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"Have you any idea what the hell is going on?" Kos Kiraan asked his CO in a loud voice, trying to drown the noise from the heavy downfall of debris and rubble in the H5 tunnel and at the same time attempting to keep his helmet on.
Jungjohann spit out a piece of chalk and yelled back, powerfully enough to bypass the CEDS:
"Somebody didn't give a flying fuck about our failed diversion and went ahead anyway!"
Her NIC swore soundly by his prophets as a particularly big piece of rock tilted his helmet and caused his ear piece to fall out. As he fumbled for it with dusty and unresponsive fingers, his CO relayed her plans to him.
"As soon as all this shit has stopped falling, we'll head back by route H4 and see of we can pick up what we lost back there!"
Kiraan finally managed to find his ear piece.
"Could you repeat that?" he shouted.
The German sergeant managed to match his vocabulary in profanity and gave up yelling him the orders. Instead she hand-signalled the whole thing, deftly avoiding the still falling stones and pebble.
Ten minutes later the tunnel had finished collapsing on top of them and the Chief Bully slowly extricated themselves from half the sewer system. Or so it felt.
"What about sound and light discipline?" one of the younger and less experienced tunnel rats asked their squad leader.
"I think that just - literally - went down the drain, don't you?" Jungjohann said in a tone dryer than the debris.
Kiraan was still chuckling when they were exiting H5.
When Jungjohann and her dusty group finally made it to the place which formerly had entertained two lively swat teams with their hungry Hortas, leaving eight dead Ethnarians and 21 stunned ones, the place appeared to be as deserted as Siberia in January.
The sinuous German ploughed her way through massive rocks, dirt and disfigured metal bars that once must have been the Sigmarian equivalent of plumbing, she decided.
Looks like Jonesy, all right, ... but where the hell is the boss?
She gestured her group to secure the corridor and proceed room by room. Discretion be damned. The shit had already hit the fan big time and their additional attack might just surprise them enough to cough up the position of the Chief's lost first officer.
As always, the rules of the game had changed, and it was up to the away-teams to come up with their own. Nothing new there.
"Sarge!" one of the scouts suddenly cried, "I can hear a transporter unit energising!"
And she heard it too. The familiar and telltale whining sound that always was a part of having one's molecules taken apart and sucked through a particle generator transmitter. Jungjohann and her group reacted like one entity, thinking alike, moving as one, no orders needed, none given.
Nonetheless, when they rushed the transporter room, all they found was a deserted room with two empty platforms save some few molecules sparkling mockingly in the dark.
Kiraan jumped to the console and punched in some signals in a matter of seconds. His eyes met Jungjohann's sharp water blue glance. The Bajoran shook his head gently.
"Pointless. Whoever programmed this transporter knew what he was doing. A one way ticket and destination auto-deleted."
"I think there's no doubt as to the identification of the programmer." The sergeant murmured through her teeth.
She turned to the rest of her group and saw reflected in their eyes what she felt: deep disappointment.
Frustration then overcame her like an unstoppable and close to explosive tide, and she took off her helmet and flung it to the floor where it impacted with a highly obnoxious clang and rotated merrily for some seconds before it finally fell silent.
Ten minutes earlier
Commander Chakotay had no idea how many Ethnarians one could squeeze into two transporters, but he realised that Lore was doing a fine job of finding the answer to that specific problem.
The Native American's mind was too occupied considering various escape options to start counting, yet at some point he nevertheless guessed that the android had managed to fit in at least 25 individuals on each pad.
Lore fingered the controls with an inscrutably gentle smile, signalled the starship above them for the crowd of about 50 extremists to transport out of the Parliament and motioned the next batch to approach.
Aboard the Chief Cochise:
Lieutenant Commander Mallennie Millie's head suddenly jerked up. Her huge eyes pinned her captain's and she breathed:
"Forty-eight people signalling for beam-out."
"Stand by to energise." The captain said calmly.
"Cap, do you think...?" Eclatar began.
"There will be room for them." She assured her pilot.
Absolutely helpless, Chakotay could but watch this army of messed-up idealists being winked out of his presence and indubitably aboard the Chief Cochise. His ship. Mel's ship. Fifty gone, fifty more to go. Lore didn't waste any time.
Mel's first officer did one more desperate attempt to stop the flow of boarding terrorists, however, the two Ethnarian goons holding him knew their job, and he only managed to hurt himself further as they twisted his already limp arm even harder at every painful movement he made.
