Part Three
"Help me!"
The familiar words and the haunted face flitted across her consciousness. But this time, for once, Natasha felt oddly calm.
I should have tried this earlier, she thought.
She hadn't been able to get any sleep overnight, and in frustration, she had decided that maybe she should try to come here. And, in a way, it was working. She leaned back and let the cool breeze blow gently on her face, closing her eyes and trying to maintain this level of calm for as long as possible.
She sat alone on the hilltop, overlooking a vast sprawling city. The skyline was a bemusing and beguiling hodgepodge of buildings, from towering modern skyscrapers to quaint stone buildings dripping with history. Below her, figures walked this way and that through the park, talking, laughing and generally enjoying life.
This time, she really was home. At least, a fictional version of home.
Yet, although being here brought her some fleeting calm against her dreams, she still felt numb.
"Nice view."
She turned to see Jirel leaning on the holodeck arch, the door back to the corridors of Starbase 216 closing shut behind him. "How did you find me?" she asked, with only the slightest bit of warmth.
"Come on," the Trill smiled, before clearing his throat and calling out into the air, "Computer, locate Natasha Kinsen."
"Natasha Kinsen is in holodeck nine," the emotionless reply came.
"See?" Jirel gestured, "You Starfleet lot want more alone time, you really need to do something about that."
She couldn't help but smile, as he walked over and flopped down next to her. They shared a moment of silence as they contemplated the skyline in front of them. "London," she said eventually, "Or at least, London circa 2355."
"I've never been," Jirel admitted, "Always thought it'd be bigger."
"This was where I grew up," she continued wistfully, "While my father was lecturing archaeology at the Royal Academy. I used to think this place was the centre of the universe."
"I've heard that about Londoners," Jirel replied with a grin, "Hey, is it true that you still use those old 23rd century transporter pads to get everywhere?"
"Nah," she shook her head, "There's a couple of them over near Trafalgar Square, but they're really just there for the tourists."
Jirel nodded and looked back out, suddenly finding himself forgetting what he had actually come back to the starbase to do. Finding it hard to leave.
"I guess," she continued, without prompting, "This park is where it happened."
"Ugh. No happy story ever started with that sentence."
"I was ten years old. Me and a few friends were playing right around here. We were a nightmare bunch of kids, always getting into scrapes, climbing trees, jumping off walls. All of that. One time, someone even got hold of her dad's stun pistol. That was a painful afternoon."
Jirel smiled, now listening to her intently. His reason for coming to the starbase seeming less important with every passing moment. Whatever it had been.
"But one day," she said, gesturing to a tree below them, "We were climbing that tree down there, and this little boy fell. Probably dropped about ten feet. Pretty big fall for a child. He wasn't hurt badly, but you'd never have known that from the noise he was making."
She paused, smiling to herself as she remembered the scene. "Anyway, the others just ran off. They all panicked, I guess. But, I dunno, I just felt an urge to help him. He'd cut his knee, twisted his ankle, banged his head, and I...patched him up. Best I could do, anyway."
"At ten years old?" Jirel asked, genuinely impressed. She nodded.
"Used some fabric from my dress to bandage his knee, used some ice from the drink I'd had to soothe his head, even made him a crutch out of an old tree branch so we could hobble home. And that's when it happened, I guess. When I decided I wanted to be a doctor. Something about helping that kid, stopping the pain, fixing what was broken, it...felt good."
She idly pulled a handful of grass out of the ground and threw it up into the artificial breeze, watching it cascade back to the ground. "I miss that feeling," she said in a quiet voice.
Another silence descended. Jirel looked over and saw the sadness in her expression. "I offered you a job on the Bounty, remember?" he said with a hopeful smile, "Plenty of broken things to fix with us."
"I'm a doctor, not a psychiatrist," she replied, mustering a smile.
She was slightly surprised to see that the usually jovial Trill didn't seem overly amused this time. A question popped into her head, but she decided to ignore it, turning back to the wider view and electing to go with a different question instead. One that had been playing around on her mind ever since they had arrived at the starbase.
"How do you know Admiral Jenner?"
Now it was Jirel's turn to look out at the view. He contemplated a typical joke answer, but he felt that she deserved better than that. Though maybe not the full truth.
"You remember back on that planet you led us to, when we were picking our way through all of the Soraxx's little tricks and traps? That part where the tricorder broke, we were about to die, and I just went for it."
"I remember," she replied with a snort, "They don't teach that at Starfleet Academy."
"I know."
He looked back and smiled enigmatically. It took her a moment to process what he was saying. When she didn't she couldn't help but snort even louder at how preposterous it sounded. "You? You went to Starfleet Academy?"
"Class of '59," he said, with a misplaced look of pride that almost immediately collapsed, "I mean, I don't think I can technically say that, what with me flunking out and everything, but…"
She stared at him, shaking her head slightly in disbelief.
