I'm new to the fandom, so sorry in advance. This is my first fanfic :) I hope you enjoy it.
"Zugzwang: A chess term, in which a player realizes they cannot win and can either except defeat or fight to the bitter end."
Stardate 2244.114 Earth, New York City: The streets of Manhattan
"Get back here you little shits!"
Fear. It seared like ice in frantic lungs threatening to overwhelm them, stop them in their tracks, as panic raced through the minds of three children. Fear of being caught. Fear of being taken away and separated. Fear of pain. But that same sentiment urged them to push forward. Push past the cold water that splashed up in erratic frenzy from squalid puddles, dirtying their already abused clothing. It pushed them down the derelict back alley's littered with rusted hazards and dangerous trash that aligned the brick walls like a hoarders wet dream. And more importantly it pushed their screaming legs onwards, despite how, with every step, they almost gave way from agony.
"Percy, the pigs are catching up!" A young andorian male shouted as he ripped a small fridge off a pile in attempt to slow the two officers. The child in the middle—swathed in the same tattered lost-and-found rags as the others only with the added addition of a scarf wrapped around her face—clutched a pilfered baked ham to her chest. "Shran is right. We will not likely out run them at our current speed and heading. The probability of our capture before we manage to get to the access-way to the undercity is quite high."
The other girl on the end, Percy, scoffed but eyed the people giving chase worriedly. Mouth thinned in a grim line she looked at the other two and quickly plastered on a smug smile. "Don't worry I have a plan. As long as you keep running everything should be ok."
"I don't like that smile. I have nightmares about that look. It's the one you have right before you do something stupid," Shran growled as he dodged a shopping cart blocking there path. The other girl nodded her head in agreement. "He is correct. Nine times out ten it's a precursor to bad decision making that leads to your own personal injury. We have very limited medical supplies at base camp left so I suggest you take a different course of action then the one you've currently settle upon."
"Oh, shut up Liara. My plans always work out in the end. Plus, we're running out of options and fast so there's no use arguing or we'll all get caught! The longer you two try to coax me off the damn cliff the more likely that'll happen. And if that does then what will the others eat, huh?"
The two looked about ready to protest, but clamped their respective mouths shut, knowing their friend spoke the truth. With deep strangled breaths of air they locked down their complaints and push forward in resigned acceptance. After all, there were other's to consider.
Swallowing her fear, Percy jackknifed to the left and began toppling over discarded refuse and junk into the middle of the alleyway. In attempt to block the officers. Weaving back and fourth down the narrow passageway she continued to hinder them, pulling item after item in front of her that she could manage to wrestle into their paths with waning strength. Just as her friends slipped around a corner, a hand shot out and grabbed the scruff of Percy's collar while she attempted to evade capture and stall for time; heaving the small form over a ruined antique dresser. A hot acrid breath puffed down on her neck.
"Well, look what we have here Morgan," an overweight and slightly balding middle aged man taunted as he kept hold of the struggling kid cussing him out, "I thought I recognized this orange mop of hair. Do you know who this is?"
Officer Morgan, who barely look like he could drink, squinted at her as if it would spark some sort of recognition. He frowned when nothing popped into mind. "Um no, sorry Smith can't say I do. I thought it was just another stubborn homeless kid."
"I suppose your to green to recognize the runt," Smith scoffed. Pulling Percy closer he brought his other hand up underneath the kids chin, squishing the dirty cheeks together causing her full chapped lips to pucker like a fish. Violet eyes glared venomously at the other man at the treatment. "Well, get a good look. This here street rat is Atlas P. Carter or better know to the rest of the gang of merry children running lower manhattan, Percy. Ain't that right kid. Your just a regular new age robin hood, huh."
"Oh, well, hello to you to officer get-a-breath-mint. What happened to your last partner, did he take one to the knee? STD? Too many donuts? Or just got sick of looking at your ugly face every day."
