STAR TREK: SABOTAGE
CHAPTER ONE
Fourteen crosses.
Harker ran her fingers down the tattoo on her inner forearm as she waited; fourteen simple, black crosses, split into two rows of seven.
Folded up in an uncomfortably contemporary armchair in the lobby outside of Admiral Archer's office, she had her knees pulled up to her chest, with her arms wrapped snuggly around her stomach. She had always hated this room. It was too bright. To modern. Too gaunt and pointed. It gave her a headache to look at, and more importantly, it was a pain to sit in. All fashion, and no comfort.
An overly cheery blonde sat behind a large, silver desk, guarding the entrance. She was hurriedly typing away at her keyboard, the click-click-click of her polished fingernails ringing in Harker's ears. She glared at the woman, annoyed by the irritating sound.
The admin's toothy grin was outline in bright scarlet lipstick. Too bright for Harker's taste. Mod had come back in style, much to her chagrin, which meant big hair, short skirts, and bold makeup. Starfleet had a strict uniform code, but that did not stop many of the women in their ranks from tarting themselves up with cosmetics. And, the female uniforms' hemline did little to lend itself to functional service.
The only makeup Harker wore was a single line of thick, black eyeliner along her lashes. And, she considered that to be more than enough. Besides, her Aunt Laura was always telling her that she did not need makeup. According to her, Harker had been blessed with a beautiful complexion. Covering that up with a layer of greasy paint was far from necessary. Her hair, however, was another matter.
It seemed like Harker's hair was always a mess. No matter what she tried, it always ended up hanging in her face. She brushed a wavy strand of auburn behind her ear at the thought. She had tied it back into a ponytail that morning, and already there was a handful of stray tresses surrounding her face and neck. Apparently, she had never inherited that gene that every other woman seems to have built into their DNA, which allowed them to elaborately style their hair.
Two smartly dressed officers suddenly strutted passed, glaring down their noses at her in disapproval as they exited the Admiral's office.
Harker immediately straightened in her seat, tugging the sleeve of her leather jacket down to cover her tattoo as she placed the heels of her boots securely on the floor. Smoothing her uniform, she pulled at the hem of her red skirt modestly and brushed a speck of dirt off her black leggings. She corrected her posture, before fastening her hands together in her lap and swallowing anxiously.
"Ensign Harker?" the admin chimed musically from her desk, "Admiral Archer will see you now."
Harker stood, butterflies fluttering around her stomach as she walked stiffly to the office door and knocked gently, before entering.
Admiral Archer was bent over his desk at the far end of the long room, scribbling away furiously on the massive stack of documents to his right. She stepped inside, silently closing the door behind her, before clearing her throat. The Admiral's head snapped up, and Harker immediately snapped to attention, with her arms and back almost painfully ridged.
"Admiral," she greeted him, her eyes fixed straight ahead.
Archer laughed, quickly standing and crossing the floor to envelop her in a hug. "Christ, Kiddo," he chortled with a handsome smile, "Don't look so damn serious."
Harker relaxed, chuckling uncertainly, "Yeah. This is weird, right?"
He held her at arm's length, his hands warm on her shoulders as his eyes swept over her uniform. His expression softened, tinged with pride. "No," he stated adamantly, "Not at all." He let go of her, ushering her into the room and offering her a chair, "Come on in, Kid. Take a seat."
Harker flopped down into the chair, watching as he mirrored her behind his desk. "What do I even call you now, anyway?" she wondered, "Uncle-Admiral Archer? Admiral-Uncle Henry?"
"Let's just stick with 'Uncle Henry'," he clarified, resting his elbows on the desktop and leaning forward. His blue eyes shined brilliantly as he did another once over, "Jesus, you look just like your mother in that uniform."
Harker felt tears begin to sting at the corner of her eyes. She swallowed thickly, her voice strained and quiet, "Thank you."
He fell silent, his warm smile faltering slightly. "God, I miss her," he shifted restlessly in his seat, sighing woefully, "You know, I begged her not to go. I begged her not to take you kids. But your mother was certain that she was doing the right thin; quitting Starfleet and heading out there with all those people. She really thought that they could make a difference. That they could make peace with the Klingons. Bring our worlds together." He shook his head, "Hell, she was so stubborn. No one could talk her out of it. Not me. Not Grandpa John. No one."
She did not say anything. Just dropped her eyes to the carpet, her cheeks suddenly burning.