"Hey, I told you I was adopted by a Starfleet officer, right? And what else do kids of Starfleet officers do but follow in their footsteps."
"So, the admiral-?"
"Was one of the lecturers while I was there. Before he got his extra pips, of course. And, even though I...didn't make it. We somehow kept crossing each other's paths. And…"
He drifted off, losing track of how he planned to end this particular story.
"And now he's sending you on recovery missions?" Natasha asked with a shake of her head, "I'm sorry, but there's absolutely no way that's true."
She couldn't exactly picture the scruffy Trill lounging in front of her in a cadet uniform, diligently attending astrophysics lectures and first contact seminars. Even for a single semester.
"Pretty much," Jirel shrugged, smiling back breezily, "Gotta keep hold of a few secrets though, right?"
The ensign's face flashed into her mind for the first time since they had started talking. She suppressed the instinctive flinch. "Right," she nodded simply.
Jirel relaxed and leaned back on the grass, having now entirely forgotten his reasons for coming to the starbase in the first place.
"Guess that does explain why he asked about you," she said eventually, causing him to sit back up and take note.
"Who?"
"Admiral Jenner. He asked me about you. Yesterday."
"Huh," Jirel managed, "He did, did he?"
As he considered this, he suddenly remembered the real reason he was here. "Crap. I've gotta go."
"Wh-?" she asked, as he stood up, "Why?"
"No biggie," he shrugged as he left her alone on the grass, "It's just...Denella's been arrested."
He walked back through the holodeck arch and left her to wallow in her past.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Sunek whistled a jaunty tune as he strolled down the Bounty's cargo ramp.
He wasn't entirely sure where the rest of his crewmates were. He hadn't seen any of them since yesterday, and even then had been trying to avoid them lest he ended up getting involved in any of the repair work. But equally, he didn't really care where they were. Not after the message he had just received.
As he reached the bottom of the ramp, he was approached by a frustrated man wearing a Starfleet engineering uniform. Lieutenant Ravi Kapadia hadn't had the dubious pleasure of meeting Sunek yet, but at this point he just needed to speak to anyone.
"Excuse me?" he managed, trying to match pace with the cheery Vulcan as he sauntered across the landing pad, and trying not to ask too many questions as to why this Vulcan was cheery or sauntering in the first place.
"Sorry, can't stop," Sunek replied, patting Kapadia on the shoulder, "Got a hot date."
Kapadia's brow furrowed in further confusion. "It's just, I need to run through some of these repair plans that your engineer - Denella? - provided me, and I can't seem to find her anywhere?"
Sunek stopped on a dime, forcing Kapadia to come to a quick stop himself. "Wait," the Vulcan said thoughtfully, "Does it still count as a hot date, singular, if there's two of them?"
Kapadia opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't actually think of anything to say to that.
After a further moment of contemplation about his metaphysical conundrum, Sunek shrugged. "Well, whatever. Keep up the good work, Lieutenant!"
Sunek patted Kapadia's shoulder again and shot him a beaming smile, then resumed his jaunty marth across the landing pad, leaving the Starfleet officer staring at his wake.
A short while later, Sunek was on the outskirts of the Kraterite township, still whistling to himself.
His destination was the same bar as the night before, the one that the text-only message from Ensign Taris and Ensign D'Amato had said to meet them at, from 1700 hours.
While Sunek would never admit as much to anyone, there was a significant disadvantage to his life embracing his emotional side. It was something that went beyond the simple fact that plenty of the emotions were more painful than he had appreciated before his time with the V'tosh ka'tur. It was more of a butterfly effect-style pattern of mistakes that his emotions would often generate.
For example, had Sunek not experienced the strong emotion of humiliation when he had woken up hungover in the shared living area of two attractive Starfleet ensigns, he wouldn't have been in quite such a foul mood ever since. And, had his mood been better, he might have cast a more critical eye over the text message that he had received. The one he was now acting on.
He might have questioned why two Starfleet officers would be communicating with him via text, rather than a proper comms link. He may also have questioned why these particular officers were getting in touch at all, given how anyone could have objectively seen how little they were interested in him.
But Sunek was humiliated, and in a foul mood. So when he saw the message, a message that seemed to validate him in just the way he wanted to be validated, his ego did a backflip and his libido lit up like a dabo wheel.
And so, instead of dispassionately analysing the situation, Sunek's uncontrolled emotions had told him to march himself straight to his hot date (or two hot dates, depending on how you were counting) with D'Amato and Taris.
He walked on towards his destination whistling an old Vulcan folk tune. He was still whistling as he passed a secluded alleyway near to the bar he was heading for. He stopped whistling when he felt the hypospray dig into his neck.
Instead, in his last moments of consciousness, he looked back at the events of the last few hours, and with the benefit of hindsight finally realised how much of a fool he had been.
