Part One
"This was not my fault."
Sunek, the Bounty's wiry Vulcan pilot, leaned back on one of the Ju'Day-type raider's landing struts, his arms folded in front of him in a clear show of defiance. A defiance that was backed up by his latest loud Hawaiian shirt, which he had taken a liking to wearing recently.
In front of him, three other members of the Bounty's small ragtag crew, all considerably more soberly attired in plain grey and brown tunic tops and trousers, regarded him with a trio of looks that suggested that they didn't quite believe his tale of innocence.
"What?" Sunek persisted as he saw the three unimpressed glares being aimed at him, "It really wasn't my fault!"
"And yet you were the one in the pilot's seat at the time," Klath, the Bounty's fierce Klingon tactical chief, growled at him.
"That's true," Sunek conceded with a nod.
"And, while in said pilot's seat, you did ask us to - and I quote - 'check this out'," Jirel, the unjoined Trill captain of the ship, added.
"Can't say I didn't."
"And then something exploded, and the power went out," Natasha Kinsen, the ship's former Starfleet doctor, piped up, completing the details of the Bounty's recent bout of misfortune.
"Yeah, well, when you all put it like that…"
Natasha smiled and shook her head, as the Vulcan in front of her pouted slightly sheepishly. Even though she had been with the Bounty for several months now, and had met plenty of emotional Vulcans of one kind or another, she was still getting fully used to being in the company of a former follower of the V'tosh ka'tur. The Vulcans without logic.
"All I'm saying is," Sunek went on, continuing to fight his corner, "I've pulled off that little comet slingshot trick a thousand times, and that's never happened before. Therefore, it wasn't my fault, it was the stupid ship."
"Hey!" Denella, the Bounty's Orion engineer snapped, as she walked over to join the group, "Don't call my ship stupid."
Dressed in her usual oversized overalls, her face was already streaked with grease and grime as she checked over the Bounty with a small tricorder. But she took a moment to reach over and gently pat the Bounty's landing strut as she chided the pilot.
"Yikes," Jirel grinned, "Sleep with one eye open tonight, Sunek."
"Whatever," the Vulcan sighed, kicking the ground under his feet and feeling increasingly like the rest of them were ganging up on him, "The point is, I'm not taking the blame here. That manoeuvre was completely, one hundred and ten percent sound."
"And yet," Klath grunted, gesturing around them, "Here we are."
The Bounty had made an impromptu and mostly emergency landing on the edge of a lush forest on the planet's northern continent. The Class M world had been the only habitable planet within range when Sunek's little trick had gone so badly wrong. On the other side of the parked ship was a range of hills and snow-capped mountains, while the oddly green-tinged sky was completely clear save for a few wispy streaks of cloud.
It wasn't an ideal location for a stopover, and the slightly higher gravity would make any heavy lifting needed during the repairs that bit more difficult. But given the sudden catastrophe that had broken out, they were lucky to find something this habitable this near to where they were. As ports in a storm went, things could have been an awful lot worse.
"What's the damage?" Jirel asked his engineer, electing to steer the conversation away from the job of apportioning blame for the time being, and back to more practical issues.
"Not as bad as it could have been," she shrugged, checking over the tricorder readings, "But the starboard impulse casing's got a crack in it the size of my arm. It's those cheap crappy deuterium sheets we picked up last month."
"Hah!" Sunek chirped up, pointing victoriously at the others in turn, "So it was the ship's fault! In your faces! In all of your stupid faces!"
"It's not like we could have swung for anything better," Jirel pointed out, as the Vulcan began an impromptu victory dance underneath the ship's hull, "And it's gonna be like that for a while, now we're gonna miss our rendezvous."
Denella nodded in tacit frustration. Their recent cash flow issues were not going to be helped now they were absolutely certain to be late with a delivery of baffle plates destined for a Bolian freighter in the next sector.
"Fair point," she conceded, "Still, from what I can tell, it shouldn't be too big a job to get her patched up and ready to go."
"From what you can tell?" Klath asked, with an edge of caution.
Denella waved the tricorder at the Klingon and shrugged again.
"No big deal, there's just some weird plasma radiation around this whole area. It's messing up any wide range scans I've tried, and I'm not sure how bad it's screwing up the short-range stuff. Probably gonna have to do a visual inspection of the hull to make sure I didn't miss anything."
Natasha's medical instincts kicked in immediately. She moved over to Denella and checked the tricorder readings over her shoulder.
"Hrm, not sure I like the look of that," she mused, "We'll probably be fine for as long as the repairs'll take, but I'll fix us up with a shot of something just to make sure."
"Nice," Jirel tutted, "Picked a great place for a vacation."
She ignored the Trill's comment and walked back up the Bounty's rear loading ramp to retrieve her medkit from the ship's small medical bay. Meanwhile, Denella turned her attention back to the damage to the ship.
"So, I should be good to get us patched up enough to take off in a few hours, but I might need a willing volunteer to help with the heavy lifting."
"Psh," Sunek smirked, "Good luck with that-"
"Congratulations, Sunek," Jirel stepped in, jabbing a finger at him with a grin, "For bringing us to this delightful, irradiated wilderness, you just became Denella's lackey for the day."
"Wh-? Lackey? Hey, come on, you can't make your second-in-command someone's lackey!"