"You little fuck-," Officer Smith snarled, yanking her around harshly to grip the front of her soaked coat. Pulling her off her feet with one hand he poised the other to smack her. Percy squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of the coming pain. However, before flesh connected violently across her jaw, Morgan wrenched her away from the other man, wrapping an arm around her in not only a protective gesture but one that clearly told his partner he was about to cross a line. One he'd have no problem reporting. The older officer growled in frustration and jabbed a violent finger towards the kid. "You're gonna want to cuff the little piece of trash. She's a frequent flier."
"Don't call her that! She's just a scared kid. She can't help it. Show her some kindness. You'll catch more flies with honey."
Right as Morgan finished his scolding a foot back pedaled into his crotch, knocking him to his knees with a shout. No one noticing her pull something off his belt. Smith cursed and shot an arm out to restrain the kid to keep her from bolting. She struggled against his tight grip in vain. His adult strength too much for a child her size. "Yah, well she ain't no fly. She's a damn coach roach. This little shit pulls nasty tricks to escape all the time. The tiny street strut's such a pain there's a pot going round the precinct that goes to who ever manages to haul her in. Looks like we're gonna cash in."
Wheezing Morgan glared up at his superior officer. "Well...a little warning next time."
"Yah well-GAHHHH!" Smith cut off as he screamed, a standard issue taser jamming into his side from an awkward position. Awkward in the fact that Atlas blindly shoved it behind her with what little mobility she was afforded by her captor. Beefy hands instantly letting go, she dropped the device and kicked the young kneeling officer in the head—a counter measure to keep him from giving chase—before running off in the opposite direction.
The man crumpled to the dirty ground, clutching his face in pain. "Son of a-! That kids not a coach roach she's fucking Satan! God dammit!"
Atlas stopped for a moment, turning back towards the police men, and shot them a raspberry. Then, pulling out a gold watch she waved it in the air for the men to see. "Oh, by the way baldie, this things barely worth ten credits! Hope you don't mind if I take it as compensation for defamation of character. I am not little. I'm appropriately sized for my age, thank you very much."
She sent them a smug grin before taking off, her foot falls hurriedly splashing against the ground—leaving a string of male curses behind her. Each man upset with being bested by an eight year old. A damn eight year old!
Stardate 2258.09 Starfleet headquarters, Daystrom conference room
{Fourteen years later}
Shit! There weren't many things Admiral Archer was afraid of. Hell, being a hundred and forty-five years old there wasn't much left for him to fear; and death had long since vanished off that small list with time. But, standing before the rest of the admiralty in an emergency classified meeting, he was suddenly struck by the feeling. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach like a lead weight as he chose to address the damnable room. One man more in particular. "With all due respect, Marcus, Starfleet is a peacekeeping armada specializing in space exploration. So creating a tactical ship, as your calling it, would be unwise. What kind of message would we be sending the rest of the universe with the kind of fire power you're proposing!"
Admiral T'Pol, his oldest closet friend and once second officer, gave him a curt nod to convey her support. Of course, being Vulcan, her face wouldn't show many emotions—even with the side effects of a past trillium addiction. Though he'd long since been able to discern them underneath her cold logical exterior. "I agree with Admiral Archer. If we retro-fit a ship with high powered tactical weaponry it would all but state our intent to instigate violence against any unknown warp capable races we may come across. As this would conflict with starfleet operations and protocol, it is thus, illogical."
Sitting back down in his seat, Archer restrained the sigh of relief threatening to bubble up, glad that someone else had some semblance of common sense. Ever since tensions had risen between the Romulan and Klingon empires towards the federation a lot of world leaders had begun to sweat. Pressuring, in there panic, for assurance of alliance safety. More specifically those nearest the end of neutral space. Which had led to the god awful meeting that had been going on for more the eleven hours. Radical idea after radical idea had made it's way across their data PADD's and luckily each had been shot down after every vote. But with each strong argument and debate Archer could see many of the other admiralties resolve waning. Causing the opposing side to gain hands from their tiredness. And as he gazed upon the faces of the other members mulling over the information he realized the last proposal was one battle he wasn't going to win. He'd been defeated.
