252
Uprising
Grace brought the Ironclad alongside the Delight. She could practically feel Macen's impatience hitting her back in waves. She couldn't quite recall ever seeing him this disconcerted. She also had to admit her experience was fairly limited.
"Send to command of Delight, inform them we're coming aboard." Macen rose out of his chair, "Radil and Grace, you're with me. Daggit, you have the bridge."
They materialised in the cargo bay that also served as the transporter room. Kort stood before them with a worried expression and his disrupter drawn. He broke into a relieved smile as he recognised his "boarders". He bellowed for Dracas to join them.
"Captain," Dracas breathed in relief, "you can't imagine how happy I am to see you."
"Is everyone all right?" Macen asked.
Kort shook his head, "We have two former prisoners with us. They have been badly mistreated. Do we have access to proper medical facilities?"
Macen nodded, "You can beam them aboard the Ironclad and treat them there." He gave Dracas a concerned look, "How bad was it?"
He could see the conflicting emotions on Dracas' face. He wanted to answer the question, but couldn't quite revisit the events. Macen waved the question away. He put his hand on the other man's shoulder.
"You're going with them." His stern glance killed Dracas' protests as they rose in his throat, "We can handle it. Your parts done. You've earned the rest."
Macen began to lead Radil and Grace out when Kort spoke again, "Captain, about T'Kir..."
The flare in Macen's eyes momentarily unnerved Kort and he had to recompose his thoughts, "She's not quite herself. She's been off her medication. I didn't know what to do."
Macen nodded, "Understood. You probably did the best you could."
Kort swallowed as Macen disappeared. Despite the kind words, he'd heard the disappointment in Macen's voice. Kort wondered if his commander knew how protective he was of his Ops specialist. More to the point, he mused, would he ever admit it?
They entered the cockpit of the courier to find two unknown women desperately grasping for phasers. Radil's hand snapped upward in an instant. The two women froze as they realised that the Bajoran could kill them without trying. Macen lowered her arm.
"We're on your side." He informed them, "If you'll go to the transporter, you'll be beamed over to the starship alongside this ship."
They both nodded mutely. They seemed unable, or unwilling, to indulge any hopes of their traumatic experience being over. Over at the helm, T'Kir slumped forward cradling her head in her hands. Having opened her mind in order to project her success to Macen, she was now unable to turn the raging cacophony of mental "noise" off.
"Grace, help me get her out of that chair." Macen said grimly.
Grace gingerly helped Macen get T'Kir to her feet. The Vulcan's face was haggard and her eyes stared at images only she could see. Her lips twitched in replies to conversations she alone could hear. Grace's heart wrenched to see her friends afflicted like this. Macen saw her grief and gave her a reassuring smile.
"She'll be fine, Hannah." He said encouragingly, "I just need a few moments alone with her and she'll be fine."
Grace nodded, but he could see she didn't believe him yet, "The best thing you can do is man the helm and think reassuring thoughts." He turned to Radil, "Can you man the weapons systems?"
"Better than anything else on this ship." She muttered.
He smirked as he led T'Kir shuffling form away, "Just give whomever a chance to surrender before you blast them."
Radil waited until Macen was out of earshot before asking under her breath, "Like you did?"
T'Kir shuffled along unresistant to Macen's gentle guidance. He steered her into what he intuitively knew had been her cabin. He sat her on the bed and took a seat next to hers. He wondered if he'd been added to the computer's datafiles and had his question answered when it complied with his request for the cabin's privacy lock to be engaged.
He took a deep breath and studied her for a moment. He didn't need his other senses to tell him that probabilities were twisting around her. He wished that he could see a way to choose the probability that would end in the results he desired, but knew that it would mostly be a matter of faith and luck. He'd never previously tried to do what he was about to attempt and knew that the tides of fortune could very well be against him in this.
He took a deep breath, clasped her hands and broadcast his thoughts as loudly as he could in order to garner her attention. He could distantly hear the torrent of minds that wailed for her attention. He knew had two advantages here over the rest. Vulcans are primarily touch-telepaths so their contact would strengthen their communication, and he was used to dealing with intangible realms.