Then he slumped to the floor, and stopped thinking about anything.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Jirel stood in front of the imposing wooden door of the main reception hall of Starbase 216 and paused for a moment of reflection.
Is this a good idea?
He decided not to answer that question for the time being. The fact was that he needed to see the admiral right now. And this was where he was. So he prepared to do what he always did in just about every situation. Go charging right in and hope that he could somehow talk his way through to the other side.
He listened to the sound of polite conversation and clinking glassware from the other side of the door and took a deep breath, summoning up his usual fragile front of bravado. Shields up, red alert.
It was a good idea.
The scruffy Trill stepped through the doors in his faded grey tunic and trousers, into Admiral Jenner's formal reception for the crew of the USS Copernicus, before they went out into the unknown.
The reception hall of Starbase 216 was suitably large. The ceiling was easily three stories high, and Jirel was sure he'd been in shuttlebays that felt more cramped. Right now, the hall was filled with Starfleet officers as far as the eye could see, all dressed in brilliant white dress uniforms. Civilian waiting staff glided effortlessly around the room carrying trays adorned with canapes and champagne. Or whatever synthesised version of champagne was permitted at a Starfleet reception.
Jirel strode through the crowd, his shields of misplaced bravado holding firm under a barrage of stares from the assembled throng. He returned fire to some of them with a confident smile or two, pretending like he belonged while idly wondering if there had been anything in his limited wardrobe back on the Bounty that might have come halfway to passing as appropriate attire.
Still, this was definitely a good idea.
He swerved around a couple of particularly confused Grazerites, still keeping an eye out for the admiral, only to quite literally run straight into another familiar face carrying a glass of champagne. Or at least, he had been carrying it. The liquid was now spilled all down the front of his immaculate dress uniform.
"Seriously," Commander Cameron Kinsen snapped at the wearily familiar Trill in front of him, "Who are you?"
"Hey, Cameron!" Jirel beamed, channeling auxiliary power into his bravado, "Great party! Sorry about, um…"
He started to wipe the champagne off the slowly simmering officer's jacket. "Stop that," Cameron snapped, grabbing Jirel's hand, "And what are you doing here? This is a Starfleet reception, not a neighborhood frat party!"
Jirel's shields took a direct hit.
He considered devising an elaborate backstory about how he had accepted an offer to join the Copernicus as a civilian envoy. He even contemplated telling the champagne-covered officer that he was a guest of honour, his Trill symbiont having served about another USS Copernicus with an earlier host. Even though he didn't have a symbiont, or have any idea if there had been a previous ship.
Mercifully, just as he was imagining what rank he would have had in this fictional previous life, and whether Commodore would be pushing it too far, he spotted his quarry.
"Hey! Admiral!" he shouted through the crowd, "Admiral Jenner! Over here!"
Cameron shook his head and tapped his combadge, even as Jenner looked over in their direction. "Security to the reception hall," he barked, "Now."
"No need for that," Jirel replied, waving goofily at the admiral, who had fixed him with a firm scowl. Jenner reluctantly excused himself from his current company and made his way over, his scowl deepening with every step.
But this had still definitely been a good idea.
"Hey, I get it," Jirel said to the admiral as he approached, "My invite got lost in the mail, that's fine-"
"What the hell are you doing?" Jenner hissed at him, clearly in no mood to mess around.
Jirel rotated his shield frequencies, keeping his bravado levels intact as he fixed the admiral with a glare of his own. "We need to talk."
"Jirel," Jenner scoffed, "You don't get to-"
"Either we talk now, or I head to the front of the room at your very important little party here and try to get a karaoke contest started."
Jenner grimaced further. Jirel kept his gaze focused on him, not wanting to blink first.
"Sir," Cameron offered, "Security are on the way-"
"That won't be necessary, Commander," Jenner replied curtly, eliciting a look of surprise from the younger officer, "I'll handle this."
He jerked his head towards the exit and marched off. Jirel went to follow, but not before he allowed himself a moment to fire a final shot of smugness in Cameron's direction, impacting directly on the officer's own bemused defences.
"Sorry about the shirt."
'*'*'
'*'*'
Jenner led Jirel down the corridor and into a small meeting room, empty save for a small table and four plain chairs. He didn't take a seat.
"Thanks for seeing me," Jirel began, "It's just, I need to-"
"How long have you been here?" Jenner snapped before he could get any further, "Two days? Three?"
"I mean, two, I guess-?"
"And here's where we are," the admiral continued, ignoring any attempt to answer his rhetorical question, "I've got your engineer in the brig charged with hacking into Starfleet records…"
"That's actually what I was here to talk to you about-"
"...I've got half a dozen complaints on my desk about that Klingon of yours causing a scene at some Kraterite bar earlier…"
"Was not actually aware of that-"
"...Yesterday, I was handed a report from base ops about a sighting of a - and I'm quoting here - 'severely inebriated Vulcan in the company of two junior officers' two nights ago…"
"I'm sure he was just-"
"...And that's before we get back to this repair schedule the size of a war fleet I've got to somehow clear with the head of operations."