Marcus smirked with a slightly reserved cocky disposition, as if he was trying to suppress the reaction and appear humble. Which at one point he very well was—after all, Archer was the one to recruit him so many years ago. But recently he had begun to notice a change in the otherwise levelheaded man. A dark hunger had begun to take root in his soul ever since the death of his wife by a bird of prey. That cold look always sent a chill down his spine; as if the younger man was walking over his grave.
The younger man shook his head and pressed a button on the PADD between his hands, sending specs of the ship he was commissioning onto the holo-screen in the middle of the rounded table for all to view. "I'm not asking much," Marcus smiled deceptively, "and I'm not asking for you to like it, but with current events, and more and more of our ships being destroyed or severely damaged by enemy vessels, we can't afford not to. Now, I know it seems a bit extreme, but if we were to have a trail run where one of these ships accompanied another on it's exploratory mission, maybe then we can accurately assess wether or not starfleet further requires tactical vessels."
Mumbled voices quietly erupted around the table. Members talked about the benefits and con's to their neighbors, each with varying opinions. All the while Marcus just soaked it in, discerning victories and weaknesses to exploit, leaning his mouth on his hands so no one could see the smug smirk blooming there. Sneaky bastard. Archer narrowed his eyes, suddenly feeling as if he'd been played. If he didn't know any better he'd say the other man planned to have his proposal heard last as to wear down the others and secure a victory. Which was most likely the case. It made sense seeing as that was the exact reason Archer had recruited him all those years ago—he was a brilliant strategist. Now of course it was biting him in his saggy ass.
As if sensing his agitated thoughts the younger man, though only by eighty-five years, turned to him with a quirked eyebrow. "Archer, I thought you of all people would be proud. Don't you recognize the signature? These designs were concocted by your former protege, right before you snagged her for the academy. Though it's such a shame what happened to her. Such wasted potential."
Now that pissed the former captain off! His hands formed fists underneath the table as he restrained himself from making an outburst. Or leaning over the table to strangle the other man. He had no right to bring her up. Everyone else had long learned not to do so in his presence at least, but apparently Marcus though himself above the others. So he opened his mouth to shout his biting retort, but stopped short as he noted the eagerness of the other man. Clamping down on his words Archer took a moment to assess the situation and spotted, to his surprise, a flash of disappointment cross behind Marcus's nice guy facade when he didn't receive the reaction he had hoped he would. In fact, that same look crossed three other members as well. They had planned something.
Archer could only surmise they wanted an emotional reaction to force him off the committee and tip the voting in their favor by stating he was compromised. Like Hell. "Be that as it may," Archer inclined, "I believe a vote is in order to put this matter at rest. If you don't mind I'll kick things off. All those in favor..."
Six hands lifted into the air, unsurprisingly, all of them human. Admiral Marcus, Komak, Edo, Stark, Barnett, and Gregor smiled triumphantly. Even though it made no difference Archer continued, "All those opposed..."
Four. Only four hands rose. His being the only human one. Admiral Zerek, an Andorian male, slammed his blue fists onto the table with a snarl. "I demand an immediate re-assessment of the current proposal!"
The room collectively sighed, some groaning. The meeting was to draw out longer due to the rule of ratio majority. If it wasn't eight to two, then any member could demand a recount, for at least two more days. After that the vice admirals would be called in to be the deciding factor as they were comprise purposely of an odd number for such an occasion. Marcus visibly twitched, running a hand down his thinning light hair with an ugly curl of his lip. "Fine, but I move for a fifteen minute recesses."
Looking around everyone agreed, some more eagerly than others. With a nod, everyone stood up and began milling around the room. Admiral Riphery, a female Betazoid, however, left the room most likely in search of a quiet place to reinforce her emotional barriers. Of course it didn't appear as if she'd be gaining any as Komak and Stark followed after her. Archer narrowed his eyes knowing their game. They intended to convince her to switch sides and their chances of succeeding were pretty high considering the poor woman would needed to leave in two hours if she were to make it to her daughters wedding on Betazoid in three days. Giving Marcus the upper hand but not the win. Though in two days when the Vice Admirals showed up he was sure he had a plan to win them over as well. Staring once more in the face of defeat Archer racked his brain for a plan, for someway to turn things around, when the schematics glowing before him elicited an idea.
