7
She is. . . amused by Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott.
He is her commanding officer: short, balding, and lacking in true malevolent grace except in his attitudinal contempt for the enormous Andorian contingent that scurry like so many Terran ants through the freezing halls at everyone's beck and call. It took less than ten minutes for them both to understand she could mutilate him easily and thus they quickly reached an accord. He is incredibly adept at his job however, especially as it concerns the mistreatment of station replicators—the only machines to operate at peak efficiency, even the atmospheric communication beacons (the whole point for the Empire to place staff on this wasteland of a moon) are full of static, their components in need of radiation repair which Starfleet apparently can't afford—and does not personally do anything to convince Nyota that assassination would be a viable option. She does not wish to be commander of this pathetic rock and so Scotty can keep it with her blessings.
Within Nyota's stomach is a spiny ball of gluttonous rage; as each day passes, every hour she spends seated at a cold desk listening to what could quite possibly be scrambled Romulan pornography or—on good days—obsolete military codes that she'll have to modernize before finalizing any report, every second where she knows the Enterprise is out there experiencing he galaxy without her, the ball solidifies, spikes harden and tear at her until the shaming urge to actually cry comes upon her and she has to go beyond her allotted time in the stations gym pounding the shit out of reconstructed exercise equipment. A confidant woman, a strong woman, an invincible woman: her doubt is becoming oppressive. Nyota spends much of her free time cloistered in her tiny private chamber examining her transcripts, rereading notes from professors on her assignments and conduct and determination and trying to decipher any inkling that would have said she would not have been placed on the flagship, would not have been rewarded for her fucking perfection! Years wasted and-and pain! And there's a goddamned brand on her ass that she can't get rid of—She deserved the Enterprise and here she is on a fucking ball of ice—
8
Nyota receives a message from Jim Kirk five months into her 'banishment.'
It is her first piece of personal mail since leaving the Academy with her mother's disappointed congratulations and Nyota can't comprehend how the bastard even got it through to her let alone why he would even want to communicate with a now second rate Ensign. To gloat, she finally decides, playing the message late at night with her door triple locked and a dagger held tight for security. Scotty could probably get through if he wished but Nyota doesn't think he would; he has a nice face but she doesn't want him and or some strange reason Nyota believes he respects her choice.
The image on her screen is a wash of greys and blacks and slightly grainy, as if Kirk recorded himself in the dark and the only light is coming from his own screen. All she sees for a few moments are fingers--He's positioning his vidscreen--and then there's Jim's infuriatingly grinning face. She furrows her brow, watching him with suspicion. There's a mark—no, a cut below his left eye. It looks old, hasn't been regenerated. Kirk's voice is a laughing whisper, but his eyes. . .Nyota has a feeling he's about to spew venom.
"Hi beautiful. Now who woulda thunk this? You, out there in dullsville, picking over whatever scraps the Romulans decide to send out. And me," he made a little gesture, a snap of his wrist, "living large on the greatest ship the Empire has ever built, hunting out the scum of the galaxy for the glory of the Emperor." Nyota hears a sound and realizes it is her own teeth grinding. She wants to blind those bright blue knowing eyes, feel the gel squeeze between her fingers. "Well I woulda thought it. Not everyone has my discriminating taste though. Sorry I didn't get a chance to say goodbye but ya know, I'm special, I'm a busy boy, places to go people to see." His tongue appears, running back and forth over the sharp edge of his top teeth. "A part of me wants you to be punished, to see this as consequences for your actions and then go hurt yourself afterwards. It's probably a good thing that you're not part of my crew right now."
"You don't have a crew, you arrogant prick," she hisses at the screen knowing it was useless and unable to help herself anyway. Her lips are a tight line.
". . .the other part?" he shrugged and stepped back, showing off a toned bare torso. There is a dark mark over one clavicle that could be a shadow but Nyota doubts it; she sits up on her cot. What the hell is Jim Kirk doing sending her recordings of his naked white ass? Punishment? Well it isn't as if Nyota ever sought it out before and she's convinced his ego is big enough to believe that seeing without touching will cause her pain. There's a quick flash of light on the screen—a door swishing open—then the greys return and Nyota has to blink her eyes back into awareness. Someone has entered Kirk's room or closet or hiding place and for a moment Nyota hopes it's Captain Pike come to administer his brand of 'quality time' on his upstart Golden Boy. Of course, that would not have made any sense if this was to be her punishment.
Leonard McCoy's presence makes sense though.
All thirty six minutes.
Seeing. But not touching.
Over the next seven months Kirk furtively sends her nine more messages (the frequency is impossible to trace which makes sense if it really is coming from the flagship) that she attempts to not watch, to destroy in some manner before inevitably slipping the disk into the vidscreen and observing Kirk and Len fuck and kiss and lick and possibly make love in a variety of ways. She aims her phaser at several of them, places the thin disk on the floor of her quarters and raises the setting to 'Kill.' She puts her finger on the button and aims and cannot follow though because as much as this psychological torture hurts Kirk's messages are her only contact with civilization. . .Kirk's messages are her only link to Len.
