Chapter Four
Incentive
The door to the Commandant's office opens again and two soldiers drag Elizabeth Cutler in and stand her between them, slightly to Travis' left, before the desk. They release her and step back to either side. Liz's arms are still firmly tied high behind her back, wrists tied to opposite elbows. The Squad Leader stands before her, another soldier behind. She is surrounded, boxed in on all four sides. Two more stand behind Travis as he remains seated before the desk.
The 'Commandant' behind the desk surveys her and the uniform that she and the male prisoner wear. "Your partner has told us an incredible story."
"It's all true." She declares.
"I told them everything." Travis tells her. "Enterprise, our Life Sciences survey team, Abrams, Tia, everything."
"The Manaxians are expert in subterfuge, as well you know."
"Look." Travis turns his upper body, displaying the patch emblazoned on his left sleeve. "This is our ship, Enterprise, in orbit about this planet." Liz turns slightly, showing her own arm to verify that the emblems match. "Just let us use our communicators, we'll prove everything."
The officer exchanges glances with his fellows. "This is better than the last try."
"What do you mean?" Liz asks. The officer looks up at her.
"You are clearly Manaxian spies; of that we are certain. I hope you'll be an incentive to your misguided partner to confess and tell us your real mission."
"It sounds like he's told you to whole story already. What 'incentive' can I give?"
Without warning, the 'Squad Leader' punches Liz hard in her face, knocking her backward into the arms of the soldiers who had dragged her in.
x
"Hey!" Travis yells, outraged. He tries to get to his feet, but the two soldiers behind him slam him back into the seat. Arms trapped behind him, he cannot get up. Liz hangs; head back, dazed in the arms of the soldiers who support her between them. She had been so caught off guard that she'd taken the punch full in her face, and struggles just to stay conscious against the pain.
The 'Commandant' turns to Travis. "I do not believe that under any form of torture you will reveal your secrets in a timely manner." The UT translates his words with cold precision. He glances meaningfully at Liz, still hanging dazed, bent back in the soldier's arms. She had been caught so unprepared for the attack that she hovers on the edge of consciousness. "But I believe you will do so in order to spare your woman."
The soldiers boost Liz upright, shocking her awake and the 'Squad Leader' punches her in her stomach, making her double over with an agonized cry. The soldiers hold her on her feet as she gasps, groaning.
"I shall now ask you again. And if I do not get a satisfactory answer, she will inspire your cooperation." She is hauled violently upright, and he can see the blood trailing down her face.
The sight flames Travis' fury. He is outraged that they would assault a helpless woman – to say nothing of a good friend – to get him to 'confess'. "Damn you – I told you the truth!"
"What are your orders?"
"I told you my orders – transportation of a Scientific Research team." The soldier behind Liz rams his fist into the small of her back, driving her forward with a ragged cry. "Damn it, leave her alone! I'm telling the truth." Travis tries to fight his way to his feet, but with his arms tied behind him he cannot oppose the strength of the two soldiers who keep him pinned to the chair. He manages to raise himself only a few inches against their combined strength, but their leverage undoes him and he is forced down again. The 'Squad Leader' standing before her rams his fist into Liz's stomach, doubling her over again with an agonized cry. "Leave her alone. She's pregnant, damn you! Leave her alone!"
She stands, doubled over, barely able to remain on her feet, and the soldier to her right rams his fist into her ribs as she cries out in agony.
x
"Tell me who you are."
"Ensign Travis Mayweather, pilot of the Starship Enterprise from Earth."
At the Squad Leader's signal, Liz is hauled upright. "No!"
His heavy fist slams into her face. She is driven backward, and he punches her even harder in her stomach. "Damn it, I told you she's pregnant! Stop it, leave her alone!"
"Tell us the truth."
"I told you everything!" Liz is forced upright and hit again, this time in her ribs by the guard on her left, her ragged cry tearing into Travis' conscience. "I told you the truth." The Leader's fist slams deep into her stomach as she doubles over, gasping brokenly; her knees giving out as she hangs weakly, unable to breathe.
"What are the Manaxian plans?" The 'Commandant' asks with horrible calmness, his manner a terrible counterpoint to the outrageous beating.