"It's really just a few-"
"So," Jenner concluded, "You say we need to talk? Where exactly do you want to start?"
Jirel paused and licked his lips, his bravado shielding falling to critically low power levels after that flurry of direct hits.
"And make it quick," the admiral added through the silence, "Cos if this takes longer than five minutes, I'm calling in that security detail Commander Kinsen just summoned and telling them they can report that you were resisting arrest."
"Ok," Jirel said, sticking to the main issue at hand, "Denella. It's-I'm here about Denella."
Jenner paced across the room, his hands clasped behind his back, allowing him to continue for the moment.
"I just thought you could, I dunno, maybe-"
"What?" Jenner scoffed, "Have a word with Starfleet security? Tell them to just drop the charges? Hey, maybe I can team up with you and your drunk Vulcan pilot, and we can plan an elaborate jailbreak, hmm?"
Jirel's shields collapsed.
"I mean," he offered weakly, "We've got our understanding…?"
Jenner sighed in exasperation and stared down the Trill on the other side of the room.
"Look, I'm gonna be straight with you here, for your own sake: You are nowhere near as big a deal as you think you are, ok? And you, and the rest of your little crew, need to start realising that. I can slip you the odd assignment here, I can arrange the odd repair there, and I'm very grateful that you were able to bring Lieutenant Kinsen back. But you cannot just show up here and start acting like you own the place. Because you don't, Jirel. I do."
Jirel remained silent as the admiral continued to fire. A hull breach was in progress.
"And whatever our little understanding might be, it doesn't extend to pulling the sort of stunts you're trying to pull. My understanding will only get you so far. And frankly, you're pretty much running on empty right now."
Jirel forced himself to suppress the flinch, not wanting to reveal quite how much damage his words were inflicting. With no other option left, he tried to land a disruptor blast of his own. "If I'm as unimportant as you're saying," he replied eventually, "How come you're asking Natasha about me?"
Jenner's face twitched slightly in annoyance. Jirel had scored a hit, no matter how late and futile it might have been. "Here's what's gonna happen," the admiral retorted, "You're gonna get your repairs done, get back on your ship, and get the hell away from my starbase. For a long, long time. I'm out of errands. And I'm definitely out of patience."
"And Denella-?"
"Is in the hands of Starfleet security."
"Right," Jirel said with a sad shake of his head, "It's like that, is it?"
Jenner checked his watch and sighed, smoothing his uniform back down and preparing to return to the reception. "Jirel, if it was up to me, it would have been like that months ago."
The admiral made for the exit, leaving Jirel behind. As he reached the door, the Trill found one final question to fire off.
"So...who was it up to?"
Jenner stopped for a moment. He considered giving an answer, but decided against it. Instead, he stepped through the door. Jirel was left alone, in several meanings of the word.
This might not have been a good idea, he conceded to himself.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Thud-dunk.
Denella reached out and grabbed the little rubber ball out of the air as it bounced off the wall in front of her, trying to remember why she had the ball in the pocket of her overalls in the first place.
She was getting somewhat concerned about it, given that as far as she could tell, it looked like a key component of the damping system used inside the Bounty's main landing struts. As far as she could remember, she hadn't done any work in that particular area for some time. In fact, they were one of the few parts of the ship not currently in need of major repair. It was also possible that she'd misidentified the little rubber ball completely.
Still, the idea that she might have an important part of the ship's landing gear in her pocket was mildly troubling. Though at least it gave her something to pass the time.
Thud-dunk.
She threw the ball against the floor, bounced it up onto the wall of the brig, and caught it as it arced back over to her again.
She was sitting on the floor of the small holding cell she had been placed in. Aside from her and the ball, all there was inside was a simple single bed and a small table on which was the canteen of water she had been provided. Since she had been marched in here, she had barely seen anyone else, aside from at mealtimes. She certainly hadn't seen any sign of her crewmates, despite Starfleet visiting hours being as open and friendly as you might expect.
So, she had little to do but worry. About what was to become of her, about whatever Klath had gotten himself into, and about what this little rubber ball was actually supposed to be.
She sat and worried. And threw the ball.
Thud-dunk.
"Stop that," a voice piped up from the entrance to the cell.
She caught the ball and looked over. Standing on the other side of the Starfleet-issue forcefield was the short-haired blonde security officer who had been in charge of bringing her here.
"The ball," she gestured, "Stop that. Some of us are working on the other side of that wall."
"Oh," Denella said, mustering a weak smile, "Sorry."
The officer didn't match her smile. She instead gestured to someone standing around the corner from the holding cell's entrance, currently out of Denella's line of sight. "You've got a visitor."