"Transporter room? Have you got them?"
Mel's voice rang clear and firm through the ship's communication system. However, she received no reply.
"Transporter room. Report."
Silence.
The next group of about 50 people were on their way. Lore's creepy and self-indulgent smile widened and he turned to his prey, very much satisfied with himself and his sneaky achievements.
"Ninety-four very dedicated rebel Ethnarians are now aboard the Enterprise. The first group was ordered to take over the transporters to make way for the next, which I have now beamed to key positions and I estimate that it is only a matter of minutes before the entire ship is under my men's control."
He then bowed in a grotesque parody of courtesy to take applause.
"However, I still need to transport four more persons... ah... yes, I see you have guessed it."
One nod to the brutal goons and they practically hauled the unfortunate FMOPS officer up on a pad and waited for their mechanical and highly perilous leader, who was currently pre-programming the transporter computer before he joined them.
He took his time climbing the ramp, clearly savouring the magnificent moment, his undisputed and undivided triumph shining so brightly and overwhelmingly among the prettiest stars in the galaxy.
Was it Chakotay's imagination? Or did the android actually murmur:
"Oh, brother dear - kind Captain Picard - heeeeere's Lore." just before they energised?
"Cap! Four more beam-outs .... one android life form and ... one human life form!" Mallennie reported, excited.
Mel nodded.
"Override. Return to original programming and re-route to coordinates 241.34.12. Brace yourselves and try not to get shot."
Despite their captain's dead calm, all bridge crew suffered from a slight churning of their stomachs as four shapes shimmered into existence on the bridge between the viewscreen and Mel Dayton.
Even before they solidified, Mel could discern at least two of the forms: the bulky body of her first officer (hopefully alive) and the slim, pale elegance of one of the most remarkable cybernetic achievements in man's history.
As the molecules before them slowly began to move, Dayton tightened her grip on a weapon she had grabbed from her belt and aimed it carefully at the chrome coloured intruder.
The transport was complete. All crew personnel jumped to attention at the sight of two Ethnarian hoodlums with the somewhat bedraggled and beat-up commander between them, and the next second 10 weapons were charged and aimed at the intruding foursome.
Lore may have been surprised, but he was an android with android reflexes, which enabled him recover as quickly as his synthetic chemical/positronic reflex reaction system could muster: he immediately snapped his Starfleet hostage out of the hoodlums' arms and pointed a phaser gun against the officer's temple.
Mel didn't even blink.
"Let the commander go and we will spare your life." She said, her voice steel and her eyes unblinking.
"What is this?" Lore sneered, "This isn't the Enterprise."
"How perceptive of you - now LET the commander go."
The Ethnarians were fidgeting nervously, not knowing what to do. The android responded by pressing his weapon tighter against Chakotay's head, making the big man wince in the uncomfortable process.
The bridge crew moved restlessly. The situation was getting unstable, but Lore never let go of his adversary's uncanny golden eyes, so very much like a darker version of his own.
"Drop your weapon or he's dead meat." He snarled.
Amber locked with amber.
"You are hardly in a position to bargain." Mel pointed out still not blinking and apparently still dead calm.
However, sweat was beginning to show on her forehead. Tiny beads of fluid glinted modestly like a thousand miniature pearls on her creme coloured brow. Chakotay saw it. And Lore did, naturally. Slowly, the android's smirk was back in place. She might have amber eyes similar to his own, yet she was still human. Fallibly so.
"What are the odds that my android reactions will press the trigger quicker than your flawed human fingers?".
"This weapon is special," Mel said intently, her pitch getting a tad higher, "You'll be dead even if you manage to shoot me first."
"But you are Starfleet," Lore's mesmerising voice insisted; his eyes were now positively shining with anticipation, "you know you can't let your first officer die. You can't let anybody die. That would be against everything the Federation believes in. Honour, decency, human rights and ethics."
Silence.
Chakotay's eyes tried desperately to make contact with Mel's. He wanted to relay to her that he was willing to die for the ship. That she should never - under any circumstances - surrender to this vile creature. Shoot us! Now!
