Disclaimer: See chapter one...they aren't mine.
Rating: M
Note: Er…sorry NE readers. I'm getting there with that one. In the meantime…:D
Fourteen
Tom
As she half limps into the medical bay, the captain takes one look at my face, at the stiff way I'm holding my arm, and she knows I'd been beaten since she's last seen me.
"What happened?" she demands in a low, dangerous hiss.
"I'm fine, Captain," I respond tightly, taking a page out of her book and keeping my gaze on the readout monitor as I scan her shivering body with my good arm.
"You're anything but fine," she persists, snapping, trying to sit up. The shorter haired soldier, Airrek, takes great pleasure in forcing her back down onto the medical cot. She looks furious. "Was it them?" she asks dangerously, her glare narrowing in on them. She looks ready to spring for their throats, causing them to tense and move their hands nearer their weapons. "Did they do this?"
I shake my head. I can't do this here – not in front of them. Not at all if I can help it, but if I know her, I won't be able to…
"No. And it's worse than it looks." Then, seeing that she isn't going to accept my answer, I add, "I'll fill you in later." I fix my eyes on hers, willing her to calm down before she gets herself even more hurt. "I promise, Captain."
She seems to accept that, at least. But she's definitely on edge. That much is apparent when, minutes later, she nearly takes a swing at Kohr, who is, granted, being insufferable this afternoon.
His comments are unnecessary and demeaning, and in general, his manner is gruff and uncooperative. Like yesterday, he observes my progress carefully, making me explain every move I intend to make before eventually allowing me to proceed with treating the captain's injuries.
There aren't many, actually, aside from the usual. Her heart has undergone severe stress and the muscles adjoining the chest wall are still torn…more so this time. Her muscles are strained beyond belief, cramping what has to be painfully and, once again, I'm baffled by the further deprivation of nutrients in her bloodstream. Her levels shouldn't be anywhere near this low.
To be absolutely certain, I run a discreet scan of myself while Kohr's back is turned, and, sure enough, my levels, though low, are nowhere near as low as hers. This doesn't make sense. I don't ask about it in front of the soldiers, but I mean, hell…I watched her eat this morning and last night, and yet there's nothing anywhere in her stomach or intestines. Her stomach, in fact, growls loudly as I scan the readout from her body again. She looks embarrassed by it, and I pretend not to have noticed. I also pretend I didn't just see the scanner confirm that I do have kidney damage as I wave it discreetly over myself. I suspected as much earlier anyway, when trying to relieve myself in the cell.
Damage to her stomach lining and esophagus clue me in to the captain's problem and then I think I might have an idea of what's been going on with her dehydration. Remembering the jolts that baton of Gwiln's delivered, I could kick myself. And it's no wonder she hasn't been dying to discuss it, either. If those energy currents are making her physically sick, I'm sure the smug son of a bitch has been mocking her for it…
My eyes catch on a small screen. There's fluid in her lungs. A trace amount, but still…damn it. This is what I was afraid of…I definitely need to take a more thorough scan.
"You're too slow," Kohr snaps, snatching the regenerative tool from my other hand and going to work on the captain's ankles. He isn't gentle, but the captain isn't going anywhere, anyway. The other one has taken it upon himself to keep holding her down while we work. She doesn't resist…much…and he does no further visible damage by pinning her in place with his hold on her shoulders. The restraint marks on her legs aren't as bad this time, at least…
Kohr switches off the regenerator with a flourish; the "examination" is concluded, just like that. The tricorder is also snatched away from me, before I can take another, more focused scan, and the younger guard hauls the captain to her feet and looks her over more carefully than he should ever need to. It's hard to keep my cool.
"Good enough," he grunts. "Now you shower, and we'll return you to your cell." He begins to drag her over to the shower unit installed along the wall.
She resists. "Wait." She pulls back and glances at me and then at the medic. Her voice is like steel, and she doesn't appear to see the warning looks on their faces as their hands find their weapons on their belts. "I'm not doing anything else until you allow my officer treatment."
I stifle a groan. "Captain," I hear myself intone, surprised at my own audacity, "I don't think now's the time to–"
"No," Kohr cuts over me loudly, "we won't. Treating him is a waste of time."
She wants to approach him. I can see it in her eyes, but Airrek keeps a firm grip on her arm, holding her in place. She settles for glowering at him. "His injuries are serious," she clips, "and if you want him to survive long enough to continue to fix me up for the sake of appearances, then you'll–"
Kohr laughs then. Throws his head back, opens his mouth wide and cackles, long and hard. It sends rivulets of unease shivering up and down my spine. When he finally recovers, he sneers, "Too late, Captain. You should have asked a day ago."
A day ago, I wasn't injured this badly, but I somehow doubt that bit of logic is going to matter to him at all.
The captain pales, but only a little. "What do you mean by that?"
"Just that we don't need him anymore," the medic crows smugly. "Your officer has just become obsolete. I've already learned what I need to know from him to keep you alive and relatively functional for the remainder of your stay with us. I can now heal the marks on you myself." He chuckles again, enjoying his moment as the reality sinks into my brain. He's right. If he's learned enough…and he probably has, for their purposes…then I am now completely expendable. "So what do I care if he dies from his injuries?" Kohr continues. "Let him bleed out in your little cell. It'll be one less mouth for the government to feed in the meantime–"
She moves so fast, I hardly even see her. The captain wrenches her arm out of Airrek's surprised grasp and leaps for Kohr, a growl so fierce erupting from her throat that I think even B'Elanna would have to raise an eyebrow in respect if she could hear it.