The Orion woman stood and approached the forcefield, hoping to see Klath, safely back from his misadventure. Or possibly Jirel, having wrangled some way of getting her out of here. In fact, right now, she'd even have been glad to see Sunek. Though she made a mental note not to say as much if it was him. Instead of any of her crewmates, however, Lieutenant Kapadia stepped into view, awkwardly toying with a padd in his hand.
"Erm, hi," he offered, "I've got some questions about your, um, repair schedule? And I can't find anyone else from your ship?"
Denella looked back through the gently shimmering forcefield, not entirely sure how to answer. "I've been arrested, Lieutenant," she eventually went with.
Kapadia nodded and gestured to the confines of the cell. "Yes, I'd rather gathered that. But, still, I don't know who else to ask."
He looked over at the security officer, who was stifling a yawn as she kept one eye on their conversation. "I mean, you know how it is," he continued, "Based on what I've seen, the entire secondary antimatter injection assembly is going to need to be completely realigned-"
"Hey!" Denella snapped, taking great offence to that comment, "The secondary antimatter injection assembly doesn't need realigning! I built that whole assembly myself from scratch, and-"
"Ugh," the security officer called out, stifling an even bigger yawn, "It's been too long a shift for me to stand here listening to you two nerds. I'll be in the office if you need me."
She patted Kapadia on the shoulder and walked off. As she left, he turned back to the still angry Denella and smiled. "Thanks for playing along," he said, eliciting a confused look from the Orion woman, "I thought that might get rid of her. And your secondary antimatter injection assembly is perfectly aligned."
"Damn right it's perfectly aligned," she muttered.
Kapadia merely nodded at this, as the two of them took a moment to appreciate their shared love of a perfectly aligned secondary antimatter injection assembly. It was an engineer thing.
"So, I guess we should address the whole 'being arrested' issue?" Denella said eventually.
"It might help," he nodded, "And may I say that you're taking your impending trip to a Federation penal colony very well indeed."
"Believe it or not," she replied, without a trace of humour, "I've been in much, much worse situations than this."
Kapadia looked back at the defiant look on the Orion woman's face, and instantly realised that he didn't doubt that statement for a second.
"Th-They've, um, explained what you did," he said, "The evidence points back to your ship pretty strongly. Why on earth were you trying to hack into a starbase computer system?"
"I didn't try to," she pointed out, "I did."
He acknowledged the technicality with a curt nod, but patiently waited for a better explanation.
"And it's not like I was trying to hack the base's prefix codes or anything. I just gained access to the transit history. Check the logs on the Bounty if you don't believe me."
"Transit history? Why?"
"I'm a shuttlecraft spotter," she offered with a wry look, "Heard a big rumour there was a genuine 23rd century Deltan speeder in orbit."
Kapadia's face creased into a smile, but he maintained his curious look at her, not settling for that sort of an answer. Eventually, she sighed and shrugged. "Because my friend needed me to. Ok?"
The Starfleet engineer stared back at her for a moment, weighing this up. "Hmm," he said eventually, gesturing at the detention cell again, "Whoever they are, must be a really good friend."
"Yeah. He is," she nodded with complete sincerity, "Remember how you reacted when you first met me? That's how most people do. But Klath...he didn't do that."
Kapadia nodded back in understanding, awkwardly shifting the padd between his hands with a slight feeling of shame at the reminder of his slack-jawed conduct the day before. "I should, um, I should go," he managed, "Get...back to work."
"Hey," she replied, "Next time you see any of my shipmates, please let them know where I am. Ok?"
He nodded and walked away, lost in thought. Denella heard the doors to the room open and close, and she was alone again. She considered her options, and realised with frustration that there was still nothing she could do except to sit around and wait for some sort of miracle. Everything else was completely out of her control.
Although she was feeling hungry. And to solve that issue, she just needed to get the security officer's attention. And that was something that was very much in her control.
She sat back down against the wall and picked up the rubber ball again.
Thud-dunk.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Klath sat and waited, trying to ignore the irritating chittering noises all around him.
Having sent the mysterious woman on her way with his message and rested up on the hill, he had elected to return to the township to eat. He already knew that wherever his adversary was, he was more than capable of tracking his movements. If anything, the more conspicuous he made himself, the less likely it was that he would end up being taken by surprise.
He had stopped in a small eating establishment, supposing that after his earlier antics it might be a bit rude to return to the other Kraterite bar. But this one seemed to be just as popular with the locals. Boisterous clicks and chirps came from all corners as various Kraterites socialised together, serving as an irritating distraction to the hulking Klingon.
Still, he tried to focus on his surroundings. He sat, and he waited. And tried as much as possible not to think about the Sons of Marlek. Because he hadn't thought about them for a very long time.
They were connected to a part of his past that he had never told anyone willingly, and that he knew the details of weren't easy for most people to find. Which meant that whoever was stalking him was personally connected in some way.
And that meant he had to be alert.
