Disclaimer: Heretofore, it must be understood that the author of this work claims no ownership of the characters or setting belonging to the television program Enterprise, nor anything else related to said television program. The story, however, is the original work of the author. Apparently.
Author's note: Hope you like… I spent a lecture and a half putting this together (yes, any fellow LIBT students, this is what I'm really up to when I'm 'taking notes.') Please review… pretty please?
Chapter 10: An Offer That Can't Be Refused
About three hours later, my door opens again, to reveal a security contingent1, complete with Malcolm.
"While I appreciate the implication that I might be too much for you to handle on your own…"
Unfortunately, Malcolm's back to his 'I am chief of security… and you'd better damn well respect that' mode, so all he gives me is a glare. "The captain requests your presence, Hess… he wants you to 'advise' your clients to cease and desist."
"I would need to confer with any clients I might have, first. After all, ceasing and desisting may not be in their best interests, and I am obligated to look out for my clients first and foremost… the captain's stress level, while distressing, cannot be my primary concern… indeed, forced to choose between the two…"
Malcolm proves his familiarity with the Engineering junk drawer by pulling out a roll of duct tape. I make the cardinal error of being shocked, so I don't have time to react before he's slapped a piece of it over my mouth, and is binding my wrists with another length2.
"You realise that this qualifies as assault… and on an officer of the court, no less." At least that's what I try to say… but it doesn't come out as the most enunciated statement I've ever made.
"I'm sorry," he's borrowed the captain's crocodile grin, "did you have something that you wanted to say?"
I resort to sign language – one of the few gestures I know. He's been kind3enough to secure my hands in front of me, so he can still see what I'm saying.
"I'd love to, but this is neither the time nor the place." He nods at his companions. "Gentlemen…" They grab me and hold me so he can put restraints on my feet too.
"I was saying, fuck yourself, asshole." Unfortunately, duct tape isn't that easy to chew through, so it's still garbled4.
After he's done with the restraints, he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder, like I'm a sack of potatoes or something. I dig my nails – pitiful as they are – into his back, but he doesn't seem to feel it.
Or maybe he does. "A little lower… more to the right…"
"You're a dead man. Not even Commander Tucker will protect you now… I'm going to kill you… I'm going to chop your body into tiny pieces and flush you out the airlock a bit at a time. And I'm going to do it while you're still alive…"
"Well, I admit it would be hard to kill me when I'm dead… but I'm certain that if anyone could find a way, it would be you." I don't know how he understood me – maybe he was just taking a wild guess. The guards leave, and he begins to pack me down the hallway.
"I'm going to get you for this, you son-of-a-bitch… you are going to pay. Slowly and painfully. I have family… and my family actually loves me…" I realise that last one might have gone a little far, because he suddenly drops me on my ass in the middle of the hallway – we don't have carpeting around here.
"I'm sorry, did that hurt?" Actually, it was a tactical error on his part, because I pull something out of my boot.
"Uh, uh, uh… I don't think so, Hess." He leans over to take it from me, then suddenly jumps back. A smart move, because I've just opened the switchblade I carry for emergencies. I saw through the wrist ties, then free my feet and stand up.
"You are not any sort of gentleman, Mister Reed." I rip the tape from my mouth and throw it on the floor. "I don't care what your title or the copious inbreeding in your family history might imply…"
"One might assume that inbreeding belongs more with your redneck background…"
"Are you calling me 'white trash,' boy? Let me tell you a little something, Mister Rabbity-Face…"
"All I'm suggesting is that your parents might have known each other a little longer than usual before they got married."
"Really? I suppose that's better than your parents – who despite their obvious genetic similarities – only met, and I use that term loosely, once."
He smacks me across the face, and I return the gesture, forgetting for a moment that this isn't Commander Tucker.
"That is assault on an officer, Hess." His eyes narrow, and he steps closer, not worried anymore about the knife.
"A lady can slap any scoundrel who insults her honour like that." With the commander, I wouldn't even have to explain. "And my brothers will be perfectly within their rights when they remove your hide. And might I point out, that you assaulted me first… mine can be classified as self-defence."
