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Mind Over Matter
Chapter Six

On the tenth day, the guard came in with two buckets in his hands and a bag thrown over his shoulder. He set his burdens down with a grunt before pointing at her chest. "Off."

"Off what?"

Jerking her to her feet, he grabbed her collar, yanking the jacket backward so hard the fabric gave way at the zipper and it slid partway down her arms, trapping them. She struggled, choking, and he jerked again. The second time, the zipper broke completely and the jacket fell backward onto the floor.

The guard pointed at her pants. "I said off."

Not wanting them torn as well, she stripped out of her boots, pants, and t-shirt and stood there, shivering, in her support tank and underwear. Mind over matter, she reminded herself. She wasn't actually cold; in fact, the temperature in this chamber was often rather warmer than comfortable.

"All off."

"No."

The tank's fabric gave way even faster than the jacket's had. Glaring, Katrina finished the job, dropping her underwear on top of her other clothing.

He leered at her as she straightened, and she focused her eyes on the door. No matter what he did next, it wouldn't humiliate her unless she let it. And she didn't mean to let it.

Chuckling, he picked up one of the buckets and upended it over her head. She gasped as she was drenched in cold water, but the guard ignored it, taking something from the bag and shoving it into her hands. It proved to be a small piece of cloth.

"Wash!" he snarled. "You stink."

She started scrubbing the cloth over her arms and chest.

"Stupid," he informed her before taking out a jar. The contents smelled terrible, but looked similar to decon gel, so she took a chance and scooped up two fingertips' worth. It was, indeed, some sort of soap, and despite the noxious odor it felt good on her skin.

He dumped the second bucket over her when she finished, and she was still standing there, naked and dripping, when the door slid open and Kol strode in. He stopped in front of her, perusing her in a way similar to the way he had a few days before.

"Human bodies are repulsive," he finally said. "Scrawny. Weak. How anyone could stand to mate with one is beyond me, yet they must, because you do not die out. Cover yourself."

There didn't appear to be a towel in the bag, so she used her ruined tank and underwear to dry off as best she could. At least the jacket was relatively intact beyond its ruined fastenings.

"My body serves me perfectly well," she told him when she finished dressing. "Though you might've told your man to tell me what he wanted instead of tearing my clothing up."

"I might have," he replied. "I chose not to."

Now their eyes met, and she understood. The bath might have been a relief, but it wasn't a reprieve. Their battle was far from over.

There was no discussion of relationships or disclosure this time. As ship captains, they were direct peers, and while her Raikoke was also a fighting ship, its function as a swift cutter meant she was deployed on entirely different missions than the Buran. As such, they were rarely in the same place at the same time anyway; and when they were, they had their pick of ways to keep things entirely discreet.

At first, their encounters were mostly wordless, focused primarily on an unspoken attempt to make up for lost time. They generally didn't bother with lights; between that and the timing, neither of them really had the opportunity to see the other's quarters despite having been in them more than once.

But after a while, the initial flush faded away and they began taking time to actually enjoy each other instead of focusing on a mutual goal. Sometimes, in fact, they simply lay together in silence, listening to the sound of each other's breathing. She'd learned the rhythm of his heartbeat so well she sometimes heard it in her dreams.

They also never talked about what had passed between them before. There was too much baggage, too many regrets and discussions that would have to happen if they did. It was better to simply accept this new normal the way it was.

She understood, now, what he'd been doing when he'd gone to the 602 Club, and the one time she'd brought it up, he'd made a dismissive gesture. We all need a wake-up call sometimes, Kat. I got one when I was passed over for the test pilot posting. You got one when I taunted you back onto a bridge. Don't worry about it.

They were on the Buran this time, and in an effort to drag herself out of too many memories, she finally gave in to the urge to look around. His quarters weren't spacious, but they were at least divided into two rooms. Still, the bed was placed behind a grilled partition that was open enough to allow a view into the sitting area, so she could clearly see all the way to the door.

"What is it?" asked Gabriel.

"I didn't say anything."

"But you're thinking Doc. There's no mistaking the sound of those wheels when they turn in your head."

Giving up any attempt to be surreptitious, she sat up. "Just seeing what you've done with the place." Like most captains, he had a residence in his ship's home port — in the Buran's case, that was Altair VI — but that was little more than an official address. This space, aboard his ship, was where he really lived.

A shrug rippled down one arm. "Looking for hidden meanings in what I keep close?"

