Part Three
Denella had become supremely confident in her own abilities to defend herself during her time onboard the Bounty.
She had built on her basic knowledge of self-defence from her youth ever since she had been rescued from the Syndicate, and had reached a point in her training where she backed herself to come through most situations. Indeed, it had only been a couple of months since she had single-handedly taken on and defeated the Syndicate boss that had once owned her, on a profoundly personal quest for vengeance.
Still, while she was sure of herself these days, she was also happy to admit that she was even more confident when she had Klath for company.
The two slightly dishevelled members of the Bounty's crew stood next to each other inside what seemed to pass as the Syatonen's ready room. As soon as they had beamed aboard, as agreed, two Son'a officers had escorted them here. On the other side of the room, reclining in a comfortable padded chair set behind a wide desk, sat Ahdar Lit'eh. Their two escorts, meanwhile, remained standing behind them, either side of the only door to the rather large room.
Both Denella and Klath stood as casually as they could, but both were visibly armed with their preferred weapons. Klath's trusty bat'leth was sheathed on his back, while Denella's Orion dagger was conspicuously clipped to the belt around her waist.
Neither had made any effort to draw their weapons when they had arrived. It wasn't that sort of a meeting, after all. But equally, neither had remotely considered the possibility of beaming over here without them.
Lit'eh, for his part, seemed entirely at ease with the situation, weapons or no weapons. Although Denella strongly suspected that she'd be just as at ease if she had a crew of fifty-six loyal Son'a in the immediate vicinity.
"Are you sure you won't eat?" the Son'a commander asked with practised indifference.
He idly gestured to the side of the room, where an elaborate and seemingly permanent buffet table ran alongside one wall. The table itself was made with thick wood and was covered in all manner of appetising food and drink. But unsurprisingly, neither visitor from the Bounty was especially hungry. Primarily because nothing said 'obvious trap' to either of them like a random buffet table of free food.
"Thanks for the offer," Denella replied with a thin smile, "But we're in a hurry."
Just as he had been on the comms link, Klath was again happy for her to do the talking. The Klingon instead kept his senses trained on their immediate surroundings, especially on the two Son'a men behind them, trying to anticipate the first sign of trouble.
"Ah, yes," Lit'eh nodded, "Your poor, sick crewmember. A frightful business."
Denella wasn't sure if Lit'eh was aware of how obvious the lack of genuine concern was in his words, but it was very obvious indeed.
"Glad you understand," she replied with as much diplomacy as she could muster, "So, as you can imagine, we really can't stick around."
Lit'eh nodded again, waving away her concerns with a dismissive flourish of his hand.
"Yes, yes, of course. As we speak, my devoted medical staff are preparing the compounds that you require. They will notify me momentarily. When everything is ready."
Without even exchanging a glance, Denella and Klath unknowingly shared the same thought. One of growing concern. After all, they had shared the list of medication that they required with the Syatonen's crew some hours ago, which would have given them plenty of time to make the necessary preparations well before the Bounty had even entered transporter range.
Which wasn't overly troubling in and of itself. The Son'a didn't exactly come across as the galaxy's biggest group of workaholics. Nobody who prioritised cushioned furniture and buffet tables this highly could ever claim that prize.
Still, there was enough in Lit'eh's words to put both Bounty crew members on edge. When everything is ready. That was how he had phrased it.
"A fascinating medical case you have here, despite your colleague's peril," the Son'a commander continued, "Which planet did you say this…toxin was from?"
"We didn't," Klath replied curtly.
It was the first time he had spoken since they had arrived, and his booming voice was enough to send a hint of worry rippling across the stretched and haggard features of Lit'eh's face.
Denella stifled a smile. That was another reason she felt more sure of herself when she was alongside Klath. No matter how much she worked on her combat training, she knew that she would never possess that same ability to unnerve a potential enemy.
She was often able to use her own appearance to her advantage, admittedly. Many an adversary had underestimated her having been unable to look past the allure of the green skin. But she would definitely rather have had the effect that Klath had on people. When the hulking Klingon showed up and stared you down, it felt like he'd landed the first blow before the fighting had even started.
Lit'eh gradually recovered from the invisible punch that Klath's response had landed.
"Well," he managed with a slight shrug, "Perhaps that is for the best."
This time, Klath didn't offer an answer. He didn't really need to. Ahdar Lit'eh seemed very clear that he shouldn't think too much more about that particular line of enquiry. For her part, Denella suppressed a shudder as she considered what the remaining nomadic Son'a might do with that sort of chemical. She couldn't imagine there would be many applications for it to extend their lifespans, which only left the potential for more nefarious uses.
The uncomfortable silence that descended was punctuated by a shrill chirp from the comms panel recessed into Lit'eh's polished desk surface.
"Ah," he smiled, not bothering to directly acknowledge the message, "Sounds like everything is ready for you."
There was that wording again, Denella noted.
