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Engineering remained one of those magical places where a crafty science-interested person easily could get lost for days, poking in the fascinating and other-worldly devices and apparatus. The place had a somewhat polychrome quality compared to its equivalent sections in other starships due to the intriguing fact that the equipment was basically dominated by a mesh-mash of alien design. In addition, strange objects were protruding from the bulkhead and some of the consoles as if they were placed there for one purpose only. A ballet performed by one swinging monkey in particular.
Mel Dayton permitted herself to stop and admire the adroit Ape for a second as he swung himself from control console to access ladder and back again in complete control of his fluent motions despite his bulky form.
She understood that she really didn't have the time to indulge in such frivolity, yet it also remained a fact that short relaxing breaks in built-up tension was known to help a group work optimally as a coherent entity.
Her scrutiny inevitably made her chief engineer look up eventually.
"What's up, Cap?"
She grinned at him and leaned on the platform support.
"I'd give you 9.6 for technical impression and 9.8 for art." She stated, never abating her smile.
"Why the difference?" Ape's crow's-feet twinkled at her.
Mel started to descend.
"I just might tell you if you are a good boy and give me what I need."
"Would that be a total shielding defence against eavesdroppers? I regret to inform my captain that we haven't got that far yet."
"Will we?" she stopped in front of him, blatantly enjoying his movements as he swung himself down to land at her feet.
"Sure, we will. Six hours after the shit hits the fan."
Mel winced at the archaic expression more than the actual information it imparted.
"Crap."
"I concur."
She shrugged, clearly indicating that she would never hold this against him. Some things couldn't be helped.
"In that case we must simply turn our disadvantage to our advantage."
Ape felt a slow grin spreading over his face. How devious she was. And how classic. The little pycnic man hurried off to start the procedure without even asking for details.
It wasn't till much later the chief engineer suddenly recalled their conversation in details as he was inserting a replacement isolinear communication chip.
"Why DID she grade my technique differently from the artistic impression?" he murmured.
Later Commander Chakotay would marvel of nature's way to reinstall long forgotten reflexes and intuition. Later he would have time to contemplate the irony in history's awkward and perverse urge to repeat itself and man's short-coming in learning from it not withstanding.
Later, but not now.
Now, he had irreversibly become the unwilling yet voluntary prisoner of Lore, the Soong android. All due to an ability to receive hunches, have instinct... and act on them.
Thirty seconds before they entered, the sixth sense had hit him.
And he reacted accordingly and instinctively, yelling to his men "trap" and blocking the way for the attacking force with his broad back. His loud warning had the desired result; his highly trained and disciplined group fell back immediately and retreated to a safer position. As for himself he never even felt the stun beam. Putting himself in the line of fire. For his men. Sacrificing himself. For his men.
I wonder how Mel will react? was his last thought before the stun blast mercifully let him dive deep into oblivion.
"D-Day's gonna hate this." The corporal, a Bajoran, hissed intently into his ear piece.
"No shit, Sherlock." Jungjohann hissed back, "Status." she wanted to know.
The Chief Bully had sought cover behind a cave-in in corridor C2, waiting for the attacking army to charge at any given moment. Everybody, except a Vulcan, was panting slightly from the sudden and quick retreat that their commander had ordered them to perform so unexpected.
Damn, he's got good reflexes, Jungjohann thought of their new first officer as her mind reeled with possible options to retrieve him.
An all hands count from the rear made it clear to her that the group was safe for now and everybody save the commander was accounted for.
No casualties and no injuries.
So far, so good.
Now, there was just this minor detail about a captive, presumed injured, platoon leader and ship's first officer. Worse: D-Day's property and immediate subordinate. Man, she was going to have a cow.
Not good.
Jungjohann made her decision.
"Pull back, people, and reassemble at point Alpha Niner."
If they were to retrieve the commander, they would have to choose another position. She was in command now and no one was questioning her orders. The group pulled back carefully, step by step, watching their back as they crawled through the narrow, wet tunnels.
One thing at a time.
Lore was furious. Not only had he lost three of his men in the trap that should have insured him full control of at least one of Captain Picard's teams - the loot was also reduced to one person only. One person. The android positively fumed. Performing a damn good impersonation of a thunder cloud about to crack open with intense lightening he turned to face his helpless and incompetent extremists.
