Thanks for the reads. I hope someone out there is enjoying this. Thanks to Mia Cooper for reading this and pointing out my errors, I have faffed about with this loads, so all mistakes are mine. Please note the rating has gone up and there will be swears and some sexual content in this chapter. It has been ages since I've written so reviews are welcome and very much appreciated. Enjoy!
"No fucking way, like no, no, no fucking way," Dasha said animatedly darting around the room. "You shouted at Lorca, first day, you shouted at Lorca. I damn straight love you. You're nuts, but hell girl, gotta love you."
"I didn't shout at him. I just sort of stood my ground. I didn't think about it. It just…came out. He's probably arranging my transfer to a prison colony right now."
"No way. He gave you a fortune cookie. Only people he likes get one of those. I've never had one. Enter." Rhys appeared at the door. "You ever had a fortune cookie from Lorca, Rhys?" He shook his head vigorously.
"So, plan brew?" Erin ventured, needing to change the subject. A day one run-in with the Captain had to be a record. She really should at least try to keep her head down. She regretted bringing up whatever scheme the two of them were cooking up, but it was at least a distraction from making an idiot of herself earlier on.
There were two days before Discovery left the station. Dasha explained the plan.
"So, Franks looks after logistics and cargo. Nothing gets on board without his ok. We need to get some equipment, sugar, a sack of grain and some fruit on board, without him noticing." Her expectant face told Erin she should be fully up to speed with this knowledge, and while it was starting to slip into place, it still made little sense.
"So you want to make home brew? You can get all of the ingredients from a replicator. In fact, scratch that, you can get booze from a replicator. Why are we doing this?"
Dasha sighed, as if frustrated at repeating the alphabet to a small child.
"Because, war zone is bound to equal restricted party rations. Because taking the ingredients out of a replicator on board is traceable. Because we need to keep this on the down low," she explained to the naïve infant beside her, patting out the rhythm of her words on her hand.
Erin considered her options. Evidently this brewing enterprise was taking place in her room, regardless of her consent or compliance. She had a sum total of two friends and a relatively approachable Doctor to turn to. It didn't seem that big a deal. She tried to quickly calculate the risks. They looked on eagerly, waiting for the green light to initiate the plan. She couldn't stand to disappoint them, yet felt her cards were probably already marked.
"Alright, alright, I'm in. If Lorca blows me out of an airlock for this I'm holding you two personally responsible and in light of no other obvious heirs, I'll bequeath my worldly possessions to you while we're on." She struggled to believe she was agreeing to this.
They celebrated with excess, hugging her, Dasha bouncing up and down on the spot. It felt like a happy moment, even if it sprung from her willingness to break probably numerous regulations and flirt with some poor sap in the hanger while her friends snuck contraband aboard. She rationalised that officers probably had a little stash of the good stuff squirreled away for the right occasion. Perhaps a Captain like Lorca might even value the initiative; he appeared to be a lot of things, a stickler for doing things by the book didn't seem to be one of them.
"What the hell are me and Rhys going to do with your stuff? I guess he can keep the lipstick." It felt like a fun club to be in.
She was there at the appointed time, waiting awkwardly in the hanger. The furtive eye movements, gestures and winks spoke volumes about the trio's potential as spies. Erin moved in. Her acting was awful, but distracting enough to ensure success. Rhys and Dasha watched from a safe distance until Franks was sufficiently wrapped up to not notice them moving boxes. Erin tipped her head back and laughed excessively, touching the arm of the unfortunate deer in the headlights in text book fashion.
"You do a great job down here, it's the best kept dock I've ever seen on a star ship," her forced enthusiasm pushed through the fixed smile and gritted teeth. "It's so…tidy," she offered, glancing across at the other two who were taking far too long. Thankfully this was a nervous man, his usually eagle eyes focused on the crates in front of him as he mumbled a thank you. At least she was managing to distract him.
"Damn, she's good," said Rhys, observing from the doorway, waiting for the cue to move.
"You are enjoying this way too much, freak. Come on get this stuff moved before he runs out of different grunts to make." She dragged him along by the arm, still unnoticed.
Erin was struggling to make it last. She fought the muscles in her face not visibly wince as an unexpected clatter rang around the room and then threw herself directly into his eye line, grabbing his shoulders and blurting out the first thing that came into her head, urgently acting to maintain his attention. It took all of her effort not to snap her head around to view the source of the noise.