"Listen," she replied with a courteous tone, "I know you said you don't want payment for this, but we do have some latinum, or some supplies to-"
Lit'eh's latest dismissive wave stopped her in her tracks.
"Please, no need. As I have said, I do not require your latinum, or to barter."
Denella didn't allow herself to relax at the casual generosity of his comment, even as Lit'eh lazily stood up and gestured back to the door. The two escorts either side of the door stepped aside with calm deference.
"Now," he continued, "Let me show you the way."
This time, Denella and Klath did share a glance. They'd both assumed that Lit'eh's staff were bringing the supplies to them.
"Um," the Bounty's engineer asked on behalf of both of them, "The way to where, exactly?"
Lit'eh smiled widely, his painfully stretched and scarred skin twisting grotesquely into an even uglier leer. Regardless of what sort of emotion he had been intending to convey with the gesture, it was far from a welcoming smile.
"My people have your supplies ready to go," he explained, "It will be fastest if we collect them on our way back to the transporter room. If you'll come with me."
Lit'eh kept smiling as he walked to the exit. Klath offered Denella a glare which gave her a pretty clear indication of what he thought about this new development. She was more than inclined to agree, but given their situation, she merely offered a shrug back at him. They didn't have much of a choice.
With a slight growl, the Klingon followed the Son'a commander out of the room, with Denella falling in behind.
As they walked, Denella couldn't help but double check the dagger on her belt, and wonder whether all Son'a were as bad at bluffing as Ahdar Lit'eh appeared to be. She also considered exactly what trap they were walking into.
And more than anything, she was very happy that she had Klath for company.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Cochrane Park, New Berlin. Stardate 52483.2
Natasha Kinsen had a headache.
Which was strange, because she was sure she wasn't supposed to have a headache.
Which, in turn, was even stranger. Because how could she possibly know that she wasn't supposed to have a headache? In fact, what did that even mean?
But she didn't have time to worry about any of that for too long, because all of a sudden, a strawberry was pushed into her mouth.
She bit down on the juicy red berry and smiled as she chewed, ignoring the nagging pain for the time being, regardless of whether it should or shouldn't have been there.
On the other end of the strawberry, Blake Aldridge smiled back at her. In an instant, she found herself reflecting on how much she liked that smile. In fact, she didn't just like it. She loved it. And she was pretty sure that she loved the man the smile was connected to. And today was the day she was going to tell him. To hell with her orders.
They lay on the fertile green banks of the lake that dominated the largest park inside the habitation dome of New Berlin.
Originally the entire region had been known as Mare Tranquillitatis before the colonisation of the surface had been completed. New Berlin, and Cochrane Park in particular, sat in the natural valley provided by that region.
Way above their heads, the gently curved transparent aluminium dome that separated the cosiness of their surroundings from the harsh lunar surface reflected down warming sunlight. Underneath them was a thin patterned rug which they had carefully laid out on the grass, and they were surrounded by the simple picnic that Blake had put together.
Both of them lay back as they picked at the feast, their hair still damp and tangled from the impromptu swim in the lake they had enjoyed before settling down to eat. Although neither of them were eating with much haste. They were both too busy staring into each other's eyes. If she was in love with his smile, she was doubly in love with his eyes.
She knew it now. She was in love. For the first time since her marriage to Cameron had collapsed. And, truthfully, since a few months before that point as well.
And she knew she had to tell him. Not about her orders. About her feelings. If the end of her marriage had taught her anything, it was that honesty was a precious and all too rare commodity in the universe.
They ignored the passers-by walking past, many of them taking a moment to gawp at the slightly soggy couple as they ate and giggled at each other in the middle of the busy park.
Natasha finished her bite of strawberry and felt her smile grow involuntarily wider. It was time.
"I love…these strawberries! How did you find a replicator pattern this good?"
Or maybe it wasn't time. Not quite yet.
Blake, blissfully unaware of the complicated issues bubbling away inside the woman alongside him, offered a pleasant shrug.
"Full disclosure? I didn't. These are the real deal."
Her face lit up even more. For a Starfleet officer used to deep space missions, a non-replicated strawberry was a delicacy as rare as ambrosia. Or even a custom-made ham and pineapple pizza from the Splendour Island Resort on Wrigley's Pleasure Planet. Which was an odd thing for her to think about, she suddenly realised.
Blake's reaction suggested that she had betrayed no outward sign that she was really thinking about pizza, his face creasing with a slightly bashful look.
"Yeah, I've kinda got a strawberry guy. Friend of a friend gets a regular delivery from back down on Earth. One of the perks of being a senior civilian administrator up here."
He puffed out his chest in a thoroughly self-deprecating display of false pride, and she couldn't help but laugh.
She had first met him onboard the Navajo last year, when he had served as a liaison on a mission to resupply and protect a group of Federation colonies near the Badlands. While their relationship had blossomed onboard, they had both known that there was a transient element to it. He was never going to be a full-time presence aboard, and once he returned to his more permanent role back on the Moon, their time together became fragmented.