I take the chance and reach for Airrek, but his fist strikes hard and true. One blow to my injured side is all it takes anymore, and with a final knee to the diaphragm on the way down, I'm doubled over on the floor, rocking automatically as I gasp for air. Damn it.
They subdue her, of course. Together, they manage to pull her back and restrain her. Another quick round with the regenerator, which she sits still for when Kohr, in exasperation, finally holds his disruptor to my head. The captain quiets then, but her glower never wavers in intensity. For my part, I have chills watching her eyes tracking his every movement like a Hirogen stalking prey. If she'd ever once looked at me like that…
It isn't normal. I've seen her angry, but this is unnatural. This edgy, almost feral aggression the captain is displaying is much more reminiscent of those few weeks that we were the unwitting subjects of alien science experiments and her dopamine levels were through the roof.
Actually, she was only testy then, now that I think on it. Ok…really testy, but this is something even more. It's closer to the kind of aggression I remember of the clamps used in the Akritirian prison. I didn't have the chance to check her hormone levels, not even remotely thinking it necessary, but now I find myself wishing I had.
Airrek drags her over to the shower stall once they're finished, physically holding her under the water stream with his hand in her hair. He directs her to use cleansing foam from the dispenser on herself and basically makes a point of enjoying the show. And then something else clicks into place for me about when she and I were first reunited in this place and I probably should have guessed that, too.
I grit my teeth and keep quiet, aware by now that my protests are only going to drag out the whole process.
It occurs to me that I must smell pretty disgusting by now, to say the least, though the captain hasn't mentioned it, and I'm not at all surprised when my request to be able to shower is denied.
New guards come to escort us to our cell just as the captain is pulling on her uniform. She stiffens at the added audience, but I can see her jaw set as she lifts her chin and makes a point of not hurrying her movements any.
"Watch out," Kohr sneers, indicating her as they relinquish us into the others' tender care, "this one is a real bitch."
I blanch, embarrassed and angry on her behalf, but I can't bring myself to outright deny it. She can be, if circumstances warrant it.
Apparently, she feels that circumstances are very warranting today. The captain gives the new guards a hell of a time, too. Demanding to know who they are and why they're taking us instead of the other two. Why it is that this is the first time we're being allowed contact with any additional soldiers. Yanking her arm free from their grasp and insisting that she knows the way back to our cell. She doesn't, but that isn't the point, I take it. On the whole, they accept her defiance better than I expect, almost with amusement which pisses her off further, but I'm grateful for it anyway.
The moment they leave us standing in our cell, she whirls on me, an odd, gleaming light in her eyes. Her fists clench and unclench at her sides. "Something's different today," she announces flatly. "Something's happening. He ended the session early, but he wouldn't say why. Have they mentioned anything to you?"
"In between beatings, you mean?" I can't help retorting with a wry smile. My sore body hurts everywhere, but I make myself hold her gaze levelly. I straighten as I shake my head at her unamused expression. "No, ma'am. Not a thing."
Even my last answer pisses her off. I can see it in the spark of irritation that flashes across her face; she doesn't entirely manage to hide it in time. "What happened?" she demands, her intense grey eyes raking over my face. "Why did they attack you this time?"
"No reason that I could tell. They came to throw in some more water, and when I asked them if you were being given any in the interrogation room, they took offense." I shrug at her suspicious look, but really, I'm growing more and more concerned with each passing minute. This isn't like her. It's like she's having to constantly fight to keep control of herself, and she's glaring at me as though it's my fault the guards used me for a punching bag. She should be tired beyond belief after what she's endured today, just as she has been the past several days, but she seems to have energy to spare. Where it's coming from, I can only guess…
"That's all you said?" she demands, catching my attention. "You didn't intentionally try to provoke them?"
"Of course not." I wonder that she'd think I'm that stupid in the first place.
"They beat you for asking after my well being?" she rephrases. I can hear the dubious note in her sharp voice, and I don't blame her for it. She knows I'm leaving something out of my explanation.
My feet are suddenly looking more and more fascinating by the second. I hadn't wanted to get into this with her at all, although I knew she wouldn't let me off without an accounting of the incident. But the last thing the captain needs to know right now is that the guards are taking out their frustration at not being allowed to touch her on me. "Seems they found it presumptuous," I grin, not exactly feeling the humor. "Didn't think it was a no-name medic's place to question military officers' decisions."
She grabs my arm, her grip like a vice lock over torn ligaments and tendons in my elbow, and both pain and surprise startle me into looking up before the mask is in place. But she doesn't see it through the intense anger burning in her eyes. "Then you're not to ask them anything like that again, is that understood?"
She shouldn't have missed that look on my face. I'm thankful she did, but no way in hell should Kathryn Janeway have missed the unguarded pain in my eyes when I glanced up at her. Something is seriously wrong here, and I feel my stomach do even worse flip flops than it's been doing since this morning. "Uh, Captain," I stutter, unable to help myself, "is everything…all right?"