"She'd be proud of you, though," Archer assured her, "You need to know that. She'd be damn proud of you."
"I know," Harker replied evenly, meeting his eyes. She cleared her throat again, biting at the inside of her lip. "So, ah…" she struggled, "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"
Archer's expression abruptly darkened, his mouth suddenly pressed into a stern line. "Your request for assignment came through my office this morning," he informed her, "The Enterprise, Mila?"
Harker had to suppress a groan.
She had put in her request to be assigned the U.S.S. Enterprise, for the duration of her upcoming mission, the day after her graduation from the Starfleet Academy. And, she had done it quietly, not mentioning her intentions to a single soul. But she had known this would be coming. She had known that eventually it would come across her uncle's desk, and that it would be soon. After all, the Enterprise was set to launch within the next few weeks.
"Yeah," she breathed, bracing herself for what she knew was coming.
"Five-years!" her uncle exclaimed, clearly concerned, "Five. Years. After what you went through, why on earth would you put yourself through five years in space?"
"Can you think of someone who's more suited for the mission?" she asked calmly.
Archer narrowed his eyes, "What?"
"Starfleet is sending a crew of over four-hundred out into the unknown," she defended stoically, "But, I've already been to the unknown, Sir. I adapted. I survived. Is there anyone else that you would rather send out on a mission like this one?"
"Just tell me, Mila. Why?" he countered, leaning forward and scowling as he tapped his palm agitatedly on the desk, "Why do you want this? And, I don't mean why you think you should go. No. Why do you want this?"
Harker inhaled deeply, staring across at her uncle with wide, knowing eyes, "It was Pike's ship."
Archer leaned back in his chair, sighing loudly in sympathy, "Mila… Pike is gone."
"I know that," she replied a little too sharply, "I went to the memorial last week."
Her uncle's eyebrows practically rose into his hairline, "You did?"
"Of course, I did," she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest, "Pike saved my life. He came for me when no one else did." Her voice cracked, "He didn't deserve what happened to him."
"No," Archer agreed solemnly, "He didn't. But the Enterprise isn't Pike's ship anymore. If you're doing this to be closer to—"
"Pike picked Kirk as his successor," she interrupted quickly.
The creases of her uncle's face deepened in exasperation.
Pike had selected Kirk to take his place aboard the Enterprise, but there was much more to it than that. Harker had heard the captain speak at the memorial, and his words had resonated with her.
"There will always be those who mean to do us harm," he had said at the podium, looking out over the crowd fearlessly, "To stop them, we risk awakening the same evil within ourselves. Our first instinct is to seek revenge when those we love are taken from us. But that's not who we are..."
She knew that evil. She had fought it for a decade, suppressing a blistering rage just beneath her surface. She had hidden it well, concealing it from everyone. But it was still there, throbbing just under her skin.
"But that's not who we are…"
She wanted nothing more but to put the past behind her. To forget everything that had happened years ago on that red planet. To let the wrath within her drift away into the universe, and finally be able to truly move on with her life.
She wanted to let go of it all, but she just did not know how.
"If I'm going to serve on a starship," Harker began pointedly, "I'm going to do so under a captain that Christopher Pike deemed worthy of taking his command."
Archer stared at her in silence, but she stared right back, meeting his challenging gaze resolutely.
"There's nothing I can do to talk you out of this?" he grumbled, thwarted, "Is there?"
"Not in the slightest."
He sighed again, the sound rumbling deep within his chest, and then he suddenly stood. She hurried to her feet.
"Well then, Ensign Harker," he began graciously, offering her his hand, "I wish you luck on your mission."
Harker carefully wrapped her fingers around his, dumbstruck that he had bent to her. "Thank you, Sir," she uttered, shaking his hand firmly, "That means a lot to me."
"You're an Archer, through and through," he told her, his smile returning, but not quite meeting his eyes, "If not in name, then in blood. Don't you ever forget that, Kid."
She smirked back at him, "Stubbornness must run in the family."
Chuckling lightly as he sank back into his chair, he rubbed thoughtfully at his chin, his eyes sparkling mischievously, "You have no idea."
She remained standing, waiting to be dismissed, but he was not ready to let her go just yet.
"You know," he began, his tone filled with cunning intent, "as an engineer, you'll be working under Lieutenant Commander Scott."
She snorted, unable to stop herself, "Isn't that the guy who tried to beam Grandpa John's dog during warp?"
