Author's note:
eScapefreak: Arguing Borg self-esteem, I like it. I still would have to argue that Borg have low self-esteem but high hive-mind esteem, or collective esteem.
3rd of Five: Glad you like the story.
JadziaKathryn: The Commodore may pop up a bit more.
PG: The Commodore has his reasons; we'll see them.
Bren: You present some interesting ideas – perhaps in the next chapter. A series? Well, I emailed you on that, but I'll say it here: I dunno if a series is going to be in the works. For now, let's finish this one. However, B'Elanna and Seven will not be getting anything on; I'm afraid you'll have to satisfy yourself with the chapter in which they wrestle Marla out of the tube. In the future I might write something where they have a deathmatch in a waist-deep vat of pasta, but it isn't usually what I write.
The chronometer read 1030. She had half an hour. B'Elanna did not like junior officers being late, and she didn't want to be. Marla Gilmore stood in front of the mirror in her guest quarters, eying her reflection cautiously. She was wearing a uniform that she had never expected to wear again. On her collar was a single dark pip with a gold border. She'd never expected to wear that again, either.
This was nothing short of a goddam miracle. Noah was watching her, and she felt guilty; she didn't want to rub her good fortune in his face. Captain Janeway had said they would help him too, but she felt bad. She'd had more to do with the crimes of the Equnox than any of the others who survived. She'd designed the enhanced warp device. Noah was simply a crewman who had unofficially become a senior member of the crew. Angelo had been a science officer – a xenobotanist or something. Whatever he'd been, it hadn't mattered in the Delta Quadrant. Brian had been security. Jim had been a lab technician. Of all of them, she'd been treated the most leniently, and it didn't seem right.
"You look good," Noah said softly.
"Thank you," Marla said, and thought for several moment. "Captain Janeway said she'd help you, too. I hope she does."
Noah let out a thoughtful sigh. "I think she might be able to get my discharge upgraded," he said thoughtfully. "I don't know about anything else. I don't know that I want to come back to Starfleet. I mean...you know that'll follow you around for the rest of your career."
Marla sighed. Her throat worked.
"We can't change our past," she said. "Just our future. Maybe in a few years they'll promote me, make me a lieutenant. Maybe not. I can dream, can't I?"
He chuckled. "I guess."
"Who knows," she said. "If you come back, you might be able to make Ensign yourself. Officially."
He snorted. "Marla, I love you to death, but there's no way any sane person can think I'd get to be an ensign."
She shrugged. "You never know," she said. "I never thought I'd get a chance to wear this uniform again. Maybe Captain Janeway has decided we've suffered enough."
He came over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. His eyes focused on hers. They were light brown, and infinitely sadder and wiser than he would have preferred.
"Marla, I know you want to believe in the best," he said. "And I'm happy for you, don't get me wrong. The 'fleet needs good engineers, and you're one of the best." He flicked his head at the door. "Fact is, I think Janeway's decent. I don't hate her like I used to. But she's not a saint. She wants these guys in a sling and so she'll ease off you. Me too, maybe. I don't know. But don't kid yourself. We're in her good graces now because she's got somebody new who she wants to kick around and she thinks we can help her do that."
Marla pulled her hair back and searched for something to tie it with. "I'd hope that's not all there is," she said.
"I think it is," Noah said. "Look, I know you want to think Janeway cares. Maybe she does, in her own way, but the main thing to her is these Section 31 guys. She wants to take them down just like she took Rudy down. If I were you, I'd get while the gettin's good. Give her what she wants, make her happy...and then get yourself on another ship as soon as it's over." He shook his head. "Part of me wants to think she's on the level. I thought she was on the level about getting you off that ship, and she was. But we gotta be realists. Take care of yourself first. You probably won't be in Janeway's favor forever."
"We'll see," she said diplomatically. "Right now, she just wants information about the ship."
"You think you can deliver?"
Marla nodded. "I...have a few tricks up my sleeve," she said. "Things that Voyager engineers probably never tried."
"You don't think Torres knows her stuff?" Noah asked, seeming interested.
"I don't think Torres ever had to learn some of the stuff we did," Marla answered. Her mouth quirked. It seemed funny, in a way. Noah had always been her confidant, the one she could trust in. They had stolen moments alone in their time on Voyager, and it was only because each had the other that they'd been able to keep it together on a ship where they had been the outcasts. At the other end of the ship – the top of the chain – there had always been murmurs about the captain and first officer, doing the exact same thing. She'd heard the rumors, of course, but she'd never really seen the parallels until now.
Had anyone on Voyager ever seen it? Noah would say no, if she asked him: they'd been the ship's outcasts in the Delta Quadrant. Could that change now that they were home? Might she have a place here? Again, Noah doubted it. She knew he meant well, and she knew he cared about her. But that small spark of hope was something she hadn't had in a while, and she wanted to fan it and give it fuel rather than simply let it die.
But if this was a first step on the road back, she had to take it. She smiled tightly at Noah, hoping that he wouldn't be forgotten along the way. Her hand raised in a wave.