So Nyota has to watch.
And by the time the seventh one arrives Nyota wants to watch.
She sees the long line of Kirk's spine and his multitude of scars and finds herself wanting to ask questions—wanting to poke the snake just to see what it will do of course, but also wants to watch his eyes explain what Nyota can probably guess. She dislikes him but it gets harder to truly despise Jim Kirk when he no longer begins his messages with conversation. He's never free of some cut or bruise on his face, somewhere very visible. He's surviving, and she begins to believe this is less a 'consequence for actions rendered' when after eight recordings of unedited one-angle sex tapes she receives what in comparison is a masterpiece of clips of Len's arching body and freckled arms and rough knees, and there's Kirk's mouth as well—he has a pretty mouth—and his ass on repeat so often it actually makes her laugh. No blatant cock shots but Nyota figures that would be to incongruous; Len obviously does not realize their acts are being recorded, he never looks at the camera (Jim has) and never not looks either. They rarely talk above asking for a drink and anything else is spoken too quietly for Nyota to hear. She can strongly assume that Pike does not know about these sessions either.
There's a pause at the end of the ninth message and then Kirk appears in close-up, face scrubbed, a yellowed bruise upon his forehead.
"Hi beautiful," and he gives her a wink. "Happy anniversary to us both, huh? One whole year out of the academy and we're both still kicking. I have my goals Uhura. You're still going to be my Communications Officer one day." He's crazy for mentioning such things. He's been lucky—they both have—that these messages haven't been intercepted by someone of a more mercenary ilk; his words are treasonous, no one actively talks about being a captain until another one is dead. "I hope that moon you're on hasn't frozen your tongue, we need a few talented ones around here." She laughs but it's a soft empty sound. A year and she's yet to receive word of transfer or promotion—the former icing on the cake, the latter worth more than it's weight in gold at this point. For now she's stuck and she's learned that word from an experienced man: Scotty's been here for years.
"You're too smart to waste away out there, but I'm sure you already know that." He pauses, simply looking straight at her, and Nyota pauses with him, not liking his tone. They weren't associates at the Academy, weren't in the same track, didn't socialize with each other. His tone is different. . .compassionate. It's uncomfortable. Kirk's voice dips even lower. "I'm sure you know that's the only reason you're out there and not in here. He knew you'd figure it out."
Nyota shifts on her bed. Emphasis? Kirk's eyes have purpose and for now it's not to entice. She was too. . .smart for the Enterprise? How the hell does that happen?
"Keep trucking Ensign. People like us, we don't believe in no-win scenarios."
The message ends with a small beep but Nyota replays it twice more, forwarding to Kirk's comments each time. What does he mean? And who does Kirk refer to? He's obviously trying to impart something but the spiny ball in Nyota's stomach comes to life at the most logical thought that Jim Kirk has been playing her for a fool all these months, lulling her into a sense of. . .intimacy? compatriotism?. . .all in the effort to build her hopes against one particular theoretical figure who kept her away from the Enterprise? To mark her as a conspirator as revenge for insulting Len? Kirk isn't referring to Len—after recording their interludes, saying the doctor's name wouldn't cause much trouble. And it's not like McCoy had that sort of clout to keep her off the Enterprise's roster—
But Pike would have.
Captain Christopher Pike could have made damn sure Nyota didn't step one pointed toe upon his jewel of a ship. . .But why?
9
She abandoned her academy transcripts for Enterprise fodder. Pick-ups, drop-offs, full crew rosters on all decks: anything easily accessible was found through general Starfleet reports, all the t's crossed and i's dotted so to speak. There would be nothing incriminating there as well Nyota knew, but it was an excellent place to start for someone who had not been involved in a years worth of ship's activities. Excessive commonalities or extreme variations in routine, that's what she was ultimately looking for, but such information was difficult if not impossible to come by from her communications station, and while she had taken all the required academy courses in computer proficiency Nyota was hardly an expert. It would require more than her skills to gather the sort of intel she sought, and again she had to wonder why Kirk had dropped this secret (if indeed it was true) in her lap. Being Pike's Boy had surely garnered him privileges over the years. . .perhaps he was tired of the cost of such attention and was now looking for a way out. If that were the case then Pike would have to be involved with something particularly anathema to the objectives of the Empire if Kirk hoped to have him court-martialled or stripped of rank, and did Nyota really wish to be involved with something of that magnitude when it didn't truly connect to her own ambitions? Kirk said it did. If Pike is the only reason I didn't get the Enterprise then I'm damn sure going to find out why!
Of course metaphorically stabbing your commanding officer in the back wasn't the only way to get rid of them. Was Jim Kirk—boyishly, infuriatingly smug Jim Kirk—planning on disposing of one of the most brutal men in Starfleet? Nyota sits back from her desk in quiet shock, quickly aligning her posture and adjusting her earpiece at the notice she was getting from the Andorians nearby. They know her routine has changed—from a woman who has spent the majority of her free time ensconced inside her cabin to someone who regularly needs reminders of shift changes, Nyota's manner has shifted too suddenly to be understood and she curses her lack of subtlety.