They both knew that was going to be the case going into the relationship, and they had accepted that eventuality. And it hadn't stopped her feelings from growing. The feelings that it was now definitely time to tell him about.
"I love…that you have a strawberry guy."
Or maybe it wasn't time. After all, she had her orders.
Blake chewed on a strawberry of his own and leaned back on the rug, staring up at the dome above their heads. For a moment, they lay together in contented, strawberry-infused silence.
"Can I ask you a question?" he asked eventually, keeping his focus on the dome.
"Sure."
"Where are you, right now?"
The question threw her slightly. The pain in her head increased another notch. Even though it shouldn't have been there.
"Huh?" she mustered with a scoff, scrunching her face up in confusion, "Is that a trick question?"
"I mean, in your head," he continued, glancing over at her, "Cos there's been something distracting you ever since you got here. What are you thinking about?"
Natasha was shocked. She'd been so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn't considered that she was being that transparent.
"I didn't realise you were a telepath," she managed.
As soon as she said that, a vision of Salus Hadren, the Betazoid, jumped into her head. Which was very strange, because she hadn't thought about him for years. Or had she?
"I wish I was, dating'd be a hell of a lot easier," Blake offered, before turning more serious, "But, like it or not, I feel like I know you pretty well now, Nat. And I can tell when something's bothering you."
She sighed and picked up another strawberry, twirling it in her hand and staring at the mottled fruit to keep focused, and distract herself from the ever-developing headache.
Now had to be the right time to tell him. To get everything out into the open. Except, she couldn't bring herself to get what she wanted to say out into the open. Because she was a Starfleet officer. And she had her orders.
She set the strawberry aside, and sadly wondered just how long it would be before she got to taste another real one.
"We're shipping out again," she said eventually, "The Navajo's been fully repaired and refitted, and we're heading back to the front lines."
He sat and listened. Seeing no response forthcoming, she felt compelled to fill the silence with further details.
"Our orders are to head out and rendezvous with the fifth fleet. Somewhere near the Kesmet Sector, I think-"
"How long?"
The question was delivered firmly, but with an air of defeat. She noticed that his gaze had drifted away from her and out across the lake beside them. She took a deep breath. This suddenly seemed a lot more difficult to do than the last time it had happened.
"Two days," she said quietly, "And I-I know I should have said something, but…"
She didn't know how to finish that sentence. Also, she was a little confused. What had she meant when she had thought this seemed a lot more difficult to do than the last time it had happened? This had never happened before. Or had it?
She winced again. The pain in her head combined with the aching sensation in her heart. She had to tell him how she felt. Even if she was shipping off again.
"So," Blake replied eventually, still not looking at her, "What are you saying?"
She had to tell him.
"I-I'm saying…" she began.
I love you.
"I'm saying…I think it's best if we break up."
Close enough.
Her heart broke as he turned to her with a look of despair. Tinged with an undercurrent of anger.
"Really?" he managed, "That's what you want to do? With us? You want to run away from all this?"
"I'm not-!"
She wanted to explain. About how she really felt. About how she loved him. About her fears about the war, and the experience she'd been through with Cameron, and how she didn't want to have anything else hanging over either of them now she was heading back to the front. She wanted to find some justification for her actions that proved she wasn't just running away. To herself, as much as to Blake.
But she didn't manage any of that. Because he opened his mouth again.
"This is the bridge," he said, "I repeat: Abandon ship…"
Her mouth dropped open in shock. She saw Blake, sitting next to her on the rug. But she also saw Salus Hadren again. And Ensign T'Vess. And Doctor Rahman. And Commander Calvin. And a curiously grinning Vulcan.
And she knew where she was. And where she was going.
"...All hands to the escape pods."
Except she knew she couldn't go back there. She couldn't go back to the Navajo. She forced herself to think of anything else.
The blazing pain in her temples reached critical mass. She screamed.
"No!"
'*'*'
'*'*'
London, Earth. Stardate 27245.2
Natasha Kinsen was happy.
Even though she had a headache.
She sat at an antique wooden table, swinging her short legs off the side of one of the high-backed chairs that surrounded it. The table itself was now bare. Breakfast had been cleared away, though the smell of the freshly baked bread that had formed a staple part of the feast still hung in the air.
And the clear space on the table was the reason she was so happy. It was ready for her father's work to be laid out. Today he had promised to show her everything he had found on his latest dig.
Professor Reynard Jennings, the eminent archaeologist currently tenured at the Royal Academy, had only recently returned from his latest grand field trip, a three month stay with a Federation science team to a set of ancient ruins recently discovered on Garrick II.
To be honest, Natasha didn't really understand what a lot of that really meant. Her mother had shown her the star charts, pointing out where Earth was, and where Garrick II lay on the fringe of Federation space. She had explained how long it took to get there, and shared the holoimages and recordings that her father had sent back showing the ruins themselves.