"All right?" Her eyes narrow further, and her nostrils flare. Her knuckles have gone white with the pressure she exerts in balling her fists, presumably to keep herself from pacing back and forth – or even hitting something. "You've been beaten severely, again, and I still can't secure treatment for you. No, Tom, I'd say everything is most certainly not 'all right'."
"No, I mean with you," I interject swiftly. "I…forgive me if this is out of line, but you don't exactly seem…yourself."
That seems to startle her. Nothing about her behavior has signaled something wrong to her. Another bad sign…
"What do you mean?"
"I…you're…you seem…particularly…on edge." I stammer, feeling a little like Harry in my hesitation as my tongue trips over the words. But this is a delicate line to walk with her in this mood.
"That's ridiculous," she snaps, proving my caution valid.
Right, then – my mistake. She usually rages around like a Klingon on steroids.
I keep my mouth firmly shut.
"I'm not on edge, damn it! I'm perfect…ly…" The captain pales considerably, seeing the disbelief on my face and trailing off abruptly. "Damn him!" She spins around to the side wall, slamming her fists against it.
"What?" I move forward a step, wanting to reach for her to try and calm her but not able to. "Captain? What is it?"
She turns back to me, her eyes swinging to the far wall, focused on some unseen sight, and the venom springs back in them almost immediately. "He gave me something," she spits, making my stomach drop to the floor at the revelation."I'd forgotten. I don't know how that's possible, but I forgot…"
I follow her blank stare, frowning, frankly more than a little worried at this point and take an unwise step forward to close the distance between us. "Who, Captain? Who gave you what?"
"Gwiln." She spits the word out like so much acid. "Just before I was brought to the hospital wing, he stuck a hypospray into my back."
Alarms go off in my head. "Hypospray?" This can't be good. "What kind of hypospray?" I hadn't seen anything on scanners…but then I hadn't the chance to do any blood work.
She waves her hand vaguely in the air. "Some crude version of it…the needle points were long. I felt them penetrate into my muscle." She squeezes her eyes shut, turning away from me and pacing toward the far wall. "A few minutes later, I did notice a slight…edginess."
My throat goes drier. Damn. They're drugging her now. Perfect. As if plain torture and borderline, mystery starvation weren't enough to deal with.
"But I have it under control," she adds, the hand on her increasingly slender hip daring me to disagree with her and discouraging the snort of disbelief from escaping my throat. "Now that I know it's affecting my disposition, I can handle it."
Her increasingly dilated pupils tell a completely different story, but now isn't the time to mention it. I'm not sure I'd survive a remark like that, given her current frame of mind, so I proceed carefully. "Captain, can you think of any reason they would give you something to make you…uh…edgy like this?" I venture gently, trying to ignore the sharp looks she keeps giving me.
"Of course," she snorts. "If I appear aggressive and not in control of myself in front of the panel, I'll look that much worse for…" she trails off again, and I'm beginning to wonder if the drug is affecting her concentration, too.
"Captain?"
She turns back to me again, pausing her pacing and growing increasingly pale. "But that can't be it."
It can't? "Why not? It sure sounds like a perfect way to –"
"No," she interrupts, her eyes glowing annoyance at nothing in particular, "there isn't going to be any hearing tomorrow. He's had Kaelo postpone it by two weeks."
But we'd been counting on that hearing. To me, more media coverage increases the chances of word somehow getting to Voyager. And a day at the reception hall meant at least a day of rest for her. Maybe not for me, probably left back here, but I can handle the beatings. For a while longer, anyway. Hopefully, for long enough for Voyager to get here, but now that crucial respite is being denied us. She may be Kathryn Janeway, woman of steel, but no one can hold out against the kind of pain I experienced earlier on in the week forever. My heart sinks into the stone floor. "So they'll be coming for you again in the morning?"
"I assume so, yes," she nods. "But that doesn't explain why he ended the session early today. Or what they've given me, or why."
I don't have any answers, and if I did, I doubt that they'd be positive. Ironically, I ask myself what Harry would say in this situation, and the smile comes to my lips. "There's always the chance that you just wore him out, you know. That he's trying other methods because you're trying his patience."
She gives me an odd look, but at least it's devoid of spitting rage this time. It's something. "That's what I said to him when he told me he was ending the session." Another look crosses her face, this one darker, but she says nothing else. Instead, she resumes her restless pacing. Ridiculously, considering the trembling in her overused muscles from standing all day. Again.
There's nothing I can do for her in the cell without access to any medical equipment, though I understand why they were so hedgy about allowing me to use the scanner now. They obviously didn't want me to check her blood chemistry to see what they'd given her. I have to assume that this, too, is a bad sign. Why would they care if I knew what they'd given her?
In the end, there are no answers to be had. We simply have to wait it out and see what's in store for us: not something either one of us has ever been particularly good at. I guess it comes from being an admiral's kid, wanting to be in control of the situation at all times. Maybe.
Eventually, I convince her to lie down on the grimy floor next to me and to try to get some rest, but she refuses to let me try to keep her from contact with the floor, despite the way she's still shivering.
"You're injured. You can't keep losing sleep and body heat trying to keep me warm. And there's no sense in us both being wet."
The way she snaps it, I don't have any room to argue.