And then he did succeed in turning his head just enough to witness Mel Dayton's slim hand falter, doubt fill her eyes and resolve leave her face. NO! She was going to give in. This couldn't be happening. Painful panic and profound pity filled his veins and clouded his hurting mind to the extent that he felt himself falling into the darkest and most depressing pit of all. His heart felt as if it became sucked into cold space to disappear into an event horizon never to see the vibrant light again.
NO!
Yet, Mel's hand continued to fall. Still. As steadily as the autumn leaf on its graceful way through brisk calm air into the warm, safe and comforting arms of Mother Earth's rusty soil. No.
"Good girl." Lore whispered, his tone dripping with ill intent and malicious anticipation, "Now, put that interesting weapon on the floor and kick it over here... slowly!"
With an expression of total defeat, lost eyes in a white face, the once so proud queen of the Chief Cochise, did exactly as she was told.
Lore was now in total control of the ship.
*
The assembly point was dark, humid and damn depressing. Watery and hurting red eyes were straining from peering into the dark, adjourning tunnels and mouths were dry from all the dust and dirt that the groups had rustled alive on their tour-de-force through the Sigmarian sewer system.
"Why the hell aren't they responding to our beam-out signal?" Jake hissed silently into her ear piece. Jonesy turned to her with a pained expression.
"You asked me about that ten minutes ago and my reply hasn't changed since then: I don't know."
"Clearly they have encountered some problems." Lonc contributed.
"Well, that's just dandy," Jake continued, "but MY problem is this certain Sigmarian, who won't bloody BREATHE normally."
"What does our medic say?" Jonesy asked and turned his glance at Private Luanne Bartlett, who was diligently examining the alien ex-hostage.
"I don't know a helluva lot about Sigmarians," she growled, "very few people do. But it appears that she has suffered a severe shock and that's not good news for Sigmarians."
"What can you do about it?"
"Just about what you would do to a human: elevate her legs, keep her warm and talk to her even if she does appear to be unconscious."
"Well, then DO that," the sergeant emphasised, "and then stop bugging me. Obviously something has gone wrong aboard the ship. And you know damn well it always does. But D-Day always gets us out - just give her some time."
The tired group stopped bitching and concentrated even harder on their jobs.
Naturally their captain would be in perfect control and get them out as soon as possible. They wouldn't doubt that in a million years.
*
Dr Soong's "first born" android now stood with Mel's special gun in his left hand after having had one of the Ethnarians pick it up for him. He turned the silvery piece in his hand with a keen appreciative eye for its aesthetically pleasing shape. Fine lines snaked their way from the butt to the barrel in a most elegant way, if not functional. Lore cocked his head and then pressed his new toy against the commander's cranium, while ordering the rest of the bridge crew to drop their weapons. They complied without even waiting for Mel's signal.
The android couldn't resist:
"So what's so special about this weapon?"
No reply.
"Answer, bitch!" he growled, tightening his grip round Chakotay's throat, an action that made his hostage rattle noisily.
The captain's eyes had never left the face of the android. Sweat was still glistening on her honey coloured skin, but she never once lost her composure despite her obvious sign of nervousness. She blinked once when her first officer began to sound choked and then decided to answer the question.
"It has been specially constructed to deal with your body shields." She said tonelessly.
Commander Data's socially diseased brother grinned openly, all his wolfy teeth out in fresh air.
"Why, you ARE ingenious. I believe I like you even better than ol'e Picard. He WAS getting kinda quaint and stiff. It's definitely nice to encounter fresh... blood. So tell me, oh most appetising captain - where the HELL are my people?"
Something happened with Dayton's eyes. Afterwards, Chakotay never really did remember exactly what it was. From one moment to the other, her eyes turned from slightly nervous and raw to .... dispassionate ... cold ... steel; even her moisty brow dried up in record time. Impossible to determine or explain.
Lore saw it too. His own yellow eyes narrowed. And then she answered his question. Slowly as if she had all the time in the world.
"Your people? Are you talking about those 95 Ethnarians that beamed into open space?"
The android gritted his teeth furiously.
"Don't FUCK with me, lady. I transmitted the beam-out signal and YOU RESPONDED - you beamed them aboard yourself."
Mel Dayton looked as innocent as a Sunday school.
"I don't know what you are talking about ... our scans showed 95 life forms materialising 68.87 metres aft of the ship."
Lore didn't wait for an elaboration on that odd occurrence. Instead his temper and corrupted positronic synapses got the better of him and he whipped his weapon arm round to aim the dangerous gun at its former owner.