But the nine year old Natasha hadn't really taken much of that in. What she was really interested in was the fact that whenever her father came home, he always brought her a present. So she eagerly sat and waited for him to return to the kitchen table with whatever he had brought back for her.
She felt comforted as she looked around the expansive living area on the ground floor of her family's townhouse. She had always felt comfortable here, surrounded by the old wooden table of the dining area and the antique furniture of the sitting area.
And then the little girl's face scrunched up. Why would she have felt especially comfortable here? Compared to what? She'd always lived here, hadn't she?
But then, if that was true, how had she been on Archanis IV, fighting Klingons?
She shook her head to get rid of that particularly strange thought and returned her attention to swinging her feet under the table. She heard footsteps coming down the stairs of the old house, and a smile crossed her face. She wondered what the present might be this time.
But then she stopped herself, as a deeper confusion set in. She winced at the pain in her head, and tried to remember how long she'd had a headache. Moments, or hours?
And what was she doing here, anyway. Wasn't she supposed to be on shore leave? Or was she supposed to be performing surgery on a Bzzit Khaht? Surely she couldn't be. She had no idea what a Bzzit Khaht was, for a start.
Forgetting about the approaching footsteps, she jumped down from the chair and shook her head, blinking intently as she looked around the eerily familiar room, and trying to square this picture of childhood innocence with the swirling memories inside her head.
And then she saw him. In the middle of the room, as if out of nowhere, lay an incongruous, twisted human shape.
"Help me!"
The ensign in the corridor stared back at her, reaching out a burned, bloodied hand. His mangled form looking completely out of place in the comfort and safety of her family home.
Regardless of how old she might have appeared, the image terrified her to the depths of her soul. She screamed and ran. She sprinted out of the room, into the hallway. Leaving the broken man behind, even as she remembered everything that was happening to her.
How she was dying.
And then she ran straight into a familiar pair of legs dressed in a dark brown material, walking the other way down the hall. Her father's legs.
"Daddy…!" she sighed, momentarily feeling safe again.
She looked up at him with relief, already feeling a little calmer about everything that was happening now that he was here. And then all of that sense of relief vanished. Because she found herself looking at someone else entirely.
"Um," Sunek grimaced, as he looked down at the nine year old girl hugging his legs, "I think things are getting weirder…"
Her headache intensified. In the background, drifting in from somewhere, she heard the distinctive wail of a red alert siren.
And then everything went blurry again, and all of her family comforts vanished.
'*'*'
'*'*'
The Son'a officer flew through the air in a perfect parabolic arc, landing with spectacular style on top of a workstation, sending various medical implements flying across the local vicinity.
The growling Klingon that had sent the officer on his trip had no time to take in the dramatic results of his efforts, as he was immediately grappled from behind by another of Ahdar Lit'eh's men.
On the other side of the vast medical bay, Denella felled one of the Son'a medics with a forceful elbow to his stomach, combined with a quick sweep of his standing leg.
The Son'a had been able to keep the details of their trap a secret until they had arrived at one of the Syatonen's numerous medical bays. Even though the cruiser was small, a significant volume of its internal space was taken up by various treatment rooms, rehabilitation areas and surgical bays.
And, while Denella and Klath had followed Lit'eh down to the bay in question, ostensibly to collect their medication, things had quickly become more complicated.
Although Lit'eh had been insistent that he didn't expect any sort of payment for the help he was providing, they discovered that wasn't quite true. While the Son'a commander didn't want their latinum or their supplies, it had become apparent as soon as they had entered the bay and seen the ugly weapons that Lit'eh's waiting medical staff had been holding that they definitely wanted something.
Precisely what hadn't been clear. Their blood, their skin, their plasma, something that the Son'a seemed aware they were going to have to take by force.
Except the Son'a medics, along with Lit'eh and the two officers that had followed them from his ready room, had all reckoned without the Klingon and the Orion's determination not to have their bodily fluids forcibly removed for whatever life-extending experiment the Son'a were cooking up.
Klath ran backwards and slammed the Son'a that was grappling him into the gunmetal wall of the bay, forcing the breath from his body and causing him to sink to his knees. He broke free of the man's grip and rendered him unconscious with a swing of the blunt edge of his bat'leth.
Denella landed a punch on another of the Son'a as he charged at her, pausing slightly when the force of her blow had the unfortunate secondary effect of splitting open a section of stretched skin on the other side of the man's face, sending a splatter of dark blood across the deck.
"Ew," she managed, as the stunned medic slumped to the ground.
She spun back around in time to see Klath's bat'leth making contact with one final Son'a, who was sent careening over another stack of medical equipment. The Klingon swiftly returned to a defensive posture, but there was no need. The battle was won.