He smirked before hiding it as he made his way over to Marcus, the younger man looking at him somewhat surprised by his bold action. Though he was quick to cover it up. The older admiral inclined his head in greeting, keeping his voice low so only they could hear it. "I see you've been conspiring. I noticed in the data you begun construction on that ship five years ago, way before it was even authorized."
"Well, what can I say. I have excellent foresight," Marcus countered, that cold gleam dancing behind his eyes that never quite matched his smile. Archer restrained himself from growling at the man. "Yes, well, I've noticed you're having some difficulty gaining the numbers. And Riphery will only be so loyal till her two hour window has passed so I was wondering if you like to hear my proposition that could gain you the outcome you'd like to see before the opportunity has passed. I know how you love certainties."
The younger admiral suddenly shifted, leveling his complete attention upon him. "I'm Listening."
"If you were to make one addendum to your proposal I'll give you my vote. Something that will cause an easier transition with the rest of starfleet as I have popular interest. Plus, as the Grand Admiral, very few federation counselors will cause a fuss as they trust my judgement."
Marcus paused, most likely weighing his options before he spoke. "What do you have in mind?"
Archer smiled coyly.
Stardate 2258.16 Solstice Ⅳ,Earth mining outpost: J'Runes Bar
The biting winds howled with a visceral wail against the retrofitted panelling, scraping and clawing it's way around the outside as it tried and failed to gain access into the air tight shelter. The desert moon of Solstice Ⅳ was a dangerous and unforgiving place. During the day the temperatures rose so high that if one ventured without the proper bio-suit the sun could literally boil your blood like acid. The nights were no different in lethal prowess, becoming so unbearably cold it could flash freeze even an Andorian. And yet it was home and sanctuary to Atlas Carter for little over two years. It was a solitary existence granted, with the occasional brawl breaking out between short fused dilithium miners, but it was relatively quiet. Peaceful even.
As the unofficial official mechanic she was kept quite busy, though often left to herself; sequestered down in the cluttered basement underneath the local watering hole. And she was fine with that. No one bothered her, no one asked questions, and more importantly no one cared. So when J'Rune Argon, the stoutly Caitian male, waddled down the narrow metal staircase into her small chaotic office, carrying nothing that needed fixing, she would have been remiss to say she wasn't slightly surprised if at all curious to his visit. As proprietor of the establishment, and close friend to the mining facilities owner, there was an unspoken agreement that Atlas could live rent and trouble free as long as she did her job and kept her nose clean. Which she did surprisingly well.
Somehow managing not to knock over the janga piles of scrapped engine bits and disassembled mining equipment the older man emitted an exasperated grunt. "How the hell do you move around in this mess!? I feel like if I breathe wrong it'll cause a chain reaction of falling metal. Don't know how you can stand it, eating, sleeping, and working in this small cluttered space day in day out. Doesn't it drive you crazy!?"
Atlas tried not to smirk at the older man's good natured long winded rant as she returned her attention back to the PADD in hand, flipping through the list of unfinished orders and reorganizing them by priority. "Who says I'm not already crazy?"
The man let out a gruff chuckle as he stopped short of the tall desk, eyeing the items covering every stretch of it with a raised eyebrow. From schematics to gyro's and gears to wires every amount of space was used to the fullest, much like the rest of the room. The woman definitely needed to clean the place, but it never effected her work ethic so no one ever said as much.
Looking up with curious violet eyes she waited expectantly for the Caitian to reveal the nature to his presence. The same eyes that always held such a deep profound sadness and weight to them that J'Rune often wondered what demons lie hidden in their depths. Ones that would most likely only be coaxed out with a large consumption of alcohol.
Furrowing her eyebrows together she bit her bottom lip out of habit, wondering what exactly he had wanted. "Now not to sound rude," Atlas started, "but why are you here? We didn't have an appointment, nor do I see anything that needs to be repaired, so I'm a little confused to the nature of your visit. Not that I'm saying I don't like your company, but I've been here two years and everything's pretty much routine. Hell, Harold comes down here every two days with a broken piece of equipment that he's clearly had some hand in sabotaging. So I have to ask, what's up?"