"That's not fair!" he exclaimed, his voice suddenly the voice of a five-year-old, "I will make you pay for this."
Commander Chakotay squirmed with all his might but still didn't managed to twist himself out of the android's iron grip enough to disarm him.
Lore was simply too superior by far.
Gritting his teeth, his face contorted in bitterness and raw, savage hate, Soong's creation pulled the trigger.
click
and pulled it again.
click
"Oops."
The regretting voice belonged to Mel Dayton. Lore's head whipped up to face the captain of the Chief whose eyes glinted humorously back.
Then suddenly something odd was happening with the weapon and his arm. The situation was developing fast. The weapon appeared to turn liquid and melted against his hand. Lore tried to throw it away, but it was practically glued to his hand. Uncharacteristically he now let go of the commander to use his right hand to remove the mysterious gun. However, it turned out to be an impossible task as the liquid metal was already on route over his shoulder and down his back, stretching longer and longer and covering more and more of the android's surface.
Simultaneously Mel's bridge crew successfully disarmed the confused and sorry rebels, who appeared to be petrified with fear at the sight of their once so strong leader fighting a hopeless battle with some devilish, liquid weapon.
Chakotay fell heavily to the floor, wincing at the impact. Yet, he still managed to forget his broken wrist, his missing teeth, swollen face and freely flowing ribs in the attempt to understand what the hell was happening to the android.
Lore was now clawing his back furiously and desperately. He now knew where the enigmatic weapon was headed and its dreadful purpose and was thus fighting for his life. Yet, even his power steered mobility and superhuman strength did not stand a chance in hell - much less aboard the Chief Cochise - of pulling the murderous metal, that continued its journey in warp speed, off his body.
The weapon eventually reached his lower back and Lore locked eyes with Captain Melanie D. Dayton in that very second. He knew he had lost and his glance comprised both deep sorrow, infantile anger and fear and a burning desire for vengeance. Mel looked back with interest but otherwise detached and cool. She had been given that revengeful look more than once in her life already.
Amber locked with amber. Yellow pinning golden.
Lore felt a click in his back.
And that was the last thing he felt.
*
Chakotay didn't move for some minutes, still not completely trusting the android to be deactivated and devoid of life, reactions or any other kind of movement. He saw his captain behave warily too. Then finally she looked in his direction, lifted an eyebrow at him and called Sickbay to come and get her first officer. Without a word she went to the fallen antagonist, knelt down and cradled the android's head. With a firm twist and a pull, she managed to yank it free of its body and was then standing with it in the crook of her arm. A most disconcerting and eerie sight.
Lieutenant Mallennie grinned and said the first words in several minutes after the stunning counter attack.
"You want his skull for a trophy, Cap?"
"It'll look nice over the fireplace." Mel smirked back and then added, "Beam up our men, Mallennie. You should be able to spot them on channel 34.2."
The third officer nodded in confirmation and went to her station immediately. Work had to be done; it was not over yet.
Tugging the pale and black head safely under her arm, Mel Dayton stepped over the decapitated rest of the android and approached her unfortunate first officer.
"Nice seeing you again, Commander - what's with the hand?"
"Broken wrist," Chakotay said weakly, incapable of taking his eyes of the bizarre vision of his captain carrying Lore's head, "what... what... weapon WAS that?"
"You mean the weapon that fell Lore? Why, my secret weapon, evidently." She smiled jovially at him as she stooped to examine his injuries more closely.
"You have to understand that a lot of things happened after you left the Chief, Commander. I got a hunch and acted on it. I somehow felt that we hadn't done enough about shields, you see. And at some point I discovered that Delaan hadn't met the Maggots at the appointed place - that did it. I contacted Jonesy and told him to lie low until further notice. But the connection was broken suddenly and brutally and then I knew with certainty that Lore was able of monitoring our communication."
"How the heck did you solve that problem?" Chakotay gasped as his captain felt for his broken ribs.
"We didn't. We constructed an entire com system and fed him with false information. When the time came for beam-out, we had a shuttlecraft send out a fake coordinate signal - right up till the moment Lore transported himself. Then we overrode the programme and brought the son of a bitch here to perform our carefully planned show. Your appearance was the only surprise."
"I'm sor....??"
Suddenly the bronze man's eyes widened to an incredible extent. His stunned glance was fixed at a point behind his captain and when he spoke, he spoke with something close to panic in his voice.