"GET out there and track them down. I want them. ALL of them."
They offered no comment, though their eyes strayed to their three dead buddies, who lay stacked like a pile of wood at the entrance to the boiler room. Three of them. Shivers ran through them as they wearily and tentatively opened the door next to the pile of bodies, evidently not too keen on leaving their present existence the same way their fallen comrades had.
"GO!" Lore roared when he saw them hesitate. Their fear for the artificial being won out and they bolted out into the boiler room, tripping over each other in their frantic eagerness to please their stern and highly lethal boss.
Lore growled when he turned with scarily fluent motion to the limp and immobile body of Mel Dayton's first officer. Whoever he was, he was going to pay. He had had a perfect plan and this... human had ruined it with sharp reflexes and an uncanny intuition that no organic being deserved.
The android stooped and turned the unconscious man with two fingers... and then he noticed the rank. A slow smile adorned his pale face but never made it to his amber eyes.
A commander.
Usually only the first officer of a starship wore the rank of a full commander. Yet if his infallible positronic memory served him well, the Enterprise's first officer was a big, stupid babe-magnet by the name of Will Riker.
And this bronze coloured and tattooed man didn't look anything like Will Riker.
His smile broadened and threatened to crack his silicone face. He would have to interrogate this man.
He couldn't wait.
But the smile still didn't reach his eyes.
*
Jonesy wasn't sad that they had to leave the rat hole. As much as he liked Lonc, her massive bulk of a body had begun to take up more room than he cared for.
Using merely his jaw the American clicked into his ear piece to awaken the system and his men before he plunged into command speech.
"Waky, waky, guys," he whispered, "time to go on. The hour has come and gone and D-Day still hasn't contacted us."
"Of course not," one of the tunnel rats grumbled, "she's making freaking sure she's getting all the Romulan ale before any of us has a chance."
The comment resulted in general mirth and helped loosen the somewhat 'squeezed' atmosphere their involuntary impasse had forced upon them.
"Any way we can ascertain the situation?" Jonesy's next-in-command, a skinny Aussie with cat green eyes and almost colourless hair, asked him.
"Nothing that wouldn't give our position away, Jake." The squad leader said.
"What's our angle then, boss?" she asked him, her Australian accent more distinct and thick than ever.
"Play it by ear. Go do what we came here for. We must assume that Hildegard is doing her job, watching our asses. As for Chief Bully... anything goes. Time will show."
"What if the mates haven't been able to make the diversion?"
"Then we'll conjure something up when we get there."
His privates nodded, all ready to follow his lead. He nodded back. Acknowledging that he would give his life for them.
"Let's buckle up."
And with three rapid winks he set his IR lenses in surveillance mode.
One mile from Maggots another group in another rat hole started to come alive as their leader softly informed them that Maggots were on the move. Hildegard listened intently for a couple of moments and then silently indicated with signs what she wanted done.
Jonesy's guardian angels set out, discreetly and quietly as shadows.
*
Chakotay groaned deeply and heartily. Though having had to bite the dust from a phaser stun more than once, he would never get used to the odd and uncomfortable tickling it left in all his neural pathways and nerve endings. It made his entire system of senses feel shredded and discordant, and it usually took his body about 10 minutes to recover to his usual level of performance.
Even before the ex-Maquis got his senses back in a fully functional state, they were busy identifying his location.
The ground was hard, smelled like soil and felt damp underneath his hands. And there was another smell he first couldn't quite determine. He blinked his eyes open, letting his fluid from his tear ducts freely clear out the tiny gravel of dirt that so irritated his corneas. Slowly he became more and more able to see his confinement. The place was dark. And there was a certain.. atmosphere. And there was that smell... which Chakotay suddenly understood what was with a physically painful pang of unerring and horrible certainty.
A sweet, somewhat nauseating smell with a bizarre twist of rot.
The stench of death.
It was the uncharming and familiar gust of a carcass that so violated his olfactory sense.
Slowly his eyes adjusted to the pit dark room. No need, really, he knew what sight was awaiting him.