The Older male shuffled, but otherwise didn't appear to be offended, instead he seemed rather amused by something said. "Well, for starters Harold only breaks things so that he has an excuse to come down here. Apparently the Haliian has developed quite a thing for you but is to afraid to come right out and state his intentions. But," he frowned at the conjunction, "you're right something is 'up' as you humans say. There are a bunch of rude nosy starfleet officers up stairs looking for you and none of them apparently speak standard because when I tell them to piss off and leave they keep on pesterin'. So if you could have a word with them, get the damn bastards sorted and out of my bar, there's a glass of scotch in it for you."
"Well, when you put it that way how can I say no," Atlas smiled tentatively, setting the PADD on the desk. J'Rune smirked, knowing she would have done it without incentive, it was in her nature to help when asked, but felt she deserved a good drink for never making a fuss and readily offering her services when needed. Even when she had little to no sleep. That, and she, in his opinion, needed to socialize every now and again. "Alright," he clapped before eyeing her head with a bemused expression, "are aware that your hair is sticking up all over the place? Now, I know I'm not well versed in current human female fashion trends but, I don't believe that counts as one."
Immediately she shoved her hands to her head at the mention before scowling at such a typical female reaction. Sure enough her long strawberry blonde tresses were pinned to her scalp in odd directions as she attempted to keep them from her face during work. Not that the rest of her appearance hadn't suffered as well from her vocational habits. She looked like a classic grease monkey ripped from the past. Oil smudged on her forehead and left cheek from her soiled work gloves. A black tank top singed from her soldering pen and stained with splatters of iso plasma, and brown cargo pants that were patch-worked from rips and tears with pockets full of nut's and bolts. Why he felt that only her hair was the problem she'd never know.
Shrugging Atlas retracted her hands and jumped off the stool, "Whatever, doesn't matter. Never really put much stock in appearances anyway and I'm not about to change that to look nice for some bratty officers. So, lets get this over with."
With a wave of her hand she gestured for J'Rune to lead the way as she stepped out from behind her workspace. Careful of all the parts cluttering the small path she quickly followed the man up the stairs as he disappeared up the steps. Most likely going back to tend the bar. She coughed entering the threshold, waving a hand before her face.
Smoke. It was one of the reasons Atlas rarely ventured from her one room home to the pub above. Even though earth had long stopped the production of tobacco centuries ago, as the government became more health conscious, that law never was quite enforced in the borderlands. So outposts like that one, so close to the end of the neutral zone, seemed ripe with the contraband. Most getting their supplies from Orion traders that passed by time to time.
Scrunching her nose in disgust at the potent smell Atlas pushed through the thick haze, spotting the nuisances instantly in the corner heckling a table of poker. The idiots that they were had no idea of the potential danger surrounding them or of the escalating tension in the room. Any moment a fight was bound to erupt and more than likely the four officers would be left a bloody mess on the floor, out manned as they were. If the men were under the assumption that because it was a federation outpost they were in friendly territory they were sorely mistaken. Life on the desert moon was cruel, harsh and unforgiving. Not to mention the facility was under the constant threat of pirate attacks and the residents were usually left on their own for protection. So the federation left a bitter taste in their mouths, feeling as if had been long abandoned by the association and were under appreciated. It wasn't a great place for a starfleet officer to be.
With a hefty sigh she squared her shoulders and made her way across the boisterous room, gliding past tables and drunks as she went without incident. All locals leveled their attention onto her as she approached the ruckus, curious on how she would deal with it. Her objective had yet to even notice the slight shift in the atmosphere from her arrival.
"Look," one of the beefy officers growled to an andorian foreman, "This is a federation outpost and as a Federation Outpost you're all obligated by law to answer our questions! As it now stands we're within our rights to fine you all for possession of illegal contraband, but if you cooperate we might be inclined to just confiscate the Orion cigarets and leave it at that!"
