Survivors - Past and Present
by
Nicol Leoraine
and Anon
aka VirtualQueens
Chapter 6
The metallic sound of something clicking shut was the first thing to penetrate B´Elanna´s conscious mind. She floated aimlessly in a half waking state until the feeling of metal encircling her wrists, holding them together, awoke her fully. With a badly suppressed groan the half klingon woman opened one eye and glanced around. Her surroundings were off kilter and fuzzy, no doubt thanks to the blast from the ancient phaser. Never before had B´Elanna thought to be thankful for the modern technology, but now, feeling the after affects of a much older version, B´Elanna silently thanked whoever had improved the weapon. At least when you got hit with a modern phaser you either died instantly or woke up with a mild headache.
As her vision cleared a little more B´Elanna opened her other eye and sat up slightly supporting herself on one elbow. Her stomach rolled in protest, but after a few queasy moments it settled. The room she was in had probably been a natural cave at one time, but like the other rooms she´d seen, the walls had been smoothed over. Here though, the silver metal covered the stone walls, creating a glistening surface. There was a small, silver door in one corner of the room, and a small patch of orange torchlight shown through a grate at the top of the door. After a moment she realized that the light from outside her room was outshone by a brighter, and much closer source of light. Looking up B´Elanna gasped in surprise. The ceiling over her room (or was it cell?) was glowing a faint green color as if someone had painted it with luminous paint. But the light was soft and fuzzy and as she slowly got to her feet, B´Elanna realized that it was some sort of a moss.
"What the hell-" she muttered, looking away and trying to ignore a distant twinge of fear that the walls would come crashing down and the glowing moss would eat her alive. It was ridiculous, of course, and B´Elanna wrote it down as a side-effect of that cursed phaser.
As her head began to clear and she reviewed the events that had led to her capture, B´Elanna realized that she was alone.
"Harry?" she asked out loud, even though she knew he wasn´t there, couldn´t be. Her cell was small, too small for her liking. There was no bed, no water, no food – simply nothing, just silver walls and glowing moss upon the roof. And of course the primitive handcuffs (mechanical closure-no technology there) that chafed the skin on her wrists.
She was separated, not only from Chakotay and Paris, but now from Harry Kim as well. What was the kid doing? Had he been shot? Was he even alive? The question of Harry´s well being bothered her, much to her dismay. He was Starfleet, he stood for everything she hated in his galaxy. Err - universe. B´Elanna shook her head. Maybe a wandering mind was another side effect of the phaser blast.
"Right, focus." She muttered to herself, glancing around the small space again. She supposed there was still hope for a rescue party from Voyager, or the timely arrival of Chakotay (even if he had to bring that Starfleet traitor with him) but she knew it was unlikely. The storm was bad, too bad for her former captain, or her current captain, to risk any sort of rescue. Chakotay was probably huddled down in the shuttle, slowly losing his mind as he suffered the close company of Tom Paris. And Voyager was either patiently waiting out the storm, or still blissfully unaware that anything was wrong.
Shaking her head B´Elanna forced away such thoughts, angry at herself, angry with her faceless captors, but most of all, angry at that gods cursed pilot for letting them crash in the first place. With a methodical preciseness that belied her true feelings the engineer began to examine the door on her cell.
"Who are you?"
"Are you her prisoner?"
"Are you a traitor?"
"Answer us, stranger!"
The questions roared inside his skull and even before he opened his eyes, Harry knew he was in trouble. He recalled watching B'Elanna fall, and then a flash of light and nothing.
Though Harry didn´t know it, he was mere yards away from B´Elanna, in the room directly next to hers. The walls of course, covered as they were with the silver metal, were utterly sound proof. Had either of them screamed, the other one wouldn´t heard a sound.
Blinking in a dazed sort of way Harry glanced down at his wrists, noticing for the first time the metalic cuffs that bound his arms to the uncomfortable chair that he now occupied. The chair, made from the same silver substance, was cold, even though he'd been sitting there for a while, if his cramping muscles were any indication. But the thing that made him the most uncomfortable were the two other occupants of the room.
Squinting at them, Harry recognized the one that had shot B'Elanna. What he lacked in height he made up for with sharp, cruel, brown eyes, and bulging, well defined muscles. He seemed to be in his late forties, or early fifties, and his dark hair was cropped short and combed tidily over his head. The second man, who was currently looking down at Harry as one might regard a very small, badly behaved child, seemed younger, perhaps around Chakotay´s age. He had a light brown hair that had an almost reddish tint in the weird lighting of the room and green eyes that flashed with some secret emotion as he talked.
"Ah, our guest has woken up," drawled the younger of his captors and soon Harry had two faces looking down at him. It wasn´t a pleasant feeling.
"Who are you?"
"Where´s B´Elanna?" Harry asked.
"That Klingon!" the older one growled, spitting on the ground to show his disdain. "See, Aiden - he´s with her!"and the man threw a hateful glare at their prisoner.
Harry involuntarily jerked away.