"My what?" he snorted, before he saw the surprisingly serious look on the Vulcan's face, "Oh, crap, do you really think you're second-in-command?"
"What the hell is that supposed to-?"
"You know what? Let's not get into all that now. But you are helping Denella. Think of it as your big prize for pulling off that comet slingshot."
Sunek went to fire back another comment, but he stopped himself at the last second and quelled the brief flash of annoyance with a deep, soothing breath.
He had been working hard to quell his anger issues ever since they spilled over during a fight with a marauding outlaw on a recent trip to Nimbus III. Where, after his frustrations had built up and up, Sunek had lost all control and beat the man with such ferocity that he had nearly killed him. Since then, thanks in part to some secret meditation sessions with Denella in the Bounty's cargo bay, and a lot of focused breathing, he was finally putting that emotional issue to one side.
He was still sure they were connected to a series of forced mind melds he had been subjected to by a former V'tosh ka'tur colleague some months ago, but he had stopped worrying about it too much at this point. He was in control of the storm inside of him.
And that was, in fact, the reason he'd tried the slingshot. The return of his dominant easy-going side had given him the desire to keep everyone entertained on their otherwise mundane delivery run. Even if it hadn't quite worked out for the best this time, he'd still had fun doing it.
So, instead of succumbing to a momentary flash of anger, as he might have done before, Sunek controlled himself, and settled for sticking his tongue out at Jirel instead.
Natasha hurried back down the ramp with a hypospray in hand, and went around gently pressing it into each of their necks in turn.
"Hyronalin compound," she explained as she worked, "Should make sure none of us grow any ears on our backs while we're down here."
"Come on then, flyboy," Denella clicked her tongue in Sunek's direction and gestured back up the Bounty's ramp, "You've got some duranium sheets to carry."
The Orion woman bounded up the ramp, followed with significantly less enthusiasm by the Vulcan, who dragged his feet like a sulky teenager.
"Wasn't my fault…" he muttered as he disappeared inside the ship.
Jirel and Klath shared an amused glance, as Natasha finished her work with the hypospray and turned her attention to the surrounding area. Specifically, the lush forest to the east.
"Look at the colours along the treeline," she mused wistfully, "We could go out and collect some samples, see if we can cut through the radiation to scan for signs of-"
"Hey, Nat," Jirel motioned, "We're just here to fix the ship. This isn't a field trip."
She looked back at the Trill and the Klingon, neither looking especially excited about being here, and reminded herself that she wasn't with a Starfleet landing party right now. Still, despite the lack of enthusiasm, she elected to stick to her guns.
"I just think we could take a look around. While they're completing the repairs."
Klath stared out at the forest, taking in the diverse and unique landscape that lay in front of them.
"Why?" he offered simply.
"To explore?" Natasha sighed, gesturing out at the trees, "To see what's out there? To search this little corner of an unexplored planet while we have some time on our hands?"
A pause. The hulking Klingon scanned the forest again.
"Why?" the gruff response inevitably came.
Jirel couldn't help but smirk, even as Natasha persisted with her sales pitch to the unconvinced member of her fledgling away team.
"Because who knows what's out there? A valley filled with jewels the size of rocks? A tree made out of dilithium crystals? A river of pure latinum flowing just behind the tree line?"
Klath considered each of these points for a moment as he conducted another visual scan, before decisively responding with a shake of his head.
"Unlikely."
"Come on Klath," Jirel offered by way of appeasement, "You know how it goes, right? You can take the girl out of Starfleet, but you can't take-"
"Don't do that. Are we gonna have a look around or not?"
She glared at Jirel, and the Trill found himself reluctantly conceding to himself that, not for the first time since they had rescued her from involuntary exile in the Kesmet sector, the newest member of the Bounty's crew was going to twist his arm with some ease.
And so, he decided that if he was going to end up going along with her plan eventually anyway, he may as well go along with it now, and save everyone some time. He then wasted a few further seconds trying to figure out if that piece of internal logic actually made any sense.
Then, he turned to Klath and held his hands up in casual submission.
"Ok, come on, why don't we spend a couple of hours going boldly, hmm?"
Klath grunted slightly, still entirely unenthused by the idea.
"Besides," Jirel added, "You'd kick yourself if she was right about that river of latinum."
'*'*'
'*'*'
Sister Lyca had no idea of the significance of the name of the Bastille. None of the Makalites could possibly have known about that. All she really knew was she really didn't like being here.
It was a newer construction in the village, one of several that had been built since The Seer had arrived, and it stood away from the ordered concentric structure of the rest of the villages, on the very fringes of the settlement.
The walls were mostly built from the shining metal sheets that The Seer had brought back to the village from his forays beyond the forest, though the supports were all wooden and the roof was a traditional weave of branches and sticks of the kind used around the rest of the village.
The Makalites had not seen such a volume of metal before, save for a few glinting nuggets that foraging parties occasionally discovered. But it had quickly proved to be a revolutionary building material, not just in new buildings, but in supplementing the existing huts around the village.
The Bastille itself was a squat rectangular construct, with just one entrance that was lockable from the outside by a thick wooden block placed across the doorway.
Inside, Sister Lyca sat on the floor, restrained by ropes to one of the central wooden columns. There was little else inside in the way of comfort for The Bastille's sole unfortunate inhabitant, and she still felt the gnawing itching pain from the rash on her arm behind her back.