"Not really," she answered. "Mostly just curious. What are those over there?"

"Which? The crystals?"

"Yeah."

"Dilithium cryolite. It might be better than regular dilithium at moderating the matter-antimatter streams. Which would mean we can afford to use more energy in that reaction, which would mean —"

"— faster speeds," she concluded, nodding. "But is it stable?" Her chemistry was admittedly weak, but something had buzzed in the back of her head. Dilithium was known to react strangely with certain fluorine compounds. Wasn't cryolite derived from fluorine?

"Hasn't exploded so far," he drawled.

"That's not exactly a ringing endorsement."

"You have to take risks if you want rewards, Kat."

True enough, but was this risk worth the potential reward? Indulging her curiosity, she slid out of the bunk and crossed the room to look closer, pretending she wasn't aware of the way his eyes followed her naked form. There was some sort of organic material in a jar next to the oddly-textured crystals, and she bent over it, peering closer. The structure was familiar, despite clearly not being human. "Is this some kind of brain tissue?"

With another shrug, he pushed the covers aside and joined her, standing just as naked as she was under the starlight. "Brains are basically electrical computers."

"And the most complex belong to sentient creatures." She raised her eyebrows. "Don't tell me you're actually thinking about adding an organic component to all this."

"Maybe. But come on, Katrina. You really think I'd be involved in using something illegally harvested from sentients? This is from a cadaver donation on Andoria. A voluntary one. They let me borrow a sample."

"'Borrow'? What, are you some kind of a researcher now? I never heard anything about you going back to school." He'd graduated from the Academy, of course, but his major there had been flight operations. She hadn't heard anything about him going back for a graduate science or engineering education.

"I haven't," he admitted. "But you pick up things here and there if you pay attention. Concepts, ideas…" he trailed off, picking up a metal box. "Samples. It's just something to occupy the time." Dumping the crystals and jar inside, he closed the box and turned back toward her.

She tilted her head. "What do your engineering folks think?"

He drew her toward the middle of the room, guiding one of her hands up onto his shoulder. "I'll bring 'em in when the time's right. But that's not now. Right now, we're just dancing in the starlight." He began leading her, despite the lack of music, and she chuckled. Oddly enough, this was something they had never done. He proved to be quite good at it.

The activity was also an obvious distraction, but on further thought, she had no reason not to allow it. He was right: nobody else was here to care. She'd also have plenty of time to figure out what was going on later. That assumed there was anything at all to figure out in the first place. It was entirely possible that there wasn't.

Sometimes things were nothing more than what they were, and there wasn't always anything wrong with that.

Closing her eyes, she leaned forward and rested her head on his chest.

Katrina was in her ready room when the encrypted flash came through, piggybacked on a routine comm and Calypso ambushed by Klingon squadron, 1.2 parsecs from NGC 2042-Alpha. The coordinates followed. All available ships respond immediately. Maintain subspace silence.

She wasted no time getting out to the Raikoke's bridge. "Okay, folks. Emergency course change coming through. Can we get to Warp Eight, Mr. Darton?"

Her helmsman frowned at his console. "Engineering reports some fluctuations in the starboard engine, but we could handle it for a couple of hours."

"A couple of hours is all we need. Let's go."

By the time they got to the battlefield, it was nearly over. The Calypso was adrift, escape pod bays empty. The Buran had been heavily battered and was going to need significant repairs, but kept on fighting anyway. Two Klingon ships were closing on her while a third one had turned to engage the recently-arrived Wolfstar.

"Savel," she said to her ops officer, "go to silent running. Shields up. Darton, come in at z-plus 120. Let's see if we can sneak up by going over 'em."

The pilot clenched his hands so tight the knuckles went pale. "Captain, if they catch sight of us…"

"It'll be my problem. You just fly. Savel, find out if all of the Calypso's pods are accounted for. Kurigawa, tell me what we're up against."

"Three D-7 class heavy cruisers," replied the diminutive woman behind the weapons station. "All damaged, but one minimally so. That's the one that went after the Wolfstar. I don't know how the Buran has any phasers left, since I can't even detect a power curve over there."

"I swear, Gabriel, if you've shut down life support…" she let both the sentence and the thought trail off; they weren't worth her time. "Okay. The Wolfstar will be fine against a D-7. Maintain course until we're above and between the ones on the Buran. Do we have torpedoes?"

