Stardate 2242.303: Starfleet Headquarters, London
"Attention! Attention!"
The drunken cry rose above the crowd and the beat. The darkened atmosphere of the bar was located on the edge of the base and offered primarily for officers on shore leave. The shout announced the presence of one Lieutenant Carl Finnlay, who was currently struggling to find his footing on a tall table near the center of the bar.
As the crowd quieted, albeit only slightly, the lieutenant continued his disruption. "Two months ago, halfway across the galaxy, Commander Pike successfully negotiated the release of Captain Johnson from a hostile race of Angreians. Now, raise a glass, to the new Captain of the USS Truman."
Christopher Pike rolled his eyes at his friend's and soon to be First Officer's antics, but the bar erupted with cheers and 'here, here's. The room drank. After finishing his shot, Christopher raised a hand in thanks to his fellow officers before aiding his friends in safely removing Finnlay from the table.
"So," a purred whisper and a hand dragged that lightly across Pike's shoulders. "Captain, is it?"
A warm body leaned close enough to his right arm that he could feel the elevated heat of the other host. He turned to see a Caitian officer, fresh out of the Academy. He gave a hum of agreement, "And Lieutenant M'Ress, if I'm not mistaken?"
Her tail wrapped provocatively around his arm. "You're not," she purred, the tip of her tail grazing his ear. "You have a reputation, Captain."
Chris smirked, "And what does this reputation say?" He looked her up and down, admiring the curves mixed with an intoxicating feline aura. Already, his body was feeling the beginnings of anticipation.
She moved her lips inches away from his own, "It implies that you could handle me . . . sir."
"Well, if that's the—"
His communicator interrupted him. Giving in apologetic glance to M'Ress, he answered. "Captain Pike."
"Hello, uh, Captain?"
Pike, expecting, as it was a private comm, the call to be from one of his superior officers, was shocked to hear the stuttered greeting from the other side. "Who is this?" he demanded, irked by the casual use of what was supposed to be a reserved line.
"Um, Sir, my name is George-"
While Pike momentarily pondered the lack of a specified rank, he felt the real heat of the Caitian next him remove itself.
"Hold on a second," Pike said, directing it at both his comm and M'Ress.
He caught her arm, the soft skin having almost a velvety feel due to the miniscule layer of fur covering her tan body, and removed the comm from his ear.
"M'Ress," he began but was stopped with a long, sharp-nailed finger to his lips.
"It's alright, Captain," she smiled ferally, and damn if that wasn't the sexiest thing he'd seen in a while. "I did my research. I know all about this part of your reputation as well."
"This part?" he asked, confused.
M'Ress smirked. "That you live for your ship, and now I suppose it will be for the chair." She glanced down at his comm, still lit in a dim blue signaling that it was live. "If you finish with that before the night ends, you are more that welcome to find me again. I'll be on the floor. Have a good evening, Captain."
His rank had never sounded so . . . full of implications. The captain promised himself he would take her up on that offer, if not tonight, then definitely before their next mission assignment. Pike frowned down at his comm, remembering the enigma that awaited his slightly buzzed brain.
In order to remove some of the distractions, Pike headed outside before reinitiating contact. "Are you an officer of Starfleet?" Pike demanded, eagerness to get back to his night fueling his already severe speech patterns.
"No, Sir. I-"
"Then how the hell did you get onto this line?"
"Well, Sir, I-"
Pike finally noticed the pitch and hesitancy in his voice. "How old are you, Civilian?" his severity calming some.
The speaker took a breath, and Pike noticed the tension and frustration within it. A small part of his was glad he had gotten under this kid's skin, he had very nearly ruined his night. "Sixteen, Sir," the boy confirmed Pike's observations.
"And how did you get the number to this comm?" he asked again. "There's no way you got into Starfleet's system."
"Not headquarters, no. I hacked into the service mainframe from the shipyards and then piggybacked a signal from the head to some admiral."
"You did what?"
"I—"
"I will report this in the morning as well as apply for stronger firewalls around all earth-based shipyards. If you call this number again, we will be able to track you're signal. You have committed an act of virtual-trespassing against the Starfleet Federation. This call is over."
"No, wait, Sir! Please!"