She heard his mind like a beacon amidst a stormy sea, Focus on my mind. Block the others out.
He distantly felt her fingers tracing up his arms, seeking the nerve centres in his face, (I'm trying. There's just so many of them.)
You can do it. Ignore the rest, focus on me alone.
Her fingers found the pressure points in his face and he suddenly found himself yanked out of his own awareness into a swirling quagmire where their two individual minds coalesced into one. They found themselves undergoing ponn farr for the first time. The unrelenting fires that burned and the indescribably release of passions long suppressed. They saw his/her partner killed by Cardassians and experienced an equally passionate release of another kind as they killed them in their grief and rage.
They walked on another planet for the first time. Stretching out with senses long denied. Watching the twisting strands of probability as they wound about planets and individuals. They watched as they wound about their fellow sociologist, Arinae Ascern.
They heard the intruding mental voices increase in volume as they had during childhood. They made the decision to abandon logic and pursue the fulfilment of the dark rage that consumed them. The Maquis came, and they found a new home, and a means to seek that purpose the rage drove them to. But, the voices cried out ever louder and ever more urgently.
They saw the vast cubeships approaching their homeworld. The saw the flashing chords of probability severed as the Borg snapped them and recreated reality in their image. They saw again the narrow course the survivors carved through the Borg fleet and they followed it. They survived, as did those that followed.
They found it harder and harder to resist the dark impulses that leapt form others' minds. The thoughts were spawned by rages that matched their own. They knew the distrust the others felt when faced with their logical mask and the fear felt when the face beneath was revealed. They relived the pain and sorrow of being judged and condemned by her own people for abandoning their teachings.
They feel the rage of loss and the desire to defend their lives and freedom no matter the cost. The sundering from the rapture of the Nexus is devastating but they survive yet again. They felt the knife's twist as they're branded madman and warmonger. They are cast out from the scattered band of castaways.
They follow Ro Laren on a series of missions. Each one more dangerous than the last. The danger brings the voices to them louder and more strongly, but Ro is a pillar of strength. Her strength gives them the strength to endure the voices and wear the mask.
They accept a commission with Starfleet. It is a new life, but pains from the old one persist. The loss of exploring the depths of space with Arinae is still strongly felt. Eventually, another catches the eye, another lost old soul. Lisea Danan enters their life and fills part of the void of loneliness but there is still so much missing. She cannot accept the scars of the past and the determination they breed. She cannot accept their loathing of the Prime Directive.
They relive the fateful meeting with...themselves? Here, fate twists and binds. Bonds are forged and loyalties made. There is more, ever so much more, but those truths are guarded behind sturdy walls and barriers. But now the barriers are cracking and the light of truth can be seen shimmering forth.
Suddenly it is ended. Both Macen and T'Kir blink, recovering themselves. They have just seen more of themselves and each other than they have ever shared before in five years. It is a moment of awkward silence. They each stare at the other, eyes searching for things unseen and unsaid.
"Are you all right?" Macen asks, his voice hoarse.
T'Kir nods slowly, "I think so. My mental shields have been reinforced enough I can block everyone out." For the first time in his memory her smile turns shy, "There's still a vestigial link with you, but it's merely anchoring me."
He nods himself also feeling out of place, "Glad I could help."
"What was that I saw?" she blurts, then her cheeks turn green as she blushes, "The currents, I mean? It was like a river flowing throughout the universe."
Macen's eyes went wide, "You saw it?" He shook his head, "Of course you saw it. You were using my senses. That's why I could hear all of those thoughts in the background."
"What was it?" she asks impatiently.
"There's no name for it that would make sense." He sighs, "They are the flow of probability. The best way of saying it is that they are the currents of life, luck, and misfortune."
She shook her head, "Does something or someone direct it?"
He shrugged, "Not that anyone has boasted of in millennia. Ancestors of mine claimed to have, but they were killed. The pursuit of directing the flows has been outlawed ever since."
"Sorta like expressing emotions on Vulcan." She commented.
