Unsavoury

The Doctor smiled warmly at the young ensign, now a much healthier shade than the green he'd walked in with. Returning the empty vial—not a bead was left of the sloshing antiemetics peppered with markers and cytokines and phagocytes that had been iterated on for hours—he asked how young Robert was feeling before turning back, medical tricorder already scanning.

"Better, thanks. I don't know where that came from," Robert said, befuddlement shaking his head. He'd been on the way to the bacteriology lab when dizziness struck him. A lab providentially two sections down from Sickbay. The Doctor's first port of call would have been the brunet's work if he wasn't the fifth patient in two days presenting with near identical symptoms. It seemed a flu had squirreled its way onto the shuttle from Doribrogi 5 and was now messing with his crew. Well, that bantam had a new opponent.

"I'll be publishing a circular in the morning, never fear." With friendly pat, and prescription of food and bedrest, the ensign left and the Doctor got straight to generating the latest batch of mature lymphocytes. Refinement of macrophages, T cells and natural killer cells would come next, after their more exacting cousins were wholly steered towards the onerous squirrel that delight in outrunning the innate immunity's shock and awe tactics.

Ignoring the condemnatory PADD that stared up from his desk, the Doctor twisted round to the desktop and opened a new project in PyCel as the genetronic replicator toiled away in the background. He could certainly have gotten help from Reitta and Tom, but making lemonade gave him something to do other than worry about the thicket of lemons. On the navy screen a rainbow of lymphocytes twirled like balletic hedgehogs as he conducted the. Add a receptor here, discard an ion channel, instruct them this way and that. Quickly they were ready for their first performance; the simulation ran more like a tired matinee than the majestic première he'd hope for. But with efficacy at 86%, it was a fine start. Again, the Doctor adjusted his dancers. A barrage of bleeps punctured the steady work.

"Captain Janeway to the senior officers."

The Doctor combadge buzzed with an engaged tone at his tapped acknowledgement seconds before the captain demanded his presence in briefing room. The hologram sprung from Sickbay before she'd finished her non-explanation. Only the older members of the senior staff had arrived when he arrived. Captain Janeway sat at the head of the table with a rather inquisitive expression, a striking contrast to the austere order. Maybe it wasn't as bad as his prodding unease warned. Or was that wishful thinking considering the worried glances Chakotay sent her way. He felt his face growing grim just as the three youngers sidled in to join them.

With greetings exchanged and everyone settled, the captain looked up from her PADD for the first time and gave Tuvok a nod.

"Eighteen minutes ago, I received a transmission from Denduecu. It contained detailed medical scans and images of two fingers believed to belong to Minister Fridan." The room stilled.

"I need to see that," the Doctor blurted out.

Tuvok handed his PADDs to the operations officer, who took one and passed the stout tower on to the Doctor. To his surprise, considering Denduecu's reticence to cooperation, the screen was choking in detail.

Skin avulsions along the palmar side, while the incision through the thinner skin was cleaner and straighter, though one might as well compare a wild wolf to starved dog. Those 'cleaner' wounds were just as vicious. The bisected bones were a given and after a quick glance at them, his attention turned to the pharmacy housed in the tissues and a deep furrow cut his brow.

"Who sent this?" Chakotay demanded as he accepted the last PADD, but the Doctor barely listened to unhelpful answer. Though his ears perked at the discussion of possible telepathic compulsion as a form of governance.

The concoction of chemicals were all very similar but notably different to ones used in ancient Earth. Brotizolam, Flunitrazolam, Amobarbital, rosuvastatin, erythromycin and some type of low-weight phenol. Anxiolytics, anticonvulsants, soporifics and skeletal muscle relaxants? He very much doubted Tomaiun naturally produced them though knowledge on their physiology was limited so nothing would be ruled out as yet. Research on the telepathic grid was left up to him, Vorik and Reitta after his request for parliament's help was as good as denied, a refusal couched in niceties and half-promises of potential collaboration. So, the question was why had these drugs been given to Fridan? For they were Fridan's fingers.