Shadows and shapes began solidifying and defining themselves to his visual nerves. It was like he suspected. An incredibly big shape was hanging against the farther wall, its massive neck broken and wrenched grotesquely in an odd and unnatural position. Chakotay blinked. He wasn't shocked; he wasn't even appalled. He had seen it all before. Flashbacks of brutal Cardassians coming up with the most bizarre and sadistic atrocity stunts to entertain themselves insisted on reminding him of another time, another life.
It wasn't until he could see clearly enough to recognise the dead figure that he understood that he still had a surprise coming. He had only seen this tall, unfortunate man's picture once in the captain's ready room, yet he knew his face immediately.
It was Delaan. The Antarian who was supposed to join the Maggots.
Spirits, the commander thought in a spurt of momentary panic, Lore now knows everything about Jonesy and his mission. About the ship.
"He's awake and he's probably seen the dead Antarian by now." Pu Lha Ti, a short Ethnarian informed her artificial leader. Lore turned to manage the computer controls himself to check the readings, not trusting the Ethnarians to function adequately after the failure at the boiler room.
"So he is." He concluded with a big smile, "Let him stew 20 minutes together with the corpse and then call me." He turned briskly to leave but was halted by Pu Lha Ti's concerned voice.
"Where will you be?"
He never stopped for more than a split second but continued out of the door, saying quietly:
"In section 2 with my dear friend, the Sigmarian senator."
The senator was still lying on the floor, unconscious, when Lore burst in. Without caring whether she would wake or not, he grabbed her brutally, flung her over his shoulder with little or no effort for his hydraulic pumps and proceeded down the corridor with his flaccid burden.
She would service marvellously as bait. He knew there was one other team out there; they had succeeded in squeezing that much out of the Antarian before he so inconsiderately decided to die on them. The first team which they had encountered would no doubt be coming for their dear commander and the second team would head for the senator, bound to duty as those Starfleet people always were. Lore gritted his teeth. Well, that would be their undoing. He would relocate the senator to another area with dampeners and lay a waterproof trap for her rescuers, who would be attracted to the dampening fields like moths to the light. It couldn't fail. It wouldn't fail.
Jonesy lifted his hand almost imperceptibly and the entire group halted and crouched. Balancing gingerly on his toes, tilting his torso forward just a tad, he concentrated hard on reading his equipment right. From this point on the group didn't even use CEDS, but mainly relied on hand signals. The sergeant looked up and turned to his men, his hands getting busy relaying intricate patterns. Two dampening fields straight ahead. Coordinates 12.3.25 and 12.6.21 each the diameter of 17 metres. His group nodded back at him. The discovery of the dampening fields indicated that they were damn close at this point. The trick now was to search each and every dampening field meticulously and systematically since Lore would most likely have placed the senator in such a field to keep them from beaming her out. Simple. But time consuming. And they had already lost time. Jonesy signalled the group to move on. One field at a time.
First field was secured. According to the map, it was the kitchen, which appeared completely deserted. No extremists. No hostage. Keeping watch of his men's movements, Jonesy crept close to the Horta to communicate some orders. This was problematic at best since she had no means of communicating back, having no hands or similar limbs with which she could signal him. The only thing she could do without being allowed to use CEDS was engrave a stone with words with her highly corrosive drill fluids. However, that would result in steam and heat, which would be a highly undesirable flagpole as the situation was.
Scan for heat in the fields we encounter, he signalled her. Fortunately she understood perfectly, heaving her bulk of a body up and down in agreement without any questions necessary. A Horta could sense heat ten times more accurately than Federation tricorders. If any life form was anywhere near the dampening fields, Lonc would know and save them a lot of time.
Second field. Jackpot.
That so, Lonc? How many?
The Horta shook itself twice.
All the same?
She nodded. Jonesy felt a twinge of disappointment. Sigmarians had a considerably lower body temperature than Ethnarians. If Lonc felt dots of equal degrees of heat on the other side of the field, it meant that the Sigmarian probably wasn't there.
The sergeant quelled a profound sigh and used it instead to fuel his level of adrenaline to get him and his group going. He signalled them to crawl on. As the sewer system engulfed most of the complex' basement, they did not experience too much trouble with cover. The real problem was sound discipline as the echo of the walls and tunnels made sure that every tiny step or movement could be heard for miles.
The red-ribb'd ledges drip with the silent horror of blood,
And Echo there, whatever is ask'd her, answers 'Death'.