"I don't know the Manaxians." Travis exclaims furiously. He wants to tear into all seven men, straining against the two who hold him down in his chair, straining at the tight ropes that hold his arms behind his back, longing to tear them all apart.
The Squad Leader grabs Liz by her hair and yanks her upright. "Stop it, damn you! I'm telling you the truth!" The soldier behind her hits her again, low in her back, driving her forward with a terrible cry. "Stop it!" The Squad Leader punches her again, this time ramming his fist into her right breast as she cries out in pain.
"Tell us." The 'Commandant' urges calmly, unmoved by Liz's pain.
"I've told you everything!" Travis shouts furiously, straining against the grip of the men holding him down in his chair.
The man on Liz's right slams his fist into her ribs and she cries out in agony, held upright by the pain and the tight hands gripping her bound arms. The Squad Leader rams his fist into her left breast, and the pain is so intense she cannot even scream. His other fist comes in hard again into her right breast, so hard she is nearly knocked out of the grip of the supporting soldiers. Three more times he hits her in her face, right and left blows knocking her head back and forth.
"What are the Manaxian plans?"
Travis stares at his friend hanging limply in the hands of the soldiers, barely able to breathe. " Bastards! Cowards. If you were men – take me on!"
"What are the Manaxian plans?"
"I don't know!"
As Liz manages to draw in a breath the 'Squad Leader' draws back his fist and hits her with all his strength below her abdomen. She is hit hard enough that she is almost driven out of the grip of the solders holding her on her feet, what little breath she has exploding out of her in a shriek.. When he backs away, she hangs in the grip of the two soldiers, gasping brokenly.
"Where are their forces?"
"We're not Manaxians! I don't know!"
At a signal from the 'Squad Leader' the soldiers holding Liz boost her upright, their feet catching hers to force her legs apart. Travis sees what he plans and strains out of his chair, his furious rush managing to get him to his feet before he is slammed back down again. "NO!"
The 'Squad Leader' takes a step back, comes in and his boot crashes hard between Liz's legs.
The woman goes stiff, head thrown back, face contorted in a mask of unendurable pain. So hurt she cannot even scream, she stands stiffly between the two soldiers for an eternal moment of searing agony, and then collapses like a puppet whose strings had been cut, her silence more terrible than any scream.
x
"You can stop this at any time." The Commandant tells him with deceptive mildness as Travis stares at Liz in sick horror. "Tell us your mission."
"Damn you – I don't have any mission. We're not Manaxians!"
The soldiers boost Liz up again, and she cries out as her ankles are trapped again. "I'm told this is particularly excruciating for a woman." The Commandant tells him with false sympathy.
"No! Damn it – NO!"
Squad Leader steps in, his boot coming up even harder between Liz's legs. She stiffens, a long shriek of agony piercing the air, and when she collapses she is dropped to the floor, where she lays writhing, groaning and sobbing, unable to even reach with bound arms to relieve her pain.
Travis tries again to force himself out of his chair, but is slammed back down onto it. Arms bound tightly behind him, his strength is utterly useless against the two men who have leverage on their side. "You bastards – I told you we're not your enemy. Leave her alone!"
"This can continue indefinitely. We have found this to be a far more effective method of extracting information than personal torture. You may not care about yourself, but are you willing to let this woman suffer? To let her unborn infant die?"
"Damn you!" Travis rages, struggling to get out of the grip of the soldiers and get his hands about the 'Squad Leader's' throat. He cannot break free of the bonds or his rage. "I've told you all there is!"
x
The Commandant regards him for several moments; then looks over the instruments spread out on the desk before him. He picks up one of them. "What is this?"
"It's called a 'tricorder'. We use it to analyze things. It's a sensing device." He picks up another. "It's used for detecting bio-matter."
"And this?" He holds up the UT.
"A Universal Translator. It's what's allowing us to communicate."
"And transmits to your Manaxian colleagues?"
"No."
"Where are your associates?"
"They're in orbit."
"You still persist in this 'Enterprise' story?"
"It's the truth. Is there anything on that table that looks Manaxian?"
He looks up with a great show of sad resignation. "Phase two." While one soldier keeps Travis pinned to the chair, the other wrestles it around to that it faces the other side of the room, a much larger area.