"Cap - right behind you - it's there!"
Dayton turned to face the metal liquid that had slowly slid closer to the commanding couple; its shiny surface shimmered with suspicious intent as it accelerated towards the captain in particular like a merciless tide.
"Myth, stop messing round." She said softly with evident affection in her voice.
And the liquid then stopped and began to grow... and grow... and slowly take the shape of a shiny figure that glinted beautifully in the bridge illumination, reflecting its surroundings with impressively clear accuracy.
Slowly comprehension penetrated Chakotay's dim shock-suffering brain. Myth. The shape-shifter. Of course.
Shaking all his details and appropriate colours in place, Myth straightened and kneeled to join the captain on the floor at Chakotay's side. He smiled affably and relaxed at his commanding officers.
"That was kinda fun."
"Well, you definitely looked as if you were enjoying yourself - not to mention when you scared the living snot out of our poor first officer here." Mel said dryly, patting the object of the conversation carefully. Myth cracked, but then fell serious when his eyes fell on the battered body of Chakotay.
"He really put you through the meat grinder, didn't he, sir? I almost wish I had tortured him a little more before pulling his plug."
Finally Chakotay started to laugh. A captain carrying round an android head; a gun that was a liquid that was a person. The extraordinary situation was simply too psychedelic and outlandish to be taken seriously. No wonder the special gun hadn't worked. No wonder Lore hadn't been able to shake off the "liquid metal", no wonder .... no wonder everything. Wonder. Wonders. Wonders would never cease.
T'Rees arrived with her inseparable and indispensable medical bag that fit her hip nicely and even becomingly, strapped to a brown, old-fashioned leather belt. She quickly lowered herself to the floor next to the commander and made a quick and efficient sweep with her medical tricorder.
"Multiple fractures in his left wrist, two rib fractures, several lacerations and facial bruises, four missing teeth, five broken blood vessels in..."
Mel and Myth left T'Rees to her cool Vulcan listing of injuries and gestured at Mallennie for a report, which was delivered almost instantaneously.
"I've found them all, and they are beaming aboard... now."
Dayton promptly tapped her combadge, communication free and available again aboard the Chief.
"Transporter room, stand by for our teams."
"Aye, Cap - we have them... now."
"Shuttle bay 2. Stand by for auto-returning shuttles."
"Aye, aye, Cap. They should be in safe and sound in 1.5 hours."
"Acknowledged. Out."
Her amber eyes attaining a mellow shade and appeasing the sharp glint in them, Mel turned to view the bridge of her trusted ship with a satisfied and heartfelt sigh. Excepting her inability to predict the commander's capture, everything had gone according to plan. At least according to contingency plan D. T'Rees was organising a stretcher to get Chakotay to Sickbay as the transporters were busy bringing her valiant and faithful away-teams in. Lieutenant Rwani was escorting their 'guests' to their 'guest quarters' and maintenance was removing the remains of Lore's body. She momentarily looked down at the half-closed eyes peeking out from the odd, pale head she was cradling in her arms and smiled gently. Hell, he WOULD look good on her mantelpiece in her summer residence in Oregon.
Such an efficient crew, she nodded at the sight of busy and conscientious ensigns, who were crowding the place to make procedures run smoothly. She sighed again, her chest heaving heavily, the picture of a deeply contented woman.
"Mel!" Chakotay's voice hauled her out of her momentary dreamy state.
"Yeah, First?" she reached him just as the stretcher with him was disappearing into the turbolift.
"What DID happen to all those Ethnarians? Did you really beam them into space?"
She grinned impishly, her white healthy fangs flashing in the reduced light.
"Sure, I did. But I positioned a shuttlecraft at the fake coordinates first. There are now 95 extremists aboard the "Geronimo", probably wondering what the hell all the fuss of 'magnificently big Starfleet starships' is all about."
Despite his maimed and bleeding mouth, Chakotay laughed out loud in cheerful mirth.
"Oh, spirits - 95 people aboard a shuttlecraft - I wonder if they take turns to breathe."
"We'll let them stew a little while yet and then bring them aboard in our roomy brig. Now, you get going, First - I need you safe and sound to help me clearing up this mess." She finished with a gentle smile.
Commander Chakotay closed his eyes in happy bliss and was almost asleep by the time he reached Sickbay.