"Great, OK, they're super tight-lipped," Harry impatiently voiced. "What's going on with these uh fingers? Will it help us find Seven?"

"I'm as curious as you, ensign. Doctor, thoughts?"

He ignored her question and let the pause stretch uneasily as he confirmed his findings. Explanations and prognoses pulled his brow even tauter.

"If these readings are correct, they do indeed belong to the once apricating elder statesman. Based on the volume of blood coagulated within the tissue and histopathological evidence, I'd surmise that he was still alive when they were severed. Not that he would have enjoyed it much."

"Don't really think anyone would, Doc."

"My point is," he muttered, "they weren't removed in one smooth incision. See the ragged and uneven bones, and frayed tissues as if it was more of a sawing motion?"

"I'd rather not," Harry said, looking rather paler than before.

"Perhaps you could summarise," Tuvok suggested to several grateful looks.

"Either the butcher was an amateur or a sadist." That was the most sugar he could offer for this particularly gruesome thicket.

"Logically, the minister would rather his fingers not be severed. It's possible he simply refused to remain still."

"I don't know about you guys, but I wouldn't move if someone was about to cut off my fingers and I couldn't do anything about it. Minimise damage, you know," Harry said.

"Yeah, no, I'd fight tooth and nail. Screw them if they think I'm taking that lying down."

"And maybe get yourself killed, B'Elanna?"

"No risk no reward."

"Playing it safe keeps you alive."

"For a time, sure."

"Alright." The Captain raised a hand to silence them. "Whatever this person is, they removed two… appendages and sent them to parliament for whatever reason. Intimidation? Bravado? Revenge? Right now, I don't care. Let's make the most of their hubris. What else did you find?"

"Yes, well that, uh, that is to say the abridged version is they weren't detached at the same time. There's at least three days of decomposition on the middle and only hours on the ring."

"Lovely." She retorted, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"Woeful protocol notwithstanding, I was able to… Or a very canny protocol indeed. The bleaching solution left no trace of bacterial, flora or fauna contamination. If I could examine them myself, I might find something they missed." He looked in askance to the captain.

"I'll see what I can do, but I make no promises."

The hologram accepted it with a subdued nod. "But one thing I can tell you is that these tissues were saturated with quite an insidious concoction of chemicals, many analogous to ones from our more boorish past. Treatments for anxiety, insomnia and muscle spasms. I mean I'd use an antibacterial if I were treating Minister Fridan, I'm just surprised his captors care to do that much considering. And then there's rosuvastatin and this phenol… which have left me truly bemused. Again, I very much doubt they're concerned about his cholesterol."

"Anxiety, insomnia and muscle spasms?" Harry repeated. "Why would they give him anything for those?"

"Not for any wholesome reason," Chakotay said before the captain steered the conversation back into the Doctor's expert hands.

"What other purposes can these be used for?"

"How long is a piece of string?" He sighed, rubbing to bridge of his nose. "Tomaiun physiology is different to human, you can see that for yourself. And so, it's reasonable to conclude that the biochemistry is as well. From what I've gathered it's not immensely different but that I can't be sure what effects these medications might have, what they're trying to accomplish. I'll keep looking though. Maybe I'll join you on your next trip down Tom, see if a friendly Tomaiun will let me scan them.

"As for Seven, I believe her nanoprobes and implants should be able to deal with any detrimental effects. And I see no evidence of overdosing, which certainly is a plus. How long the apparatuses will last given it's been eleven days since she regenerated is anyone's guess." The neglected PADD was burning a hole through his desk right now.

"See what you can come up with and I'll see what I can get you. Harry?" She nodded at his raise hand.

"Were they delivered to Denduecu or found? Did someone turn up to the front desk with a box? Because we've been scanning a lot of the planet nonstop for the better part of two weeks. We can track every person who's gone in and out of that building. Transporter signals too if one was used."

