Title: Thursday's Child

Author: Sita Z

Rating: T

AN: Thank you for reviewing!

The Libran Iniquity ( remember our anti-discrimination policy? I'll just torture both of them ;-) ), RoaringMice (nice to hear I was able to surprise you... please keep reviewing!), Exploded Pen (...and even more Malcolm in the next one, although this chapter deals mostly with Trip, I'm afraid...), Gabi (dankeschön für deine netten Reviews, und das neue Chapter sitzt schon in deiner Inbox!), stage manager (wow, thank you... wouldn't want to give you a heart attack, though... sorry about the cliffies ;-)!), Luna (I guess that's what he's hoping to do... but it could go very very wrong -eg-), firebirdgirl (well, I'd love to hear what you think about this chapter... Happy reading!), Emiliana Keladry (... yes, or at least buy him some time... thank you for reviewing!), Virgo (thank you! Yeah... poor Trip, maybe he should've thought twice before acting on his idea...), Maraschino (thanks! I don't think so, but it's an interesting idea), KaliedescopeCat (great to know you're still reading... please keep telling me what you think!), Tata (wow, sounds like you had a great time! Oh yes, the boys got themselves into trouble again... I guess we all saw that one coming ;-) ), Trips Girl ("Amazing" sounds great! Please let me know how you (and the cats) liked the next chapter ;-)!), JadziaKathryn (well... you'll definitely find out more about the JF and Trip in this chapter!), JennMel (...let's hope so, for the sake of our poor boys :-)... )

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Chapter 15

Captain Robert Patricks of the Joint Forces scoutship Wildfire was not a politics man. He never wasted any words, and didn't claim to understand what was going on in the minds of people who enjoyed holding speeches in front of a large audience. In his humble opinion, a penchant for doing so only proved that the person in question was dealing with a rather severe personality problem.

Unfortunately, though, there were a few aspects to politics that had nothing to do with holding speeches, and it was these aspects which he had somehow managed to get himself involved in.

As always, Command's orders had been short, to the point, and had contained as little information as possible: Any JF vessel that came across a Starfleet shuttle bearing the identification NX-01 Enterprise was to arrest its crew and report to Joint Forces Command at once.

God only knew what Command would want with those Fleeters. Patricks didn't know and until not too long ago he hadn't cared, either. Now, however, sitting in his small office and staring at the Joint Forces logo on his desk screen, he wasn't so sure if he could afford to ignore politics this time. His conversation with the Admiral had confirmed Patricks' suspicion; Command's orders to arrest the two Fleeters did concern politics, and not the speech-holding sort either. No, this seemed to be about a different sort of politics entirely. The nasty sort.

Singer had been more than relieved to hear about Lieutenant Reed's arrest, the way his craggy face had relaxed at the news speaking louder than his few words. The Admiral had been relieved, and at the same time nervous to give away any more information. In fact, Singer had been nervous enough to get angry when Patricks had asked why exactly this was so important to Command.

The Captain tapped a pen against his palm, remembering the thinly veiled threat in the Admiral's answer.

"You're a capable man, Robert, and I know I can trust you with this. I never doubted your ability to command a ship like the Wildfire, and that's exactly what I told Admiral Selin after your court martial." Singer had paused, his eyes intent on Patricks' face. "You realize, Robert, that there are people who wanted to withdraw your captain's license back then. Still do, as a matter of fact. But I was never one of them."

Patricks didn't need the help of his communications officer to translate Singer's message: Don't ask any questions, or I'll make sure those skeletons in your closet are not only dragged out for everyone to see. I'll make sure they end your career before you even get the chance to say "blackmail".

Singer knew he had him in the palm of his hand. And here he was, left with orders that made no sense whatsoever. The Admiral, of course, had refused to answer any of his questions.

"The matter is closed, Robert. I expect your report in two hours." Or else that captain's certificate of yours will be worth crap before you know it. Trust me, Robert. You'll be surprised.

This, Patricks supposed, was another part of politics: threatening people with destroying their reputation, their very life, without ever losing that amicable smile. Patricks found that he didn't only dislike politics; he hated them.

But it was no use. That Fleeter down in the brig - Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, a skinny blond man whose quiet demeanor wasn't quite what you expected of your usual security thug - had somehow managed to get himself into one hell of a fix, and Patricks wasn't going to risk his career to help him out. Especially not if what Singer said was true, and Reed was in the possession of information that could do irreparable damage to the whole of JF Command. Patricks might not understand a lot about the finer workings of politics, but he sure as hell understood enough to know when to keep his ass out of trouble. And if he had only two hours to do so, then he might as well get started.

The Captain threw the pen onto his desk and reached for the comm.

"Patricks to sickbay."

