Chapter Three
Counselor Tivan sat in uniform across from Chantilly Bourbon. He'd been surprised that she had suddenly showed up at his office. He'd been handling her through his bond with his wife. They'd had several productive sessions that way. It was a little awkward, but he believed that the female relationship had been key to her early recovery. His office was always open, though, unless someone else was there, and she had waddled in just a few minutes ago.
Chantilly appeared to be a little shaky as she tried to find a comfortable seat on the couch. "Is there anything I can get for you, Chantilly? Some grapefruit juice, perhaps?" he asked. She wore one of her jumpsuits, this one dark blue, blushing to an orange on her belly. Her sweater was gray, with shell patterns in it.
"No, I run to the bathroom enough," Chantilly said, finally finding a comfortable position, leaning a little to her right, and curling her feet under her. She was barefoot, not an uncommon choice for a young girl with child. Tivan's own wife had spent most of her confinement the same way, the first time.
"You are settling in well with the Captain, I trust?" Tivan said after a moment's silence. This was an unscheduled visit, outside his planned treatment of the young girl, so in order to start, he needed to know what prompted it.
"She's great," Chantilly said. Her face lit up as she began to describe her new life. "She gave me a nice room with bunkbeds, and this really nice desk. We got this tall chest for clothes and picked out this really neat mirror. It used to be Habiba's room but it's much nicer now. The Captain helps me with my school work when I have questions. I think I'm starting to get caught up in history again."
"It sounds like you and the Captain are getting along well," Tivan said. "My wife will want to know if you're following her orders."
"You can tell her I'm eating what she wants me to, but if she adds another squash dish to my options she may find it in her chair," Chantilly said, with an impish smile.
He sent the image of the happy Chantilly to his wife through their bond. It looked like she was beginning to recover. T'Hana sent back her satisfaction with the image. However nice that news was, it wasn't getting to the reason Chantilly had come yet. "I have so informed her, but I'm afraid that it may just result in more. I still come home to plomeek soup every Tuesday, though it has been almost forty years since I informed T'Hana of my dislike of it. However, I don't think you'd come hear to complain about her latest find, squash casserole ala Yuta."
Chantilly immediately sobered. "No, I came because I keep flinching every time I see a man. I even did it when Commander Plecnic came over to deliver reports to the Captain."
"So you decided to come to me, the male, who my wife tells me, bears the most resemblance to your father of anyone on the ship, to confront the issue," Tivan summarized. Chantilly nodded. "In that case, perhaps we should resume talking about the squash dishes, or some other topic."
"How will that help me?" Chantilly asked, a puzzled expression gracing her face.
"Trust me," Tivan said. "Whenever you find yourself flinching at a male's presence, try not to back away. Instead talk to him, if you can, just like you were with me earlier. You'll find that it makes you feel a lot better." Chantilly's expression had moved from puzzled to cautious acceptance. "Now I believe we were talking about your dislike for squash casserole ala Yuta?"
"Have you tried it?" Chantilly grimaced. "I have. It's disgusting. I don't know what the red stuff is in it, but I drain a whole glass of water every time I eat a bite containing it."
"I believe they are peppers of some sort," Tivan said. "I likewise have tried the dish. You may be happy to learn that it gave T'Hana heartburn." It appeared that Chantilly was, as her smile had returned. "It is much better than french onion soup, though."
"Hey, I like french onion soup, especially when prepared with a bit of parsley," Chantilly responded. "If it's just the right temperature it warms you right up when you're cold."
For almost an hour, Tivan was treated to an animated discussion of what was on the ship's menu for young girls who where expecting. Gradually he could see the little signs of stress disappearing from Chantilly. By the time she finally got up to leave, she looked quite relaxed, aside from having to make a quick run to the bathroom.
Commander Audon Bourbon sat in the brig, in the same uniform which he had wore three days before when he'd been arrested. Security was not inclined to provide him with a change of clothes, and the meals had been less than satisfactory. His dark hair was now a mess, the work of days of running his hands through it and bad shampoo with no comb. The guards were getting used to him.
The brig was the usual dull pale mustard yellow, with just a simple bench covered with a pad along the back wall. A shimmering force field separated him from his single guard, a somewhat sleepy young Ensign, who sat in a rather comfortable chair. He started to whistle, just a little off key. "Pop Goes the Weasel" was one of his favorite tunes.
The guard seemed to be irritated by that. He got louder, and a little more off key, his eyes looking up at the ceiling, as they had been all day. Suddenly, Bourbon clapped his hands, as he reached the "Pop Goes the Weasel" line. A wide beam of light exited from a point in the ceiling and hit his guard. The guard slumped to the floor under the phaser stun, as the force field dropped.
Commander Bourbon grinned widely as he began tapping commands on the controls outside his cell. Tap, tap, tap. With each stroke he ensured his safety. A manic laugh escaped him briefly as the last command was entered, but he brought it under control again.
He ran his hand through his hair again, making it look worse, before walking out of the brig and to freedom. No one was nearby to see him as he crossed the silver panel-lined corridor. His timing between mid-shift had been perfect.