Jonesy shivered inadvertently. Now was not the time to turn literate, he winced.
*
The trap was set, the commander's period of grace was at an end and it was time to retrieve the truth from a Starfleet officer's lying and weak mouth. The android giggled. He always enjoyed this part of humanity in particular. Their stupid and irrational persistence in 'honour', 'loyalty' and urge to get hurt at every given opportunity. They must like it, he concluded, as he eagerly and anticipatorily strode down the hallway towards the commander's "hotel room".
"How is he?" he asked Pu Lha Ti, who suddenly got busy at the voice of her merciless leader.
"Heart rate unchanged. Breathing rate unchanged."
"That is about to change." The android smirked and ordered the door opened.
Never in an artificial life time had he expected the vicious attack that was launched on him the minute he stepped inside the room. Never had he expected his prey to be able to knock him so thoroughly into the wall that he actually he actually lost his balance and immediate concentration. Never had he expected his victim to use a dead colleague against his captor.
Yet, that was precisely what happened. The tattooed commander had been waiting patiently, all his senses widely awake and strained to their utmost capacity, with two clammy hands on the rotting corpse he had taken down from its rusty hook. The moment a shape stepped through that door, all his ready muscles and sinews reacted like a released spring, and he threw the big body of the huge Antarian into his approaching opponent without taking the time to see who it was.
The attack took Lore completely and utterly by surprise. With impressive force and momentum the huge bulk of the corpse propelled the android against the wall which he connected with an illustrious bang and then slid down from. Explosive fury began welling in him, dangerously close to a warp core breach, as his prisoner bolted out of the room and knocked Pu Lha Ti cold in the process without even stopping.
Lore never got the time to roar an order before yet another stun hit the fleeing commander smack in the chest and sent him to dreamland for the second time within an hour.
After five seconds the android finally managed to disentangle himself from the bizarre and morbid embrace with the dead Antarian, threw the voluminous alien aside with ease and ran out of the room to stop his men.
Too late. His excellent audio sensors had not deceived him. His sadly brain lacking extremists had stunned the man again. He would have to start all over again.
Soong had given his son everything but the ability to control his overwhelming anger and arrogance. Swearingly Lore promptly turned and killed the Ethnarian who had delivered the stunning shot.
"Listen up!" he roared, "I do NOT tolerate any more mistakes! Is that clear? Anybody who has a problem with that can join their comrade on the floor!" he paused for effect, but all he saw were Ethnarian jaws hanging down and bottomless fear emanating from their eyes.
"Well? Nobody? Good! I suggest, then, that you do your damnedest to wake up this pathetic joke of a human as quickly as you possibly can. In fact... your lives depend on it!"
There was dead silence. Until Lore lost it again.
"MOVE IT!" and people suddenly became extraordinarily busy, virtually falling over themselves, eager to please and survive.
Did you hear that? Corporal Jake Cresham signalled her CO with vivid hand gestures.
I'm not deaf, Jonesy signalled back. They had all heard a voice crying something which sounded a lot like "oove't". The voice had been forceful, brutal in intonation and without the slightest hint of effort, taken the volume into consideration. In short, there was a good possibility that the voice belonged to Lore, their android adversary.
Jonesy locked eyes with his NIC and she batted her Australian eyelashes back at him. He nodded in complete comprehension. If it was indeed the android they had heard, the diversion had been a failure. Lore shouldn't be near that position if he was busy fighting Chief Bully at the boiler room.
Well, they knew that D-Day had had a good reason to order them to dig a rat hole in the first place, Jonesy mentally shrugged. And this might very well be it.
And yet, the first team's operation hadn't been a total failure in the means of diversion. Lore was diverted. Not the way or in the place they had intended originally. But still diverted. And it was Jonesy's job to make the most of the current situation.
Through a veil of sweat and dust Jonesy saw Jake nod at him from the right corner of the dampening field and then tilt her head at the Horta. The sergeant nodded back.
Lonc had spotted something.
*
"Will this work?" Captain Mel D. Dayton asked, looking for assurance.
"That depends," Lt. Gul Betak replied, wry amusement creeping into his tone, "on the effect you have in mind. This position is perfect for being discovered and shot to atoms. On the other hand, it is also perfect for beaming up our crew."