"Your brothers won't get that chance." He's leaning in close enough now that I can smell his breath… he's been eating tuna and it's disgusting.
"Pity." I don't know quite why I say that, but I do truly mean it. On the other hand, his meeting my brothers would provide me with the opportunity to be rid of him forever.
"Actually, why do I get the idea that they'd thank me, especially if I turned you over my knee…"
"Oh, yes… you'd probably have fun with that. Well, listen buddy… that damn near qualifies as sexual harassment, and I can have you cashiered for that…"
"So, I can be inflicted with you in a towel… but you can complain about a little turn of phrase. Try and find one person who will buy that 'sensitive' argument… especially when I bring up the nature of your little 'communiqués' with Commander Tucker."
"You bastard… those were private messages…"
"Actually, those were security breaches. Amusing, though. I found them yesterday… it seems you two forgot the little 'archive' feature… and it wasn't too hard to trace the 'anonymous' authors."
It suddenly occurs to me that he's still intact… most people I would have dropped or disembowelled by now for invading my threat range. I have no time to explore the disturbing implications of this, however, because the com kicks in.
"Um… Lieutenant, this is Hoshi. I'm sorry, but the captain is looking for you… and he's wondering what the hell is taking you so long."
"We're on our way." Malcolm grabs my arm and begins hustling me along the hallway. Again, this is not something I would normally put up with… but since we're heading in the same direction and all, I let him get away with it.
"You realise, of course, that if one word of those gets out, that it's not me you have to worry about. You have no idea how nasty that boy can be; he could outdo a squad of cheerleaders."5
"Last I heard, you could leave off the 'out,'" Malcolm mutters, and I can almost swear I hear a note of jealousy.
"Well, I wouldn't know," I tell him primly.
"You'd be one of the few."
I jerk him to a stop. "You know I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop sullying my Boy. He fully denies that incident ever happened, and when it comes to that, his word is final. Unlike some people, he knows the definition of being a gentleman."
"The definition maybe," Malcolm mumbles. "I thought you just said…"
"I haven't. And I never will – unless some odd life threatening circumstances warrant it – but that does not stop him from being my Boy."
"Toy?" He raises both eyebrows, mockingly.
"Now, you are not only insulting me, but you are insulting my closest friend as well. Mister. Reed, I am having nothing more to do with you." With that, I toss my head, and start off down the corridor without him.
He grumbles something else, then hurries after me, obviously having been instructed to provide me with an escort. I have no idea why the captain doesn't trust me… after all, I'm very dedicated to my clients… and they probably could use some advice right now – even if it isn't the advice he wants me to give them.
I know where I'm going… thanks to the Doctor's little comment about human social activities. The gathering has actually spilled outside the mess hall now, and they welcome me in, pushing Malcolm to the fringes. In the centre of the room, perched on a table is the president of the Enterprise General Union (formerly the Enterprise Engineers' Union).
The crowd closes in around me, trapping Malcolm on the fringes. Unlike Lieutenant Pompous, I've always been well-liked by the rank and file. I glance back to see him jumping up and down, trying to catch sight of me in the throng. I'm funnelled up to Bitten who pulls me up on the table with him.
"We're doing well," he beams at me, "almost everybody's here and fully committed."
"According to the captain, you should be committed. However, there is very little he can do when faced with a collective bargaining unit. While he can attempt to have every single one of you cashiered – which is why I told you not to do this – it would be a difficult and arduous process, not to mention a highly embarrassing one." I look around at the assembled crowd. "I hope they're not expecting me to say something."
"Actually… I wanted you here. I think the captain is getting ready to negotiate, and I'd like a little advice."
"Actually, I think the captain is a little closer to a nervous breakdown than anything…"
"May I have your attention, please." Captain Archer emerges from the kitchen, flanked by the senior staff. He's escorting Mr. Tucker, who looks shocked. He's in a plain uniform with no insignia, and he's got that panicky look he gets when he doesn't know what to do. His hair's sticking out in places, like he was just hauled out of bed, which is entirely possible. "I am ordering you to disperse at once."
