Part II: Riding Out the Storm
A day passed, then another, until a full week had gone by. Crusher, Troi, and Selar spent that time in tending as best they could to the ills of each other as well as those of their fellow captives, establishing a routine, or fruitlessly trying to cajole more than the most basic of medical supplies out of the guards Narve had set on them. He apparently had been apprised of the fact that none of the women faced anything like a life-threatening injury, no bones had been broken, no injuries more severe than stun damage, strained muscles, cuts and bruises. All of which, they were brusquely informed, would heal on their own. Although Selar had offered to break her own wrist if Dr. Crusher felt that a bone knitter or possibly a trip to Sickbay might be useful, she was politely declined. The situation had not yet become desperate enough for those sorts of measures.
No, they were fed the minimal amount necessary to keep them alive and healthy, there were sinks and latrines available for small, supervised groups to use every morning and evening; there were even showers, although they were only allowed to use it once each so far, but otherwise they were left in the clothing they'd been captured in and thin mats to sleep upon and nothing else except time and conversation to pass that time. None of which was terribly burdensome after a week, but would become increasingly uncomfortable as time passed. Nothing whittled away the spirit quite like the subtle torture of deprivation. Prisoners had been broken by more primitive means than those Narve and his men were employing, even Starfleet prisoners.
But time left alone was time left to think, to plan. Time for Crusher to spend more than a few, snatched seconds in whispered conversation with her fellow conspirators before more guards were sent to enforce the evening curfew Narve had imposed. Since Mast was inevitably one of those guards, there was never more than minor trouble between Narve's other pirates and the women they guarded. Neither, however, was there an opportunity to use those quiet hours of the night to conspire, since Mast also ensured that the curfew was enforced once the lights were dimmed, that forbidden conversation remained forbidden. Although Crusher, Selar, Troi and Ro were never physically separated from each other or the other captives, they knew they were watched more closely than the rest.
They had all braced themselves for further abuse at the hands of the captors, but aside from the lewd comments and leering glances flung at them by whoever happened to be on guard duty, they were left strictly alone. Crusher discovered the reason for that as she stood patiently in line for the shower on the second day, when she overheard one of the guards taunting Peris, the Uxmalian occupying Worf's body, about how he had to wait "like the rest of us" for his chance with the women, until Narve gave the word. That word, she gleaned, was not to be given until at least two weeks had passed, and he had included himself and his Second and Third in the ban as well. Which meant they had some breathing room, time to make whatever plans they could.
At least during the daylight hours, they spent a great deal of time trying to work out a plan. Whether it was arrogance or confidence that their captives would be unable to make good any attempts at escape, the women were allowed to do what little they could during the day. Many chose exercise and mental games, but inevitably they fell into conversations. Crusher could feel the invisible pressure from the other captives for her to come up with something that would help them all. She received suggestions, ideas, and encouraged them, no matter how far-fetched or dependent on miraculous outside help. Anything to keep the women focused on a future that included escape, and not slavery and forced childbearing. Information was their best, their only, weapon.
Unfortunately, the gleanings were frustratingly small. Crusher, Troi, Selar and Ro were the ones who had the closest contact with the captors the last time, and not all of the new captives had even been on board the ship six months ago.
Without access to the ship's computers and transporter, she realized, there was absolutely nothing they could do. An early attempt to overpower the guards had resulted only in anesthazine gas being pumped into the room, immediately rendering both guards and prisoners unconscious. They had awoken to find themselves shackled, with a furious Narve demanding that Crusher give her word that no such other attempts would be made or not only would they remain that way, but he would personally kill one of the women as punishment.
"You have my word," she'd forced herself to say, staring into the cold eyes of the man she loved, forcing herself to ignore that it was Jean-Luc Picard standing there, to see only Narve instead. "No more attempts to overpower the guards."
He'd grunted acceptance and left, after ordering the shackles removed from half the women at the end of that day, then the other half the next morning.
With no other options, Crusher had turned her mind to questions that had gone unanswered during their first round of captivity. Questions that might or might not be of help to them now. "What do we know about their telepathic abilities?" she suggested after a desultory breakfast the morning of the seventh day. They all knew the Enterprise had to have been reported missing by now, and clung to the hope that at least they were being looked for.
Not unexpectedly, Troi was the first one to speak. She sat on the mat next to Crusher's, legs folded demurely beneath her. She and Ensign Fuller from Ship's Services had devised a way to at least tidy up her hair, finger combing it and tightly braiding it, tying it with a strip from her gown after she'd finally been allowed an opportunity to shower. "From what we've observed, they can access their hosts' minds only while the two of them are physically joined. And the ones that are joined only appear to be able to receive thoughts from their unjoined comrades. When outside of a host, they seem only to be able to communicate with each other and perhaps other telepaths." She shrugged apologetically. "As far as I can tell, they've never even tried communicating that way." She glanced inquisitively at Selar.
The Vulcan doctor responded with a negative shake of her perfectly-coiffed hair. Vulcans apparently didn't require as much in the way of grooming as humans, Crusher had noted enviously. Probably something to do with coming from a desert environment. "They have never given the appearance of attempting such communication, nor did they use any sort of telepathic coercion when they took us prisoner."
"Is there any way for us to find out for sure?" Ro interposed. "A mind meld or something?"
"Aside from the fact that you will note they watch me carefully any time I approach one of them and do not allow me within physical reach, my telepathic abilities are…rather limited," Selar replied, showing no signs of discomfort at relaying such intimate information. Under other circumstances, she would never have revealed her shortcomings to her fellow crewmates, but right now there was no room for keeping secrets that might have an impact on their chances at escape. "It takes me a great deal of time to establish a mental link, and by the time I did so one of the other guards would have either overpowered me or raised the alarm."
"And as far as I can tell, they haven't taken over any men with telepathic abilities," Crusher interspersed.
"When Narve had possession of my body," Troi remembered with a slight tremor in her voice, "he never even tried to access my empathic abilities. He pretended to when he was masquerading as me, but that was all. I would have known," she added firmly. "What I don't know is if it was because he didn't feel the need to, or because he couldn't."
"I'm willing to bet it was because he couldn't," Crusher said. "I can't imagine Narve ignoring anything that would give him an advantage."
An involuntary shudder went over Troi's form. She'd avoided thinking about their current predicament in more than general terms, because she didn't trust her self-control otherwise. Her experiences at the hands of Narve had been too traumatic. Not only had he mentally possessed her and then raped her, he'd performed that latter act while in the body of her commanding officer, a man she trusted and respected. Intellectually, she'd known that Picard wasn't responsible for Narve's offenses against her, but it had been a different matter emotionally. Time and counseling and even a confrontation with Captain Picard had healed her, or so she thought at the time; now, she wasn't so sure. If Narve or Larsch touched her while wearing the bodies of friends, she wasn't sure how she would react.
"Well, he hasn't tried to do anything with Counselor Troi or Selar's abilities," Ro pointed out. She had proven invaluable in helping her companions adapt to the necessities forced on them by the circumstances of their captivity. Life as a refugee, she had noted wryly, prepared her for this situation better than anyone. "So advantage or not, he's letting a valuable resource go to waste for some reason."
Troi opened her mouth to say something, only to leave it open in surprise as she felt herself caught up in a transporter beam. Before the room around her completely dissolved, she saw Beverly Crusher caught in a similar beam just as Ro Laren threw her arms around the other woman, ensuring her presence wherever it was they were being taken.
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Author's Note: Wow, two updates in one day, I'm on a roll now! Who took the ladies? Where will they end up? No fair mentioning it if you already read the story and know the answer! Please feel free to speculate via feedback otherwise! Pretty please?