"Where are the Manaxians massing for their attack?"
"We don't know any Manaxians!"
Elizabeth Cutler is lying on her side, pain so suffusing her body that she cannot move, but one of the soldiers shoves her with his boot onto her back, bends over and clutches her breasts. Liz shrieks as she is hauled off the floor by her breasts and held upright in a merciless grip as Travis looks on in impotent fury.
"Where are the Manaxians?"
"I don't know about any Manaxians. I told – NO!"
The soldier holding Liz's breasts flings her toward the other soldiers as she screams in renewed agony.
She does not reach the 'Squad Leader' opposite her before he slams his fist into her face, the sharp sound of bone on bone loud in the room as she is knocked into another soldier, who intercepts her fall by punching her even harder in her right breast, knocking her away as she cries out in unending agony. The guard she falls toward slams his fist into her face, stunning her. Her fall is halted, but one of the other guards punches her in her lower back, striking her kidney and she collapses, falling heavily to the floor.
x
"You bastards! You want a fight – take me on!"
"We've found this to be a far more effective means of inspiring cooperation." The Commandant tells him in a shockingly pleasant voice.
"Cowards!"
"Simply tell us the truth, and you can end this."
One of the soldiers grabs Liz's short hair and pulls her up to her feet, her face a mask of pain.
"God Damn You!" Travis rages, struggling furiously against the two men who keep him pinned to the chair. "I told you everything. Our CO at Starfleet is Admiral Maxwell Forrest; our Captain is Jonathan Archer; we're from Earth. Starfleet is under the jurisdiction of the United Earth Space Probe Agency. We've never heard of you or your war!"
The soldier holding Liz shoves her at his fellow, who punches her right breast so hard she is spun completely around, falling into another whose fist catches her under her left eye, knocking her away. "Stop! I'm telling you everything!"
They continue beating her, knocking the helpless, bound woman from one to another as she cries out in agony, so hurt she cannot even scream, unable to fall as they tighten the circle, pounding her body mercilessly with hard fists.
Travis, furiously raging, continues shouting all the information he can think of.
The beating continues to escalate in violence, the punches coming harder and faster as Liz is trapped within the tightening circle of the four men, barely able to breathe in time for the next cry of agony. Finally the circle is so tight she is pinned within it. There is barely enough room for any of the soldiers to continue pummeling the helpless woman.
x
"Enough." The Commandant says. Instantly the soldiers desist, backing away as Liz collapses to the floor. She is so hurt she cannot even pass out from the pain, but lays weeping. They stand watching her as she cries, her body racked by agonized sobs.
"Put them in cell B. Let her pain argue with him. We'll resume shortly; after she has convinced him to cooperate."
x
Two soldiers grab the sobbing woman, lifting her off the floor and dragging her out as she hangs between them. Travis is hauled to his feet and would like nothing more than to take on the entire room, but with both of them bound and Liz beaten, there is no way to win. He is shoved after her, and they are forced back the long trail to their cell. Liz is dragged along the tunnels, barely conscious, her groans and sobs tearing at Travis' soul.
xxx
The whistle of the intercom above her head pulls the Reverend Patricia McCabe out of a deep slumber, and she opens her eyes into the blackness of her cabin. Normally she sleeps with the blast shield closed over the viewport, so she would not be distracted by the hypnotic rush of stars. The starlight is diffused by the Doppler effect of the warp field breaking them into streams of color as they rush from right to left past her portside cabin, and normally would be soothing, but tonight she is so tired she just wants the blackness to cradle her. As a result, the blackness of the room presses upon her open eyes; leaving her slightly disoriented as she tries to remember what had woken her. A moment later, the hail is repeated.
Reaching up, finding the control by touch alone, she activates the intercom on the thin 'shelf' over her head. "Yes?" She asks in a voice slurred with sleep.
"Bridge here." A man's voice, Richard Malloy's, she remembers a moment later, says. "I'm sorry to wake you, but you have a subspace call from Earth."
She pushes herself off the mattress, her fatigued body resenting the motion and protesting vigorously. "What time is it?"