She had been locked away more and more often as she had taken an increasingly fervent stance against The Seer and his prophecy, driven by the sickness that she saw everywhere inside the village, and her unshakable distrust in the man that the rest of the villagers had taken as their spiritual leader.
But now, as she sat on the grassy floor of the Bastille, she found herself with cause to question her own beliefs for a change.
Because she had seen it with her own eyes, out in the square. The skyship had appeared above their heads. Just as The Seer had claimed it would.
Part of her was still sure she was right. That The Seer was the cause of their woes, not the solution to them. After all, the sickness had only shown up after he had arrived. But another part of her was now conflicted. If The Seer had been right about the skyship, maybe he had also been right about their salvation. And maybe she had been wrong.
She was still fighting her internal conflict when the door opened, and the man himself entered.
There were no windows in the Bastille, but she could just about make him out through the minimal light that was seeping in through the weaves of the roof.
"Sister Lyca," he sighed slowly, tutting thoughtfully as he paced over to her, "What am I going to do with you…"
She felt instinctively fearful given her entirely immobile state, but there was no trace of menace in his voice. Though he did sound different to his usual bombastic self. Quieter, more guarded, but still to Sister Lyca's ears, entirely untrustworthy.
"See," he continued, gesturing to her uncomfortably restrained form, "All this. This really isn't me, you've got to understand. I'm a nice guy. Really, I am."
Not for the first time since she had met him, Sister Lyca found herself doubting The Seer's words.
"But the thing is," he continued, now pointing back to the outside world, "I have an image to maintain out there, you know? And, if you don't mind me saying so, your constant meddling around is becoming just a little bit annoying."
She remained silent, staring back at the strange man as he paced around the room, and remaining conflicted between the falseness of his words, and the start of the apparent fulfilment of his prophecy that the village had just witnessed.
The Seer paused and looked around the slightly grim interior of the building, shaking his head.
"I mean, look at this place. I only built it as a deterrent, Sister Lyca. Did you know that? Big scary prison to help keep the peace among the flock. Even the name's a bit of a joke. And apart from that one guy who stole a harvest of kava fruit, you're the only one who's ever been in here!"
She couldn't help but feel an odd flash of pride at that comment. Especially given how irritated he clearly was by her.
"So," he signed, turning back to her, "To reiterate, I'm a nice guy. You're stuck here again. And I'm ready to listen. You've seen what we all saw out there. My prophecy was correct. So just tell me, what is it gonna take to get you to fall in line and stop ruining everything for me, hmm?"
She considered her options, felt the rough twine keeping her hands in place. But she was also now increasingly sure of her original belief, that The Seer was not the great oracle he claimed to be. He seemed almost worried as he stood in front of her.
"I have nothing to say to you," she replied, her voice sounding small despite her best efforts as it echoed around the empty room.
"Fine, you don't need to say anything to me," The Seer tutted, toying with the end of one of the long billowing sleeves of his robes with clear irritation, "As a matter of fact, after listening to you for the last few days, I welcome the silence. But it would really help me out if you would go out there to your Brothers and Sisters and repent. Not for me, but for the good of the flock. Ok?"
She scrunched up her face in determination and shook her head, taking further succour from the grimace this elicited from him.
"I know what it is that I believe," she replied, "And I will never stop trying to help my Brothers and Sisters to see the truth as well."
"Unbelievable," The Seer scoffed, shaking his head, "Even when you've seen the magical skyship with your own eyes? Even as the rest of the village believes that their salvation is here? You're still going to try and undermine me?"
Sister Lyca thought about the skyship again, the great shining object that had soared down from the heavens, and tried to dismiss her conflicting fears.
"I may be just a simple gatherer, and I may not be able to explain all of what I have seen. But I am certain that you are the cause of our suffering, and I will never be a part of your flock!"
"Ugh," he muttered unhappily, "You really are very irritating, you know that?"
Sister Lyca summoned up a little more courage and kept her eyes locked on his through the darkness.
"Whatever's the matter, Seer? Did you not foresee that I would be like this?"
His eyes narrowed at this, the good humour on his face vanishing entirely for a moment.
"Very funny," he tutted, before he peered around the side of the pillar and saw the tell-tale signs of the rash on her arm, "You know, some of your Brothers and Sisters think that sickness is a punishment. For those who aren't loyal enough to The Seer and his prophecy."
"If that's true," she countered, feeding off her growing confidence, "Then why is the sickness affecting all of the village? All of your flock? And perhaps even you, Seer?"
He visibly bristled at this, and stepped forward with an angry look before he stopped himself and regained his composure.
"Ok, you know what? Fine," he replied, readjusting his robes, "I've tried to be nice. But if you're going to keep trying to get in the way of my plans, then…goodbye, Sister Lyca. I won't be back."
With that, he turned and made for the door. As she saw him leaving her alone again, her confidence faltered. She pictured the skyship, and that part of her that now doubted her continued resistance to the prophecy wanted to call out, even to repent.
But she resisted those inner doubts. She remained proud and defiant in her protest against The Seer, as he walked out the door and it closed again. She kept up her resistance even as she heard the heavy wooden block being placed back across the exit on the outside.
And then, when she was completely alone, she slumped back against the pillar behind her, and began to sob.
'*'*'
'*'*'
"Keep her in there," The Seer muttered dismissively at the two Makalite Brothers that stood watch either side of the door of the Bastille.