"A sensible suggestion, but immaterial here. They were delivered via codorn, a type of large bird used for communication between military units centuries ago and believed to have no modern usage barring biodiversity. I'll contact Brozont to see if the nifiliniks detected anything because I think we'll find it near impossible to trace them."

"Like a homing pigeon," the pilot added.

"Sorry, a what?"

Tom stared amazed at the captain. Seeing the other occupants similarly mystified he must have realised she wasn't the only one who needed elaboration.

"Re— OK, homing pigeons (sometimes called mail or messenger or carrier pigeons) were an ancient breed of bird that were used to deliver messages over hundreds of miles and still find their way home. They were used for everything from casual post to wartime communication to smuggling."

"I can see the use, before instantaneous communication, I guess," B'Elanna noted with a shrug.

"Or," he said, index finger flicking at a quizzical Tuvok, "to be untraceable. Birds are everywhere, how do you find a needle in a needle stack?"

"Not so hard if they head home."

Captain Janeway shook her head wryly. "That's where poison comes in handy."

At the Doctor's query, Tuvok explained that the codorn died shortly after landing. The cause a common delayed poison.

"These guys really like messing with drugs," Tom retorted.

The captain laid out all that they had learnt so far, which wasn't much at all but was the most significant breakthrough since Carleed's list. So, the senior staff embarked on a mission to stir out the truth, proposing questions and theories relentlessly.

Ideas bounced between them. Fridan was a man and chivalry dictated that they couldn't harm a woman. It was as proof of life. It was a warning to back off or give them what they wanted. It was a statement to show how serious they were, and that everyone should be afraid and abase themselves before their might. Since they hadn't sent anything relating to Seven they were treating her well. Or she'd already escaped and was trying to find a way of contacting Voyager in the thick Wudhrc forests. Or she was already dead. They feared retaliation if they harmed her. They feared retaliation if they confirmed her death. Seven was meaningless and they didn't care what happened to her, so why waste energy on her?

"Idle speculation is a dangerous pastime," Tuvok intoned with a sharply raised eyebrow. His eyes gently surveyed his colleagues, probably exasperated in his particularly Vulcan way at speculations they couldn't hope to verify. The comment seemed to sober Captain Janeway.

"It is, isn't it? Right, carry on with the good work you've been doing. And let me just say, I'm proud of you all. It's been a tough few days, but we'll get her back and you'll have all played a part in that. You and every single member of this crew." She paused and let her words sink in. It lifted them. Just a little, but enough; even their morose ensign looked a touch brighter. "Let's call it there for now unless there's something…"

"Actually," the Doctor jumped in, "the away team picked up a flu from Doribrogi 5. Its replication rate is high but I have it quite under control. They'll be a circular later today."

"Is the away team OK?" Chakotay asked.

"Oh yes, the symptoms are reasonably mild, but I've put the ill ones on medical leave for a few days. They need the rest."

"I suppose I'll need some volunteers to pick up the engineering supplies then. Oh and veins of deuterium were detected on some of the comets past the tenth planet. Since we'll be there, we might as well mine some; the mission time will double though."

Captain Janeway nodded along his explanation. "How necessary are those supplies, B'Elanna?"

The chief engineer pursed her lips in thought. The Doribrogi system was less than a dozen lightyears away, a lucky find. The Lilgardants had almost completely colonised their solar system and quite happy to trade with travellers. So, they didn't have to rely on Tomaiu for anything more than the necessities of the rescue.

"Nothing urgent in there, Captain, they're mostly for maintenance so it can wait. To Chakotay point, I can spare a couple of people."

"Ops has a lot of availability at the moment as well; how many do you need?"

"Hmm, let's say ten. Half to pick up the supplies, half to start mining before the others join them. I'll liaise with Science since… We have more than enough people."

The Doctor was glad he didn't have to volunteer any of his secondees—anyone with medical experience was invaluable in his research—not that anyone could tell with the frown that twisted his face Chakotay's allusion Voyager's usual liaison. Six heads gently shook at Janeway's repeated question and she stood to signal the end of the meeting. While she and her first officer weaved to her ready room, Tom and Harry made their way onto the Bridge and the Doctor beelined for B'Elanna, who was pulling Tuvok aside.