"0332 hours. I'm sorry, Reverend, but we have a situation up here and I have to clear the auxiliary board." She realizes he is calling her from the tactical/sensor board in the rear of the bridge, to which secondary systems are sometimes channeled and filtered during emergencies.
"All right. Thank you." The intercom goes dead and she knows the message will hold, unattended, at her terminal. She pushes the blanket off her body. "Computer; one fifth illumination please."
The request results in a brightening of the room well enough to see by without being blinding, the 'please' more a matter of conditioned politeness coupled with her own experiences with the 'Clara' program; an interactive AI which was unlikely to be miffed by brusqueness, but why take the chance?
Getting off the bed, she crosses the room on bare feet to her closet, pressing the button to open it and drawing out a robe. She normally sleeps unclothed; she is a 'tosser' and more often than not has to, while nine-tenths asleep, pull the blanket from the deck onto herself again and endure its momentary chill, but she wears nothing to bed because she detests the tightening of bedclothes waking her up as they twist themselves about her body.
As she pulls the robe on and cinches it, pulling her shoulder length chestnut hair free and spreading it out behind her, she becomes aware that the barely perceptible vibration under her bare feet, transmitted through the deck plates while the ship is at warp, is missing. "Computer, open the blast shield please."
x
Outside her portside 'window', the stars are almost stationary; the barely discernable motion from right to left telling her the ship is most likely in orbit about some body. She remembers Malcolm having told her yesterday at lunch that they were on course for the Kintaris system, a name that meant nothing to her. Long range sensors, he'd said, had indicated a strong probability that the planet was habitable, 'Mintara' class or something like that.
Since she cannot see the planet dominating the left side of her view from her forward port cabin, she knows from her talk with Mr. Mayweather that the planet is rotating 'retrograde', or 'clockwise'; rather than 'direct' or 'counter-clockwise'. The terms are a holdover from the days when the only planets man knew were in the Sol system, the majority of which rotate 'counter-clockwise'. Therefore, 'counter-clockwise' is 'right', and 'clockwise' is 'wrong'.
The terms 'direct' and 'retrograde' persist even to this day, even after man has gotten out into deep space and discovered that rotations are pretty much evenly split.
Therefore, Kintaris IV, whatever it might otherwise be, is 'wrong'.
She is not truly a space-going soul, and suspects she would get hopelessly lost if taken to Alpha Centauri and obliged to find her way home, but it was nice of Mr. Mayweather to try to explain some of these things to her. She did know, at least, that they were to arrive sometime during the night.
These thoughts flashed through her mind in the moment it takes her to sit down at her desk. With enough light to see and work by, she touches the blinking control on her monitor.
x
It is still an accepted truism that late night calls to Priests and Doctors are never good news; and one look at the grim expression on the face of the woman whose features appear on the screen have Patricia McCabe mentally preparing for the worst. "Reverend Mother McCabe?" The woman asks dubiously. Patricia realizes that, in the subdued lighting of the room, most of the illumination comes from the screen itself, and likely leaves a dim to dark frame about her barely visible face.
"Computer; one half illumination, please." She requests. When the room brightens, she addresses her caller, confirming. "This is Mother McCabe."
The woman before her is perhaps 50 to 55, with severe features and hair pulled back so tightly that she could give herself a facelift without medical aid. Her face is lined with perpetual grimness, that of someone who does not smile often. Over the woman's left shoulder, Patricia can make out a banner suspended from a vertical pole; allowing enough detail for her to piece together a familiar blue, white and yellow emblem.
"I'm Ms. Helen Marin of the United Earth Space Probe Agency." She says it as though the entire thing were a title.
"Yes?" McCabe invites, preparing for the news. 'What is UESPA calling for at this sainted hour?' She carefully keeps her concerned thought from showing upon her face.
"I am contacting you because I have, that is to say our Agency has, concerns about one of your crewmates – or 'flock' should I say?"
"Either is suitable. Which one?" Her apprehension goes up a notch. Fortunately there are plenty of them before she might actually show her feelings. Years of Liturgical and Psychiatric training have taught her that discipline, especially when dealing with bad news.
"An Ensign Elizabeth Cutler."
"What about her?" Patricia refuses to let her mind wander to the possibilities: family emergency, injury, death, some potential trag-
"I understand she is pregnant."