They nodded back unquestioningly, even as The Seer stalked away, his robes fanning out behind him and his usually serene face now like thunder.
He was thoroughly sick of this village.
He was thoroughly sick of the Makalites.
And he was definitely thoroughly sick of Sister Lyca.
As he walked on, he suppressed a wince. He glanced around to see if any Makalites were near, and ducked behind the side of a nearby hut. Satisfied he was alone and out of sight, he pulled back the billowing sleeve of his robe to reveal his own forearm. A series of ugly red welts stared back at him.
He took a moment to internalise the pain, and admitted that this was the worst part of it all.
He was thoroughly sick of being sick.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Natasha picked her way through the undergrowth of the mysterious forest, doing her best to scan through the radiation with the ancient tricorder she had picked out from the Bounty's rather underwhelming manifest.
As they walked, she tried not to think too much about how, the last time she had been in a forest with Jirel and Klath, they had run into a pack of rogue Jem'Hadar soldiers. This was going to be a much better field trip than that one, she told herself.
So, instead, she pictured her late father, the archaeologist, boldly stepping through the overgrown ruins of an ancient civilisation, or searching for a clue to some long-forgotten interstellar treasure. Even if she didn't hold out much hope of finding either of those things on this particular planet.
Klath and Jirel followed in her wake. The Klingon had his trusty bat'leth slung behind his back, but aside from that, they hadn't seen the need to arm themselves.
They mostly walked in silence, save for an occasional growl of annoyance from the Klingon every time Natasha stopped for a closer inspection of a particular instance of the local plant life. It was something that was happening far too often for his liking.
"Wait," she exclaimed out of nowhere, as if to underline Klath's unspoken point, "I wanna get a closer look at this one."
Jirel diligently stopped and smiled as she carefully stepped over to the foot of a tree to their right, tricorder raised in preparation. His walking companion at his side found the scene significantly less endearing.
"This is insufferable," the Klingon growled.
"No," Natasha replied with a patient smile, "This is lunch."
She reached under one of the leaves of the plant that she had been scanning and snapped off three pieces of fruit, handing her companions one each. They eyed it dubiously.
It was a small cylindrical object, deep blue in colour, with asymmetrical semi-circular lumps running along the outer skin. All things considered, it wasn't winning any prizes for its looks.
"Ok, granted, it doesn't look like much," Natasha conceded, "But the tricorder says it's perfectly safe."
"The tricorder that's not working properly cos of all that yummy radiation?" Jirel asked, "Also, cos it's one of our tricorders?"
She shook her head and gestured to the readings she had been able to gather.
"Like Denella said, short-range scans seem to be mostly fine. It's just the wider stuff that's affected. And it says it's perfectly safe to eat. So, let's enjoy this little slice of an unexplored world."
She smiled in satisfaction, then took a healthy bite from the fruit in her hands. Klath and Jirel followed suit.
During his misspent youth with his adoptive parents on Earth, Jirel had once been challenged by a friend to eat a portion of B'kaazi reklor. A dish from the B'kaazi people which involved fermenting the meat of one of their most common farm animals under the sun for six days straight, completely unprotected from the elements, save for a simple wrap of aromatic plant leaves.
The resulting meal is considered a particularly choice delicacy by the B'kaazi, but to every other species in the Alpha Quadrant, the reklor's offensive smell and even more offensive taste renders it virtually inedible. It remained the most disgusting thing that Jirel had ever eaten. Until now.
"Oh. God. No," he managed to splutter, before he spat out the entire mouthful of fruit onto the forest floor and hurled the rest of the offending foodstuff away. He looked over to see Natasha hastily retreating behind the tree they were standing next to, and promptly vomiting loudly.
"Good find, doc," he coughed, "Your tricorder picking up any delicious natural springs of flesh-eating acid to wash that down with?"
After taking a moment to compose herself, she staggered back over with as much dignity as she could muster, waving an accusing hand at the tricorder.
"It can tell if it's edible. Not what it tastes like."
The pair of them turned to see Klath still merrily munching on his own piece of fruit. After a second, he looked up, slightly puzzled by his sudden fascinated audience.
"Delicious," he stated simply, "This may have been a worthy mission after all, doctor."
He reached down with a hulking arm and snapped off two more of the pieces of fruit, devouring the first one whole. Natasha felt a fresh wave of nausea rising in her body.
"Well," Jirel said weakly, "At least Klath's lunch is sorted."
Just as the Klingon tore into the other piece of fruit, he suddenly froze in position. His warrior instincts kicked in as he sensed something moving in the undergrowth.
"What's the matter?" Jirel whispered. He was familiar with that look from his tactical chief. It usually meant trouble.
Klath dropped the second piece of fruit to the ground and reached for his bat'leth, as he scanned the undergrowth for signs of danger. He didn't offer an answer. But Natasha did. Or at least, her tricorder did.
"Um," she said, in shock, "I'm picking up lifesigns. Close by. Heading this way."
The former Starfleet officer realised in horror that they had landed on an inhabited planet. Potentially a pre-industrial planet. One of the biggest galactic violations it was possible to commit. She was equally horrified to see that Jirel seemed entirely unaffected by this news.
"Oh, is that all?" he replied, tapping Klath on the arm, "Hey, Klath, put the big scary bat'leth away, ok? The natives might be friendly."