It takes less than two hours before they come for her again. This time, there are four of them. They're military, I can see from the uniforms, but none of them are the same two from the interrogation room. Again, they're not Gwiln's men…and they aren't the same two who escorted us back here, either. Instead of the long, mid-thigh length tunics worn by Gwiln's men and the two that escorted us back to our cell this afternoon, the newcomers wear much shorter tunics over their stiff, coarse-cut military trousers. They're dressed more like Gwiln than the others, actually…
Officers, I realize belatedly. Not just footmen, but people who matter.
She was right. Something is up. We both rise slowly to our feet as they reach the forcefield in front of our cell and after imputing the ever-changing code, which they seem to have, it snaps away.
One of them points to her. "You. Janeway. Come with us."
"Why?" She makes no move to join them. In fact, she stays right where she is, beside me along the far wall. "What do you want?"
I move in front of her. Slightly, but enough to catch her attention. Instead of snapping at me, however, she reaches out and deftly grabs a fistful of my tunic, hauling me back against the wall with strength she shouldn't even possess.
"Obey me, or we will come in and retrieve you."
"You know," she hisses, taking a challenging step forward, and shifting in front of me, "I've had just about enough of this. I'm tired of being summoned whenever it suits someone else's fancy. We've done nothing to warrant such inhumane treatment. I demand that my officer's injuries be addressed, and I demand that we be allowed to meet with legal counsel–"
"Oh, you demand legal counsel, do you?" The field is already down. The foremost of the group of four soldiers is striding towards her with clear purpose. The smile on his face makes me wary, and the fact that two of his friends are starting towards me as he moves forward, hedging her away from me and into the corner does nothing to reassure me, either.
The other two force me back, their hands flexing menacingly as they crowd me. Boxing me in. From over their broad shoulders, I just catch a glimpse of the fourth soldier heading for her.
"You demand that your officer's injuries be addressed? Sure, Captain."
The two in front of me both grin. One of them reaches for me. I dodge sharply to the left, trying to zig closer to the captain, but the other is there between us in a flash, thwarting my intentions.
"No problem," the first's snide voice continues. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" He turns and nods at the two in front of me. "Address his injuries for the lovely captain."
I only manage to deflect the first few blows. After the first kick connects with my kneecap, I go down to the floor in agony, my involuntary cry of anguish echoing out into the tiny room. The floor really is filthy. During the day, while waiting for the captain to be returned, I have a lot of time on my hands while listening to her periodic screams. I've spent some of that time sweeping aside the litter on the floor and clearing a sleeping space in the grit and grime, figuring it would be best if we could keep contact with the bugs and rodents that also call this cell home at a minimum. It's this mostly clear space I fall into now, and as the two soldiers descend over me, leaning over and reigning down harsh blows over my exposed back, I just catch a glimpse of the captain, pulled around in front of the fourth soldier, who keeps her still in front of him with her arm wrenched behind her.
"Is this addressing enough for you, Captain?" The first soldier leers as his buddy holds her tightly through her outraged struggles.
The next few minutes are a blur of pain and blood. I'm dimly aware of the officers' laughter, and of the captain's impressive vocabulary of multi-lingual curses. The whole time, she shouts abuse at the men beating me.
With a final, vicious boot to my jaw, the soldiers tire of their game and back away from me. With my left eye swollen shut and the right nearly so, I'm not even aware of the fact that the captain is being hauled out of the cell while I lie here on the gritty stone floor, helpless to do anything about it. I only hear her enraged shouting fade as she's taken further and further down the hallway and away from the cell. The impact of her removal escapes me at the moment. It's too hard to think clearly about anything but the pain.
At least those damned bright lights are finally out, I think fuzzily as reality fades away from me.
Kathryn
They beat him out of pure spite – for fun, and he'd already been injured. I'd been concerned about him before, and now I don't even know how badly he's hurt. They could have left him there to die. Alone, on that filthy stone floor…
I saw him spit out at least one tooth before they crowded in on him, and then I couldn't see him anymore at all. I could only listen to the pained grunting noises coming from his throat as they pummeled him senseless. Not again, was all I could think as I fought to break free, God help me, not again…
The picture doesn't leave my mind. It's all I can see as I'm dragged bodily down the long hall, close to kicking and screaming the entire time.
Tom. They're taking me further and further away from him. How the hell can I help him now?
Primal fear, rage make me lash out with the hand I manage to wrangle free of a strong grip, but the grip is reestablished before I can do any damage, which only enrages me further.
Damn it, no. I'm not losing another one. I refuse to let him die here, and he will if they keep subjecting him to treatment like that. I'm overcome with the urge to hurt them, as they have hurt my officer and are likely to hurt me now, though that's nothing I can't handle. Probably nothing I can't handle. They aren't allowed to mark me. I don't think they are. Their laughter burns into me. I can't breathe for wanting to see them suffer as they would have us suffer…I'd kill right now to make them bleed the way they have him.
But the inevitable realization that they're not going to help him – and that right now I can't either – sinks in. There's absolutely nothing I can do to help Tom.
Spots are dancing in front of my eyes. And from the amused laughter and the snide faces surrounding me, they know precisely the internal struggle I'm having. This is what they wanted. They want me to lose control. They keep having to shift me between them to try and hold me still. But they're laughing. This amuses them.