"Okay," she said. "Well, let's see what I can do that they can't. Wish me luck."
He smiled gently back. "Go show 'em what we can really do."
There were a few puzzled looks as she emerged from her quarters in Starfleet uniform, but she let them pass. A few disgruntled comments reached her ears. She let those slide too, not wanting to worry about it. For a moment she tried to remember how many ensigns there were in Engineering, and where her new place in the hierarchy might be, now that it wasn't at the complete bottom of the heap. She might actually have some sort of command authority now. On Equinox, she hadn't had any for the simple reason that all the other engineers had been killed. On Voyager, she had been somewhere between a prisoner and a crewman.
B'Elanna was waiting for her by the warp core when she arrived in Engineering. She studied Marla for a moment or two, clearly not sure what to make of the situation. She cleared her throat.
"Hello, Ensign," she said matter-of-factly. "I'll assemble the salvage team."
Seven was there as well, looking imperiously around. She looked at Marla with imperial dignity. What was the ex-Borg thinking? You never could tell with Seven.
"Ensign," she said. "We have already gone over the false Equinox and found nothing."
Marla nodded. "I have a few ideas," she said drily. "We'll need some supplies."
"State your needs."
The place was familiar; she'd spent two years here, trying to keep out of everyone's way. The less people noticed her, the less nasty comments and obvious dislike she had to deal with. Part of her wanted to flee to some dark corner of Engineering. As the team Torres had assembled drew closer, the urge grew stronger. She swallowed, raised her chin and made herself wait. You're an officer again. Act like it.
"We'll need cold-weather gear," she said. "Parkas and gloves. Also magnetic boots."
Seven raised an eyebrow. "I do not understand the necessity for cold-weather gear. The ship's computer is functional and quite capable of maintaining a comfortable climate."
Marla waited a beat so that everyone would get there and she wouldn't have to repeat herself. Lieutenant Ayala was there, along with a few Security officers. His oilspot eyes touched hers for just a moment, hidden under a cool reserve. Was he judging her or was he willing to give her a second chance? She couldn't tell. She closed her eyes and tried to think. Had he been a Maquis? She couldn't remember.
Torres cleared her throat, bringing the salvage team to order.
"All right," she said, in a businesslike tone. "Most of you were on the first salvage attempt. As you know, we didn't find much." She gestured at Marla, much as she would any other officer. Marla swallowed nervously, aware that she was going to be the center of attention. How were these people going to deal with her? Most of them despised her. Then again, she'd thought the captain despised her before, and it seemed she hadn't. Why couldn't she concentrate on one thing? She put her hands behind her back and dug her fingernails into her palms to make herself calm down.
"Most of you know Ensign Gilmore," Torres continued. A single look was enough to underscore the message: Yes, I did say Ensign. A few crewmen scowled, but most remained impassive. "She has extensive expertise on Nova-class ships, and she's going to help us this time. Ensign Gilmore?"
Marla's throat clamped shut for a moment. Fear tasted coppery on her tongue. For a moment she wanted to find somewhere to hide. But they were all looking at her, so she had to say something.
"Thank you," she said, and fumbled for words. "I haven't had a chance to review what the first salvage team tried, but I have a few ideas. Everyone needs to replicate cold-weather gear and magnetic boots."
Vorik raised an eyebrow in the way that only Vulcans could. "Why is that necessary?" he asked.
"We're going to shut down the main computer," she said. "Along with the secondary processors."
Torres gave her a look of puzzlement, as did some of the other engineers.
"All of them?" someone asked from the back.
"Yes, all of them. For five minutes."
"And what, exactly, were you planning to run life support on for those five minutes?" the voice asked. "I don't know about you, but I sort of prefer having it." Now she could place him; Crewman Dalby. He had a reputation for being a maverick, and he said what was on his mind. They'd never really spoken. She didn't think he liked her.
Marla shook her head. "It'll get real cold real fast, and it won't be comfortable, and we'll lose artificial gravity," she said, "but the atmosphere won't dissipate. We'll be okay."
"How do you know that?" Dalby asked, sounding very dubious about this idea.
"Because," Marla said, "on Equinox we went without main computer or secondaries for twelve minutes with two hull breaches once. We survived. We lost both on a few occasions, actually."
Dalby muttered something she didn't catch. She doubted it was nice, given the snickers that she heard.
Torres was looking at her, clearly wanting to say something but holding herself back. Marla watched her carefully. Usually, B'Elanna Torres wasn't known for keeping her opinions to herself. There had to be something she wanted Marla to do. Apprehension gripped her stomach. What would it be?
B'Elanna's dark eyes remained firmly on her. She mouthed the words Don't let him. Marla swallowed.
Don't let him. All right. Sure. It was easy for B'Elanna to say; she was at the top of the ladder and knew it. Marla had no such backing; she might wear an ensign's pip, putting her somewhere in the upper-middle of things, but it had been only a few weeks ago that she'd been pond scum here.. Marla gathered up her courage.