"He might still be her slave," the younger one called Aiden said in a reasonable voice, arms crossed over his chest.
"I´m not anyone´s slave!" Harry protested, realizing a little too late that perhaps it would be better for him to just remain silent.
"Then what are you?"
"Are you Starfleet?" Harry asked, trying to change the subject. The men looked at each other, their faces unreadable.
"You are," Harry muttered as the realization hit him. Of course they were. How else could they be wearing Starfleet uniforms and posses Starfleet issue phasers (even if such items were rather outdated versions).
"How... how did you get there? The Caretaker!" The fist hitting his jaw was as surprising as painful and took a moment for Harry to stop the room from spinning. The pulsing pain in his jaw kept him from saying anything else, and with a disgruntled glance at his captors, Harry shut up completely.
"We´re the ones asking the questions!" Aiden reminded him, as the older one rubbed his knuckles. "Orsen, I think we should start again."
Orsen nodded, a slight smile curling his lips.
"What´s your name?"
"Ensign Harry Kim," he said, then spit out a mouthful of dust, spit, and possibly a few teeth. He glared at Orsen again.
"Where are you from?"
"Home." His reply earned him a warning scowl.
"Try again."
Silence.
"Maybe we should beat the answer out of him. Aiden?"
But the younger man shook his head, his mouth twisted into a cruel smile.
"No, I think we can do something better. Bring in that Klingon. I think it´s time we have some real fun."
Harry´s eyes went wide at the implication but a restraining hand on his face stopped any protest. Orsen disappeared behind the chair, and the grating sound of something moving announced his departure. For now Harry was alone with Aiden. looking up into his captors face, Harry was surprised to see the cruel look had vanished.
"We need to get you out of here." the man whispered "We need to find Conan. He'll know what to do."
Without further explanation Aiden produced a small key and unlocked Harry's restraints. The ensign tried to stand but was pushed back with a warning look.
"Not yet. Just sit there, leave the cuffs on and pretend they are still secure. It is not the right time." Harry nodded, even though he'd lost track of the conversation several minutes ago.
"If I help you get out, will that Klingon kill me?" Aiden asked, hastily tucking the key back into a pocket.
Harry replied with a firm head shake. "We're not here to kill anyone. If you don't give her a reason to harm you, and you help us escape, she won't hurt you. I can promise you that."
Aiden saw the truth in the young man´s gaze and nodded slowly.
"I believe you."
He might have said more, but Orsen had returned, dragging a seemingly unconscious B'Elanna with him.
"Now we can have some fun." Orsen said with a smirk, aiming the phaser at B'Elanna.
Nothing could have prepared him for the hot pain that shot through his chest as he awoke from the black haze of unconsciousness. He gasped for breath that wouldn´t come and squirmed away from the pain in a futile effort to escape it. But something was holding him down, restraining his pained body from any movement. Tom´s eyes shot open in panic, but all he could see were swirling colors and sparkling black dots.
He tried to scream out-to tell them to stop hurting him-but somewhere between his brain and his mouth the words became garbled, coming out as a pathetic whimper instead. Terrified at his inability to speak the pilot struggled harder
"Tom! Stop it!" Someone yelled into his ear, but he was too panicked to listen.
"You need to keep him still." Said another voice, as the darkness threatened once more.
"Can´t you give him something?" Chakotay gasped out as he struggled to hold the thrashing pilot in place.
"Not yet." Conan replied tersely, waving one of the guards over.
For a single instant Chakotay feared that the man was going to order the guard to shoot Tom, but instead the burly man only knelt down and helped to hold Tom still with a surprisingly gentle grip.
"I'm almost done." Conan said, manipulating the needle. Tom let out a whine of pain, but didn't move. The short struggle had drained his energy and it was all he could do to not fall back into complete unconsciousness.
With steady hands Conan spread a faintly greenish goo around the needle still protruding from Tom´s chest, and then wrapped small strips of cloth around it, to secure the needle from any unnecessary movement. Seeing Chakotay's inquiring look Conan smiled reassuringly.
"His lung will heal in time but until it has progressed further we must leave the needle in. If we do not the air will build up again and crush his lung."
Chakotay glanced at the pilot´s face, which was showing little of the pain he must be in, and sighed quietly. He liked to think he knew Tom, but he was beginning to wonder if he'd ever even met the man. The Tom he knew didn't have a lattice work of scars across his chest and back. The Tom he knew couldn't go from screaming in pain to stoical silence in the space of a few moments. The commander glanced at the other man´s exposed skin, his eyes tracing the many lines that ran over a toned chest and abdomen. No, the Tom he knew didn't seem to be very real at all.
He was drawn from his brooding thoughts when Conan gently shoved him aside. The older man and the guard he'd called over pilled more furs against the wall, then eased the sweating pilot into a slightly more upright position. His skin no longer had a bluish tint to it, but his eyes remained closed.