"Why the hell are there natives here in the first place?" Natasha hissed as the Klingon reluctantly lowered his weapon, "Why didn't we check that before we landed?"
"Because, if you remember, we were kinda busy at the time. With the whole 'big explosion, lots of shaking about, oh crap we're going to die' thing we had going on."
"But," she shot back, "If this is a pre-warp civilisation, then we're potentially contaminating-"
"Relax, ok?" Jirel sighed, "We do this sort of thing all the time."
The stare he got from Natasha as he made that statement was sharp enough to cut him. He realised his mistake immediately, and managed an awkward cough.
"Did I say 'all the time'? I meant to say that we've never previously done anything like this before. Ever. So, um, lifesigns, you say?"
Natasha's stare got even more intense, as she felt a sudden urge to wrap the vintage tricorder in her hand around the Trill's head.
But before she had a chance to do that, or to query his first answer any further, the impromptu away team found themselves surrounded. On all sides, light blue faces emerged from the undergrowth.
There were at least a dozen of them. They all wore simple cotton-like clothing and looked roughly humanoid in appearance, albeit with thin bony ridges running around the top of their head and disappearing underneath their hairline. And they were clearly from a pre-warp civilisation. By some considerable distance.
Natasha was principally worried about two things. Her primary concern was the fact that they were committing a fairly substantial act of cultural contamination just by being here. A human, a Klingon and a Trill marching through the backyard of a pre-industrial civilisation who were likely yet to fully comprehend the concept of their own planet, never mind anyone else's.
And her secondary concern was tangentially connected to that. If these people really had never seen a human, a Klingon or a Trill before, then why were they all smiling?
One of the aliens stepped forward as the others watched on. She looked around at them, and gave the scowling Klath a slightly wide berth, but she clearly wasn't afraid of them. Instead, she stepped straight up to Jirel and smiled even wider.
"Um," the Trill offered with an uncomfortable shrug, "We come in peace?"
"Oh, for the love of…" Natasha muttered under her breath, accompanied by a roll of her eyes.
The alien ignored the comment, and instead gently reached out her hand and ran her fingers down the spots on the side of Jirel's face, before turning back to her colleagues in excitement.
"It is him! The spotted man! He has come to us!"
Klath and Natasha shot confused looks at Jirel, who looked as perplexed as they were about the whole situation.
"I swear," he managed, "I've never seen her before."
All of a sudden, the rest of the blue-skinned figures came rushing out of the undergrowth towards him. But while Klath instinctively brought his bat'leth to bear on the potentially hostile hoard, he felt faintly ludicrous for doing so moments later.
The aliens surrounded Jirel and hugged him warmly, before they took careful hold of him and hoisted him up into the air, onto the shoulders of two of the stouter male figures.
"Brothers, Sisters," the original alien continued, "The prophecy really is coming true! We must celebrate! All of us!"
Cheers of joy sounded out from the entire crowd of aliens, which echoed through the forest and bounced off the trees all around them. Natasha watched on with mounting horror as they began to carry the increasingly confused Trill off into the undergrowth.
As they walked off, Klath reached out and grabbed one of the aliens by their arm. The female alien looked up at the larger Klingon, a little wary, but not scared by the situation.
"You…know him?" Klath asked, gesturing at Jirel with a jerk of his head.
"Of course we know him," the alien replied, a little offended that she had to be asked, "We've been waiting for him. Waiting for our saviour!"
Klath didn't know what to do with that. Nor, despite her Starfleet training, did Natasha.
"Seriously," Jirel shouted out to them, as he disappeared into the trees, "Never seen them before in my life!"
'*'*'
'*'*'
"Bored."
Denella didn't reply, focusing instead on her efforts to seal the duranium sheet in front of her in place over the Bounty's starboard impulse casing using the laser welder in her hand.
"Bored!"
She sighed and wiped the sweat from her brow. As expected, the slightly higher gravity and the warming midday sun overhead was turning a theoretically simple repair job into more of a sweat-inducing grind. She could already tell that she was going to medically require a sonic shower by the time she was done.
"Boredboredboredboredboredbored-"
"Sunek!"
She finally snapped at the Vulcan standing next to her on the small anti-grav platform, as it hovered a few feet off the ground next to the ship's starboard impulse engine.
The extent of her unwillingly appointed lackey's role in the repair at this point was simply to hold the sheet in place while she securely welded it down. But even with a task as simple as that, Sunek had still decided to make his feelings on the situation very clear indeed.
"Could you just, please, be quiet?" she asked in exasperation.
The Vulcan seemed largely unperturbed by her angry, sweaty glare, and pouted back at her.
"But I'm-"
"Bored. Yes. You've made that very clear. But, could you just let me work in peace."
His pout didn't show any signs of leaving his face any time soon, but he nodded reluctantly and allowed silence to descend on the scene. Denella suppressed a sigh of relief and returned to her work, carefully running the welder along the edge of the dark grey metal sheet.
Suddenly, she heard a distinctive tap-tapping sound, and her engineer's ear cocked up in concern. She stopped her welding work and grabbed her tricorder from her belt, running the device across the engine itself.
"Crap. If that's coming from inside the plasma conduit, we're gonna need to replace the entire-"
It was then that she saw that Sunek was now staring off into the distance, idly tapping his fingers on the side of the Bounty's hull with his free hand as he did so.
"Sunek!"