The non-news brings her up short, the careful mask relaxing slightly in her surprise. "Yes, she is." Patricia confirms matter-of-factly. The whole ship has known for weeks; Starfleet knows; Patricia admits that for all she knows it was major news that first week on the 'News Services' of Earth. Could this be about some problem, maybe a congenital matter that even Phlox was unaware of?
"I – we – were wondering what do you plan to do about it?"
x
The question derails Patricia for a moment. "Excuse me?" She asks. "What I plan to do about it?" Was the woman implying contraceptive or family planning advice? Wasn't it a little late?
Patricia realizes, as these irrelevant thoughts flash through her mind, that she is still not entirely awake.
Marin frowns, the image seeming more natural to her than any pleasant expression. "You are the 'Enterprise' Chaplain, are you not; posted there for Religious and Moral Guidance to that crew; part of the U.E.S.P.A.'s pilot program to assign Chaplains to all ships on long term voyages in space?"
"I am." Patricia confirms, not liking the woman's tone.
"Well then." Marin says, satisfied. "An unwed – I understand she has chosen not to marry the child's father – mother serving aboard Earth's first deep space scientific and exploration vessel, certainly its most celebrated vessel; is, you can understand clearly, completely unacceptable. It's a public scandal. Word of this pregnancy is all over the planet, and some of our constituents are simply outraged that it was allowed to happen, to say nothing of continuing unabated."
Rev. McCabe feels her mouth falling slowly open and a burst of anger allows her to close it.
x
Now she recognizes this woman, by reputation if not by face. She is the one who, close to a year ago, had jumped onto the Vulcans' bandwagon about the Enterprise having allegedly 'bought' a new crewmember; Marin's 'spin' on it being that Captain Archer had bought a 'Slavegirl'.
It had worked out in Tia Anlor's favor, however, establishing her as an 'Ambassador' of her people with full 'Diplomatic Immunity', allowing her to go wherever she would, or to stay on board Enterprise with her beloved Charles Tucker.
But the matter had not been an easy one for anyone concerned. The woman had stirred up considerable trouble; and it is now clear that she, in her 'concern' for the crew and its 'reputation', in particular for the reputation of UESPA, has not learned any lesson in the intervening months.
x
"Let me get this straight: You called me at 3:30 in the morning – I don't know what your local time is – to complain that people on Earth have an opinion?" Outraged, so outraged she actually slips into anger, something she usually has far more control than to do so openly, she does not give the woman a chance to reply. "While I have my doubts of the general public even caring about this issue, let me give you some facts. Miss Cutler is a twenty four year old woman of good – no, exemplary – character; who in the past few weeks since her pregnancy had been discovered, has seen me regularly; and has already reversed her decision on the subject of marriage eight times. This ambivalence is only natural for a young woman unexpectedly thrown into a life altering situation.
"In the meantime, I am continuing to work with the young couple, so you may assure your 'constituents' – and I did not know a Space Probe Agency had constituents – that the matter is in good hands.
"On the subject of if and when there will be a wedding; her direct supervisor is Lt. John Abrams in Life Sciences; Ensign Cein's is Security Chief Lt. Malcolm Reed, and ultimately we all answer to Captain Archer. As it is unlikely that the Captain is going to order them to stand before me, or that anyone will hold a phase pistol to the young woman's head while she recites her vows, I suggest you leave this matter in our capable hands." The woman is about to try to respond, as she had several times already, but McCabe is not yet finished.
"Finally, if there is a concern about how, or how quickly, I am doing my job; need I remind you that while UESPA did approach my Order and others for your 'pilot program'; I do not report to you? While I answer to Captain Archer on Secular matters which concern his crew, I report to Chaplain-Admiral Roth or, if need be, ultimately to Archbishop Terrance Matthews.
"Thank you for your concern about the Spiritual lives of this crew. It is duly noted and in good hands. Good night to you and may God Bless." She severs the connection.
x
Patricia sits for several minutes in the dimness, trying to force her aggravation back down, to lock it in that box it would have to reside in until she is ready to deal with it in the light of day. She has no doubt that the issue is not at an end. The officious twit had not stopped last time on what had finally ended as a solo endeavor until Admiral Forrest had come down hard upon her, enlisting the aid of her own organization in doing so. It seems clear she has not learned any lesson; and is fully skilled in making herself into a thorough pain in the ... neck.