"Lieutenant?"

"There wasn't a point in bringing it up with the Captain, but I've… hit a wall with the shield problem. You've probably got three times the experience with weird shields. Would you mind taking a look?"

The Doctor stepped in before he could respond.

"Ah I was hoping to use your expertise, B'Elanna."

"Oh? For?"

"Seven's alcove might not be a viable place for her regenerate once she's found. So I was thinking you could build a portable regeneration unit." His early designs were less than stellar and far from complete; he hadn't wanted to need them.

She blinked. "Oh just that? I'll whip one up for you then."

Eyelids half-sinking with exasperation, his frown deepened. "I'm not expecting it tonight B'Elanna, merely asking that we work on it together."

"I'm kind of full-timing this shielding issue and I've barely gotten anywhere. I don't really have time, Doctor." She turned from the incredulous man and addressed Tuvok once again. "Have you got time? Let me send my readings up to Tactical. Honestly, it'd be good to get fresh eyes on this."

Tuvok tried to jump in.

"Any engineer can scan a shield. Other than me and Seven, you have the most understanding of Borg technology. I need your help, you know this is very important."

"So's this. I'll send you Mulchaey or Chambers. They probably know about as much as I do."

"Then use them as your fresh pair of eyes."

"Look I've shopped it around and no-one's got anything OK?"

"You're going to palm this off on a couple of ensigns who can't figure out a basic scan?"

"Gratitude of a suckling targ, what does rank matter?"

"What? I don't give a hoot about their rank. You're the most senior engineer. Should I not ask you? I thought you'd be flattered. Isn't this an engineer's dream, build a new piece of technology from scratch?"

"I'm vouching for them, that should be enough."

"In—"

"That is enough." Pulled from their argument, Tuvok drew their attention. "Lieutenant, I will join you in Engineering to review the readings. Meanwhile Doctor, Ensigns Mulchaehy and Chambers will assist you. And the lieutenant will oversee their work when she's available. At the moment, being able to get through the Wudhrc shields is a higher priority. A suitable compromise?"

"Works for me."

"I have no objections," he said before spinning around. Arguing with that man was tantamount to walking into a bulkhead. He zigzagged to the exit, only to be overtaken by a gratuitously hasty Klingon. She threw a smirk and he just rolled his eyes, burying his own smirk under feigned irritation. Annoying but lovable the lot of them.

*=/\=*=/\=*=/\=*

Kathryn yanked at her zip. She was about ready to call it a night. But there was still one more duty she had to attend to. Chakotay made himself comfortable on the sofa as she made her way to the replicator. Even now her mind was consumed with Denduecu. Utterly maddening people. How was she going to wrangle support from Frinprol and Frinjulk? Would she ever get anything more than pledges and half-truths out of them? At least, she supposed, the latter was a scientist, but that little creature of a woman was a politician through and through. Never answered anything straight.

"I need a break before we get started. Tell me again Chakotay why I decided to take command of a starship?" She peeked over her shoulder at him who was leaning back against the sofa, eyes closed and hands clasped as if in prayer. Maybe he was. To say what they'd heard this evening had disturbed her was an understatement. He looked up with his patented kind but serious smile.

"To explore strange new worlds. To boldly go where no man has gone before. To hunt down 'rebels' in a very misty expanse of space."

"At one point we couldn't see beyond our bow. Those plasma storms were a menace. Coffee black."

"Val Jean had some rough spots in there as well, I can tell you; she always came through for us though."

His wistful voice carried a blue note, as it often did when he spoke of his late ship. "When you treat them right, they always do. Want anything?"

"Actually, I've been hankering for Lapsang lately."

She ordered and sniffed it inquisitively before joining him under the elongated window. "I don't think I've had this blend before."

"I didn't know you'd had any blends before. Aren't you on a strict caffeinated diet?"