*
Mel entered Sickbay just as the Sigmarian was brought onto the nearest biobed. Even without medical training, it was clear to the captain that the senator was in critical condition. Obviously the alien had entered a somewhat stubborn state of serious shock and the CMO was already on the case with complete and undivided attention.
Dayton felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to greet the squad leader of the Maggots and his NIC with her usual heart-warming approach.
"You look like shit, Jonesy."
"Thank you - I love you too. Say, what the hell kept ye'?"
"Oh, the usual mayhem and fight for survival - care for coffee or tea?"
"Make that whiskey." The small amicable man grinned.
"Not before reports are done with - you know the drill, Maggot."
"Who DID come up with those designations?"
"What's the pool?"
"You don't wanna know."
"Yes, I do - I have a substantial investment in it this time, Jonesy."
Mel had the pleasure of seeing her old friend and lead sergeant widen his dark blue eyes. So she could still surprise him. Good to know.
"Anyway - what the hell did Lore do to the senator?"
Jonesy's Aussie shrugged her narrow shoulders, "She is physically uninjured - my guess is psychological torture."
Mel nodded, "Yeah - he would be good at that."
Jonesy nodded at the farther biobed, recognising the shape lying on it in restful sleep.
"What's Chaks doing on that bed?"
"WHERE IS HE, WHERE IS HE??"
Mel, Jonesy and Jake turned round to face a flustered and red-faced German one-man-army, who knocked aside everything unwise enough to come in her way.
"Yo, Gyde. I found something you lost. In the biobed over there." The captain informed her, tilting her head in the direction of the first commander's sickbed.
Jungjohann stormed to the bed, reading the controls in a furiously rate and then collapsed on a nearby table, scant of breath and closing her eyes in deep relief.
"I daresay that's the last time she has ever lost track of her first officer. Such a sloppy habit." Jake sniggered evilly.
The awful threesome roared with laughter and consequently got thrown out of Sickbay by a very determined nurse, who tediously lectured them on hospital behaviour in the process.
Dayton made sure of thanking and dismissing all the team members before she contacted the transporter room to have them beam over the 95 rebels from the "Geronimo" to avoid them suffering a collective and massive lung decompression from being squeezed together in a craft designed for 50 people max. She then contacted the Sigmarian government, assuring them that their senator was safe and that they could re-enter and reclaim their Parliament. They did, unfortunately, have to expect a certain mess in some areas of the building.
The Ethnarian government asked for the rebels to be redirected to the shuttle again and Lore's head on a silver plate.
"No can do, Prime General. His head is already adorning my quarters, and if you have a problem with that, you'll have to take it up with Starfleet."
"What will happen to that devil contraption?"
"According to regulation he will be brought before the court and convicted in accordance with Federation laws."
"FEDERATION?? But his crime was committed in our jurisdiction..."
"No, it was committed on Sigmarian soil, so strictly speaking the Sigmarians should have his sorry butt. However, this is not up to me, so until a decision has been reached by all involved parties, he stays with the retrievers of his before-mentioned butt... and head. And that would be the Federation."
Dayton cut the connection short as Ethnarian curses started making her just a tad too knowledgeable of their mother language and began scrolling through the first incoming reports on her screen.
Engineering had reinstalled all computer codes to normal and re-routed all communication channels to their former digital position. The fake signal booster was shut down and coordinates reprogrammed; Ape had done a remarkably quick and smooth job.
Sickbay had received its last patient and there was no casualties among the crew or the 97 Ethnarians now aboard the Chief. The Sigmarian's condition was reported stable and she was expected to come to within 1.02.35 hours. The security situation was completely under control, and the Chief was now heading for a position in safe distance from both planets until the senator could be returned to her home world.
*
Still in Sickbay, Sergeant Jungjohann refused to leave her commander, who was still sleeping peacefully with cooling and healing beams caressing his bruised face.
T'Rees, though still busy, made time to turn to the obstinate squad leader and remark:
"If you are not leaving Sickbay, I suggest - no, implore - that you go to the sonic shower. Your smell is, quite frankly, repellent, Sergeant."
"I'm not taking my eyes of him for even one second, Doc."
The CMO raised a sarcastic eyebrow.
"I assure you he WILL recover without your help. His injuries are in no way life threatening."
"They will be." The stout German woman hissed, "Cuz' I intend to kill him as soon as he wakes up."