"Are you stupid or just have a joy for receiving an ass kicking," Atlas inquired from behind the officers with a derisive snort as they turned to confront her, "Because if that's the case please continue berating and threatening Foreman Chufae, but be warned he was a commander in the imperial guard before he retired. And, the gentleman next to him happens to be lucky enough to have learned the Klingon fighting style of Mok'bara, how he was taught I'll leave to your imaginings. Then, the lovely caitian female across from him I know for a fact killed three beefy Orion pirates with only a screwdriver during the raid last month. So if you still think you can push these people into doing something they don't want feel free to try and make them, but be warned that every single person in this establishment will not hesitate to come to their aid. Actually, most would be happy too considering public opinion of starfleet is quite low out here in the boonies. So, if you have any ounce of self preservation, I suggest you leave the way you came."
The jughead that had spoken earlier postured, nostrils flared in typical alpha male behavior, and his fist clenched as he surveyed the mechanic with barely concealed rage at her insulting attitude. Other than that no one made a move. "Are you Atlas P. Carter?"
"Yes. And I don't appreciate you heckling everyone to find me. I was in the middle of work. It's rude! Not to mention these people came here to get drunk, not have to deal with your bullshit."
There were murmurs and shouts of agreement from the patrons who raised their drinks in respect, each watching the scene with avid interest. After all, the holo-vids were on the fritz again so it was their only form of entertainment at that moment. She'd fix the damned things after current business had been taken care of. Jughead grit his teeth, and through narrowed eyes, brought his communicator to his mouth hitting transmit. "This is Lt. Grimes to the transporter room, we have five to beam up. Atlas Carter has been secured."
The device clicked as the message was received and returned. "This is the transporter room, locking on to your DNA signatures, please remain stationery."
Violet eyes widened in realization as she took a few steps back, readying herself to run. "Oh, hell no! Like I'm going anywhere with bastards!"
Now, from either being rusty from two years of a mostly sedentary lifestyle or having crappy luck, Lt. Grimes managed to wrap his crushing grip around her forearm to drag her back just in time. To which Atlas responded by head butting the guy who let go in surprise. Then, before he gained his barring, she dropped down to shoot out a leg for a sweeping kick that sent him careening backwards into the poker table that folded in from his weight, scattering credits onto the floor. It was at that moment that the other starfleet members jumped into action.
As she swirled into a crouched position from the momentum a leg came flying at her right, quickly she cushioned the blow by blocking with her forearms then followed through by shoving his leg back, sending him off balance and into three people who grabbed hold of him. As the man became preoccupied with fighting his captors Atlas jumped to full height only to be caught around the midriff as another officer barreled into her, sending them flying into a booth and landing on top of a table, shattering glass mugs into her back with a crash. Pain immediately shot up her spine in protest but she hastily ignored it, instead redirecting her efforts into punching the man as he let go and using her legs to crunch into her assailants crotch, wrapping up by thrusting him back to topple over another table. Sending the people occupying it scrambling out of the way as the drinks flew through the air.
Just as the next guy went to make a run at her, and a few more patrons began joining into the fray, a phaser shot rang out ushering the room to silence. Grimes wiped a tickle of blood from his forehead as he held the gun in the air. Glaring at her with bared teeth, he violently motioned with his free hand to one of his men, "Ensign Weathers, would you kindly cuff Miss Carter and remand her into custody. And as for the rest of you lot, don't you dare move or so help me I'll stun your asses six ways to Sunday!"
Weathers, the only one not to receive injury, stalked forward and pulled out a pair of regulation titanium cuffs from off his belt. Hauling Atlas forward he harshly spun her around, bringing her arms with her, and tightened the tool around her wrists, with force more than what was deemed necessary. For extra measure the ensign shortened the length of the chain causing her arms to squish together uncomfortably and painfully dig into her injuries. Something the prick obviously did on purpose.
"Transporter room to Lt. Grimes. You guys need to stop moving if we're to get a lock," the communicator clicked annoyingly. Answering back the Lt. kept his eyes on the troublemaker, glowered at her. "Sorry about that, had a bit of a disagreement. Also if you could alert medical, we have a few people that need tending to. Thanks."
"Roger that."