"That's right, Captain, get it all out," the first soldier drawls though his amusement as we progress further along the hall. They're dragging me back toward the main base, I realize. Back along the path I first took when escorted to our cell for the first time. "Get it out of your system now, and I'm sure you'll feel better."
Bastard. When I go for his throat this time, it takes all three of his friends to hold me back. They barely manage it. In their effort to pin me back against the wall, one of them grabs my left wrist in an awkward grip. It's too easy to break his hold before he can reestablish it, and then easier still to catch his thumb and snap it back. The cracking sound of a joint snapping is music to my ears, and at his thick cursing, I can't help but enjoy his impotent frustration, barely sneering at the empty threat as he instinctively raises a hand to strike a blow he doesn't dare follow through with. They have my hands again before I can do anything else.
I'm shoved against the wall just short of the arched doorway that leads back out into the main section of the base. The officers holding my arms press me up against the wall, pinning me there with their broad shoulders, and the one I take to be the ranking officer (as he has called the shots thus far) leans into my face.
"Now listen closely, Captain," he instructs. I confess; it's more difficult than it should be. "Right now, your officer is in dire need of medical attention. My officers just gave him one hell of a beating. He could be bleeding to death on that floor…" he trails off in with a short bark of laughter as I almost make it away from the wall again.
They shove me back as I force the image of Tom's battered face away in my mind so that I can focus on the sharp features of the soldier in front of me. He's waiting for something, waiting to see my response. I can hear the heavy sound of my own breathing. Deep and exquisitely painful behind my tender ribs. There's a slight wheezing quality to it as I lock gazes with him.
"What do you want?" I snap. "What will it cost me to have him treated?"
Because he wants something, that much is plain.
"Judge Advocate Jorca has arranged to meet with you this evening." The name is familiar, but I can't place it immediately. "She'll want to inspect and question you regarding the treatment you've received while in government custody."
Jorca. Jorca…my mind swirls through the hazy recollections of that first day in the reception hall. Kaelo's words come back to me now. She'll scream the entire panel down on our heads trying to protect the bitch's rights.
Jorca. The woman who so vocally urged caution to the panel of justices presiding over the indictment proceedings. My one potential ally, now coming to meet with me, but of course that would have been too dangerous for Kaelo and Gwiln to simply allow without exercising some form of control over my responses… It clicks then.
"You want me to keep my mouth shut."
The soldier smiles smugly, but the rage is already redirected to Gwiln, who must be the one who orchestrated this entire scenario.
Gwiln
It's important that she appear aggressive and unpredictable. Most of the soldiers stationed here don't have access to her and can't know what she's normally like, and I don't need her developing admirers or unwitting allies – especially not Jorca.
It's interesting to watch her like this. Worth the inconvenience of having to end our session early. She should still be less in control than she is. I can see her fighting with herself to remain calm, even as they hold her down and strap her to the chair furthest from the door of the small meeting room. Even as she wants to fight like a wild animal to escape their hold, she fights with herself to regain control also.
The urge to chuckle passes quickly. I peer closer and frown at the monitor. Janeway appears to have suffered a few minor injuries on the way in – not good.
I cannot wait to be free of these restrictions regarding her appearance. At least with the struggle she continues to maintain with her bindings, the new marks can be explained away easily enough. Especially if she keeps it up…
Really, I only need her to pass the initial inspection. If she plays her part…and I expect she will, for that medic's sake…this will be swift and easy. Jorca is a creature of habit. Her procedure of inspection never varies. She will examine Janeway for obvious signs of mistreatment, even going so far as to ask her to strip off her uniform. Jorca will then meticulously record every detail, every mark of discoloration and demand satisfactory explanations for each of them.
I hope our little warning will be sufficient; I prefer not to have to take extreme measures just yet regarding either woman.
I watch the other monitor. Jorca has arrived. She brings her own people, though she knows only she will be permitted entry into this base. I shake my head. Stubborn woman. I hope it won't be her downfall. I can't say I'll regret it too much if that's the case; I did warn her once.
I smile, recalling her disdainful reaction to my friendly advice all those years ago. I have warned her that her dogged determination and unnatural curiosity will be her undoing. It will be up to her whether or not she walks out of this facility alive.
Back to Janeway. She makes an effort not to strain in her bonds as my officers make deliberately inflammatory statements about her officer's condition. Sweat beads on her forehead, soaking her shoulder-length red locks at the hairline. Her hair darkens when wet, I've noted. And her skin blues with the cold.
I like it better blue.
But the color that's been draining out of her more and more each day has returned, which is another thing I was after. Jorca is meticulously detail-oriented; she'd have noted the extreme lack of pigmentation to Janeway's skin, and she'd have realized that it was unusual for her race.
I can't have that.
The officers were carefully selected. None of them are local, yet they're loyal. The commander is a personal friend of mine. He and his men know what to do. Two of them leave to greet Jorca, and it takes only a moment before they are standing within the frame of the other monitor in front of me. They collect her, their faces impassive as they bow low, giving her the reverence her position commands. She eyes them with barely concealed disgust, and I smile again. She thinks herself so very much above us – always has. All of us who have chosen to defend our people from harm, possibly with our lives, if necessary…and Jorca, with her plush, cushy position on the judiciary panel believes that her path of non-violence sets her above us.
And perhaps it does, after all.