Mel grimaced at him, letting him know that they really didn't have time for smart remarks. He got the hint immediately and altered the character of speech accordingly.
"... on the other hand, if you are looking for a viable compromise, these coordinates," his slim and elegant Cardassian fingers pointed out a green number on the head screen in Stellar Cartography, "will decrease the risk of us being shot out of existence proportionally, AND, unfortunately, the chance of us beaming back everybody in one piece."
Dayton took exactly 1½ second to make her decision.
"We go with option 1... and then I want you to emit this signal when Eclatar plot in the course at the helm."
Betak looked at the hand written programming, he hadn't seen handwriting on paper for a long time, yet desperate times required desperate means, he knew and accepted.
He nodded. This plan was just crazy enough to actually work. Then he smirked, unable to resist:
"From this I can deduce that readable handwriting at the Academy really isn't a req..."
"Careful," Mel leered at him, "the last time I checked, the hull looked mighty dirty and calling out for a tooth brush."
The Cardassian clamped his mouth shut immediately and kept it shut as a chuckling D-Day left Stellar Cartography.
In the hallway she was suddenly and inexplicably joined by the ever present Myth. Without any sign of surprise she continued staring into space front of her, asking him:
"Status?"
"The officers are as ready as they will ever be. Eclatar has tuned his controls, Ape and Mallennie have commenced feeding God with the... alternate programming. T'Rees has rigged Sickbay the way we agreed and Masomo has advised all his men."
Mel finally stopped and turned to him.
"And you, buddy?"
The shape shifter unexpectedly closed his eyes for a split second, almost appearing to be in a short but intense prayer. Then he opened them again, his irises more hazel and shining than usual.
"Ready."
The captain nodded and they both proceeded down the hallway without further ado.
*
The first officer of the Chief Cochise gasped loudly as water was brutally splashed in his face. The wet shock resulted in him slowly coming to his senses, and he noticed that his clothes were overtly drenched. Obviously the splash that woke him hadn't been the first bucket of water they so munificently had bestowed on him.
The realisation hit him hard as he understood that his escape attempt had failed miserably and that he was still the prisoner of their robotic opponent.
Commander Chakotay had never met Lieutenant Commander Data in his life, a fact that made it impossible for him to compare the two brothers. Yet he understood that in lieu of appearance they looked like each other more perfectly than human twins.
I wonder... how can anyone work together with somebody this evil-looking?, he thought, very much doubting that he would ever be able to look at Commander Data with ease after being introduced to his evil twin should he live to encounter the Starfleet officer.
Lore stood before him, pinning him with sharp and needling canary eyes with creepily pale eyelashes, a thin line for mouth twitched to control a big happy smile and ghostly chrome hands flexed their unbelievably strong fingers almost rhythmically.
This was one seriously disturbed robot.
"Commander," the android began, revealing a dark mouth with yellow teeth, "I am so pleased to make your acquaintance." He then began to pace slowly. Chakotay took the opportunity to eye his surroundings. He was free of any kind of restraints, but his entire person was closely guarded by three Ethnarians with heavily charged phasers. The chamber was relatively large with smooth walls, a couple of tubes running down the corners and no openings beside the door. After the surprise attack he had launched against Lore, Soong's creation apparently played it safe.
"We have few but easily comprehensible rules here; let me outline them for you and then we'll talk." He turned and faced his victim again.
"Rule No. 1: you will not speak unless I ask you to. Rule No. 2: when I let you speak you will answer my questions only in succinct phrases. Any attempt to stall for time will be heavily punished. Rule No. 3: you do not - under any circumstance - move a muscle. Three simple rules. Are they understood?"
Not a word escaped the Native American's mouth.
"You may answer the question." Lore snarled.
"Yes." Chakotay said, surprised that his voice was still functional.
The android smiled, satisfied.
"Next question: what is your name?"
Chakotay didn't even hesitate. He knew that the android easily could have downloaded the entire history of Starfleet personnel before instigating the entire hostage scheme and would thus recognise his real name if told.
"Jesus Sanchez." He lied, figuring that he would meet the ethnic requirements for a Latino American. He was right. Lore bought it instantaneously.. or he didn't deem it worthy of pursuing.