She had talked at him for an unnatural amount of time, though he seemed to be managing the attention, it seemed a little mean to build his hopes up too much. Her smile was more of a pained grimace as she searched for something to fill the excruciating silence in a one sided conversation. The final box disappeared from view, dragged out of sight by her co-conspirators. The escape signal was a welcome relief. She made her excuses and scurried out after them. She felt guilty. Guilty for exploiting some poor man's social ineptitude; guilty for breaking rules; guilty most of all for rather enjoying the buzz of it all. As she made her way along the hallway, she couldn't help but feel silently pleased with herself and had to press her lips together to subdue a grin of satisfaction. She tried to push those thoughts away, imagining being hauled in front of Lorca to be admonished for her part in the mischief. It didn't help. If anything the idea brought a pink flush to her cheeks and caused her to fight harder to repress the unfamiliar feeling of wilful glee.
Lorca scrolled through the manifest. There were some names he felt he could barely place, despite insisting on getting a look at every one of them on arrival. He had tried to weigh up his new crew, observe their reactions, work out who needed watching, who would follow orders without question, who was useful to him. One name caught his eye. Now her, he remembered. She didn't need observation, everything in her file said she was hard worker with a strong sense of duty, she wasn't directly useful to him but surprisingly, if their first meeting was anything to go by was unlikely to take orders she disagreed with lying down.
Lying down. His own thought led him somewhere he hadn't intended on going. Those long legs looked good in those high boots, good enough to… He shuffled in his seat as his wandering mind forced his body to stir. He didn't have time for this, though it was a tempting distraction. He'd found her spirited response amusing at the time. Her eyes down at the floor, trying to hide the tremble in her hands. His first assessment said nervous, vulnerable even, but there was no doubt there was a feisty tigress not too far beneath the surface. He was sure he'd like to tame it. He was wandering again, wondering if she'd let him wind a tight grip around that long, dark ponytail, how she'd look with that red lipstick smudged across her face, trying to imagine if she would be passive, biddable or voracious and demanding. Biddable was winning out, that she would be easily coaxed into sliding out of her dress, sinking eagerly to her knees with the right measure of willing and reluctance. His hand started to creep towards his own growing need, when an arrival at the door stopped him in his tracks.
"Fuck," he muttered as he composed himself, straightening his jacket. A rather serious looking cadet presented him with a delivery. Something new for the growing collection he was putting together. As the doors closed he impatiently set about opening the sturdy flight case, removing the air seal.
A howling alert sounded, as the soft voice of the ship's computer announced, 'Contagion Alert' in her calm but insistent tone.
"What the…" he tried to open the doors of his quarters only to be denied.
"Computer, open the door," he demanded.
'Unable to comply,' came the unhelpful response. Grumbling, he repeatedly clattered at the control with the heel of his hand as if that would beat it into submission. Further requests were met with the same monotone negative.
The same alert sounded in sick bay. Culber rushed to the console.
"The computer has detected an airborne virus identified as H47 and sealed off the affected part of the ship."
Erin's ears pricked up. "Colony pox," she chirped, "every kid had that where I grew up, a rite of passage. It popped up, went through a school year and in three days went as quickly as it came. Infectious, unavoidable but in the grand scheme of things it's relatively harmless to humans; no long term effects. Once you've had it you're immune. It could be deadly to some species on board though."
Culber looked grave and studied the information on the screen. "Particles were detected in the air and the computer automatically quarantined the area. It seems to have been contained quickly enough not to have spread around the ship. There is no instant cure, but even airborne it should run its course and disperse within 72 hours. Thankfully only one human crewmember has come into contact with it."
Erin knew exactly what three days of that virus felt like. It wasn't pleasant and you couldn't leave someone alone, particularly an adult. She had been seven, her mother watching her every move as each stage progressed. The handful of people back home who made it to adulthood before their turn came around had a far tougher time, so much so that parents positively encouraged infection. Even on Earth, common childhood illnesses still made their way around families and day care centres, never fully eradicated.
"I'll go," she said without hesitation. "I'm immune, so I don't even need a mask, I've seen it a hundred times before. You can seal off the area behind me once I'm in."
"For three days? Once you're in, you're in until it's clear," the doctor said. He appreciated her willingness to go, had no doubt she was absolutely the right person for the job, but wanted to be clear just what she had volunteered for.
"Yes, it's fine. It really should be me. I'll grab what supplies I need. Where am I going?"
"Captain Lorca's quarters."
She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, wished she hadn't been the new girl so eager to volunteer and win brownie points, but resigned to the fact that she was probably the only person who could reasonably do what needed to be done. The looks of sympathy didn't help. Without anyone speaking a word, faces communicated the silent, but universally understood medical code for 'difficult patient'. At least someone else was going to explain what was happening to Lorca while she collected what she needed.
An awful lot can happen in three days.