Kathryn
I can't understand why my anger isn't subsiding. All I can see is Tom, huddled on the floor as the strong, well-fed soldiers crowd him, beating him senseless. My arms restrained behind me, unable to help. Whitmore's ashen face lying on the floor of that shuttle…and I don't care that they're strapping me to the metal chair. I don't care that they're restraining me, I intend to take a piece out of at least one of them before they manage it, damn them.
But it's so hard to focus on anything at all. There's only rage at what has been done to my officer.
Before she returned to the Kobali, Lyndsay Ballard asked me if I'd sent her on that fatal away mission because I wasn't as close to her as I am with the senior staff. I told her I wasn't offended by the question, and it was the truth. I wasn't offended; I was devastated. I couldn't believe that I'd allowed any member of my crew to come under the assumption that their lives meant less to me simply because I didn't have the benefit of day to day interaction with some of them…
They're all my responsibility. They entrust their lives into my care, and the weight of that trust never leaves my consciousness entirely for a single second.
Taking one of them and abusing them in front of me…potentially killing him…is the worst thing they could do to me – to any leader who gives half a damn about the monumental responsibility of command. The instinct to protect my people is deeply ingrained, and nothing has ever had the power to rouse my fury like an attack on one of mine…
You can ask Species 8472 about that. What's left of them.
Whatever Gwiln gave me earlier is only serving to intensify my natural anger. It's all-encompassing. One of the soldiers gets too close, leaning over me to tighten the wrist straps to the arm rests of the chair, and I visualize my teeth sinking into his exposed neck. That smooth expanse of crimson flesh practically calls to me…but I hold still. Barely.
The door opens, and two unfamiliar soldiers stand in the hallway, peering eagerly into the room next to a woman I faintly recognize.
I understand that the drug I've been given was meant to make me violent. It was intended to make me lose control of myself, not just to make me 'edgy', as Tom so delicately put it. The realization does nothing to temper the violent urges. Tom, I can't help thinking. Just let him be all right…
"Why is this prisoner being restrained?" The woman's cold voice demands, as though she doesn't see the way I can barely hold myself still or the scowl of menace I can't help leveling in her direction.
"Are you insane?" the soldier I considered biting and the one whose thumb I broke growls, whirling to face the well-dressed Jifani woman with the long, dark coat that does little to hide her svelte figure. It's quite an impressive figure, actually, for a woman who looks to be about my age…
The woman's nostrils flare, and her face, unlike the soldier's, goes a little whiter. "I'd ask the same of you, Lieutenant," she snaps derisively as her brown eyes sweep over the ranking sashes affixed to his shoulder, "but everyone knows that officers are prone to hot-headedness. I'll forgive your insolence this time, and assume your irreverence is due to your lack of awareness of my position."
"Don't you recognize this woman?" he hisses, gesturing to me, his face flushing a burgundy hue with his annoyance...his feigned annoyance, if I'm reading the situation correctly. "She's a menace. Dangerous!"
"Madame Judge Advocate," the soldier who first addressed me in the cell is careful to stress for his companion, "is here to interview the prisoner, Kelm." He strides forward with an ingratiating smile which only sickens me in contrast to the violence he orchestrated against Tom hardly moments ago. The urge to get my hands around his throat causes me to twist my wrists within the restraints holding me, in spite of my better judgment.
Of course the thick leather-like restraints hold fast, and my energy is quickly sapped anyway.
To the new, still-gaping soldiers (who must have escorted Jorca here) eyeing the scene with unmasked curiosity, and even, unless I'm way off, a little admiration, he jerks his head towards the hall, dismissing them. They leave, but not without shooting final, reluctant looks my way. I must be putting on one hell of a show right now – not exactly good for our cause.
Even that doesn't stop the violent impulses. But it's probably exactly what Gwiln wants – what Kaelo wants. I have to find a way to remain calm.
"Madame," the same soldier continues, "I know you'll forgive my companion. He couldn't have known who you were without your official garments."
Jorca…whom I now recognize as the woman from the initial greeting panel when we were first brought to the reception hall from the Grall ship…sees right through his smarmy attempt at placation. She sniffs her contempt, waving away his false apology. "I ask again," she repeats, her eyes finding mine from across the table separating us, "Why is this prisoner restrained? I can't examine her for signs of mistreatment like this." She waves a regal hand dismissively in my direction.
I should be grateful for her appearance. This is the woman I have to thank for the little restraint that has been shown us…well, to me…thus far. I should be making every effort to placate this woman, even to befriend her, if possible. She obviously has no love of the Jifani military, and I know she despises Kaelo, and he her. She's an ideal ally, possibly the only one I'll find on this planet. Even if I can't tell her the truth of Kaelo's methods, I should at least strive to make a favorable impression.