He had positioned himself at one of the rear tables of the venue, making sure that he had a clear view of all available entry points, with only the solid rear wall of the building behind him and no blind spots to either side. He knew that there was no way they could fight in here. But he wanted to make sure there was no possibility of him being surprised.
A half-eaten meal sat in front of him. He had no idea what it had been, some sort of cooked meat served with mostly raw pieces of the local vegetation, but it had been edible. Enough to keep him going for as long as he needed.
Knowing that his quarry was a fellow Klingon, he paid the hunched, nervous Kraterite bartender no real attention as it tentatively approached his table, clutching a small padd. Eventually, after a few nervy clicks in his direction, Klath looked over. The bartender flinches slightly, but handed Klath the padd, gesticulating at it with its other hand.
"What is this?" Klath asked with clear annoyance, eliciting a series of further clicks.
He reluctantly looked down at the padd and activated the screen. There was a simple message displayed on it.
A message for him. It didn't take him long to realise who it was from.
And his scowl deepened even further.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Sunek was beginning to get tired of waking up with a sore head. Although this time it didn't take him long to realise that something was different. That this was no common or garden hangover.
Partly because he didn't remember drinking anything. But mostly because he woke up to find himself shackled to a tree, on top of a hillside, in the middle of nowhere.
Night was starting to fall around him, but he could make out that he was in a clearing, surrounded by tall fronds of blue-green grass. A vague memory of walking through the township drifted to the forefront of his mind, along with the hissing sound of a hypospray. Which at least cleared part of the story up.
"Hey!" he called out, not even knowing if anyone was around to hear him, "I like a bit of kinky stuff as much as the next guy, but buy me a drink first at least?"
He managed to at least make his words sound confident, even if inside he felt no such emotion, as he worked in vain against his restraints.
The fist that slammed into his side seemed to come from nowhere. Certainly he hasn't seen who it belonged to. But it struck with enough force to make his vision blur.
"Quiet!" the owner of the first hissed into his ear.
Sunek coughed and hacked, trying desperately to suck vital air back into his lungs. As he gasped, his assailant moved into view, the scarred Klingon sizing up the curious Vulcan that he had taken as his captive.
Frankly, Kolar couldn't see what even Klath saw in the pathetic specimen in front of him. But he knew they were close, that they were shipmates. And he was sure that would be enough to bring the other Klingon to him. So that he could meet Klath on his turf.
"You talk a lot for a Vulcan," he spat, with barely concealed disgust.
Sunek, still gasping for air, failed to give an immediate response. Kolar had no way of knowing how much of a galactic rarity he had just witnessed. Instead, he snorted and walked off, keeping his eyes primed on his surroundings and his senses heightened in the twilight.
He was sure that Klath had gotten the message by now, and he reveled in the fact that he was nearing the end of his journey. A journey that had already taken him all across the quadrant to track down and deal with eleven members of the Grontar's crew so far.
He had already dealt with his accomplice a few hours earlier. She had returned with Klath's message, and after she revealed that she had been kidnapped by him, Kolar had decided that she was becoming too much of a liability. Her body was still laid out somewhere in the undergrowth behind him. He didn't care who discovered it after he was gone.
All that was left for him to do was deal with the Grontar's captain. He had saved the biggest prize for last.
"Hey," Sunek gasped out eventually, "Whatever you think I owe you, that's cool. Just let me get back to my ship, call in a couple of favours, and-"
"I require nothing from you, you pathetic k'pekt," Kolar snapped, as he cautiously scanned the undergrowth around them, "You are merely bait for my prey."
Sunek considered this. All told, it didn't do a lot to settle his nerves. And when he was nervous, he talked even more than usual.
"When you say 'bait'..." he started, before looking worried, "Oh crap, tell me you're not hunting some sort of weird Vulcan-eating monster that lives on this planet. Cos, honestly, I'm mostly gristle-"
"Quiet!" Kolar snapped again, as he continued his vigil.
Sunek suppressed a shiver as a cold wind blew in across the top of the hill. He was only wearing his short-sleeved tunic and trousers that he had left the Bounty with earlier in the day. "Wouldn't have a spare jacket around here would you?" he grunted unhappily, "Kinda thought I was gonna be spending tonight indoors…"
Kolar brushed off his irritation at the Vulcan's continued predilection for conversation, trying to keep himself primed for the fight. "The cold is good," he muttered back, embracing the chill, "As we Klingons say: Revenge is a dish best served cold."
"Psh, yeah. There's a similar saying on Vulcan," Sunek replied, gamely continuing the conversation with his captor, "Course, that one's more to do with plomeek soup in the summertime. But I don't care what temperature it is outside, I prefer my soup hot, y'know…?"
Kolar felt himself bristle in annoyance as the Vulcan babbled on from where he was shackled to the tree, seemingly having a lot to say on the subject of serving suggestions for plomeek soup. He idly allowed his hand to drift down to the d'k tahg dagger on his belt. The one he had already used once today.