He paused in the middle of his tapping and looked over to her, a picture of innocence.
"What?"
Summoning the deepest reserves of her strength of will, Denella resisted the increasingly strong temptation to introduce the laser welder in her hands to any number of Sunek's body parts, and instead powered down the small device for a moment.
"Ok, new plan," she said, as calmly as she could manage, "I'm gonna finish off the work up here. On my own. And you can…go fix some lunch? I've had to power everything down while we're working, so you'll need to see what we've got in storage."
Sunek raised an eyebrow. A universal symbol consistent across all Vulcans, from the most stoic Kolinahr graduate to the most emotionally fragile member of the V'tosh ka'tur, that indicated that the owner of the eyebrow was distinctly unimpressed.
"Lunch? I'm a pilot, not a caterer."
Keeping her strength of will as fully charged as possible, Denella disguised her irritation with the friendliest smile she could muster under the warmth of the sun.
"Please? I'm starving. Besides, it'll be a hell of a lot less like hard work."
Sunek considered this for a moment. He didn't much like the idea of fixing lunch. But he equally didn't like the idea of staying out working in these conditions. His laziness and his apathy had a brief tug of war inside his mind, before he nodded and started towards the edge of the anti-grav unit. Just as he was about to clamber down, he paused and looked back at the Orion woman.
"Wait. You're not-? To be clear, this isn't an order. I mean, you're not my boss."
Denella paused in the middle of powering the laser cutter back up and sighed again, looking over at the Vulcan with her best 'go and fix lunch' glare.
"It's just," Sunek continued, "What Jirel said before about-I just wanna be clear that I'm fixing lunch entirely of my own volition. Not cos you're, y'know, in charge of me or anything."
"Ok," she replied in exasperation, "Noted."
"Good."
With a look of satisfaction now that was settled, Sunek jumped over the railing at the edge of the anti-grav unit and dropped to the ground a few feet below, before slowly plodding back inside the Bounty via the ramp. Denella took a moment to appreciate the bliss of the sudden burst of peace and quiet now being afforded to her, before she powered the welder on fully and picked up where she left off.
Just as the tool made contact with the metal again, her communicator chirped out.
Her first response was to utter an untranslatable old phrase in her native Orion tongue, which the quadrant's foremost linguists had termed 'the most succinctly offensive curse in history', due to its ability to crudely question the integrity of three generations of your family while graphically associating them with four different types of livestock in just six short syllables.
Her second response was to reluctantly flick the welder off again and grab the chirping device from her belt, before she had a chance to fully calm down.
"What the hell is it now?" she snapped.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Despite everything that was happening around her, Natasha was still taken aback by the Orion's growled response over the comms link. She'd always seen the engineer as the calmest and most level-leaded of the Bounty's usually impulsive crew.
"Denella?" she managed to reply.
"I'm afraid Denella's busy right now. You're through to the Orion goddess of pissed off engineers," the snippy response came back.
Natasha glanced at Klath where he stood next to her, the Klingon looking equally confused by their colleague's tone, before she tentatively continued.
"Um, ok? Are the repairs done? Cos we might have a bit of a problem over here."
A short pause. An odd clanging sound came back, which neither party on this end of the comms link could quite place, but a more discerning ear might have recognised as the sound of an old-style laser welder making heavy contact with a sheet of duranium.
"What sort of a problem?" Denella replied eventually.
"We've, um, accidentally encountered some of the natives of this planet," Natasha explained with a sigh, "And they're…"
She paused and looked around. She and Klath stood to one side of the central square of the village they had been brought to, and although they were trying not to draw attention to the chunky communicator in her hand, in truth they were mostly being ignored by the villagers. Their attention was entirely on the 'spotted man'.
Jirel had been carried all the way to the centre of the square, and was now sitting on a wooden chair in the centre of a long, elaborately decorated table, looking unduly pleased with himself.
Villagers - Makalites, as Natasha had learned they called themselves - scurried around the table, laying out a number of clay jugs filled with drinks, woven decorations and other items in front of the Trill that they had inexplicably proclaimed as their saviour.
To one side of the green, a small band had started up, playing a quirky folk-style tune on a series of strange woodwind-style instruments. Some of the Makalites nearby had started performing a loosely choreographed dance, apparently also entirely for Jirel's benefit.
As the music, the dancing, the drinking and the merriment continued, Natasha tried to convey the scene as accurately as possible over the comms link.
"They're…having a party."
There was a particularly long pause before Denella's reply came.
"Ok, I'm gonna hang up now-"
"No, Denella, wait," Natasha jumped in quickly, "Something really strange is going on. This is a pre-warp society, pre-industrial even. And yet they're totally fine with us being here, and they're even calling Jirel their…saviour!"
"...Our Jirel?"
"Exactly!"
"He claims to have never met them before," Klath added helpfully from Natasha's side.
Another pause, as the Orion took this unlikely information in.
"Well, clearly," she replied eventually, "But, what's your endgame here, doc? Cos I'm right in the middle of these repairs."
Natasha suppressed her mounting frustrations at the reactions she was getting from the Bounty's crew regarding the huge faux pas they were in the middle of committing with the Makalites, and tried to block out the sound of the seemingly tuneless woodwind melody coming from on the other side of the square.
I'm not in Starfleet any more, she reminded herself.