"What is your function on your ship?"
"Platoon leader."
The android turned faster than the human eye could follow and viciously hissed at him.
"That is a lie. The Enterprise has no platoons."
Just before Lore's impressively powerful backhand of duranium and hardened steel hit him, one confused thought whirled through the commander's brain. The Enterprise? He thinks we are from the Enterprise??
"Now, try again." Lore demanded while Chakotay spit out a tooth together with saliva and blood.
"It was the truth," Chakotay said hoarsely through mouth water and sticky blood, "The Enterprise took in a special platoon as soon as the Ethnarian government asked for help. It's a new procedure."
This earned him another backhand.
"I SAID - be SUCCINCT!"
Chakotay coughed as the violent punch caused his body to roll several metres and his mouth to take in dust and chalk. So familiar. It was all so familiar.
And so the questions continued. How many teams were there? Their positions? Counting how many crewmembers? What were Captain Picard's orders? And the blows rained on him every time the android thought he was lying through his remaining teeth - which was pretty much all the time. Losing teeth was nothing new to Chakotay either. In fact, he very much doubted that he had one natural tooth left after having been subjected to Cardassian treatment in the past. Teeth could be replaced. As ribs could, he automatically added mentally when he received a particularly vicious blow to his ribcage the moment after and heard the familiar crisp sound that goes with fracture.
One mantra kept him lying. One mantra kept him from spilling the beans and become a traitor.
My platoon must survive and do their job.
They have found her, Hildegard mouthed to her Trill NIC. The Underdog were lying in a very narrow tunnel, their faces almost planted into the ground as their leader was concentrating on monitoring the Maggots' movements and actions. Their position was frighteningly close to Jonesy's, however, that would be acceptable as long as they weren't discovered.
The Maggots had long ceased to communicate verbally, a fact that made it as good as impossible for the Underdog to follow every consideration or/and decision the head team was making. From Jonesy's elevated level of adrenaline and normalisation of his cerebral chemical compound in addition to the fact that the Maggots had been still for more than ten minutes, Hildegard concluded that they had located the senator. It was now time for the A-team to make their move and for B to cover their tracks and hineys as they made the getaway.
This was the difficult part. This was the part that truly proved how good guardian angels were and how infinitely specialised they had to be to fill out the function as shadows. Jonesy would pull back as soon as he had the hostage and Hildegard would have to be 100 % ready to wrap things up behind him.
Without knowing what the hell was going on.
It took guts, intuition and months of training to do it even remotely successfully. It took a master of improvisation. And Ayoll Cox knew his CO to be just that.
The sergeant's head popped up, almost colliding with Hew's bulky rock mass that lay in front of her. Jonesy had made his move.
Jonesy set his group in motion. He knew they were walking into a trap. Lonc's innate heat detectors had already told them that the Sigmarian senator was surrounded by crouched Ethnarians in formation. It was time to create a little diversion of their own, the American decided. It was okay. They would come in the way the gaolers expected - but with a little more noise than the extremists had predicted.
Lonc, he mouthed, the stage is all yours.
Nothing was as awe inspiring as a Horta drilling out an end wall with all its might. With almost no warning the large end wall of the room trembled and fell, revealing a very, very hot and hungry Horta, shivering violently and intimidating with pure joy and pride at its job. The terrified Ethnarians had never seen such a sight, not to mention a Horta, before. Then something else happened behind them. A crash nearly as loud as the one caused by the Horta made sure that four men got the complete and undivided attention of the extremists confronted with the Horta. Simultaneously, in an adjacent room, an Ethnarian lowered his weapon to the skull of the still unconscious Sigmarian, following orders to kill the senator at the first sign of trouble.
He never got that far.
An prominent Australian accent cut through his concentration and he had just time to look down a barrel before the blast from it stopped his brain activity forever.
Jake wittily blew the non-existent smoke away from the barrel of her weapon, satisfied that the Sigmarian hostage appeared to be quite alive. She stepped over the extremist body, grabbed the senator unceremoniously and in a fire-man's carry brought her out to waiting and helping hands on the other side of the hole she had made with her phaser. The blast had been well synchronised with Jonesy's show down the hallway. Exactly 0.04 seconds delayed to manipulate the gaoler's attention to be elsewhere when Jake made her entrance. Bloody good caper. The Aussie always enjoyed her job when the efforts came together in a perfect climax.