"Crewman Dalby," she said crisply, "I assure you, when it comes to crisis engineering, I know what I'm talking about. I didn't have an engineering staff on Equinox. I was the engineering staff. I know this will work. I've done it. If you don't feel comfortable on the salvage team, I'm sure Lieutenant Torres can reassign you to...safer duty on Voyager." She tried to stare him down in the best B'Elanna fashion she could muster, all too aware that the real thing happened to be watching her.
Dalby scowled. The comment had hit its mark. "Yes, ma'am," he said, the second word laced with scorn. Marla simply watched him for a moment more, trying to summon up the glassy calm she'd seen senior officers display, and hoped no one saw her hands shaking or knew that her stomach was roiling.
"If that doesn't work," Marla continued, "then we'll cut into the walls with a plasma torch. A lot of the cabling in these ships was stamped with the ship's name. Our...friends may have changed a lot, but they probably didn't have time to get to that. The same goes for the main computer – if we disassemble it, there will probably be parts stamped with the ship's name, or if we're lucky there might be something in a memory buffer."
"I have checked the memory buffers," Seven announced.
"Did you disassemble the main computer datacore and check the buffers manually?" She had to be more careful with Seven. Seven was considered a senior officer. Besides, she'd been one of the few on Voyager who had spared her scorn.
Seven simply shook her head. "I felt it was inefficient."
"It's not efficient. We have to find anything they didn't catch."
For a moment she quailed. Dalby was known as a complainer.
She turned and looked at the team with the eyes of a woman who had put Equinox's main computer system back together with only hand tools and the few warm bodies that Rudy had let her draft for the task. For the first time, it occurred to her that while the murder of the Spirits of Good Fortune would never go away, it was far from the only history of USS Equinox. There were things she had done that she could take pride in.
"All right," Torres said. "No quibbling. Let's go, people. Transporter room two is waiting. Get your equipment and be there in five minutes."
She waited until the others had dispersed. Marla watched her, suddenly and irrationally convinced that she had screwed up somehow. She stared down at the floor and bit her lip.
"Okay," Torres said. Her face was more reserved than Marla had expected. "Not too bad. Never let a crewman talk back to you like that in public." She essayed a grin. "I'd have bounced his head off a few consoles, but you did okay."
"Thank you," Marla said quietly.
"You ready for this?"
Marla nodded. She wasn't sure herself if she was, but this was something she had to do. And this time there would be Voyager security officers and crewmen aboard, not just her and a few Section 31 agents who controlled her every move and sought to break her. She tried not to think about what the ship would be like. It was just a job. It was the same means of getting around the issue that she'd used on the first Equinox.
"Good," Torres said. "Because once we're on that ship, you're running this shindig."
The news was like a punch to the stomach. "I am?"
"I was on that ship. I didn't find anything." B'Elanna's tone was annoyed at the admission. You know it better. Officially, sure, I'm still in command, but for all intents and purposes this is your party, Ensign."
Giving orders to these people? Nobody had said anything about that. Marla gritted her teeth.
"And if you go hide in a Jefferies tube again, I'll pull you out by the hair this time," B'Elanna said, her face deadpan.
Blood rushed to her face and she cringed. B'Elanna sighed and grinned ruefully.
"I was kidding," she said. "Though you know, you don't have to do this. You can run things from here."
Marla thought about that for a moment and dismissed the idea. "I'll be all right," she said, and suddenly words rose to her mind and lips that weren't confused or torn. "I can do this. I want to do this."
Torres nodded slowly and seemed pleased. "All right," she said. "Go get your gear, report to the transporter room, and let's do this."
The lower corridors of DS9 were not to Kilbourne's liking. He understood the usefulness of the station. Even so, he would have much preferred for the Federation to build its own station and send this Cardassian piece of junk into the Bajoran sun. Didn't anyone bother to think of counterintelligence? The Cardassians would have so many bugs on this station that getting them all would be impossible. Besides, he didn't like the architecture.
Soon, he'd be off this station. This situation had to be cleaned up, pronto. The commodore had wanted no murder, but that wasn't always possible. Sometimes you had to eliminate people.
The communicator on his hip buzzed. He grabbed it and opened it.
"Kilbourne," he said.
"Sir, we're in position.."
"Are stealth transporters on-line?" he asked. Section 31's stealth transporters were a closely guarded secret; so far, no one in the quadrant could detect them. The good commodore would have plausible deniability. No one would know they'd left the station.
"Yes, sir."
He smiled. "Beam us aboard," he said.
A moment later, he was in X5573's transporter room. A relieved sigh escaped him. The bridge wasn't far. It was good to be back on his own ship, and it was better knowing that nosey Starfleet types weren't on it. His agents took their places.
"Set a course for Grambyo," he said. "It's docked on an upper pylon. Thrusters only. Maintain cloak. Mr. Benning, prepare a boarding party. I want everyone to have phaser rifles."
He watched the Nova-class ship grow larger in the viewscreen. It was powered down, and he had to get it away from its moorings. Once it was away from Deep Space Nine, he could decide what to do with it.
"It's time to finish this, once and for all."