And as the Vulcan continued to talk, he began to wonder whether it was vital to his plan that his bait remained alive.
'*'*'
'*'*'
"Hey!"
Natasha stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned in the direction of the familiar voice.
She saw Cameron pacing quickly over to her, wearing his dress uniform. Which, for reasons she instinctively felt she probably didn't want to go into, seemed to have some sort of synthehol stain down the front of the jacket.
"Glad I found you," he continued, gesturing back towards the reception hall, "Thought you might have joined us at the reception. Where were you?"
She stifled a grimace and looked down at her own standard issue uniform, not wanting to reveal that she'd spent almost the entire day hiding on the holodeck, retreating into the safety of her childhood memories rather than dealing with any of her present day issues.
"Thought that was for top brass and Copernicus crew members only," she replied, "Unless you were expecting to see me in a waitress outfit serving canapes?"
He mustered a smile and shook his head. In a roundabout way, that was one way of telling him that she hadn't accepted his offer yet. "There's still slots available on alpha shift, you know. You could be working directly under the CMO. Really great guy, Doctor Yepht. Denobulan. You'd learn a lot."
The ensign's face flitted around in her mind.
"You're saying I still have a lot to learn?" she asked with a tight smile.
"Come on, Nat," he persisted, "You haven't got long left to make a decision. We ship out to Deep Space Nine tomorrow for final crew rotation. Next stop, the Gamma Quadrant."
"I'll think about it."
She turned to walk off, back towards her temporary quarters. He called out, forcing her to stop on the spot. But she couldn't bring herself to look back at him.
"What's going on? Why are you denying yourself this chance? Like I said, you deserve this."
No, she thought to herself, I don't. "As soon as I make a decision," she managed, "You'll be the first to know."
She started walking again. He called out again. "Oh, by the way, your Trill friend made a hell of a scene at the reception."
She stopped. This time she turned around. "What?"
"Yep, and he wasn't serving canapes either."
Cameron smiled. It wasn't his usual superior smile. This one was slightly more furtive, like he was sharing state secrets with her. "Rumour has it the guy got dressed down pretty badly by the admiral for that. I mean, properly chewed up and spat out. Sounded like when my shuttle pilot instructor at the Academy caught me leaning the thrusters on the redline."
Natasha couldn't help but muster a smile as she remembered Jirel's earlier admission. "Probably felt like that for them, too."
"What?"
She shook her head, not really wanting to get into all that here, with her current company. "Oh, y'know, just-the admiral. I guess it probably reminded him of chewing out cadets at the Academy."
Cameron looked confused. "Pretty sure Admiral Jenner never taught at the Academy, Nat. Why would you think that?"
She struggled to hide her surprise as he eyed her up with befuddlement. She managed to muster a casual shrug. "I dunno. Must've got my admirals confused. I...need some rest. Sorry."
She turned back again and took off down the corridor. Her mind now racing with thoughts other than the face of the ensign.
"Seriously," Cameron called after, "I can't keep the offer open much longer!"
She ignored him and continued to walk, lost in thought, all the way back to her quarters. Cameron watched her disappear around the corner.
As soon as she got back, she hurried over to the computer terminal and called up the information she needed. Cameron was right. Admiral Jenner had never lectured at the Academy. Not even a guest slot here and there.
She leaned back in her chair in confusion and considered the story that Jirel had spun her. She knew it hadn't been the whole truth, but now she was wondering if even part of it had been anything other than lies. As she looked out at the darkness outside her window, she found that her head was full of fresh questions.
She also realised something else.
She hadn't thought about Cameron's offer once.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Sunek was still shivering, and now he felt like he was alone.
Kolar had continued to pace around the clearing in front of him for some time, but now, as far as Sunek could tell, he had disappeared into the undergrowth and left him.
Which in a way was good news, because it meant that the seemingly unbalanced Klingon that had kidnapped him wasn't around any more. But it was also bad news, because Sunek was still nervous, and he couldn't exactly settle those nerves by talking some more if there was nobody to talk to.
He struggled with his bonds again, trying to free himself, but the knots were tied far too tightly for that to be an option. After a few more desperate movements, accomplishing nothing other than giving himself a nasty rope burn, he paused and sighed.
Then, from somewhere in the brush, he heard someone approaching. Which made him even more nervous.
"Hey," he said, returning to his tried and tested method of dealing with that particular emotion, "There you are."
No response. That didn't stop him from continuing. "So, I was just thinking...See, I didn't have any dinner tonight. Was kinda hoping I'd be eating in the company of these two Starfleet ensigns, y'know? Man, they were both so hot-You know what, that doesn't matter. Point is: Any chance you packed a picnic?"
As he continued with his impromptu monologue, he saw a figure rise up beside him.
"Shut up, Sunek," Klath muttered.