"Skitra here," his Vulcan CMO answered the call. "Captain, I was able to stabilize Mr. Tucker's condition. I am fairly certain that he will survive."

Patricks frowned, momentarily confused. Then he realized that Skitra was talking about their other prisoner, one Charles Tucker III. Singer had only waved him off when Patricks had mentioned Tucker, leaving no doubt that he couldn't care less whether the man had been taken to sickbay or shoved out an airlock. It was Reed they wanted. And it was Reed that Patricks wanted to talk to Skitra about.

"That's good to hear, doctor," he said, careful to keep any impatience out of his voice. The old Vulcan doctor could get rather protective about his patients at times. "If you can spare a minute, I'd like you to come to my office. There's something we need to discuss."

"Of course, Captain. I am certain that Nurse Chang can take over for a few minutes."

"Great. See you in a minute," Patrick said, signing off before Skitra could provide him with more details about sickbay protocol.

He sighed, reaching out for his pen again. He wasn't looking forward to this conversation. Although Skitra was admittedly the best physician a small vessel like the Wildfire could ever hope for, the ancient Vulcan could be rather... trying on occasion. And Patricks was willing to bet his ship and command license that this was going to be one of those occasions. One of the things that Skitra would never understand was that sometimes you just had to keep your mouth shut, and do what you were told.

The door signal chimed, and Patricks straightened in his chair. This time, he decided, there were going to be no long discussions with the Vulcan doctor.

"Come," he called. The door slid aside, and Skitra came in. As usual, the old Vulcan was wearing his Vulcan Healer's insignia pinned to the front of his JF uniform, a habit which Patricks found slightly irritating. As though Skitra was trying to make a point of the fact that he wasn't your average Joint Forces physician.

The Captain gestured at the chair that stood on front of his desk.

"Please, take a seat."

Skitra complied, carefully straightening the chair before he sat down. "Thank you, Captain." He pulled out a padd. "My report about Mr. Tucker's condition. I apologize for giving only few details, but I had very little time to compile it."

Patricks took the padd and dutifully skimmed it through before he laid it aside. "Thank you, doctor." Seeing the doctor's eyebrows climbing dangerously close to his hairline, he hastened to add, "I will read it more thoroughly when we're finished here."

"Of course, Captain," Skitra said. "I will notify you when Mr. Tucker regains consciousness, in case you want to talk to him."

Patricks nodded, wisely keeping his mouth shut about the fact that he wasn't particularly interested in talking to Tucker at all. Singer had ordered him to see to it that the man was delivered to the JF detention center, and that was what he was going to do. End of story.

Skitra cleared his throat. "Captain, about the security detail in sickbay... I do not believe that my patient is in the condition to do any harm. I-"

Patricks cut him off. He knew what the doctor was going to say. "I know, Skitra, but I have my orders. Tucker is a prisoner, and we're going to treat him as such. I'm sorry if you feel uncomfortable about it."

Skitra said nothing, only folded his hands in his lap and gave Patricks an expressionless look. The Captain knew very well that the doctor was not pleased, but there was nothing he could do about it.

He cleared his throat. "Doctor, I need to talk to you about Lieutenant Reed."

Skitra tilted his head. "I was hoping you would say so, Captain. Prisoner or not, I do think that I should be allowed to examine him."

Patricks sighed inwardly. "I know how you feel about it, doc, but that was not what I meant." He paused, wishing Skitra wouldn't give him that emotionless, Vulcan stare of his. "I don't know if you realize why Command wants Reed taken back to Earth..."

The doctor's white eyebrows drew together. "Sir?"

Patrick turned his eyes away and studied the monitor instead. "Reed's been working as an undercover agent for JF Command. Found out about things he's not supposed to know. I'm afraid I'm not authorized to give you any details." Not that anyone has told me any details. "Admiral Singer wanted Reed to be taken to JF Headquarters to... have him treated according to Paragraph 34-A. But there's been a development." He looked back at the doctor. "Singer wants us to do the job."

Skitra was silent for a moment. Then he said: "Captain, I have taken an oath not to do harm to my patients, no matter what circumstances. What you are asking me to do-"

"Is your duty as a Joint Forces officer," Patricks interrupted sharply. "Reed is not your patient. He's a danger to all of us."

Skitra's mouth was a thin line. "I cannot inject a person with a substance that will destroy his mind. Captain, I chose it as my profession to help the sick, and use my knowledge only for the good of my patients. I-"

"No offense, doc, but lecturing me on medical ethics won't change a thing." Patricks got up, feeling the urge to slam his fist down on the table. He knew Singer would be more than happy to tear his captain's license to tiny shreds if he didn't call back in time. None of the top brass back at HQ were too fond of him, not since the incident with the Tellarite freighter. And he had less than two hours to prove that he was fit to be a captain, that he had no problems with following the chain of command.