He met Denella's gaze, who silently nodded in the direction of the far side of the bay. Klath turned in that direction to see the formerly proud and welcoming Ahdar Lit'eh cowering in the corner, one arm outstretched towards a comms panel on the wall. In an instant, Klath raced over and brought the sharpened edge of his bat'leth up to Lit'eh's face.
"I wouldn't," Denella called out with a tight smile.
The Son'a commander reluctantly retracted his hand from the panel, his last desperate attempt to call for reinforcements having been thwarted.
"W-We were not going to kill you!" he stammered, "We were just going to extract some of your genetic material!"
The look on Lit'eh's face suggested that he genuinely didn't consider that to be an unfair request, while the look that Klath shot back at him suggested that he was wrong in that assumption.
Denella glanced around at the unconscious forms of the other Son'a, and shrugged.
"We didn't kill any of your men either," she pointed out.
"But you-!"
Whatever the latest protestation was going to be, a slight nudge from Klath's bat'leth was enough to make him think twice about continuing.
"So, we're gonna be keeping our genetic material today," the Orion engineer continued, "But, more importantly, we're gonna need that medication we came for. And please don't tell me and my friend here that you were lying about having that."
Klath deepened his glare, fitting right into the bad cop role. It was a role he often found himself playing, and one that he usually took on with relish. Lit'eh managed a slight nod, and slowly extended a shaking arm out, gesturing across to the other side of the room.
"O-Of course. It's all over there."
Denella walked over to where he had gestured and picked up a small container, seemingly undamaged from the fight that had just raged.
Still not trusting the terrified commander, despite his obvious tactical disadvantage, she grabbed the tricorder that was clipped to her belt and gave the container a quick once-over, verifying the results against the list of supplies the Bounty's medical computer had requested.
"It is all there?" Klath asked, keeping his attention, and his weapon, trained in Lit'eh.
"Tricorder thinks so," she replied with a guarded shrug, praying that there was no further piece of treachery at play. Given her absence of medical knowledge, she had no choice but to trust the tricorder's interpretation of the vials and chemicals inside the container.
Klath nodded, but replied back to Lit'eh himself.
"We will be taking that which we came for," he explained patiently, "And you and your crew will not attempt to stop us."
Lit'eh considered the possibility of trying again to call for additional men to overwhelm their incongruous adversaries.
After all, his last stretching treatment had not gone well. His own chief medic suggested that his skin was reaching a point of no return. That soon, he wouldn't be physically able to undergo any further treatments.
Which was why Lit'eh had turned his attention to the more extreme types of medical research, looking for willing - or often unwilling - volunteers from other species whose genetic material might hold the key to prolonging his life further.
He had placed Klingons and Orions near the top of his lists of species to study. After all, both were among the strongest species in the galaxy. If he was looking for the key to boosting his own ailing body, they seemed like ideal candidates to start with. And how fortunate that he had not only found a relatively underpowered ship with one of each of them onboard, but that they were actually desperate enough to come straight to him.
The good news hadn't stopped there. Another species he had identified as a study candidate were Vulcans, known for living for two centuries without much need for medical intervention. And what were the odds that this ship also had one of those onboard as well.
So, on the one hand, Lit'eh potentially had the key to extending his life right here in his grasp, which was surely enough reason to risk the lives of more of his men. But, on the other hand, while he only had a finite number of treatments left available to him without some sort of genetic intervention, at least he would still be alive. A trait of his that he might not be able to guarantee if he pushed matters with the armed Klingon any further.
"That all sound good to you?" Denella added as she strode back over to them, "We'll leave you alone now, in return for what we came for?"
After a moment of further contemplation, Ahdar Lit'eh decided that he was still more of a pragmatist than a gambler. After all, there were plenty more Klingons and Orions out there. He nodded back meekly.
"A wise choice," Klath noted.
Denella couldn't help but agree. Though as she looked down at the priceless container of medicine, her bigger worry wasn't Lit'eh or the Son'a any more.
It was whether or not they were going to get back in time.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Merchant ship Bounty. Stardate 52049.2
Natasha Kinsen should have been uncomfortable. Deeply uncomfortable.
But she wasn't uncomfortable. She was way past uncomfortable. Given everything that she'd been through, uncomfortable was a dot to her. Because she was fully aware that regardless of where it may seem like she was, she was actually in the medical bay on the Bounty. She was sick. And she was running out of time.
And everything else that was happening, wherever it seemed like she might be, was just a random moment from her own memory.
She wasn't really on Wrigley's Pleasure Planet, or Archanis IV, nor was she at her family home in London, or in San Francisco, or New Berlin. She wasn't even where she thought she was now.
Which was actually reassuring. Because as far as her memory was concerned, right now she was onboard the Bounty, mere hours after she had first come aboard.
Specifically, she was inside Jirel's cabin. Shortly after she had made what she was now sure had been the mistake of choosing to seek a night of companionship with the Trill after her rescue from six long months alone on a desolate planet in the Kesmet system following the Navajo's destruction.
