Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any of the characters created therein.
A/N: Each of the characters in this story is representative of something I particularly like or find important in the Star Trek universe. Every incarnation of Trek takes the time to introduce us to a new species and their collective traits. Lt. Commander Japel, a native of the planet Cecesta, represents this aspect of Star Trek. He is also a good example of someone whose physical differences don't hold him back. Sure, he has to make adjustments, but they're worth it in the end.
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First Impression, Chapter 7: I Float on Air Around You
Una fought the urge to test out the echo potential of the vast cavern before them. Taurik had no such problems and was busily taking readings on his PADD, looking for the signature of the ship that had kidnapped the Dukin.
The room was enormous—it looked too big to fit in the station as a whole. It was cylindrical and squat, gleaming metal walls swooping smoothly up to a spiral docking door on the ceiling. There were four levels, each suspended in the center of the room, held in place by spindly walkways that reached out from the entryways along the outer edges of the room. To each of these levels ships were docked—beautiful, obviously expensive yachts, more like. Many of them were pleasure ships, though a few looked like freighters or cargo tugs.
"Anything?" she asked Taurik, willing him to hurry. There was something that wasn't right about this place and she wanted to get out quickly. It was so quiet…
"I believe I have located the ship," he said. He looked up. "It is on the top level."
"Of course it is," muttered Una, craning her neck to follow his gaze and trying to decide if they should go on their own or contact Bohemir. She decided on the former and activated her sub-dural comm. channel.
"Magis to Bohemir."
Nothing.
She tried again: "Magis to Bohemir."
Silence. This was definitely not right.
She was about to suggest that they leave when an alarm began to sound, but like no alarm she had ever heard before. It was loud, to be sure, but her eardrums felt like they were going to explode. She could feel them moving inside her head. She lost her balance and fell to the deck, a wave of nausea rolling over her. Unable to think, Una curled into a fetal position and tried to hold onto something, anything, resembling a coherent thought. Her brain, however had other plans. Recognizing immense sensory overload, it shut down and forced her out of consciousness and into quiet blackness.
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Taurik could not understand her reaction. Una had crumpled—he had never seen her taken down before, by anything. Certainly nothing so inane as an alarm system. The alarm did not affect him, though he did find it mildly annoying in terms of its volume.
He concluded that the sound must be affecting her inner ear and bent to help her up. Obviously their presence had been detected and they had to get out of here. Carrying his colleague, he headed for the door.
His course of action was cut short when several armed humanoids emerged through the entryway. Spotting Taurik and his charge, they lost no time in closing in on them, clearly meaning to apprehend the intruders with force, whether it was necessary or not.
Though Vulcan, Taurik found himself trying to brush away a strain of panic let loose from the pinnings of his emotional control. He willed himself to think clearly, if not entirely calmly. Backing up, he came to the edge of the walkway leading out to one of the ships. He turned and ran down it, still carrying Una.
His pursuers laughed at this—the Vulcan had backed himself into a corner. The tension among them evaporated, leaving behind pure malice. Now they could truly enjoy the chase, like a cat with a wounded mouse.
Taurik could see their point. The ship docked at this level was a C-Class Primer Yacht, built for looks and speed. It was sleek all over, so the chances of jumping onto it were slim. It was hovering some 10 feet off the side of the dock, which meant it wasn't even good cover. There was nowhere to run. Putting Una down, he turned to face his attackers and fight them, whatever good that would do.
One of them slid a small metal object toward the pair, obviously a precursor to some sort of destructive explosion. Without thinking Taurik kicked it back just before it detonated before him. He fell backward, twisting to catch his balance. His foot stepped off the edge of the catwalk and he felt himself falling to the next level, which he knew was a very long way away. Ever the Vulcan, he calculated that his life would end within 10 seconds or so. He experienced, therefore, a millisecond of uncharacteristic surprise when his fall was cut short at 3 seconds and he crashed into something very hard and slippery. He did not have time to contemplate how this was possible before losing all conscious thought.
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Japel found Taurik in the docking bay, seemingly suspended in midair. Vesta was still on the promenade, making sure no one followed them and asking the locals if they had seen their colleagues.
Commotion from the next level of the vast chamber told the science officer that the Vulcan had fallen from that area. He also realized that the situation was quite precarious: Taurik had fallen onto a cloaked ship. Japel had no way of knowing its exact shape and therefore if Taurik was in immediate danger of falling off.
Before he could adequately assess his next course of action, guards from above began to search the rest of the dock—he would have to act quickly. There was really only one thing for it.
Japel leaned down and pulled up one of his pant legs, revealing a slim metal band that ran around his boot mid-calf. Attached to this band was a small control box. He pressed a series of buttons on the box, then lifted his other pant leg and did the same once more. He stood up and waited.
In a few seconds the effect took over and he felt himself growing lighter until his feet left the floor. He hovered for a moment, adjusting his position, then pushed off and floated through the air toward the suspended engineer.
When he was halfway to his target two Orion guards burst into the room and skidded to a halt. The scene that confronted them was too unbelievable—a mountain of a man flying through the docking bay! And seemingly without any technological help!
Luckily for Japel, they didn't have time to recover and end his flight. Vesta has followed them inside and made short work of them. A swift kick to the back of the knee coupled with a roundhouse for good measure brought one of them down, then a direct hit to the jaw of the other did the trick nicely. Vesta smiled and flexed her hands.
"Our communicators don't work in here. I think they have Una—" she stopped, unsure what she was witnessing. Her crewmate appeared to be, well, to be levitating.
"Japel?" she asked.
Japel had made it to Taurik and was in the process of maneuvering the young man over his shoulder. Tentatively he put a foot on what he predicted was the hull of the ship and pushed off, heading back to the walkway.
He landed a few feet away from Vesta. "I don't know what his injuries are, but he's breathing. We should get him out of here."
Vesta did not seem to hear. "What was that?"
Japel sighed. He hated explaining it, so he did it quickly as readjusted the bands around his calves and reactivated them. "Cecesta has a much higher gravity that most M-Class planets." Vesta nodded: she knew this. "So our bodies are much more buoyant in "regular" gravity. I wear these adjustors to keep me grounded most of the time," he pointed to the metal bands. "I think we should get Commander Bohemir and get out of here."
Vesta still boggled at her colleague's strange physiological advantage, but managed to get her mind back to the mission.
"They have Una. They're going to start looking for her companions. I heard them talking—they'll sell all of us."
Japel knew she was ready for a fight but he also knew that Taurik needed medical attention and they couldn't contact the ship. They left the docking bay; once their communicators were working once more they apprised Bohemir of the situation and headed for the shuttle.