"Well, we obviously need to get out of here asap," she concluded eventually, "Once the Bounty's ready to go, we'll find a quiet corner of the village, and you can beam us out. With any luck this'll all just be remembered as a…mass hallucination or something."
It wasn't exactly the greatest solution, she knew. But given the resources they had, there wasn't much more they could do.
"Yeah, can't do that," Denella countered, "All that radiation. Wouldn't wanna try beaming you through that on our old transporter. If you wanna get out of there, then you're gonna have to walk."
Natasha grimaced, realising that the Orion woman was right.
"Fine," she sighed, "I guess we'll try to make our excuses and…"
She paused, distracted by a new group of Makalites carrying enormous platters of colourful foods from one of the nearby huts and setting them down on the table in front of Jirel.
"Oh my god," she whispered in horror, "There's a buffet."
Her palpable concern for the situation was interrupted by the sound of the comms link being terminated, as Denella finally hung up.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Despite the occasional evidence to the contrary, Jirel had never really considered himself to be a particularly vain man.
From his troubled upbringing as an orphan on Earth, to his failed attempt to join Starfleet Academy and follow in his adoptive father's footsteps, to his time flitting around the galaxy from odd job to odd job, and culminating in his time in charge of the Bounty, there wasn't a lot to be vain about.
He had a big enough ego, obviously. And was more than happy to depict himself as a swashbuckling space captain if there was a crowd to show off in front of, or a woman to try to impress.
But he was the first to admit that said ego wasn't rooted in vanity, and had entirely been constructed as a defence mechanism, an act designed to cover for the fact that throughout most of his life flying through space by the seat of his pants, he had no idea what the hell he was doing.
Still, despite claiming an absence of vanity in his character, it turned out that being suddenly hailed as the saviour of an entire group of people was a pretty solid method for kindling that particular feeling inside.
He watched as the Makalite villagers danced, sang and played music in his honour, as he ate and drank from the wide selection of delicacies that had been willingly provided to him. He had been offered gifts of elaborate cloth and small jewels, and had lost count of the number of blue-skinned aliens that had approached to give him thanks or praise.
All things considered, the green shoots of vanity that were fomenting inside of him decided that he could definitely get used to all this.
Just as he settled back in his chair to watch the climax of the latest curious dancing display in the middle of the square, he was approached by the same alien that had led the group of Makalites back in the forest, the one that he had learned was called Sister Ryna.
"Oh, spotted man," she said wistfully, an adage that the Makalites seemed entirely unwilling to drop despite Jirel having told them his actual name several times, "Is there anything more that you desire, great and merciful saviour?"
Jirel resisted the temptation to ask if the Makalites had gotten far enough into their evolutionary cycle to have invented a half-decent brandy, and tried to indulge his curiosity instead.
"Um, well, I guess you could-I mean, I'm obviously your great and merciful saviour. And that's really, totally cool. Could not be more excited about that. But…just refresh my memory about, y'know, what that actually entails…?"
Sister Ryna was slightly perturbed by this question. He should already know that kind of thing as far as she could see. But she didn't let her confusion show. After all, whatever the case, she was still in the presence of the spotted man.
"It is just as The Seer has told us," she explained, "That you would come down from the stars, on your mighty skyship, and save us all."
The Trill mulled this over as he chewed on a piece of juicy fruit, significantly tastier than whatever Natasha had inflicted on them back in the forest. He didn't mean for it to happen, but Sister Ryna's words were definitely feeding his vestigial sense of vanity. This led to him unlocking his pre-existing ego, and deciding that, given the circumstances, a bit of Jirel Vincent, space adventurer, wouldn't go amiss.
"Well," he said, pulling his best swashbuckling captain smile, "It wouldn't be the first time I've saved the day, let me tell you-"
His ego was interrupted by the sound of a distinctly unhappy cough. He and Sister Ryna swivelled around to see Natasha and Klath glaring down at them where they sat.
Jirel felt his swashbuckling captain smile trying to make a run for it.
"Oh. Um. Hi, guys," he managed, "Just, y'know, making friends with the natives?"
He grabbed his smile before it evacuated his face entirely and rearranged it into one more in keeping with an apologetic teenager who had just been caught breaking curfew by his parents.
"Cute," Natasha replied, without a trace of amusement.
"Aren't I?" Jirel shot back, his grin gaining in strength as he chomped down on another piece of fruit and accepted a top-up of green-tinged liquid from a clay jug wielded by Sister Ryna.
"You should be careful," Klath cautioned, eyeing the Makalite woman with distrust, "The food could be poisoned."
Sister Ryna tilted her head at the Klingon with a look of innocent confusion.
"Why would we wish to poison our saviour?"
"Yeah, Klath," Jirel retorted, taking a generous gulp of the sweet liquid, "Why would they want to do a stupid thing like that? Now will you two relax? You're the one who wanted to take a look around, remember, Nat? And here we are. Looking around. Trust me, this is not a problem."
Klath grunted unhappily, as Natasha rolled her eyes. She was becoming increasingly concerned by the way that the Trill seemed to be starting to ease into the role that the Makalites had created for him.
"Tell me, spotted man," Sister Ryna continued, as she replenished his drink again, "Where is this great and mighty skyship of yours?"
Jirel took the question in his stride, wondering if that was the first time either of those words had been used to describe the Bounty, even as Natasha's glare darkened a little more.
"Oh, right," he nodded, gesturing back towards the forest they had come from, "It's, um, y'know, just over…yonder."