"Order noted, captain, but I am afraid we can't agree," Bitten draws himself up to full height, while I sit myself down. "After all, we are merely exercising our rights to Freedom of Assembly; Freedom of Belief; Freedom of Speech… each and every one of us is a member," he glances down at me, "or a contracted employee of the Enterprise General Union. We have orchestrated this demonstration to protest the blatant lack of regard for the process of justice on-board this ship, and demand the immediate return to duty of Mr. Tucker and Ms. Hess – at their former ranks and positions."
"You can't do that. This is not a democracy, nor is it a union…"
"Actually, it is a union environment, Captain… the lack of a collective agreement does not negate the fact that we have unionised. As head of the Collective Bargaining Unit, I would be quite willing to discuss…"
"I didn't give you permission to do that."
"Sir… if we waited for management to tell us we could form a union, there would be no unions. Unions are for the little people, sir… those of us with no power apart but together we are strong."
I look up at him oddly. "Were you, or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party?"
"No, Senator McCarthy," he mumbles, smiling, "Government Employees Union."
Realising that he's not getting anywhere, Captain Archer marches Mr. Tucker up to the front. "Tell them." Captain Archer prods Mr. Tucker in the side.
"I… I…" He looks around at all of us, gathered here to protest his removal. His head drops, and he shakes his head, a few tears rolling down his cheeks. "I can't." Even though the room has grown silent, I have to strain to hear him. "They've done all this… I just can't…"
The captain's eyebrow begins to twitch – he's succumbing to the strain again.
"We should consider certain possibilities." Keeping my voice low, I caution the executive committee gathered around the table. "If this continues, the captain may be medically unfit to persist in his duties, at which point…"
"Not Sub-commander T'Pol…" Bitten visibly shudders at the thought of a Vulcan running our ship.
"I do believe we can formally protest any lengthy take over by a non-member of Starfleet. However, with Commander Tucker removed from eligibility…" All eyes slide over to Malcolm, who glowers at us.
"How long do you think it would take to give him a nervous breakdown?" Someone asks.
Fortunately, I'm distracted from any speculation on that point by Captain Archer who points at Bitten and myself and then towards the door.
"It would appear that you were correct with regards to negotiation," I carefully climb down to the floor, "Unless he has plans to ambush us directly outside that door. Still, with this many witnesses, it would be difficult to pull off anything. Right now, all he has on his hands is civil disobedience, and I doubt he wants to incite things further."
"Don't worry," McDale assures me, "if anything happens, we're good with riots."
"Excellent.6 Well, we leave things in your capable hands then.7" It's always nice to know that there's a back up plan.
Malcolm escorts us into the ready-room where the captain is already waiting for us.8
"All right. You want to talk, we'll talk. What do you want?"
"We want…"
I kick Bitten in the ankle to get him to shut up. "I want some time to confer with my client for a second." Without waiting for an answer, I haul Bitten into the corner. "This man can be tricky. You can't just go in with a general request, because he'll find a loophole. You tell him you want us back… and he'll make us into Crewmen, and the bastards will still be in charge."
"Well… I was just going to say that we want to negotiate in good faith, and can he provide us with any guarantees that we can do such a thing."
I narrow my eyes. "I wouldn't start off our negotiations with an insult. Now I know you labour types trust management about as far as a dead turtle can jump, but now that we've got him in a corner, it's not a good idea to poke him with a stick."
"Well, you would be the expert on insulting the captain, though I would have thought that you would be the one arguing caution and asking for guarantees."
Some people can be so naïve. "There's no such thing as guarantees… I can't even guarantee that you'll die some day. That's why the gambling industry makes so much money.9 And I am arguing caution, but we can't walk in with some half-assed demands and vague threats. If you're going to threaten somebody – especially a poker player like him – you'd better be holding something in your hand to back it up. And right now, he's got the mitt full of aces while we're bluffing on a broken straight. Now… is there anything else you want besides your old bosses back?" We discuss for a bit, then I turn around and face the captain. "Sir. My client has agreed that we should negotiate, but there are certain terms, which need to be dealt with first."
Captain Archer closes his eyes. "Why did I have a feeling you'd say something like that? All right, out with it."
"Then you agree to negotiate in good faith?"10
"Yes, I do." He looks exhausted, which means it's a good time for our negotiations.