She turned to deliver the only verbal report, Jonesy would let her:
"Mission failed. I repeat, mission failed."
Covering Lonc's flank as she retreated, Jonesy received and understood his NIC's report perfectly. They had the senator. Time to withdraw.
And Lore heard it all. With a primal roar he disregarded the commander like a sack of sour potatoes, ordered the Ethnarians to guard him while he bolted down the corridor himself to view the extent of the disaster.
Havoc, was the answer. Pure havoc. There were 6-8 dead extremists, 21 live ones, crouching behind cover in complete terror, two impressive holes in the wall, debris everywhere and... Lore jumped into the room that held the senator, ... one missing hostage, of course. The android swore soundly, steam almost coming out of his ears. Had the gaoler not been dead, Lore would have taken care of that himself. He turned and left the room with impressive android speed and addressed the remaining 21 survivors.
"Get a grip! It's not over yet! Go to your stations and forget about your fallen comrades! We have work to do!"
The extremists' fear of their leader won over the terror that the attack had filled them with. They slowly emerged from their cover, their faces drawn with doubt and angst. Such puny creatures. Best for him (and them) to dispose of them as soon as they were of no use for him anymore.
If Lore was a dangerous sociopath before, he was a raving lunatic now. Chakotay didn't have to probe the android's eyes to understand that something had gone horribly, horribly wrong with his captor's plans.
This is it. I'm dead. the first officer thought spontaneously as Lore stooped to look at him.
"You friends have been clever." He said in a low and eerily calm tone, "In fact, I do believe you have been clever too."
Fear, anger, rage and undiluted fury welled up and took over the Native American's rational mind. He spit a big lump of saliva, slime and blood in the face of the android and hissed:
"I promise you as sure as Hell exists that you will never never get any usable information out of me. Do you understand that?"
Chakotay's chest heaved with passion and emotion, and he steeled himself of what was to come.
However, to the bronze man's immense surprise, the android simply wiped off the spit, turned to his men and gave them new instructions.
"This man may NOT be lethally harmed. Is that clear? NOT lethally harmed. I want him ready to go with me in ten minutes."
And with those words the pale creature turned and left the room and one stunned Starfleet officer behind him.
So he has other plans with me? He will use me to get to the Chief? Spirits, this is not good.
Fury started to fill his chest again. He had been taken advantage of so often. Usually by woman adversaries. He would be damned if androids started that unfortunate habit too.
Resolutely the ex-Maquis grabbed a sharp looking stone and buried it quickly in his wrist.
Hildegard and her group suddenly became very, very busy. Jonesy had hit the fan with all his might and usual cocky attitude and the Underdog were left to mop up the mess. As soon as Hildegard heard the rumble of the Horta-generated cave-ins, she signalled her group to inch themselves forward and stopped them when they were able to get a better view.
Chaos.
That would be the best word for this part of the operation, Justine Hildegard decided. Rocks and debris was everywhere, Lonc was knocking down enemies faster than she ate rocks, Jake had disappeared behind a corner with three men and Jonesy was having a ball blowing the east wall to pieces. A discreet, covert OP? Not bloody likely when Jonesy was allowed free hands and carte blanche. Well, now was the time for creative thinking.
Hildegard quickly scanned the area, signalled her Horta to take position at the last hole Lonc had produced before their somewhat spectacular entry, told her NIC to secure the east wall on the south side and wait for her signal and remained behind at the corner tunnel herself.
The show was over faster than she expected. She soon spotted Jonesy's cheeky Aussie NIC and her three chosen helpers hauling a Sigmarian butt with them and disappear out of the get-away hole, covered by a hungry Horta and Jonesy's eager fire squadron. At the right time, her own NIC, Cox, made himself visible to Jonesy, letting him know that the guardian angels were in position, doing their job. The leader of the Maggots immediately retreated, dragging an excited Horta with him with some effort, and let the Underdog Horta close the hole after them.
Soon everybody was on the run. Since discretion and silence just went down the tube, time was of the essence now. They all needed to steer clear of the dampening fields that the Chief could find them and beam them up.
Simple.
Dangerous.
The element of surprise.
Was a short one.