He rested his palms on the desk, leaning forward to look at the Vulcan. "I'm giving you an order, Doctor. If you don't think you can follow it, fine. I can ask one of your med techs to do it. Reed's going to be injected with the drug one way or another, the only difference will be that I'll have to include a reprimand in your file. Think about it, doc."

Skitra had risen from his chair as well. For a moment, Patricks believed he was going to walk out on him, but the old Vulcan remained where he was. It was unsettling to read the contempt in those dark eyes, even more so since Patricks knew that the doctor had a point. But it was not for them to decide if Command's orders were acceptable or not.

Finally, Skitra spoke up again. "I have never disobeyed your orders, sir."

"I know, doctor." Patricks took a deep breath. "And I'm sorry that it had to come to this. But... I need your help here. Do you understand that?"

The Vulcan's face was a mask of stone. "I do, Captain."

I don't think so. Patricks knew that if Skitra had ever respected him as a commanding officer (and he wasn't so sure about that), then he had lost that respect for good. And even though his CMO's opinion really didn't matter, that cold look in the Vulcan's eyes still bothered Patricks. More than he cared to admit.

He turned away, pressing his lips together.

"Good. Meet me at the brig in fifteen minutes. And doctor..." Patricks turned to the window, not wanting to see the doctor's face at his next words. "No fuss, alright? I want this to be over as quickly and quietly as possible."

"Understood, sir."

Again there was that word, and the Captain knew perfectly well that it was just that - a word. There was no way Skitra could ever really understand his reasons for doing this.

"Dismissed."

Patricks heard the door open and close, and only when the doctor was gone did he turn around to face the empty room. He could do this. There were worse things than living with the contempt of an old, stubborn Vulcan. And maybe he could request a transfer for Skitra when this was over. Patricks made a mental note not to forget about it.

Strangely, though, as he slowly made his way to the door, the idea only served to worsen his already dark mood.

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Wildfire's brig was empty, except for one cell holding a single prisoner. When he became aware of Patricks' presence, the slender man inside the cell got up and stepped closer to the thick pane of glass that separated him from the corridor outside.

"How is Tucker, Captain?" Lieutenant Reed asked, and for some reason glanced away as he said the name. "Is he going to be alright?"

Patricks was surprised. He had expected Reed to start yelling as soon as he caught sight of him, demanding to be released or at least given access to a console so he could contact his superiors. The Lieutenant, however, seemed far from angry. His face was pale, his hands clenching to fists as he waited for Patricks' answer.

"Tucker's condition has stabilized," the Captain repeated Skitra's words. "He's going to make it."

A sigh of relief came from the man. "Can I talk to him, sir?"

Another surprise. Of all things, he had not expected Reed to acknowledge his rank. "No. Stand back, Reed, I need to talk to you."

Patricks motioned at one of the guards who had drawn to attention when the Captain came in. The man stepped closer, raising his phase pistol as he positioned himself next to the cell door.

"Try anything funny, and..."

Reed seemed to understand. Slowly, he backed away from the door, sitting down on the bench at the far end of the cell.

"Good."

Patricks pressed the opening mechanism next to the door, and indicated to the guard to follow him into the cell. Reed watched him, not moving as the two men came closer.

Not your typical Fleeter, Patricks thought with a touch of irritation. This wary silence wasn't what he had expected. If the man had gotten all uppity like those exploring geeks tended to do, or had kicked up a fuss about being held against his will, it would have been easier to deal with him. Like this, however, Patricks wasn't really sure how to begin.

"I've received new orders from Admiral Singer," he said finally. "You realize why Joint Forces Command wants you to be taken back to Earth?"

Reed only stared at him, his hands clenching around the edge of the bench. His continued silence was beginning to grate on Patricks' nerves. What kind of game did that Fleeter think he was playing?

"Get up!" he bellowed, satisfied when he saw the man startle. He waited until Reed had gotten to his feet, then continued, "Answer my question. Do you know why you're here?"

Reed met his eyes. "Yes sir."

Patricks took in the man's less-than-impressive appearance, the torn tee-shirt and the sooty face and hands, and decided that this was indeed not your typical Fleeter. He couldn't imagine this man working undercover for the Joint Forces, and wondered briefly what sort of things Reed was supposed to know that could be so dangerous to JF Command.

Then he decided that it really wasn't his business.

"As I said, I've talked to the Admiral," he said in a calmer tone. "Command has decided to perform the procedure earlier than planned."

Reed swallowed. "I... I don't understand..."

Patricks clasped his hands behind his back. "Command doesn't want any more delays, Reed. My physician is on his way down here."

Reed stood completely still for a moment, then, without warning, he dodged past the two men and was out the door. Patricks had never seen anyone move so fast.