When the previous memory of her childhood back in London had started to fade and her headache had intensified, she was sure she was destined for the same memory onboard the Navajo all over again. But this time, instead of forcing herself out of that memory when she was in it, she had managed to avoid it altogether.
Somehow.
If she had been fully in control of where her mind was taking her, she probably wouldn't have chosen this particular moment as an alternative. Especially given who she was sharing said memory with once again. Fortunately, the good news was that she was well past being uncomfortable.
"All I'm saying, doc, is that this is now two of these memories of yours where I've ended up in bed with you…"
With a sigh, the mostly comfortable Natasha forced herself to look at the latest incongruous form she was tasked with interacting with. Namely Sunek's face on Jirel's body.
This time, she hadn't needed to explain any of the context to him. The familiar ship, the spots on his newly adopted body, and the fact that her night with Jirel had quickly become common knowledge on the Bounty meant that it didn't take all of Sunek's Vulcan intellect to piece it together. And once pieced together, he had reacted to her latest unintentional moment of oversharing with a typically Sunek-ian level of immaturity.
But she was determined not to feel uncomfortable. Because she wasn't uncomfortable. So, instead, she decided to give as good as she got.
"I mean, if we're keeping score like that, you've also ended up dead in two of them."
Sunek's grin faltered slightly as he mulled this over.
"Touche," he nodded eventually, switching his attention to glancing around the cabin, "So, this is the time when you-?"
"Scratched an itch. Yes. Let's move on."
She took a moment to reluctantly take in the memory. Remembering how she had chosen this cabin based on a simple coin toss in her search for a moment of companionship. How brash a wannabe space captain he had initially been, and still could be. How awkwardly he had jumped to the wrong conclusion about that night, and how she had had to let him down, not entirely gently.
But she also thought about what Sunek had told her. About how Jirel was now apparently watching over her back on the Bounty. And how strangely comforting that felt. Not for the first time, she struggled to square all of that together in her head.
Still, there were significantly bigger issues to worry about.
"I'm dying, aren't I?"
For once in his life, Sunek seemed to think before he replied, not entirely sure how to respond. At the very least, the doctor's sudden moment of frankness served to pull him right back into the serious side of their situation, all thoughts of trying to cheekily discuss this latest personal memory entirely forgotten.
"Well, you're, um…yeah," he managed in response, "How could you tell?"
She sighed again and stared down at her toes poking out of the end of Jirel's bedsheet. She felt oddly becalmed for someone who was dying.
"Just a hunch," she offered back, "The memories have been…I don't even know how to describe it. Breaking down. Bleeding into each other."
She didn't go into any more details as far as which one in particular was bleeding across her other memories most strongly. Even given all that Sunek had already seen of her private side, she was praying that she could keep the Navajo's final moments from him.
"How do you mean?" the Vulcan asked.
"Just…some parts of my memories are starting to get mixed up with the others. And it feels like I'm jumping between them a lot faster."
Sunek considered this for a moment, then nodded.
"Well, I didn't wanna say anything, but it is getting harder to…find you in here. Like I said, first time, I just initiated the meld and ended up in one vivid memory. But this last time, I had to do a bit of…searching."
Natasha forced herself not to think too much about what that meant. About how many of her other memories he might have already seen. She rubbed the side of her head as a sharp needle of pain lanced through her temples.
"You ok?" Sunek added, "I mean, aside from the whole…dying thing."
"Just a headache."
"Heh. If I had a slip of latinum for every time I'd heard that when I was in bed with a girl, I'd-"
One of her patented withering glares stopped the Vulcan's latest train of thought.
"-Not the time. I know."
As the pain in her head increased, she started to wonder whether this was it. Whether this was how she was destined to die. Right here. In bed with Sunek. Again.
No, she decided to herself with renewed conviction, there's no way that it ends here. She swivelled back to the uncomfortable mash-up of Bounty crew members next to her with an altogether more determined look in her eyes.
"Ok, Sunek, I need more information. What's changed about my lifesigns? My brain patterns? What about the Son'a? Anything?"
Sunek paused in the middle of his inspection of yet another set of borrowed fingernails, these ones considerably less manicured than most of the others.
"Ok. Right. Yeah. The Son'a? Klath and Denella are working on that. But we need to buy some more time. We gave you the antipsychotic, just like you said-"
"The promazine?"
"-That's the one. Gave you that, and your brain activity seemed to stabilise. I guess."
"You guess?"
Sunek shrugged Jirel's shoulders.
"All the readings on the medical computer dropped back from the redline. Even the spikes around the hippocampus seemed to calm down. Everything looked good."
Natasha couldn't help but feel some detached amusement at the roundabout way that Sunek/Jirel was leading her to his conclusion. She always assumed this sort of medical report was something that doctors like her developed over years of training.
"But then…?"
"But then, I guess, something else happened," the Vulcan shrugged, "Weird readings, lots of alarms, and your lifesigns took another nosedive."