I take a recorder out of my pocket11 and place it on the desk. "Excellent. Mr. Bitten, if you would care to delineate the union's requests, I'm quite confident we can reach a resolution to this impasse. However, I would like it to be understood that there should be no negative repercussions regarding the entirely legal actions of the Enterprise General Union – nor its forerunner, the Enterprise Engineers' Union – in this, or any other matter. Furthermore, and especially, there should be no negative repercussions to the negotiating committee as a result of these proceedings."
"In other words, you don't want me to hold a mass court-martial because a bunch of crewmen – incited by someone with questionable mental stability – decided to completely disregard the chain of command and all Starfleet procedures and essentially mutiny."
"A civil gathering is hardly mutiny, sir. Nor is being ill, nor might I add, is doing your job according to regulations." I decide to ignore the shot about questionable mental stability, for it is difficult to say precisely whom it was aimed at.12
"Look… we all know what's really going on here. So… you want Tucker and Hess returned to duty…"
"At their former ranks and responsibilities, sir," Bitten interrupts. I'm grateful he's quick off the mark with this – it would be wrong for me to say it, but at the same time, I wouldn't put it past the Captain to bust us down to Crewmen, given the option.
"Well… I'm willing to give you Commander Tucker."
"Not without Lieutenant Hess, sir." Bitten knows how the department works.
"Not Hess. Hess is another matter entirely."
Hello, I'm right here. "I do hope you're not still looking to prosecute me captain." I might have told Bitten to avoid insults, but there's nothing wrong with a good threat when needed.
"And why not?"
"Because not only would I be found 'not-guilty' due to major violations of Due Process, not to mention some of my basic rights – I would be forced to name Starfleet in general, and you in specific in my lawsuit when I charge you with those violations, not to mention Defamation of Character, and Unlawful Dismissal… or at the very least with scuttling my career." It's my turn for a crocodile smile. "I can recommend a very good attorney for you, sir."
Captain Archer's knuckles are turning white. "Hess… don't push me."
"I wouldn't dream of it, sir. I am merely pointing out to you certain possible repercussions from any legal action you might take against me. Because you see, sir, unlike the rumours you might have heard, I am not a nice person."
"You're a lawyer. I don't think the term 'person' applies."
Bitten jumps in at this point, possibly suspecting this will degenerate into the kind of discussion often seen in bars at three-thirty in the morning – the type where the police are often called in, if not the National Guard. "Sir… if I may have a word?" He pulls Captain Archer over into a corner, and they have a whispered conversation that my recorder is unable to pick up. Captain Archer looks over at me a couple of times in disbelief… but finally surrenders.
"Fine," he stalks back to his desk and drops heavily into his chair. "You get Hess back, too. On one condition."
"What would that be, sir?" I have difficulty believing that it could be this simple.
He picks up my recorder and throws it hard into the far wall where it shatters. "None of this – and I mean none of this – ever happened. There was not, and never will be a Union, there were never any negotiations, and not one of your rights were violated. If I hear even a whisper of any of this, I will make your life so miserable you will wish I had prosecuted you. Given your skills at organising, I'm certain you can spread this message throughout the ship. I expect you to do so."
"Yes, sir." I can't help but wonder what Bitten told him – and I'm too afraid to ask.
He dismisses us, and I'm about to go when he stops me. "By the way, Lieutenant. There's still the question of the rabbit."
"Rabbit, sir?"
He pulls me behind his desk to show me two cages – obviously borrowed from Dr. Phlox – sitting on the floor. Evil Thing is in one and Igor in the other. "It's amazing what you can find when you look."
"Sir, I…" There's no way out of this one, he's got the evidence right there.
"What the hell happened, Hess?" He's staring at Igor, with an odd look in his eyes. I know what he's thinking – Igor looks a mess. He's a lop-ear, but one of those ears is nearly lopped off. He's got scars all over him, and one of his front toes is missing.
"I don't have all the details, sir." I crouch down and stick a finger through the wire to pet the poor guy. "I found him in a garbage bin… he was already pretty messed up."
"And you couldn't just leave him behind."
"Not with my ex, sir. He always felt I was wasting my time with my rescues."