"Full spread. But, Captain, we're no match for even one D-7. Never mind two."

"Which is why we need the element of surprise. Darton, slow us down. We don't want to get attention with too much speed. Arm torpedoes and prime the phaser banks. We're not going to have much time once we get detected." She snapped out orders, imagining the scenario in her mind. "I need a sharpshooter down in phaser control."

"Permission to leave the bridge," said Kurigawa immediately.

"Not you. Who's the best on your squad?"

"Me. But Davenport's a close second. Sending him down now."

Despite the situation, Katrina couldn't help a small grin at her tactical officer's boast. "Have the Klingons detected us?"

"Not yet, sir. But we'll be visible to the naked eye in thirty seconds."

"Make 'em count, then. Darton, here's what I want to happen." As she outlined her plan, his face went from incredulity to amazement to determination. "We need to stay loose," she concluded. "Keep moving. Confuse them and force a crossfire."

"Buran to Raikoke. How the hell did you get in on top of us like that?"

"Nobody expected to see us, Lorca," she answered. "So they didn't. How are you doing over there?"

"We've had better days." A crash sounded over the comm. "Damage control list'll be a kilometer long. I think the left ship's seen you."

She'd already signaled for a loop out. "Can you get out of the way?"

"Negative. We're down to thrusters. Weps double-hot, though, except they keep staying just out of range."

Exactly as she'd suspected. "Darton? Set course five-four mark seven-three, right toward the ship that's turning, and then out at ninety degrees on my mark. Let's give the Buran something to shoot at."

"Much obliged, Cornwell," drawled Gabriel. "Just don't be the chicken."

"It's not chicken," she answered, half to herself. "It's psychology. Klingons don't think like this."

"Perhaps because they're not kamikazes," said Kurigawa in a tone that probably hadn't been intended to carry. Katrina shot her a look, and she shrugged it off.

"Steady, Lieutenant," she said to Darton. "Maintain course."

Sweat was pouring down his face, but he nodded. "Three hundred meters from target."

"Pull up at fifty."

"Fifty meters is —" began Savel, and Katrina redirected her glare. He took the hint.

"Two hundred," said Darton. "One-fifty. One hundred."

"Everyone grab something and hold on!"

"Fifty meters!" shouted Darton, whose legs were already wrapped around his chair. "Pulling up and across the Buran's path."

"Don't singe our tailfeathers, Gabriel. Kurigawa! Sync rear phasers with the Buran's firing solution and time fifteen seconds."

"Phasers sync'd and timed," she answered as Gabriel's ship started to fire.

"Fire!" shouted Katrina. "Hit their other side, right after they refocus their shields. Follow up with a torpedo spread. Where's the other ship?"

The crash of disruptor fire against their shields answered that question, and she was sent sprawling. "Status!"

"First ship disabled, Captain! You were right. They'd refocused their shields back toward the Buran. Second ship coming around."

"That's not gonna work twice," said Gabriel.

"It doesn't need to. Reinforce inertial dampers. Darton, new course, zero mark one-eighty!" She shoved herself to her feet. "Buran, arm your strongest torpedo and prepare to target that vulnerable area on their main pylon!"

"You are beyond insane!"

"Probably," she admitted, and her heart was pounding. If she could just manage to disorient the Klingons long enough for Gabriel to pinpoint fire, this would work. And it had to. She wouldn't accept anything else. "Darton, now! Reverse course, one-eighty mark sixty! Buran, fire!"

It worked. Her knees buckled when it was over, but she managed to make it look like deliberately sitting down. "Where's the third cruiser? What about the Wolfstar?"

"Coming around, Captain Cornwell," answered the other Starfleet vessel. "And the Klingons are on the run. Holy God, what was that? Your pilot's out of his mind."

"Not the pilot," she answered, and her hands began shaking as the adrenaline crashed. "The captain."

"Tell me, Captain, whatever possessed you to use such…unorthodox tactics? Surely you did not believe they would work."

Terral's reputation was fierce, even for a Vulcan, and knowing that kept Katrina's spine a little straighter than it usually was. "But I did, sir," she answered into the holo-pickup. "Klingons are fierce soldiers, but they rely a little too much on brute strength and traditional combat forms. They won't ordinarily risk a ship for the sole purpose of protecting only one other ship. More importantly, they won't expect their enemy to, either."

"So you were trying to surprise them."