"Klath? Oh, thank Surak, you're here! You're here to rescue me! See, I always knew you'd come through for me-"
"I am not here to rescue you," Klath replied, interrupting him.
Sunek's face dropped. He saw Klath step forwards, his attention now on scanning the surrounding area rather than on untying him. "Klath, seriously," he persisted, "There's a crazy old Klingon up here. We need to get out of here now. Like, we seriously need to run."
"Klingons do not run."
"And Vulcans don't tell knock knock jokes! Couple of big old trendsetters, that's what they'll call us! So, just...untie me and let's-!"
"Kolar!"
Klath bellowed the name out into the darkness, loud enough for it to echo around the hilltop.
"Well don't do that!" Sunek snapped in exasperation, frantically redoubling his efforts to free himself from his bonds.
Klath ignored him and continued to look for signs of his adversary.
"How do you know his name anyway-?"
Sunek shut up as the undergrowth parted ahead of both of them, and the other Klingon returned, stepping into the light and revealing his scarred features. Klath's only reaction was to tense up in preparation for the fight.
"Klath," Kolar growled at him, "I always suspected that, of all of them, you would prove especially difficult to kill."
Klath's eyes narrowed as he slowly stepped forwards, preparing to reach for the bat'leth that was still sheathed on his back. The two Klingons slowly began to circle around, sizing up their respective enemy.
"Hey, now," Sunek chimed in, "This is all getting a bit serious guys-"
"Silence!" Kolar bellowed across the clearing, keeping his focus on the other Klingon.
Klath spied the d'k tahg in Kolar's belt, reasoning that the small dagger would still be a potent weapon even against a bat'leth, but suspecting that his greater reach and power would prove to be decisive. He went for his blade. But he didn't get to it before Kolar reached behind his back and pulled out a disruptor pistol.
That was something Klath hadn't been counting on.
"And yet," Kolar leered darkly, "Perhaps not so difficult to kill after all."
Klath stared down the barrel of the weapon, moving his hand away from the bat'leth on his back.
"Such a noble plan, Klath, to come here and rescue your friend. How easy it was to get you to meet me on my terms."
Kolar dismissively gestured at Sunek, who was watching the unfolding scene in front of him with increasing amounts of worry.
"There is no honour in that," Klath shot back, gesturing to the disruptor, "In shooting me where I stand. Let us settle this properly, like warriors."
Kolar's eyes narrowed. "Really," he spat, "And tell me why I should allow you an honourable death, when the Sons of Marlek were offered no such luxury."
Klath didn't react to the name externally, but inside he felt fresh shame.
"Hey," Sunek spoke up again, "Seeing as this is clearly some sort of personal matter you two need to sort out, how about you, y'know, let your old buddy Sunek go, eh? And I'll get right out of your very impressive hair."
Klath stifled a grimace, wondering if the last thing he was destined to hear was the familiar sound of Sunek running his mouth. He very much prayed that it wasn't. However, Sunek's comment did at least seem to give Kolar a reason to pause. "Really, Vulcan? You have no idea what this is about?"
"None at all. And I'm really good at forgetting a face, so if you let me go, I'd have nothing to tell anyone about-"
"You'd forget this face?" Kolar persisted, deliberately running his free hand across the scarring on his cheek.
Sunek felt himself gulp involuntarily.
"Surely not," the Klingon continued, "This is a face that tells its own story, surely. A story of a lifetime of pain and humiliation. A story that started off in the Tygon Nebula."
He fixed Klath with a dark stare as he said that name. Klath growled quietly. "This does not concern him, Kolar," he managed to reply, his hand twitching as he wondered how quickly he could draw his bat'leth. Realistically, even he had to admit he couldn't do it faster than a disruptor blast could travel. Kolar had the upper hand in every respect. And he knew it.
"Perhaps he wants to hear the story," Kolar offered.
"This is between us," Klath pressed, "He does not need to know."
"Yep," Sunek nodded, "I don't need to know anything. And, again, if you just wanna untie my hands, I'll be right out of here."
Kolar continued to pace around, ignoring the Vulcan's comments and keeping his weapon trained on his adversary. "Have you never wondered, Vulcan? About why this man ended up being your shipmate? Why a Klingon serves onboard your pathetic little garbage scow of a vessel, on endless pitiful delivery runs, instead of serving the empire?"
Sunek glanced over at Klath, whose attention was still on the other Klingon. "I mean...it's never really come up," he offered weakly, "He was with Jirel when I joined."
Inside, Sunek had to admit that he had asked himself that question more than once since he had met Klath many years ago. But the Klingon was also a decidedly private individual, and Sunek wasn't a huge fan of personal conversations at the best of times, so he had never pushed the issue.
"Go on," Kolar spat at Klath, "Tell him."
Klath ground his teeth together. Kolar tightened his grip on the disruptor.
"Tell him about your war crimes."