The desperation in the kid's voice made him stop, despite his admitted better judgement. Although the captain knew he was probably just worried about the charges, he decided to play it out. "Talk fast, Son."
"My name is George Samuel Kirk and I need your help," the rushed reply came.
The slight static over the line filled the silence as Pike's slowed reactions made the connections. "Kirk?"
"Yes, Sir?" He sounded unsure if Pike was clarifying or asking a question, in truth, it was probably both.
"How did you . . ." Christopher began but stopped when he realized he had already answered that question. "Son, what could you possibly need from me?"
"Earlier this year, I read your dissertation."
Pike had done that paper on the USS Kelvin. At the time, he was frustrated he hadn't gotten something bigger, his roommate had gotten the USS Franklin, but as Pike had read into the actions of Captain George Kirk, he realized the significance in the event. The captain would even go as far as saying it heavily influenced the decisions he made in his most recent negotiation.
"I, I didn't know your father, kid."
"My name is Sam, and I know you didn't," the boy's teenage rebellion kicking in at his perceived insult to his knowledge. "I, shit, I, I really thought you would have hung up before this. I don't even know what to say now."
His interest now piqued, Pike sat down on a bench, forgetting the noise that awaited him back inside the bar. "Why don't we start with why you needed to call, and then you can tell me why you called me."
"Right, that sounds good," Sam said, and Christopher couldn't help the small smile that found it's way onto his face. If asked, he would have blamed it on those shots. "I called because I'm worried about my sister, Sir. She just turned ten and well, my uncle, he," the boy stumbled. "When my mom's off world, she leaves us with our Uncle Frank, and it was fine when I was little, but it's gotten real bad, especially since dad died. It started with smaller stuff, like when I'd mess up or Jamie was crying real bad. But for a while now, its just been all the time."
"What's been?" Pike asked, already forming some unpleasurable suspicions.
"The yelling," the boy finally admitted. "He's always drunk, he throws things, he never buys enough food. And, and if it was just me, I'd leave, I almost did, but I can't leave Jamie. He doesn't usually hit, so the police don't care, and mom doesn't believe us. And, you see, Sir, I turn eighteen in twenty-six months, and then he can make me leave Jamie, and she'll be all alone. And she can't be alone, Sir, not with him. She'll be twelve by then and, and," Sam loses his wording again. "And if he looks at her like that now, I can't, Sir. I just can't."
Pike sobered up as he started to get the picture. At first, the word 'usually' had really struck him, 'he usually doesn't hit,' but then the boy kept talking and he realized just how terrible things were, and much worse they could still get.
"And then I read your report on the Aenar Genocide in my Intraspecies Relations and Cultures class. And I remembered your name from your paper on the Kelvin. When we analyzed the depth of your report and the effects your negotiations had on the actual society, I knew you would understand."
The Aenar prey on their young females sometimes from ages as young as eight. Their placement in society is directly reliant on how young their first pregnancy was. The justification Pike was given when he questioned their right to appeal from Federation aid during a war with the Andorians, an enemy clan, was that the gestation period for Aenars was nearly thirty months, and the women were usually bedridden from the twentieth. Pike denied aid until the leaders agreed to mandate that children under twelve could not be mated with. He had tried to push for a higher age, but Starfleet Command had stepped in to prevent the growing genocide. Although Pike wished he could have done more, and still thought about the negotiations often, it was considered a high mark in his career. It was the event that got him nominated for First Officer.
"I do, Sam," Pike comforted. "I understand that steps need to be taken." Pike heard a muffled shuttering breath on the other side. "Sam?" he asked, concerned.
"I'm sorry," Sam responded, his voice tight but Pike could still hear the tears. He correctly assumed they were of relief.
"Don't be."
"I just," Sam let out of breath. "I want to protect her, she's my baby sister, and she has so much potential. I don't want him to touch her. I can't stop his words, but I always try to make sure they're directed at me. I always lock the door, but I'm afraid to sleep at night. Sometimes, when he's really drunk, I can hear the door nob rattle and his curses from the other side. And I can see the way he looks at her. She's just a kid, how can he look at her like that?"
"Sam, you made the right choice. I will help you. I won't let this go on anymore."
"How, Sir?"
"I have one more week of leave. I'd love to meet your sister."