Klath's face scrunched up in confusion.
"Yonder?"
"I dunno," Jirel shrugged back at the Klingon, "I'm just trying to fit in."
Natasha suppressed another sigh and turned back to Sister Ryna, who seemed to be thoroughly elated by the news about the proximity of the skyship, regardless of the exact phrasing that had been used. Cultural contamination or not, she decided it was time to get some answers.
"Excuse me," she said with a friendly tone, "What exactly is it that you need from the spotted man and his skyship?"
Sister Ryna looked confused again, wondering why both the spotted man, and his acolytes, seemed so unfamiliar with their roles in what was unfolding.
"The Seer's prophecy was clear," she explained, fixing Jirel with a doting look, "The spotted man will come in his skyship, and take us all to our utopia."
She broke eye contact with Jirel for a moment, and looked up towards the heavens, gesturing with her outstretched hands and smiling widely.
"Way up there."
Natasha stared open-mouthed at the cheery Makalite. Jirel choked on the piece of fruit he had been in the middle of eating. Even Klath looked a little taken aback.
The Trill turned and offered an altogether weaker smile at his colleagues than before, his vanity well and truly fleeing the scene of the crime entirely.
"Ok," he admitted, "This might be a teeny, tiny bit of a problem."
'*'*'
'*'*'
While the party continued in the square, The Seer watched on from the temple.
Behind him, dominating the expanse of the single room inside the metal structure, was a simple wooden table, virtually groaning under the weight of the many and various offerings to him that had come from the villagers.
Jewels, gems and precious stones of all shapes and sizes had been added there over time, anything that the Makalites could find to pay their respects. Just as he had instructed. And, with the 'skyship' having now arrived, The Seer had decided to forego the party, such that it was, in order to collect the riches the villagers had availed him with.
And then, just as he had been assessing some of the larger objects on the table, he had thought to pop his head outside to check that everything was progressing according to his plans.
It didn't take long for him to spot the newcomers. They didn't exactly blend in with the blue-skinned villagers after all. And when he saw them, his mood had instantly darkened.
He summoned up his most calming and serene expression and turned to the other two figures in the temple with arms outstretched in peaceful warmth. Brother Falor and Brother Makan stood beside the groaning table, awaiting his words.
The two Makalites had quickly become known as The Seer's most loyal followers ever since he had arrived in the village, endlessly eager and willing to carry out the wishes of the man that was promising them so much.
They had no issues with the donated items in the temple. It was clearly important for everyone to each show their thanks for all that The Seer was doing for them.
They had never questioned The Seer whenever he had asked them to lock Sister Lyca away in the Bastille. After all, she was a heretic, one that stood against the words of his great prophecy.
And they didn't mind being kept from the celebrations outside, even though the spotted man and the skyship was now amongst them. Especially given that The Seer had promised they would both have prime seats in the skyship for their ascent to the heavens.
They didn't even care about the rashes on their arms. Because salvation was now at hand.
And so, they remained loyal to their all-seeing master, and they dutifully awaited whatever tasks he might have for them before they reached their utopia.
"Brother Falor, Brother Makan," The Seer said to them in his becalmed voice, "Your Seer must, I'm afraid, furnish you with a task on this joyous day."
"Of course, Seer," Brother Falor replied eagerly, backed up by an enthusiastic nod from his fellow Brother, "We are happy to serve you."
The Seer bowed his head slightly at them in respectful thanks, before shooting a glance back towards the doorway of the temple.
"I need you to…keep a close eye on our guests for me. Can you do that?"
"But, oh Seer," Brother Makan said with a note of worry, "For what purpose? This is all as your prophecy foretold."
"Of course it is," The Seer replied quickly, keeping his tone benign, "But you are both well aware that, on occasion, my prophecies can work in mysterious ways. And that I have always asked you to ensure that you both keep your faith, for the, um, good of the flock."
The Brothers shared a look of confusion. It was true that, for as long as they had followed him, The Seer's prophecies often did play out in somewhat contradictory ways.
Such as his forecast that their crops would prosper, only for the rains to fall and wash away their entire harvest. The Seer had pointed out that ground was now clear and fertile, ready for a bountiful crop to prosper next season.
Or when he had claimed that all would be well with Sister Toya's father, days before the elder had succumbed to sleeping sickness. The Seer had clarified that all indeed was well, and that he was safely in the next realm.
So, even though The Seer now appeared to be asking them to spy on the very people that he had claimed were here to deliver them from the disease that was blighting the village, it made sense to both Brother Falor and Brother Makan that if this seemed wrong, it was only because they didn't fully understand the prophecy itself.
And that was clearly their problem, not the fault of The Seer. After all, he had never guided them wrong before. Especially when he had appeared to have guided them wrong.
It was flawless critical thinking like that which had made Brother Falor and Brother Makan such excellent followers in the first place.
So, instead of questioning his request, they both simply nodded back.
"Such loyalty to the flock," The Seer smiled with benevolence, "And, if any of our guests go against the ways of the prophecy, you know what to do."
They nodded again, and scurried out of the temple, leaving The Seer to return his attention to watching the celebrations for the arrival of the spotted man from afar.
He saw the trio of newcomers to the village once again, and he felt his mood darkening afresh. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but what had happened was clear to him.
Someone had sent him the wrong Trill.