She suppressed a sigh, sitting up in the cramped bed and glaring at Sunek intently, trying to will some more detail about the situation back in reality out of him.
"What sort of weird readings? Give me something to work with here-!"
She flinched as another stab of pain lanced through her head. Sunek watched on with a surprisingly sympathetic look.
"I don't really know," he sighed, "Neither did the computer. But it was similar to the first sets of readings we got. Just, I dunno, more intense? Like it was-"
"Like it was spreading," she whispered.
"Um, I guess?"
Her brain, or whatever passed for her brain in this sort of context, kicked into gear. She realised with a sense of dread what was happening.
"The toxin," she continued, "It's spreading. We tried to stop whatever it was doing in my brain with the antipsychotic. But…what if that was the wrong call? What if that was stopping it from spreading further, somehow?"
"How?" Sunek asked, slightly perplexed.
"No idea. But the diagnosis was all wrong. The promazine is only treating the effects, not the cause. I think all we've done is speed up whatever else the toxin is doing to me."
"Oh. Whoops?"
She didn't react to that assessment. Because she already knew what this all meant. It meant that she'd made the wrong call. And she might be about to pay the ultimate price.
"The antidote, Sunek. How long?"
The Vulcan looked back at her with a rare serious expression. She didn't even really process how odd it was to see a look of stoic solemnity on this particular Vulcan.
"Honestly?" he sighed, "Denella and Klath are getting the materials now. We hope. After that, we're still gonna need a couple of hours for the computer to do its thing and get the whole thing prepared for you."
"Ok. So I need to hold on for that long."
"Might help," Sunek offered, still without any overt humour.
She drew the bedsheets up around her and chewed her lip thoughtfully. The headache flared up again.
"Stop the antipsychotics," she said eventually with a firm nod, "Hopefully that'll slow down the spreading. And go back to Plan A."
"Right," Sunek nodded, before adding, "Um, which one was Plan A, again?"
"The cordrazine. Give me a bigger shot of the stims than last time. Start with 20 ccs, and give me a second shot if you need to."
Sunek studied her face, seeing something underneath the overt determination of her plan.
"You sure?" he asked warily, "Given what happened last time we did that, it kinda sounds a bit…suicidal?"
"I'm dying," she pointed out, "Feels like we're at the point where I've got nothing to lose. Besides, this isn't a treatment. We're getting that from the Son'a. All this is gonna be is the best way to keep me alive for long enough for you to give me the antidote."
She paused for a moment to hold back the latest wince-inducing lance of pain in her head.
"Last time, the cordrazine gave my lifesigns a shot in the arm, and seemed to slow the toxin down. That's what I need right now."
"So," Sunek mused, "Instead of letting the toxin kill you, we're gonna let the stims kill you?"
She mustered a wry smile.
"At least this way, I'm in control-"
"Warning. Structural integrity failure in progress."
The sound of the Navajo's computer filling the air sent a fresh shiver down her spine, and a fresh stab of pain through her skull. It was happening again.
On the other side of the bed, the Vulcan/Trill hybrid seemed entirely oblivious to what she had just heard. And she still wanted to keep it that way.
"Go, Sunek," she urged, "Now."
Sunek took one last look around the latest memory she had unwittingly shared with him. But she was still way beyond being uncomfortable. At least about this particular memory. She was far more uncomfortable about the memory she was heading for.
The red alert sirens got louder, as she put all of her focus back into trying to end up anywhere but the corridors of the Navajo again. Just as she had done to get here.
She thought she saw Sunek's mouth move, as if he was saying something else to her, but she couldn't hear him any more.
And before she could try to say anything back, everything started to blur...
'*'*'
'*'*'
If he'd felt somewhat useless before, Jirel definitely felt useless now.
With Sunek in the middle of his latest meld, the Vulcan positioned next to where Natasha lay in the middle of the medical bay, and Denella and Klath away on the Son'a vessel they had intercepted, he was still in exactly the same place. Uselessly worrying himself sick about the safety of their unnervingly tranquil patient.
Once again, he had found himself holding her hand. He was still self-conscious about the act, but had passed the point of caring too much if he was caught again doing something quite so curiously irrational.
He wished that the readings on the medical computer would improve, even as they were slowly growing even weaker. He wished that they had never altered course for the Son'a, and had kept their focus on reaching a proper trustworthy medical facility.
Above all else, he just wished he could talk to her.
And then, something curious happened. For reasons that he couldn't entirely rationalise to himself, even as it was happening, he started talking to her. To the woman lying unconscious on the bed in front of him. The one who was still clearly in a deep coma.
"Hey," he heard himself say to someone who couldn't possibly hear him, "You're gonna be ok, you hear me? We're gonna fix all this. Trust me."
He stifled a smile at those words, even as the entirely somnolent Natasha offered no reaction from where she lay. The coma still preventing her from responding to his words.