For Tom his world had become one of pain and confusion. He felt distantly betrayed by Chakotay, who seemed to be the source of the pain, but he couldn't summon much anger after he realized that blinding pain aside, he could breath again. He still felt the pain of fractured ribs and the strange heaviness in his chest lingered, but it was still a great improvement over the crushing weight he'd felt before. He began to drift away, lulled by the sound of soft voices around him. Too tired to even think, he let out a slight sigh, sinking deeper into the softness that surrounded him.
Someone pulled one of his eyelids open and Tom flinched away, groaning.
"Come on Tom, you need to wake up enough to drink this."
He felt someone - probably Chakotay - lifting up his head, and then the smooth rim of a cup was pressed to his lips. The liquid was warm, and reeked of things Tom didn't want to think about, but the taste wasn't too terrible so Tom obediently gulped it down, feeling the liquid soothe his sore throat as it slid down into his belly.
"It will take a few minutes to work." He heard a male voice saying, and he blinked, opening his eyes a little further. His view was fairly limited, and most of what he saw was a blurry ceiling and wall. A face appeared above him, and Chakotay's voice was in his ear.
"We're in the caves Tom. You'll be okay, just rest." The soft voice was most defiantly Chakotay, but the worried tone confused Tom. Why was the commander talking to him like that? He never did. Tom knew the Maquis captain didn't like him, even after he'd saved his life at Okampa. The feeling was fairly mutual. Thus, Chakotay´s attempts to calm him now had quite the opposite effect as Tom struggled to stay awake, determined to know why Chakotay was speaking in such a way.
"You do not need to fear, Tom Paris," said Conan and Tom looked at the other man for the first time. He pulled back a little, not liking the close familiarity the other man displayed, then realized with surprise that not only was his shirt missing, but he was practically lying on the commander´s chest.
Chakotay spoke more soothing words in Tom's ear, his strong arms keeping the younger man from squirming away and doing himself more harm. Groaning again the pilot tried to convince himself that this was a very bad dream, or very realistic hallucination. Probably brought on by Neelix's cooking he thought sleepily.
"Are you in much pain?" The strange man asked, and Tom jerked slightly, having almost forgotten he was there.
"You speak...English?" asked the dazed pilot.
"I believe so," Conan replied with a small smile. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," came Tom's automatic reply, and Conan gave a perfect imitation of an unconvinced Vulcan, raising a single brow. Chakotay chuckled slightly, and Tom looked with fascination at the floor.
"My chest hurts, but that's all."
"Uhm."
"Okay, I feel like the battered and bruised victim of a violent desert storm. Better?" Tom gasped out the end of the sentence, earning a scowl from Chakotay.
"The tea will help," Conan said, but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere. He frowned and put both hands to the ground, as if bracing himself for an impact. It didn´t come, but they all felt the slight tremors beneath them. Tom looked up in panic just as a loud rumble tore through the air. The guards stood in place, shocked expressions upon their face, until Conan barked at them, and they disappeared out the arched door way.
"I need to see what has happened," Conan turned back to them. "Do not fear, you are quite safe. Just stay here and rest, I´ll be back quickly." Without another word he was gone and Chakotay was left with an increasingly panicked Tom.
"Help me - up," Tom hissed as he struggled to stand, but Chakotay pushed him back down.
"No."
"What?"
"Stay put, Paris."
"Damn it, Chakotay - help me up, or shoot me, but either way do it fast," Tom growled, glaring at the commander. Chakotay returned his glare with the same resolve, then slowly let Tom go. Sighing, Tom tried to stand up, but without support it was almost impossible. Seeing the needle protruding from his chest only served to fuel his determination.
Chakotay watched his struggle and rolled his eyes in frustration at the pilot´s obstinence. He was about to end it, when Tom give up and dropped back to the furs beneath him. His fall was short but it still pushed the breath out of him, so when Chakotay pulled him back to a half-sitting position, he couldn´t really protest.
"I told you to stay down."
"I would´ve... made it... but you... drugged me," Tom gasped out. Sure enough his speech was slow and slurred, his thoughts muddled. The tea had taken away most of the pain, but much to Tom's dismay it was also robbing him of his consciousness.
On the verge of sleep, he saw that Conan returned. The man´s face was grim and Tom felt a pang of fear, but it quickly faded away. It was easy not to feel anything. Closing his eyes, he listened to the concerned voices as he drifted away.
"What happened?" Chakotay asked.
"The storm has gotten worse. We had to seal the entrance."
"So we´re trapped?"
"Until the storm ends - yes."
"What if it doesn't?"
As Tom drifted into sleep, he could hear the quiet reply: "Then we have a problem."
A/N-Anon: Thanks so much for all of your reviews! It's so great to know people are reading and to listen to their comments and suggestions as well. :-) This was a pretty long chapter and I know that we've just created more questions but I assure you, all of them will be answered eventually. Please keep reviewing!
A/N-Nicol: Though what Anon said, you can still ask questions, they often tell us what you anticipate or what passages made you intrigued. We´re still not finished, so reviews and comments are good. Tell you a secret - we write much better when we knew people like our work. So - R&R folks, we´re waiting.