"I believed erratic and incomprehensible flight patterns would distract and unsettle them enough to be lured into the Buran's and my weapons range. Since the Raikoke is a swift cutter, it's especially well-suited for that sort of maneuver."

"Good job, Captain," he answered, and she twitched at the unexpected praise. "That is an exemplary line of reasoning. You are, by training, a psychologist, yes? Is that why you thought of Klingon behavioral patterns?"

"My work mostly focused on factors affecting decision making," she answered. "But yes, it's possible that's why I thought that way. I'll admit, sir, that at the time I was mostly focused on the task at hand."

"Never apologize for using your specific strengths, Captain Cornwell. You have also done work with tactical simulations, in addition to placing in the top ten of your class at Command School. Is it your intention to seek a promotion beyond your current position?"

Katrina's breath caught. No non-Academy graduates had ever been promoted beyond a captaincy. "I wouldn't be averse to the idea."

"Good," he answered. "Because you are hereby being ordered to turn over command of Raikoke to Commander Alekia Kurigawa, who, as you know, recently passed the captains' exam. There's a civilian cruiser docked at your location right now. Your cabin is already reserved, and it is scheduled to leave in two days. That should allow for sufficient time to make the necessary arrangements."

"Yes, sir." Her hands were shaking again.

"You will report to Starfleet Headquarters in a week, for the training briefings on your next assignment. Until you've arrived and been processed, I can't be more specific, but you will be leading a mission planning team focused on a new starship design project." He folded his hands. "At the rank of Rear Admiral. Congratulations, Cornwell. I look forward to meeting you in person."

She was still stunned as she stepped off the projector disc in the base commander's office. He was smiling. "Congratulations, Captain. Or do I get to be the first to call you Admiral Cornwell?"

Hearing it spoken out loud seemed to make it real, and a smile broke across her face. "Thank you."

He chuckled. "I was shocked, too, when it happened to me. Take a break and go get a nice dinner. Give it some time to sink in before you go back to the ship and break the news to everyone else."

She nodded, excusing herself, but then stood in the corridor for a long moment before heading in a different direction than he'd suggested. Gabriel was in his temporary quarters, pacing, and she stood just inside while telling him the news.

He closed his eyes and sighed, dropping into a chair. "Congratulations, Kat. I always knew you'd end up wearing stars, sooner or later."

"You could," she told him, "try being happy for me."

"I am." The eyes opened again. "Really. It's just that I'm still stuck here on medical leave." Although he was out of the hospital, he still hadn't been cleared to return to the Buran, which itself was still in drydock.

"Think of it as a break," she suggested, echoing the commander's words.

"I should be there, supervising the repairs." If he'd been at full strength, he might have pushed back to his feet and started pacing again; it was telling that he didn't. "Of course, now that you're brass, maybe you could pull some rank and get the quacks in the medical center to sign off on my release?"

"Did they tell you why they haven't?"

"Something about my blood chemistry still being out of whack. For God's sake, I passed the sobriety testing. It's just left over from breathing all that bad air when I went after those kids in auxiliary control." He indicated a padd. "See for yourself."

She scanned through it; despite not being a medical doctor, she was familiar with basic toxicology. "These numbers aren't as stable as they need to be. If you crash again it could go way too quickly. That's why they want you to stay close."

"Should've known you'd side with the stuffed shirts, now that you are one."

Putting the padd down, Katrina folded her arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means they freakin' promoted you just because you pulled crazy stunts in combat! Half the time, when I do something like that, I draw a reprimand!"

"So you're jealous."

"What if I am?" he countered. "It's only natural. Don't psychoanalyze me, Doc. I have enough people already poking and prodding as it is."

She wondered why he hadn't already noticed the commendation that had appeared on his public record. "Look, I just wanted to come and say a proper goodbye. Maybe even invite you out to dinner to celebrate. But you know what? Don't worry about it. I should be packing anyway."

"Fine," he snapped. "Goodbye. Good luck."

She waited for a minute more, watching him watch her, before turning on her heel and heading for the door.

His voice caught her, that soft, vulnerable tone that sometimes came out in their most intimate moments. "Katrina." Then his arms were around her, even as he swayed from having pushed to his feet too fast, and she turned to let him bury his face in her hair.

"Congratulations," he breathed. "And I'm happy for you. Really. For once, Starfleet's getting it right. You deserve this, and I'm going to miss you. A lot."