jenn replied, her tone vaguely puzzled.
"You are, as always, correct, T'Jenn," Hart sighed, walking over to the cracked monitor to claim a moment of silent reflection.
~***~
In the end, it took less than half an hour for the skilled engineers aboard the USS Seneca to diffuse the hastily done detonator and retract their gangway. The airlock to the freighter was still firmly sealed, but with their transporter room back online, this didn't present any sort of problem. It wasn't very long at all before Len, T'Jenn and Joseph stood on the pads, the almost-nausea of molecular transport wearing off into the recycled air. The two security ensigns followed behind with their prisoners shortly afterwards, sparing no time before dragging them down to the brig where they would remain until facing a trial on earth. The charges so far stood to put Gaspare and his bodyguard away from quite an impressive amount of time. Hart was sure of that.
The three had hardly made it onto the Bridge before they were assaulted with smiles…and literally in the Captain's case. He had barely stepped from the lift when he felt himself firmly gripped and wrapped in a hug of almost crushing force. He gasped in air as quickly as he could before almost losing the power to expand his lungs at all and it took him a moment to properly determine what had happened to him. He looked up and found that he was in one of Aaron Hill's famous bear-hugs. There was an almost desperation in the embrace, the hug of a man who had been very nearly convinced that he would lose his best friend. Despite the bone-crushing pain of it, Hart felt a bit of warmth seeping into his heart.
On the other side of the Bridge, Zoe's reunion with Len was far more subtle, but every bit as welcoming. She reached out softly and took her co-worker's hands into her own, holding them firmly, but without pressure. She smiled at him and he returned the expression, glad to be with her again.
Zoe turned to watch as T'Jenn attempted to slip into the communications seat without so much as a greeting and she said, "We're glad to have you back as well, T'Jenn."
The soft sentimental briefly arrested T'Jenn's motion, but her pause quickly passed and she sat down, reaching for her earpiece and turning back to her beloved console. Len chuckled and Zoe simply afforded her an indulgent smile of understanding. No one was going to begrudge the contrary Vulcan her ways today, not when they were simply pleased to have her back alive.
Zoe turned her attention back to Len, gently touching the bandaging on the side of his face, "That looks painful, Len."
He hissed a little and grinned, gently pushing her hand away, "The neck is worse, but thanks for noticing."
"If you want, we can give those wounds a little bit of extra attention in the Sickbay, Len," Zoe said with true compassion in her face.
T'Jenn's sharp tones disrupted her thoughts, "That will not be necessary. You will find that his bandages are sufficient for the level of damage he sustained."
"Oh…oh of course. I didn't mean to doubt your medical abilities, Len," Zoe apologized softly.
Her fellow doctor gave her an apologetic look and gently touched the top of her golden hair, "Don't mind T'Jenn. It's true that my wounds are going to be alright, but I do appreciate the concern. Still, I think I'd like to go back to the Sickbay. I need the safety of our old stomping grounds right now."
Len reached out and took a hold of Zoe's arm before leading her off towards the lift and their comfortable little work station.
As they departed, Aaron finally broke his hug with their captain and Hart took in a great breath of fresh air, his lungs burning with the need and his face burning with the force of the smile that spread across his features. Once he had the free use of his arms again, he returned the hug, only with far less fervor than his Cajun friend. Hart had never imagined he'd be so happy to be near Hill and he wasn't about to let something like decorum stand in the way of his appreciation for his friend.
Aaron spoke with a smile lighting up his rakish features, "If you keep trying to disappear on me, you're going to have to start giving commands from the brig, sir!"
"A threat? I could have you court marshaled for that," Joseph Hart teased as he broke the hug and walked over to his command chair.
Commander Aaron Hill laughed, "You'd never make it to Earth without me and you know it, Joe."
"Well then while I still have you, let's get going, shall we? Lieutenant Adair? Lieutenant Wolfram?"
The german helmsman turned back to the Captain's chair and said with absolute confidence, "Course locked in for Earth, sir. We are ready to go to Warp speed at your order."
Captain Hart leaned back in his chair, looking every inch the proud leader of the pack, "Warp Seven, gentlemen. I believe that we've kept Starfleet waiting for far too long, already."
~***~