That comment earned her TWO raised eyebrows from the Vulcan.
*
Stardate 8945.4, Captain's log.
At the meeting convened at 13.15 hrs this afternoon my officer staff and our squad leaders went through the operation together, making sure that all details were laid out and loose ends picked up and tied nicely together. Summa summarum, I hereby state for the record that the FMOPS operation was a completely success counting 12 injured and no casualties among the crew. The Sigmarian hostage was returned to her home planet at 10.45 exactly, and the Sigmarian government has already invited us to a ceremony and party, which we regretfully cannot accept since we now must head back to the nearest starbase as quickly as possible to deliver the perpetrator and instigator of the now diverted crisis.
Mel Dayton stopped temporarily to let her eyes stray to a certain head, looking at her with narrow amber eyes from the shelf right above her writing desk. It was like having a bust of Beethoven, only much, much more entertaining. The remains of the android had been taken to the science section where it was stored in a special pressure controlled chamber to make sure that the functions of the criminal would remain unimpaired as long as he was the Chief Cochise's responsibility. In fact, Starfleet didn't even know that the head had been disconnected from the rest of the body. That action had been carried out solely on Mel's own initiative.
Mel grinned, full teeth and twinkling eyes. If only she could do this with all their adversaries... well, a girl could dream, couldn't she?
The captain of the Chief was jerked back to reality as her door beeped and her first officer asked permission to enter.
Mel put down her glass of cognac and smiled at the handsome bronze man that looked expectantly at her through the doorframe.
"What are you waiting for, man - get your butt in here."
Commander Chakotay stepped in - a little tentative.
"What's on your mind?"
"I would like to see it... him... the head."
Mel gestured at the shelf with a magnanimous motion.
"Knock yourself out."
Chakotay stiffened. It was almost uncanny the way the head still - somehow - seemed alive. Despite the lack of life, despite the glazed yellow eyes with the beady pupils, despite the dead, half-open mouth, it still looked like it could come to life any minute and smirk that dreaded leer at him. He shivered inadvertently.
"Sit down." Mel ordered, her own smirk gone switching her eyes to 'serious' mode.
Is this 'whipping my first's hiney thoroughly' time?, the commander thought apprehensively.
"No, I'm not going to kick your well-shaped ass." Mel assured him. Chakotay was shocked into silence for a second. She was still reading his mind like an open book.
"And why not?" he finally managed to squeeze out, "After all, I went right ahead and got myself caught."
She shrugged and went to the replicator to call up a cognac for her guest. She was out of uniform and her civvies, a simple black dress with lots of room for movement, radiated comfort and safety.
"We all get caught at some point. Of course, you throwing yourself in front of the group to save it was hardly a smart move... and it did reveal the inevitable fact that you still lack confidence in our teams and their abilities."
"They would have been dead meat - a platoon of Ethnarians was waiting for us." He suddenly defended himself. She shook her head gently and placed the glass in front of him. He didn't touch it. She ignored his choice of action and went to her chair to sit down again, stirring her own cognac pensively.
"They would have handled the situation - pretty much the same way you did - blocking something, shouting something, taking cover somewhere - doing something, like flattening out the entire enemy platoon."
"But what if they hadn't??" he almost cried in disbelief at her calm attitude towards a possible annihilation of her group.
"If they hadn't, they would have been in the same situation that you ended up in." She said shortly, cutting through his bullshit.
He stopped dead.
In a split second he understood her point. Designating himself to noble sacrifice was not his job. His job was to stay alive to supervise his groups and make sure the coordination brought the whole batch home again. Sacrificing himself had prevented him from doing exactly that.
Mel wriggled an eyebrow at him in appreciation.
"Ah. It's dawning on you."
Her first officer nodded slowly.
"Still, I would say you were pretty successful."
He looked up, his dark chocolate coloured eyes confused and a little vulnerable.
"What do you mean? How??"
His captain leaned forward, raising her glass in salute. He could see her amber eyes through the glass blending nicely with the amber colour of the alcohol. Such a beautiful and peculiar effect. A little unsettling, disconcerting, powerful. Dangerous. The effect blinked in mesmerising slow-motion.
"You survived." She stated.
He glared at her, disbelieving.
Finally he laughed, relaxed, leaned forward and grabbing his glass saluted her:
"We survived."
They touched glasses.
The End?
That was IT! Did you like it? Or hate it? Let me know.
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