Time was of the essence.
Now.
The bridge of the Chief Cochise was silent and dark. Sound and light discipline had been evoked, the ship was sailing through space on minimal thrusters only. Everything which could be monitored by their android enemy down below on the planet. Mel Dayton knew that. It was all part of the game.
The moment had its own beauty akin to a doomed ship floating through the endless, starless night, only waiting for the merciful coup de grâce to end its empty existence and let it join eternal hands with esteemed ancestors to rest in the blessed heavenly oblivion.
In the future there would be time for that. Time to sleep, perchance to dream.
Let time deal with time.
As of now, time was of the essence.
Mel put a light hand on her Andorian pilot's shoulder. His antennas trembled slightly and softly in gentle anticipation. And it happened just the way he wanted it to. Her slim finger began sliding up his neck and eventually his right antenna like a feather light caress connecting most intimately with his nerve endings. Yes! Her index finger rested on the flank of the highly sensitive antenna shaft and she started tapping it lightly and completely soundlessly. Morse code. The ancient binary code system once again useful and vital for survival.
The Chief was too close to the planet and its satellite now to risk oral communication even inside the ship. From this point on everything they said out loud would be carefully balanced to fit the adversary's ears. All communication and action had been laid out in advance, it was only last minute adjustment like the one the captain was currently relaying to her pilot that were admissible. Morse was as good a solution as any.
Send the shuttlecraft into position, was the message which Dayton was tapping on Eclatar's antenna. He immediately forwarded the order to the shuttlebay, scrambled and piggybacked it via the usual flow of computer signals throughout the ship to make sure no sensors could pick it up in clear language.
The shuttlecraft was released, engulfed in a shield packed with coded and fake signals.
The next message Captain Dayton tapped on her pilot's antenna made him swell with unashamed pride.
You the man!
*
"He tried to commit suicide." The Ethnarian extremist said, presenting Lore with the primitive weapon that Commander Chakotay had grabbed for himself in the interrogation chamber.
Lore took the stone and turned it, regarding it carefully and then turned his attention to the bloody wrist of his captive. He cocked his head and shot a sarcastic eyebrow in the air.
"You like pain?" he asked the commander in that creepy, calm tone Chakotay had come to know as a warning.
Without waiting for the answer, the android grabbed the human's wrist hard and squeezed with his robotic strength. Chakotay couldn't hold back a yelp of pain. Lore nodded.
"I believe you do." he said and let go of a now broken wrist. "And it is also my estimate that you have tried it before. That doesn't matter, of course. There is no way Picard will let you get hurt despite your ability to withstand intense pain".
So he still believed the Enterprise to be above them. Good. Chakotay wasn't quite sure why it was good, but his hunch told him it could be used to their advantage.
Lore had his prawns drag their burden towards a unit that most of all reminded Chakotay of a transporter device. The two Ethnarians stopped at the control console and Lore proceeded to instruments imbedded in the wall just opposite the transporter pad.
"Very good," Lore smiled for the first time since the bold rescue of the senator had taken place, "The ship is heading towards the most adequate coordinates for beaming up their valiant crewmembers." His smile widened and made him look like a little boy whose birthday party finally was beginning to be fun.
Chakotay blinked. Was it his imagination or was the android's skin beginning to glow? Lore went to the transporter control console and started programming the machine.
"Of course, you haven't been aware of this... I have been monitoring all the communication exchange between your ship and the planet. A very special system, your interactive neural communicator - as is the Vulcan at the other end of it. As you see. I know everything. And I know that your teams are supposed to send out a signal for your transporters to trace that your captain may beam them back aboard the Enterprise once they have cleared the dampening fields."
Chakotay stopped blinking, concentrating fiercely on the question of WHY Lore was not aware that the ship was the Chief and not the Enterprise. Then it hit him. At no point had any of them used other than code designations. No voice indication, no ship's identification, no recognisable transporter pattern. Lore had no way of knowing which people had been involved in this. Score one to D-Day.
Unfortunately, that would be the captain's only score. Helplessly her first officer could only watch and witness the android send out a fake transporter signal to the Chief and prepare for the extremists troops to be beamed aboard the Chief in the place of Chakotay's crew mates.
Part 6
Page me and tell me your opinion.
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