He ducked into a nearby Jefferies tube and began to hum again. The circuitry lined crawl space was familiar territory to him. Ever sound made was known to him, from the sound of the grating to the warm hum of the EPS relay. Each turn was made with purpose, his destination clear in his mind. As Bourbon crawled through the tube, his posture reminded him of the last time he'd seen his daughter. He imagined her bloodied back being under him again. Oh it would be so good. His humming became actual song.
"All around the starship's decks, some monkeys chased a weasel."
Lieutenant Grieg Gostillna stood at his post on the Bridge.. Tactical was rather boring mid-Alpha Shift when the ship was moving at a deliberate slow pace through Federation Space. Captain Osanna was sitting in the center seat. The past few days that hadn't been a regular occurrence, like it should have been. Gostillna figured that was all related to young Chantilly. He knew of no officer or crewman, who having heard what happened to Chantilly, didn't begrudge the girl anything she needed.
Gostillna remembered when he'd come on board as an Assistant Chief of Security, the number four in the department when he'd arrived on the Oklahoma. Chantilly had been about seven years old, but not beyond having Gostillna give her a piggy back ride. Those had been different times.
He'd worked his way up to Chief by the time her mother had died. Damita Bourbon had been a small lady, towered over by her husband. With little Chantilly they were the perfect family. It was obvious to all that Commander Bourbon had adored his wife. Then Damita had died, throwing herself down on top of a young boy who had strayed too close to a ticking bomb, just as it went off. The boy had been alive and unhurt when they were beamed aboard. Damita had not. Her back was raw and bleeding in too many places. She had lost too much blood by the time she had materialized in Sickbay, and died on the operating table a few minutes later.
Chantilly had withdrawn to her room and refused to see anyone, after her mother's death Gostillna wondered how much of that had been by her father's design. Commander Bourbon had reported to Engineering the next day as if nothing had happened. As far as any of his officers could tell, he hadn't changed a bit. It disturbed Gostillna that no one had had a hint of the trouble for over a year and a half.
He attempted to bring up the file on that incident, as nothing was happening at the moment. Access denied. It was his own personal file, he shouldn't be getting that message. He tried to run a level three scan of the corridors, a routine task for tactical. Access denied, again. He tried again. User does not exist.
"Captain, I think we have a problem," he said, causing the Captain to turn towards him. "Someone has just deleted my access to all functions."
"Computer Recognize Osanna, Captain Shawneela, authorization Omega Baker Two Nine Six Tango, and restrict all command functions to the Bridge," she said. It was a quick action, which Gostillna approved of.
"All command functions are restricted to the Bridge," the Computer replied.
"Computer, locate Commander Audon Bourbon," Commander Plecnic ordered.
"There is no Commander Audon Bourbon on the Oklahoma," the Computer replied.
"Gostillna, find him now," Osanna ordered. "Number One, take tactical. I want all our codes reset, and Commander Bourbon's changes stopped." The Bridge burst into sudden activity, as each crew member began his tasks in the case of an escape. Gostillna left quickly for the turbolift and the brig. He had no idea how Bourbon had escaped, but Gostillna intended to catch him.
Commander Yoakim Plecnic had not taken tactical for a very long time. That didn't mean he didn't know how, and it especially didn't mean he wasn't up-to-date with the latest tactics. He was a very faithful reader of Star Fleet's weekly tactical bulletins, and kept an open mind as to the source of any tactics.
His task at tactical at the moment involved little of those tactics, though. Everyone was having to provide fresh voice prints and codes, and he was authorizing them one by one. It was a rather boring task. He was also running a level three diagnostic, in hopes of finding the majority of Commander Bourbon's programming changes. That would take about ten minutes, and by then the majority of Engineering would have been reauthorized, so he could do a level one diagnostic when they reached the star base. That would take several hours and take some systems off-line, but he was sure that the Captain wouldn't want the ship to leave until they were sure that all Bourbon's work wasn't going to cause problems.
He heard a loud sparking sound, and looked up. The helmsman had been thrown from her seat, and it looked like she her hands had suffered electrical burns. The Captain had quickly slid into the spot. "Engineering, We've just gone to warp nine, no course change," Osanna announced. "Our course remains towards Star Base 12. Can you get us out of warp?"
"We're trying, Captain," the voice of the Seley Acting Chief Engineer replied. "Hardly any of my staff are reauthorized." Plecnic thought that the new Chief Engineer was turning out well, despite how he'd gotten the job.
"Prioritizing Engineering," Plecnic replied. He redoubled his efforts to clear the reauthorization queue. His mind was elsewhere, trying to find a way to stop this. Tactical Weekly had an interesting article this, recently. Not in the most recent issue, that featured that young girl Marrissa's tactics as the most interesting story. The one before that. Yes! He changed his queue priorities. Plecnic then sent word to the Science Department that they would be handled last, and opened the Science Database's read only authorization wider in the interim. This really was an Operations job, but he was formally Chief of that department.
"Captain Osanna to Chantilly Bourbon," Osanna said. The computer replied with a connection not possible note. Plecnic felt Osanna's order in his head before she could say it.
"Dispatching Security to the Captain's Quarters," Plecnic announced. He knew that he and the Captain were not alone in their worry for Chantilly.