"Stop him!" he shouted at the two guards outside the cell. One of the men managed to tackle Reed, and they went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Reed struggled with desperate energy, landing a hard punch on his opponent's face before the other guards caught hold of his arms and pinned him down.

Sergeant Crowther, who was nursing a bleeding nose, got to his feet and kicked the prone man hard in the ribs, causing him to cry out in pain.

"That's enough, Sergeant," Patricks said sharply, pulling Crowther away from Reed. The Sergeant backed off, though not without a last venomous look at the Lieutenant who squirmed in the other guards' grip.

Patricks was surprised. He had not expected the Fleeter to fight back, let alone give one of his soldiers a shiner.

"Let me go!"

"Restraints," Patricks ordered. Crowther pulled out a pair of electronic handcuffs and knelt down next to Reed who struggled even harder when he saw the restraints.

"Keep his hands still!"

A second later, the handcuffs hissed shut, and the guards pulled Reed to his feet. A large bruise was forming on the man's left cheek.

"Take him back into the cell," Patrick said, turning around when the door behind him opened. Skitra came in, his eyebrows going up as he surveyed the scene.

"Captain?"

"Doctor. I'm glad you're here." Patricks watched as the guards manhandled Reed back into the cell and threw him onto the bench. "Let's get this over with."

He could feel disapproval radiating from the Vulcan as they followed the guards into the cell. Reed was sitting on the bench, two phase pistols pointed at his head. He was shaking, though Patricks couldn't tell whether it was with fear or fury. A small trickle of blood ran down the man's chin, dripping onto his shirt.

Skitra turned to the Captain, his lips pressed together. "Was that really necessary, sir?"

Patricks felt a sudden surge of anger, not so much at the remark than at the disdain he saw in the Vulcan's eyes. "You're out of line, doctor. Do what you have to, and keep your comments to yourself."

Skitra never even looked at him. Instead, he pulled a hypospray from his pocket, turning his back to the Captain as he approached Reed. The Lieutenant's eyes grew wide when he saw the hypo. Despite the weapons aimed at his head, he made as if to jump to his feet, but Sergeant Crowther caught him by the shoulder.

"Stay where you are."

Patricks expected Skitra to hesitate, but the Vulcan was as calm and controlled as always. There was no way to tell how he felt about what he was going to do.

A thin film of sweat had formed on Reed's forehead. "Please," he said in a hoarse voice. "Don't do this. Please."

The doctor raised the hypo, meaning to press it against Reed's neck, but the Lieutenant squirmed away, his eyes wild and panicked.

"NO!"

Patricks found that he couldn't bear to watch this any longer. "Keep his head still!" he snapped at Crowther. The Sergeant nodded, grabbed a handful of Reed's blond hair and yanked his head back. Reed cried out, and at the same time the doctor held the hypospray against the Lieutenant's neck, its contents emptying themselves into his bloodstream with a faint hiss. Reed drew in a deep, gasping breath, then his eyes closed and he went limp. Skitra caught him before he slid off the bench.

"Remove those, Sergeant," the doctor said, glancing at the restraints that still held Reed's hands behind his back. Crowther looked at Patricks, who nodded. When the handcuffs had been removed, the Vulcan doctor carefully laid the unconscious man down on his back. Reed's face was very still, almost relaxed.

Patricks bit the inside of his lip. "Doc?"

The Vulcan turned around, his face oddly blank. "We are done here, Captain."

Patricks glanced at Reed. "What's going to happen to him now?"

Skitra straightened up again. "He will be unconscious for several hours. After that, he will not remember his name or identity, nor any of the things that Joint Forces Command doesn't want him to know. He will hardly be able to speak, and will need assistance with even the most basic things, such as eating or using the bathroom. That is what is going to happen to him, Captain."

With that, the Vulcan brushed past him and left, never waiting to be dismissed. Patricks stared after him, then turned back only to find Crowther and the other guards watching him.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he snapped. "Back to your posts!"

A chorus of "Aye, sir" followed and the men quickly filed out of the room, returning to their former positions in the corridor. Patricks caught himself thinking that he might as well relieve them of duty; Reed certainly wasn't going to try and escape, or attack anyone who entered the cell. Then he shook off the thought. Having guards posted in front of a prisoner's cell was Joint Forces protocol, and he was going to stick to it, no matter what the doctor had told him.

Patricks glanced at the unconscious man who lay completely still, one hand on his chest, the other resting next to him on the bench. It was hard to believe that a simple injection should have erased his mind and sentience only a few minutes ago. Reed looked so peaceful, as if he had simply fallen asleep after a long, hard day.

The Captain shook his head and turned away. He had a report to make, and if he had learned anything in his time in the Joint Forces, it was that Command did not like to be kept waiting.

TBC...

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