"Heh," he continued, "Remember the first time I asked you to trust me? When we were after the Jewel of Soraxx, trapped in the middle of some weird ancient temple full of booby traps? We were staring death in the face, so I fixed you with my best space captain look, and asked you if you trusted me. And you just flat out said no. I mean, what was I supposed to do with that? I was trying to be a big hero!"
He mustered a chuckle. The woman in the coma remained understandably silent.
"Guess you had me down as an idiot right from the start. Which is probably accurate. But…you know what?"
The woman in the coma didn't answer. Which was fine. He'd meant the question rhetorically.
"We got through those booby traps. Somehow. We got through all that. Somehow. And we're gonna get through this as well, ok? Somehow. So, if you-I mean, I'm pretty sure you can't, but-If you can hear me saying this then…please, trust me, ok?"
He paused, not entirely sure what sort of reaction he was expecting to get from the woman who had been entirely unresponsive to stimuli for the last eighteen hours. In the end, he didn't get any reaction. Which he figured was the reaction he should have expected.
Still, apparently undeterred by the slightly farcical nature of the one-way conversation, Jirel felt his voice starting up again.
"Also, I guess I have something else to tell-to say to you. In case you don't-I mean, you're definitely gonna wake up, ok? I just went over that. I was very clear about-"
He took a moment to contemplate the added ludicrousness of him not even being able to talk to her about his feelings when she was in a coma.
I am really bad at this, he sighed.
"It's just-And I know you don't feel the same way. But I've been thinking about it a lot, about how I feel, and I think-I mean, I'm pretty sure that I-"
The door to the medical bay opened, and Denella and Klath hurried in, both looking a little more bruised and bloodied than the last time Jirel had seen them. He instantly shut up and let go of Natasha's hand, swinging back around to them with all the casual innocence of a teenage Ferengi getting caught with his hands in his father's tin of imported beetle snuff.
"I wasn't talking to her."
Denella gave him a mildly amused look as she strode over to the medical computer, while Klath merely looked at him with confusion.
"What?"
"Um," he managed, "Nothing. I was just-I wasn't doing anything. That's all."
Klath's look of confusion deepened.
"I remember when I used to think you were cool," Denella couldn't help but chime in.
Jirel suppressed a wince and deflected the Orion's quip by gesturing to the state of the pair of them as a means to move the conversation on.
"What the hell happened to you?"
"The Son'a drove a hard bargain," Denella offered, as she held up the small container she was carrying, "But we got what we needed."
"They gonna make things any more difficult for us?"
Even as she began to unpack their supplies, Denella's mouth curved into a slightly satisfied smile.
"They could try," she replied, "But we're warping back away from them, and Ahdar Lit'eh is going to be without his weapons for a while."
"Huh," Jirel nodded at his engineer, "An encryption program?"
"A bat'leth," Klath replied with a proud nod, indicating that it wasn't just Denella who had the proficiency to sabotage another ship's weapons controls.
In different circumstances, Jirel would have allowed himself a moment or two of further banter with the gruff Klingon, whether Klath had wanted to or not. But he made do with a nod and a smile before joining Denella at the computer.
"You sure we've got everything for the antidote?"
"Bit late to go back now," she replied as she finished unpacking their somewhat ill-gotten gains and placed the vials into the medical computer's prep area, "Just got to hope the computer can work through the recipe."
Jirel bit his lip with worry as the Orion tapped the computer's controls.
"How long?"
"Little bit longer every time you distract me."
The Trill reluctantly took the hint and took a step back. He contented himself with the fact that things were starting to move in the right direction. And then a familiar voice chirped up from behind him.
"Might wanna hurry that up."
The trio of conscious Bounty crew members turned to see Sunek, post-meld, gesturing down at Natasha on the bed.
"Things are getting worse in there."
Jirel left Denella at the computer and stepped over to the Vulcan.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means she's running out of ideas. She's asked for another hit of stims."
Sunek idly reached over to a hypospray sitting next to the bed and double checked what it was filled with. Just as he was about to press the cordrazine to Natasha's neck, Jirel reached out and grabbed his wrist.
"Why would we do that?" he growled, a little too intensely, "It nearly killed her last time!"
Sunek raised a quizzical eyebrow. While Jirel was hardly causing his Vulcan physiology any pain with his grasp, his harsh tone was doing some minor damage to his feelings.
"This is what she wants us to do. She knows it's dangerous, but she thinks it's the only hope we've got of slowing down the toxin's progress. And she knows if we don't do this, she'll be dead before we've got our antidote."
The frankness of Sunek's comments carried enough weight to cause Jirel to grind his teeth.
"That's what she said?"
Sunek nodded. But he hadn't needed to. This had been another rhetorical question from Jirel. He knew that Sunek wasn't messing around. Slowly, Jirel released his grip around the Vulcan's wrist and allowed him to proceed.
Even though the entirety of the Bounty's usually talkative crew were present inside the medical bay, the only sound in the room was the hiss of the hypospray.