"Tea has caffeine," she said defensively and then took a leisurely draw from her cup. Acrid but not so much it pursed her lips. In that delightful bitterness she tasted dark chocolate, burnt honey, and notes of cherry that popped and brought the whole profile to its delicious conclusion. The alluring aroma warmed her mind as the liquid did her body. "But you're right, it's incomparable."

"Of course, Captain. So, what has you questioning the title?"

She waved a hand dismissively. Despite the trials and tribulations, she loved the job way too much and she had a duty to her people. It was just an errant thought from tired woman. Chakotay had said it, she thought with her own wistful smile, who wouldn't want to lead an expedition to seek out new life and new civilisations. It was dream. One that could turn bitter or sweet on a whim.

"Just annoying people being annoying, Chakotay. It's an expectation to be sure. Just not a welcome one."

"Ahh," he sniggered into his smoky cup, "the politicking."

"If I have to talk to one more Fri-X or Fri-Y or Fri-whoknowswhat, my eyes are going to burst." She huffed, rubbing them with pronged fingers.

"Don't you mean ears?"

"I'm visualising the list."

"And here I thought it was all the obfuscation and bizarre runaround that was bothering you."

"Oh, that's ingrained now. I simply go along with it. Though I hear your politician is much more accommodating. I won't have to get out the Handbook on Personal Relationships, will I?" Her eyebrows wiggled in delight as blush hinted his honey-coloured cheeks. Chakotay. The scoundrel. She wouldn't actually have to get out the handbook, right?

"No, no, nothing's happened. Nor will it. We have a strictly professional relationship."

"Strictly."

"And it's hardly appropriate right now."

"Hardly."

"I mean, she's a beautiful, intelligent, commanding woman, but that's totally irrelevant."

"Totally."

"Stop that."

Kathryn cackled. This man had it bad if he was getting this flustered at the mere mention of Carleed.

"As long as you keep your head on straight, I'll say no more." His nod was more like that of an indignantly avowing teenager than one of a man who'd just snatched his hand out of the cookie jar. Any other day, she would have teased him more, but there was something she needed to understand and Chakotay was hopefully the man to answer it. Now, how best to phrase it? "What's your take on the Wudhrc situation? In region, I mean. This rebel cause?"

Though his posture was relaxed, his face clouded over with an unreadable expression. "Are you asking me as an anthropologist, your first officer or a Maquis?"

"All of the above."

"Well, we were fighting for our homes, our planets, our people. And not just from invaders who wanted to destroy us, but from people we considered our own. People who'd abandoned us to be ground under the bootheels of tyrants. And for fighting for peace, we were labelled traitors and terrorists." She wondered if that was oxymoronic, fighting for peace, but allowed him to continue unassailed. "So, in that respect I sympathise. Their way of life, their culture was irrecoverably damaged by the introduction of warp. And they saw their path closing up in front of them. I imagine farriers and wheelwrights felt similarly adrift when the automobile was invented."

"Somehow I doubt old Tex blew up factories or abducted Ford."

"Maybe he didn't, doesn't mean he didn't think it. And when you have a bunch of aimless people you're more likely to find one who's willing to go from thoughts to actions."

"Because what else is left for them, what else can they do," Kathryn reasoned.

"Yes, and because it provides stability. It's a problem for every side; I can't deny it, even the Maquis had our fair share. For every ship doing something for the right reasons, taking out the right targets, there was another doing it for the wrong ones. I worked with a lot of people, a lot of good people to be sure, but I've known some who were only looking for a fight or the power it gave them or a chance to belong and did whatever they could to hang onto it. We could make a hundred considered actions, and they'd be there to make a reckless one that chucked everything in the air."

"'Considered' is a charming word for terroristic."

"You know it was never so black and white. Did you ask me in here to rile me up or do you actually have a question?"

What was she doing? Getting into an argument over framing wasn't going to bring her any closer to what she wanted to know. This whole damn situation had put her hackles up. "I do know that. But I don't know the mindset of these people; maybe you do." He huffed, staring into space.