But the unknown substance in me has me raging under her cold scrutiny instead. At some point, my vision has tunneled, so that now all I see is the object of my ire and virtually nothing else. Jorca is in my sights now, her cool demeanor, her elegantly coifed ebony bun and regal bearing only infuriating me further. Tom lying on the floor, trying not to cry out as the soldiers beat his already weakened body... This woman is as much to blame for the untenable situation I find myself in now as Kaelo is. Without her, Gwiln's efforts would be focused solely on me. He wouldn't have had Tom brought in, and the prison guards wouldn't particularly care about injuring me. Those that beat him while I was in session with the intendent might have left him alone, if not for that worry. They might have waited for me to return and sought their entertainment another way. Gwiln wouldn't have to care about regenerating me…
The tiny voice in the back of my head – what's left of my reason – tells me that Tom would only have been used against me in some other way if not for the influence this woman appears to exert over Gwiln and the other officials…that Tom may have been killed already, if they hadn't needed him to patch me up. It isn't enough to quell the growl I feel rising up in my throat. My eyes bear into hers, and it's difficult to keep from writhing against the restraints again.
She appears taken aback by my aggression. It rattles her composure for a brief second. Good, I can't help thinking – though it's really not. She swallows obviously, the gills I can see on her long, elegant neck fluttering. "Release her restraints," she repeats, sounding only a tiny bit less sure.
There's no way they're going to do it. No way are they that stupid…
"Madame Judge Advocate," the same officer intones, shooting an odd look at his disgusting compatriots and then at the viewer I know must be recording this entire exchange, "I really must protest. This woman is aggressive. She's violent and emotionally unstable."
"He's lying," I growl. Writhing again in the restraints, hardly conscious of the burning of the leather against my raw skin. Not really blaming her for the disbelieving look she tosses my way.
The soldier spares me a guarded, warning glance but otherwise ignores me and smoothly continues, "She injured one prison guard the day of her arrival," my head snaps up at the obvious lie but he doesn't even glance at me, "and she has just assaulted one of my officers on the way here. Releasing her would be very unwise."
Right now, it certainly would be for him. Again, visions of Tom taking the beating at this man's depraved direction, simply for his amusement and to make sure I don't interfere with their little plan to get rid of Jorca flares up and obscures all else. I nearly miss the way he again looks directly to the recording device.
Of course they're recording this. Kaelo wouldn't let me have an unmonitored conversation with this woman… The thought of him is nearly enough to send me over the edge of reason itself…he is the reason Ashley Whitmore won't be returning to her friends, our family aboard Voyager. He is the ultimate reason that Tom and I may not, either.
"Of course I'm sure." She sounds it. I'm impressed. "She can't take off the uniform unless you first remove the restraints."
What did she just say? My head snaps back up at her cool assertion. Damn it, I have had more than enough of stripping in front of people on this miserable planet…
"How can I examine her for injuries if I can't see her undressed?"
"You can try a scanner, for one thing," I snarl, amazed at the level of venom in my voice. She ignores me as if I haven't even spoken: apparently common procedure. The lead officer approaches me, and then his hands reach for my restraints. Just before he touches them, his shifty eyes slide over me. His dark eyes latch onto mine.
"Remember your officer, Captain," he breathes low, almost inaudibly, bending over and pretending to inspect my restraints. "One wrong word, and I'll go back and finish the job myself."
The restraint over my left wrist clicks open.
Gwiln
I lean into the screen, watching intently. He plays his part perfectly. If I weren't going to kill him after this, I'd reward him for his performance. I'll miss him. He was a good friend.
"I only protest for your safety, Madame," the lead officer blusters loudly, even as he unlocks Janeway's restraints with a dark look only she and I can see. He murmurs something to her and I grin when she stiffens in response. Her color is fantastic. She's even more rosy-cheeked than she looked during trade negotiations, when she was both well fed and rested, and I'm pleased. The drug is doing wonders for her complexion and her demeanor.
Bolas's tone remains worried. "She's…the woman is dangerous, Madame. At least keep well on the other side of the table, please. For your own safety."
It's almost a shame that he does this so well. And I will miss him, too.
Janeway slowly pushes herself to a standing position, and I can see the magnificent rage flashing in her eyes. Even so, she holds herself back with incredible restraint. Watching her, every fiber of my being is in tune to her slightest movements…
The rage is competing with something else now. It takes a minute to place that particular expression on her face, but when I do, I realize she's working something out. Trying to reason through the virile aggression I've induced in her brain chemistry. Good. I was a little worried that I'd given her too much adrenaline earlier. I only wanted her energized and ill-tempered, not completely out of control. That never would have worked, given that Jorca's already met her, albeit briefly.
Jorca's lip curls. "I'm certain that the three of you," she insists to Bolas, taking note of the fact that Kelm has excused himself in order to seek medical treatment, "big, strong soldiers can ensure my safety from one small human woman."
I do have to laugh out loud at that one. Oh, my dearest Jorca, if you only knew…
She already has her notepadd out, thumbing through the preliminary data there. "Kathryn Janeway. Federation starship Voyager. You have now been imprisoned for ten consecutive days. Have you been subjected to any ill treatment while in government custody?"
For a long moment, no one breathes. Janeway's small jaw is working back and forth, and her eyes dart over to Bolas. Slowly, she slides her eyes back to Jorca, and then she opens her mouth. I lean forward, still not entirely breathing until she finally clips, "No."
There is a noticeable release of tension in the officers and in Jorca also. I feel it, too. That was too tense a moment for my preferences. With narrowed eyes, I resolve that Janeway will suffer for that little hesitation later.
Jorca thumbs her notepadd, and my heart is slowly beginning to function properly once more.
"I can see your wrists are bruised," the advocate notes. "I saw that happening just now while you struggled against your restraints. And yet, otherwise, there is little evidence to discount your assertion, Captain."