She curses again once the tenth message comes through and instead of a bedroom of Kirk's grinning mug she sees Leonard McCoy stationed in front of a brilliant sterile wall—undoubtedly Enerprise's sickbay—a glass of amber liquid on the table before him. Fucking great. But the swear lacks passion and she knows it. It feels good to see him in any event. He's wearing CMO blues and they suit him to a tee, but he's unshaven and looks as if he's already taken some time to drink before sitting down to speak. Not that Len's speaking at the moment however; right now he's watching his glass and grimacing. When he finally does open his mouth the voice that comes forth is the same smooth rolling gravel she remembers.
"Jim told me he's been sendin' you these li'l videos. Become a pair of goddamned holo buddies ain't'cha." She watches him suck his upper lip into his mouth, scratch his chin. She isn't sorry she's watched them, can't be now. Guilt is useless after all and if she was a saint then she would have destroyed the messages upon receiving them. If she was a saint she would not have lived this long. "Can't say I'm too pleased about it darlin', you and Jim bein' cheats an' all for one—" This makes her grin softly but she cannot be distracted. Len has paused to clear his throat and only then does he swing his eyes up to the vidscreen. "There's too much risk for so little reward—whatever kind o' reward you an' Jim find in it—an' it's goin' to stop. Now. No more."
Nyota nearly lurches forward on her cot to argue. NO! No he can't take this away from her, not when she's become so utterly stupid to actually anticipate, to get pleasure from finding these messages waiting for her, to look forward to something again! But all arguments are useless. He's somewhere out in space and she's on a frozen moon. Damn him! Damn him and damn Kirk and damn Pike to a cold abyss! He's reaching forward to turn off the recording and Nyota has to fight to keep from reaching out as well. If she were a lesser woman she would have.
"Just watch yourself Uhura," he mumbles. And then he's gone.
Nyota's entire face tightens, eyebrows and forehead furrowing, gaze narrows and lips pinching. She swallows hard a few times before the urge to scream dissipates, adding another layer to her repressed rage.
Very slowly she raises a thumb to press below her chin where his tiny scar still remains.
10
She does not have the technical capability nor the materials required to by-pass Enterprise wavelength security, thus even if she knew how to rip apart and delicately put together personal logs the process is too far a field for her to contemplate. Access to Pike's personal information is covered by his own captain's codes and, for Nyota, impossible to infiltrate. She will need help—there's no point in turning back and forgetting; Kirk and Len's veiled talk has become an obsession and Nyota cannot let her own life spin any further away from her like so much ship exhaust, so intangible she may as well throw herself out an airlock and forget any notion of a real career. She will discover what has kept her from her dream, but she will need help, and as she proceeds down the long hall towards Montgomery Scott's cabin she steels herself to acquiesce to whatever this 'help' may require.
Nothing and no one is free.
Her ponytail is high and her hair hangs down her back in one long sleek line, heels click sharp staccato beats along the metal floor and she's forced an extra sway into her hips; Nyota isn't blind, she knows she attractive to the opposite sex, and some men need to be given a look of eagerness right away. She thinks this will be the case with Scotty. There are no other crew cabins near his, in fact Scotty's room is completely separate from all other personal quarters. He sleeps down near the inadequate station engines and turbines, a constant pulse but no real power; it is incredibly warm in this section of the station especially in comparison to her cold little communications corner. The bastard.
She sighs and purposefully runs a hand over her breasts, down her stomach and over her hips. She's wearing her academy uniform and her legs may as well go all the way up to her neck. The addition of her agonizer and dagger holster are the only changes but Nyota believes the ensemble suits her purpose. The crew is wrapped up in layers 24/7. A little flesh would not be underappreciated, and now that she knows that Scotty's temperature controls actually work, said flesh isn't covered in goose bumps or twitching. At least not from the cold. Shoulders back, chest out, head high. Don't smile. She can't go overboard or he'll kill her on sight.
It is beyond unexplainable to come across his private door unlocked and Nyota's eyes widen, hand going directly for a weapon when it swishes open by the fact of her presence alone.
There is a red-haired naked Orion slowly massaging her breast in front of a rather impressively large computer consul. When she speaks her voice is like the sweetest heat rolling down Nyota's throat.
"That was fast. Did you find anything gelatinous?" Only then does the green woman turn towards the door and see that it is not whom she expected.
Nyota's too shocked to expect the horrible pain suddenly radiating from the small of her back, but Scotty did possess some skill with an agonizer after all. Nyota is booted forward, toppling to the floor as her knees give out from the pain rushing up and down her nervous system, tingling her fingers and making her body twitch. The door swishes shut and locks engage. The Orion comes to stand over her prone form while Scotty liberates Nyota from her weapons. "She's pretty," the red head smiles—all white teeth, a little leering and familiar—while caressing a hand over the Chief Engineers head. "Do we have to kill her?"