"I might sympathise—they haven't had to change for hundreds, thousands of years—but they've fallen back on old ways and there isn't a chance in hell it's going to work. I think anyway. All this… maiming, kidnappings, bluster; it feels frantic. It feels like desperation. As if all the last resort is to instil as much fear as possible. Unlike the previous generation, who they might consider too soft, if you can call an hour's warning before setting off a bomb soft. But that's what you get with a throng disaffected people, especially disaffected youth as Goldstone's cliodynamic essays explored pretty thoroughly."

"Like a toddler throwing a tantrum." Chakotay hummed noncommittally while she ground out her next words. "Here's an idea, open a dialogue. A sizable portion of the populace is on their side more or less, they could get real representation. Yes, many would go to jail, but maybe they could reach a compromise. My own ancestors did the same, I don't think the Irish are particularly uncommon folk."

"Something tells me they've heard that one. What's making them carry on when its clearly just making them pariahs? Pridefulness? An idea so ingrained we don't yet understand it? Could be they're trying find a favourable bargain position." Kathryn grimaced at his turn of phrase. "The sad thing is if they did come to the table, if they did talk to the Guild, they'd learn just how much Carleed cares for Wudhrc, how much their principles and values actually do align, instead of wasting energy on superficialities. Call it desperation or overconfidence in their beliefs, it's blinded them to what they have in common with the Wudhrc people and now they can only see what divides them."

"Would a frank conversation with Starfleet have changed the Marquis' mind? Would it have changed yours?"

"I'd like to think it would have."

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, Kathryn thought, giving Chakotay a gently dubious smile. "Well both parties have to be willing to come to the table, and I suspect the Guild have no more interest in thawing hostilities than they do. How many of their operations have ended in carnage? Killing their way through some dissidents doesn't scream diplomacy."

"Yet Carleed says she wants peace. I have to say, I believe her." This wasn't infatuation clouding his thoughts, Chakotay's burnished gaze averred, he meant it as her first officer. "The more this goes unchecked, the less Denduecu and other regions will want to trade with them. And if Wudhrc starts slipping back in privation, her position will become untenable. It's in her best interest to secure peace."

"It's in her best interest to put an end to them. It doesn't have to be peaceful. People will forgive and forget a lot for a comfortable life."

He hummed again, a touch more agreement in his warm rumble this time. "It's fascinating that we see this same struggle in every civilisation. The Enarans, the Kazon, the Mokra Order, hell even Vulcan was anarchic at one point. If it isn't envy and ambition, it's impotence, sanctimony or just plain hate. There's always something bubbling under the surface and sooner or later it'll blow up, no pun intended, then a semblance of comity will be found and the cycle'll start all over again. Someone will always feel aggrieved," Chakotay sighed, shrugging, "and be it for the right reasons or wrong, the aggrieved always feel their complaints are valid."

Kathryn nodded and took another drag of her intoxicating coffee. "Living in The Federation it's easy to take its liberties and fulfilment it offers for granted—some notable exceptions notwithstanding. I think when we were younger we all felt that was… how things were done. A couple of stints past the boundary disabused me of that pretty quickly. But I have to say, even after all these years out here, I'm still struck by the malice some people can have."

He supped the warming drink. "Or their indifference; in the right circumstance that can be much worse. So, did this help? How do you feel about them now, them and their cause?"

"Unsavoury things, Chakotay. Very unsavoury things."

==*=/\=*==

Hola!

So… October didn't happen (to be fair neither did November, but let's not talk about that), but I have a new plan. I'll try to get a chapter out once a month. I won't say it'll be the 1st or that it'll be in the first weekend, but I really try to get a new one out at the start of every month. If I can be quicker, I will be, but I'd say don't hold your breath.

For anyone who's stuck around and is enjoying the read, I'm really grateful! And I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter, I think it's one of the ones I'm proudest of. It was fun to be in the Doctor's head even if I didn't get his wry sarcasm and flamboyance just right. Robert Picardo is truly a treasure.

Next time let's see what trouble Seven's getting into.