"Which is why you don't often talk about your people. They've scorned you the way mine have me." She said bluntly.
Macen was growing increasingly uncomfortable, "They'd probably see it the other way around."
"Is that the way you see it?"
He knew he'd never pull of the lie, not now, "No. I think the knowledge should be explored and understood."
She stared at him for a moment longer then sighed, "I should probably rest now."
He nodded, "Probably."
"When are we pulling out?"
"While you sleep." He answered, grateful for the impersonal topic, "We need to get the Ironclad back in time for her real crew to get back aboard."
"I'm not giving up my ship." She said defiantly.
"No one's asking you to." He assured her, "We'll be flying it back."
"Good." She said and slid under the covers.
He leaned over her and made sure she was all right, "Call me if you need anything."
She cast him a furtive glance, "You've already done more than I could ask."
He gave her a grin and left. After he was gone, she reflected on what else she'd seen in his mind. Behind the barrier had radiated a love unlike any she'd experienced since the death of her parents. It was accepting, and it was meant for her. The thought both thrilled and terrified her.
Macen returned to the cockpit and sat down at the Sensor station. His head whirled. Too many of his secret hopes and dreams had been touched upon and hinted at today. Most of these were matters that he rarely admitted his own concern over.
He shook his head smiled ruefully at himself. He'd seen the patters he'd never dared look at before. He and T'Kir were bound together. He just wondered what kind of connection it was meant to be.
Don't go there, he warned himself, every time you do, it means trouble.
The Ironclad and the Delight detached themselves from the Starfleet task force less than an hour later. Captain Roonik was fuming and demanding an investigation into Macen's decision to destroy the Manticore. After being rebuffed by Macen, he promised to pursue the matter with Starfleet Command. Macen sent no reply and ordered the two vessels under his care to proceed directly to Starbase 412.
Hours into the trip, a bleary eyed T'Kir arrived in the cockpit, "What did I miss?"
Macen grinned, "Not a whole lot. We're headed back to Starbase 412. All the pirates are under arrest. The captives are being treated and transported to guest quarters aboard the task force ships. T'Lis sends thanks from all of them to you."
T'Kir shook her head, "Dracas and the other two did more than I did."
"I doubt that." Macen discounted her deferment, "How's the head?"
She gave him weary smile, but one filled with warmth, "Better. For the first time in awhile, I seem to be in control of what filters through."
Macen was heartened by her report but still had concerns, "Why don't you get some more rest? It'll be a couple of hours before Grace and Radil need to be relieved."
T'Kir hesitated, "I don't know..."
Macen sighed, "T'Kir, in a few hours you'll be manning the helm. You need to be as rested as you can."
She reluctantly nodded agreement, "Call me when I'm needed."
"It'll be a pleasure." He remarked.
T'Kir was surprised to learn her co-pilot for her spell at the controls was Macen himself. He was quietly working at the Sensor station. She could occasionally feel him watching her. The attention embarrassed her and warmed her all at once.
She wished she knew his true feelings rather than the brief glimpse she'd basked in. She felt too awkward to simply ask. He certainly wasn't giving any obvious hints. She resigned herself to simply wrestling with her own fears and desires and letting things proceed on their own.
Two days later, she was grateful she'd opted for such a philosophical course. Macen hadn't given the slightest sign of his feelings over that period. He was kind and concerned. Those were things he'd been in the past.
As they mated with a docking collar, T'Kir was about ready to turn and demand answers from him. She also knew that would be a mistake. Macen had busied himself throughout their return trip with reports and preparations of some kind. Something was afoot and he was keeping it to himself.
Her first hint of what it could be came when several Starfleet Security officers met the team as they disembarked from the Delight. They promptly arrested Macen and told the others they were confined to the base for questioning. Radil and T'Kir had been on the verge of killing every member of the arresting party then Macen had reassured them everything was fine. He'd then dropped a ubiquitous statement concerning T'Kir's quarters.
She swiftly found the padd he'd left for her. After reading what it said, she knew why he'd remained silent up until this point. She would have killed him had he told her any earlier. As it was, she was plotting ways of exacting revenge when this was over.