"Hess, why do engineers always insist on doing things the hard way?" The change in conversation seems jarring, but there's only one answer to that question.
"There's an easy way, sir?"
"It's called asking permission, Hess. It's amazing how many rules can be bent when the reasons behind it are known."
"Permission, sir?" After all, asking permission means you can be told no. "Then where would plausible deniability come in?"
He starts to laugh, and pretty soon he can't stop. Every time he gets himself under control, he looks at me and starts laughing again. I'm getting ready to call Phlox, when the captain stops me and shakes his head.
"I see what Trip means, now." He leans in until he's practically nose to nose with me. "Don't ever pull anything like this again, understood?"
"Like what, sir?13"
He flicks his finger hard into the centre of my forehead. "Don't push it, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir." I do know how to cut a deal after all. "Understood, sir."
"Well, now that you're back on duty – you'll be glad to know we fixed the communications problems. If you wish to contact your attorney now…"
"Honestly, sir… I think I have a mess of paperwork to fix. Given recent events I trust Rostov only slightly more than Commander Tucker in that area. I doubt I'll have time to properly discuss any type of case – especially one which may involve litigation."
"Excellent." His crocodile grin resurfaces. "I'm glad we understand each other, Lieutenant."
"Absolutely, sir." The scary thing is that we do understand each other, maybe a little bit too well. I'm tempted to check genealogical history, just to be certain we aren't somehow related.
I'm about to leave with my charges, when he stops me again. "I'll take the teddy-bear, Lieutenant."
"Teddy-bear, sir?" How did he know about Mr. Fuzzy-Wuzzy?
"Do you think there's much on this ship that I don't know about? Since you and Commander Tucker need to fight over the toy, I'm taking away the toy. If the two of you want to act like three year olds, I am perfectly capable of treating you like three year olds."
I pout. If he wants to treat me like a three year old, I am perfectly capable of acting like one. "I don't have it."
"Get it. And stop pouting, it's not cute."
I open my mouth, and he cuts me off again. "No screaming, either. I have a cure for that, too."
Given that it probably involves one of his old sweat-socks, 14I clamp my jaw shut again.
"Well… maybe you are smart enough for Stanford. So… teddy-bear. Pictures. All of it."
"Have you ever considered hiring out as a psychic, sir?" Knowing about the pictures is a little much.
"You would be a disgrace to your photography merit badge if you didn't take them, Hess. I want them all, and I want the original files erased. Capisce?"
"Si, signore." Actually, it's a small price to pay for liberty, but I can't let him think I'm an easy negotiator.
"Grazie." It's not a crocodile grin… now it's just smug. As I turn to leave, he puts in one last shot. "You two may be the most awesome force since the anti-matter reactor… but I am still the captain."
Which is why it wasn't me who created the teddy-bear photo spread that decorated every table in the mess hall… I wonder, though, what Commander Tucker ever did to him?
1 Significantly comprised of ensigns – i.e. actual commissioned officers.
2 Actually, when you're dealing with someone who knows how to pick locks… duct tape is a perfectly viable alternative. I'm just pissed off for not seeing it coming.
3 Or stupid
4 Though, I agree – this is neither the time nor the place… I don't think I'd ever want to see that.
5 I've never liked cheerleaders… they're far too normal and popular. I guess that's one of the reasons I like hockey: the only cheerleaders you see there are in the stands… and trust me — stand dwelling cheerleaders are not normal.
6 Now whether that's quelling them or causing them… there are some questions that are better left unasked.
7 It's amazing how much loyalty a little implied confidence can inspire.
8 And I never thought that Starfleet would be so much like high-school.
9 Not to mention the legal profession
10 I avoid saying that 'we assume we can,' mainly because Captain Archer would be quite willing to let us assume whatever we want – and could still do things his way.
11 I always carry one with me… you never know when you need to record something for evidentiary use.
12 I mean, I know it was probably me, but knowledge and proof are two different things… and I did not incite them, in fact, I explicitly told them not to do these things.
13 After all, he was the one who said it never happened. And if it never happened, how could I have pulled anything?
14 The mere thought of which makes me nauseated