Crossing herself, Patricia reaches out for the computer control again, deciding she might as well prepare for the next phase of the problem. Marin is not the kind of person who takes to being told off. "Computer, flag a message to Elizabeth Cutler's terminal. Ask her to contact me when her schedule permits." She is certainly not going to disturb the young woman's sleep over this. Cutler had enough on her mind without having some stranger in a panic over either her soul or her reputation.
"Ensign Elizabeth Cutler is not aboard the Enterprise." The feminine voice supplies helpfully.
"Where is she?" McCabe asks automatically; feeling like a fool when the computer gives the obvious answer her question.
"Ensign Elizabeth Cutler accompanied Lt. John Abrams and Crewwoman Tia Anlor on a Biological Survey mission at 0144 hours on board Shuttlepod Two, piloted by Ensign Travis Mayweather, to planet Kitaris IV." It says, condensing all reasonable data into a single unwieldy sentence.
'All right, a 'late night' Survey mission, at least late night to us. She'll likely be tied up for hours.' McCabe thinks, imagining how much laboratory work there would be for the young woman to perform upon her return. But she could probably judge a schedule by her S.R.T. "When is she scheduled to return?"
"There is no scheduled return time for Elizabeth Cutler. Contact with Shuttlepod Two was lost at 0153 hours when it crashed upon the surface of Kitaris IV."
x
Patricia feels every drop of blood in her body chill; and she stares at the blank screen before her, trying several times to speak before she finally forces, in a strained voice two octaves too high, "WHAT?"
The computer repeats its last two sentences, including the chilling interpolation, verbatim. It does not sound any better the second time.
Patricia falls back into her seat, a desperate mental prayer answered only with silence as her blood freezes to even colder depths. The call that had awakened her plays back unbidden in her mind as Gamma Shift Communications Officer Robert Malloy told her from the rear sensor station of 'a situation' he had to return his attention to.
Reaching out with a trembling hand, she activates the intercom beside the screen. "McCabe to the Bridge." Her attempt to speak is barely a whisper. She knows she should let them get on with their work uninterrupted, but she cannot let this go.
A moment later Malcolm Reed's face appears on the monitor as he takes the call. If he is there, doubtless the entire Alpha shift officers are at their stations. All she has to see is the strained tension in his grim visage to know the awful truth. He is looking down into the monitor/receiver on his panel. He doesn't say 'Reed here' or anything so unnecessary. For a moment, he doesn't say anything. Such is the relationship between them that the silent communication says as much as words.
"Malki," she speaks in a soft, haunted tone, letting slip her personal nickname for him on the open channel, "I just heard. The computer told me. Is there…"
He shakes his head grimly. "We don't know yet. There's a sensor block up as well as other interference." His voice barely carries, and his eyes flick upward, glancing at the rest of the bridge before him. "We're trying to punch through it, as well as extrapolating their course to look for the most likely spot to focus a search if we should punch through."
"The computer said they crashed." Patricia tells him in haunted tones, wanting him to deny it; needing him to deny it.
"The computer interpolates data. Catastrophic loss of control plus no telemetry equals crash. I choose to have hope." He gives her a lopsided grin, intended to be reassuring even if she can tell it is forced. She knows him far too well, for far too long. "What can I say? You're rubbing off on me." But then the reassuring expression is gone as though it had never been.
"We can't even get a reading on life signs. It's too dangerous to send the other pod down."
"Why?"
"They were shot down." He tells her grimly. "Last contact we had was a 'mayday' from an altitude of 800 feet; then nothing. Telemetry reported extreme damage to the shuttle when it went out of control, then we lost contact. But Travis is our best pilot." He tells her, trying to take the sting out of his words.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Pray, hard, for the four of them."
"I can set up a Vigil in the Mess Hall."
"You do that." He glances up, looking at the Bridge. "I have to go. Get everything set up, I'll tell the Captain when we have a free moment. Announce it when you're ready." But then his voice goes grim. "And pray it doesn't turn into a Memorial."