Archer nodded, grinning.
She placed her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes, "I thought you said you weren't going to try and talk me out of it?"
He shrugged, "I had to try."
Harker rolled her eyes and, no longer caring about being dismissed, turned to leave, "You know, I always hated that dog."
Shaking his head incredulously as he watched her stomp towards the door, Archer called her back, "Ensign Harker!"
She stopped, begrudgingly turning back around and glaring at him.
"That jacket isn't regulation," he informed her.
Harker scowled, fully aware that he was toying with her now. She huffed, hastily stripping off the leather number and tossing it on the floor between them, before sticking out her tongue childishly.
She stormed out the door, leaving Admiral Henry Archer in a fit of laughter.
Harker stepped into the waiting elevator with an aggravated puff, tugging down at her short sleeves and crossing her arms over her chest as the doors slid shut.
Her frustration aside, that had gone much better than she had expected.
Over the past seven years, people had tended to treat her like she was a fragile, little doll. They seemed incapable of seeing her as anything other than the only surviving victim of the Sagan Massacre, as the Klingon attack had come to be called. They were all convinced that she must be treated delicately, or else her brittle mind could break. But Harker was anything but fragile. Body and mind, she knew she was one of the most resilient officers in the fleet. Three years on the red planet had seen to that.
She pressed the first-floor button, slouching with her back against the wall as the elevator began to descend.
It was infuriating, she had to admit. People treated her like she was somehow less, now. Broken. And, maybe in a way, she was. But her life had not ended on that forsaken rock. If anything, she had come alive under those twin suns. And, since then, she had just been coasting along, waiting to feel that burst of life again.
The elevator slowed. Harker's eyes sprung up to the floor indicator, where the white glow suddenly stopped on the eleven. She immediately straightened up, folding her hands in the small of her back formally as the doors dinged softly, and slid open.
Her stomach did a summersault and her breath hitched behind her tongue as her eyes glided over the dark-blue, academy staff uniform in front of her.
"Commander," she greeted the man by his rank, nodding her head curtly as she stepped aside, making room for him to enter.
He towered over her as he stepped in, swiftly turning to face the doors. She could not help but glance up at his face, her cheeks burning self-consciously as she noticed his angular brows and pointed ears.
A Vulcan.
He was easily over six feet tall, leanly built, but clearly well-muscled under his uniform. She had half expected to see a green flush to his skin, but his complexion had a pale Caucasian tone, not much different from hers. His brown eyes looked human, too. Though, the color did look slightly richer. His black hair was cut in what she supposed was the customary Vulcan bob, and she noticed that his eyebrows were slightly fuller than the pictures of Vulcans she had seen in her text books.
Harker had never seen a Vulcan in person before, and she tried not to stare. There had never been many of his species on Earth. And, after the destruction of Vulcan by the war criminal Nero, there were even fewer.
She felt a surge of sympathy towards the man, unable to imagine what it must be like to be a member of an endangered species.
He nodded back, looking down at her impersonally as he returned her greeting, "Ensign."
"What floor, Sir?" she asked, quickly looking towards the buttons on the panel.
"The first," he replied neutrally, "Thank you."
Harker pressed the 'close doors' button, "Yes, Sir."
The elevator continued its decent, and Harker began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. She did not care for small spaces. And, she especially did not like sharing those spaces with strange people. Particularly, she did not like sharing those spaces with strange men. She felt an aching tension building between her shoulder blades, and she held in a sigh as she nervously brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Tattoos below the elbow are strictly against regulations, Ensign…?"
She looked up at him in surprise, pulling her arm away from her face and staring blankly at the crosses printed down her forearm. "Uh," she answered the superior officer hesitantly, "Harker, Sir." She quickly refolded her arms behind her back, "I'll try to remember to keep it covered."
"Very well," He nodded stiffly, "However, removal would be more practical."
The presumptuousness of the statement sent a sudden pang of anger shooting up her spine, and she clenched her fists tightly as she bit down on the tip of her tongue.
The elevator slowed, and then stopped, the doors dinging again as they opened. Harker hurriedly exited the lift, but before her brain could catch up to her mouth's intentions, she had spun around on her heels.
"Respectfully, Sir," she hissed, "No."
The word left her lips with a finality that surprised even her as she set off for the front exit, grumbling "dick" under her breath, and leaving the Commander staring after her with his pointed brows quirked in bewilderment.
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