I begin to breathe again, albeit shallowly. She hasn't seemed to notice the way the guards hung on Janeway's response, but nor does she seem inclined to take Janeway at her word. She rarely does, though, so that isn't too worrisome – yet.
Jorca's eyes slide over the human woman standing before her again. "You do, however, appear to have lost some weight over the past few days. You are being provided with adequate food and water?"
Janeway says nothing at first, but her fists are balling at her sides. Upon closer inspection, I do believe I can see a tiny trickle of blood trailing over her right index finger. "Yes," she growls eventually.
"Really?" Jorca's eyebrow rises. It's clear she isn't entirely convinced that Janeway isn't lying. My index finger moves to hover over the tiny intercom button in my hand.
"Yes," Janeway confirms.
"And yet you appear much thinner. Can you explain this phenomenon for me, Captain?"
Silence, stubborn and long.
"Well?" Jorca prompts, after a long standoff.
"No" – tersely, like a small child being forced to reply to her caretaker's questioning of her bad behavior.
"No?"
A low growl barely audible over the channel. "I guess Jifani prison food just doesn't agree with human physiology." And the sarcasm drips in her voice, though Jorca doesn't quite pick up on the reason for it. My eyes narrow, but nothing comes of the reply.
"Perhaps. Or perhaps it's the weight of the monumental guilt on your conscience that accounts for your digestive difficulties."
"I have no guilt on my conscience," Janeway snaps, rather viciously. "I haven't done anything wrong."
"Well," Jorca glances up coldly, but there is the hint of a smile on her lips, "I'll have someone look into it. Now, please remove your clothing so I can verify that you are uninjured."
"No. I won't do that."
Jorca's delicate brow rises again, this time in obvious disdain. It's clear she has no more respect for Janeway than she does for the military. "May I remind you, Captain, that you are still in government custody, and that you still stand accused of a heinous crime?"
"You can remind me of whatever the hell you please." A grin splits my face at her tone. Janeway is pissed. "It won't change the fact that I'm innocent and that your government condones and supports the unlawful detention of innocent persons," Janeway snaps, taking a solitary step forward which Balos and his companions are quick to note. They edge forward, prepared to jump in and restrain her if she takes a single additional step.
Jorca's eyes flash under Janeway's accusation, and this is truly priceless. Watching these two women square off against one another is pure entertainment. If the stakes weren't so high in this situation, I might even be inclined to arrange future sessions purely for the comedic value.
Jorca's eyes have narrowed now, and I know why. It was the worst thing Janeway could have said to her. "My government does nothing of the sort. If what you say is true, and you are innocent, you and your officer will be found innocent and released. Now, you'll do as I have requested and remove your uniform, or I will have these officers do it for you."
Janeway's jaw is working now. The solitary trickle of blood in her palm is joined by another and she growls, "If any one of those three men attempts to touch me, I won't be responsible for what happens to him."
I can see that Jorca isn't sure whether or not to believe her. The officers wait, eyes trailing back and forth between the two women as they await direction, either from me or from Jorca…
"Have you no dignity whatsoever?"
"I assure you, Madame Judge Advocate – I'm trying to hold on to what's left of it!" Janeway spits dangerously.
"You're making this much more difficult than it has to be, Captain."
"On the contrary," Janeway's hard voice rings out again, "I'm cooperating to the best of my ability given my current circumstances. My officer and I have been forcefully kidnapped from our people. Another of my officers was killed in the battle with the bounty hunters your government sent after us, and our best shuttle was destroyed in the process. We were brought back here against our will, falsely accused of terrorism, and made to stand before an inquisition panel. Since being incarcerated, I have been questioned endlessly while denied legal counsel–"
"The innocent do not need legal counsel," Jorca interjects waspishly, but Janeway merely raises her voice slightly and continues to speak over her.
"I have endured all of this, Madame Advocate, with as much dignity and grace as I can muster, but if those officers approach me, I'm not sure I'm going to be able to continue to keep my temper in check."
"The woman is unbalanced, Madame Advocate," Balos ventures tentatively.
"When I want your opinion, officer, I will ask for it," Jorca hisses, dismissing him with a glare. "Captain remove your uniform. I will of course ask the officers to turn their backs while you disrobe."
Janeway's gaze slides from him back to Jorca. Her teeth are so clenched I can positively hear her grinding them together, but still, she doesn't move from her position. At Jorca's curt nod, Balos takes a hesitant step in her direction, mumbling, "Think, Captain. What kind of an example are you setting for your officer right now?"
"All right!" Her voice explodes into the still room, cutting the tension like a whip cracking through the charged air. "I'll do it. You don't take another step near me," she hisses, pointing a finger that trembles, presumably with rage.
I breathe a sigh of relief as Janeway's trembling hands move to strip off her uniform. Jorca smiles as she nods to the soldiers to turn their backs while the human woman disrobes, and, though it irritates her further, she complies, believing that it will spare her man further mistreatment.
Unfortunately for her, it only solidifies the notion that she will do almost anything to spare his life.
Sadly, ironically, this is her final mistake. If she was thinking clearly, I'm sure she'd have worked it out in time…but, of course, she isn't.
Now, the only question that remains is what I intend to do with my newfound knowledge.