Nobody quite knew what exactly had transpired or why. So being the only one brave enough J'Rune took a moment to speak up, clearly upset by the damages and the unknown motives of the Starfleet officers. "Excuse me, but why exactly are you taking our mechanic! You've no right to just come in here and shang-hi the lady. And don't go giving us that bullshit about how you're the federation. We're citizens and we have rights! You can't just go about and kidnap people!"
Right as the tell tale golden glow of the trans-mat beam began to encircle them Grimes answered. "You're right we can't just kidnap people, but we can collect awol cadets."
Atlas pivoted towards the Lt. with clear confusion and horror written across her face, the word awol ringing through her ears tauntingly. As they were disappearing into particles she barked out a strangled reply that echoed across the shocked room. "Bullshit!"
To say that Atlas Carter was pissed was an understatement. More like livid. After appearing in the transporter room, cussing everyone and their mothers out, she was promptly hauled away and dragged to the brig rather forcefully. There, some security officer held her down while a beefy nurse, who she felt was stereotypically named Olga, man handled her into submission in order to treat her wounds with a skin-regenerator. After that, and her constant screaming of obscenities upon deaf ears, as the officers muted her room, she paced the small space for five hours with no idea as to what exactly was going on. After all, she had quit the academy three years ago. Signed all the damn paper work and everything. It was a pretty cut and dry affair.
Folding her arms over her chest she glared at the re-enforced glass partition, attempting illogically to burn a hole through it. Even though it was a futile effort it made her feel slightly better. Slightly.
With one more shout at her captors she kicked the glass for the last time in aggravation, then retreated to the prison issued bed on the back wall. Falling onto the rock hard surface with a groan Atlas buried her head into the pillow and reviewed her last days at the academy, trying to find some reason that could account for the horrible mix-up. Only to come up bust. Unfortunately, even if the current predicament was fixed it wouldn't matter. She could never return to the outpost. Especially since they knew she had once associated with Starfleet. That place really despised the organization. Hell, it was one of the reasons she picked it! No one from her past would ever bother her there. Apparently a misplaced sentiment.
A knock on the glass thrust the currently jobless mechanic from her inner reflection to glare at the interloper. It only lessened for a split second in surprise when she saw who lay behind it, but she quickly reestablished the look. Admiral Archer, a man she had known personally, stood with a blank expression marring his features, hands firmly placed behind his back as he examined her persons for a good minute. Taking in every oil stained detail. "You look like shit."
Belting out a mock laugh Atlas rolled onto her side so her neck wasn't craned awkwardly to address the man. "And it's nice to see you too Gramps! I wasn't going to say anything, but since we're apparently sharing you've gotten older and saggier since we last talked."
He scowled before tentatively rolling his eyes, choosing instead to dismiss the comment, quite used to her crotchety behavior when stuck in a powerless situation. It was her defensive mechanism. One that was only going to get worse later on. With a tug of his head he motioned toward the cell to a security officer. "Open it for me."
"Sir?" The man asked in confusion from his seat, straightening his posture reflexively as trained to do for a superior. His arm hesitantly lifted off his leg wondering if he had misheard as he glanced at the release button of the control panel before him. Archer grumbled about new blood and unclasped his hands, "Did I stutter? I said open the damn thing!"
"Admiral I don't think that's such a good idea. She's feral. Took four highly trained officers to restrain her. It's best the cadet stay's put so as not to harm you. Should you require privacy with the prisoner I can stop the recordings," Mr. McCautious remarked, eyeing Atlas distrustfully. The older man, who really hated repeating himself, nearly busted a vein as he shouted. "Just open the damned door, that's an order! This cadet and I have important information regarding her future to discuss and I'd rather it be in a more comfortable environment. My body ain't what it used to be."
The officer, as well as the other two present, paled at the reprimand and hastily hit the controls looking anywhere but the authority figure in the room. Archer was known to have a quick temper and hold grudges on the littlest detail. The most famous having to do with his beagle. No one ever knew what happened that poor engineer and didn't wish to find out. Immediately the partition retracted with a hiss.
Stepping out Atlas eagerly exited the cell, leveling the Admiral with an angry questioning expression, taking in every detail of his appearance as he had done earlier to her. And were it not for the deep dark tired rings she found around his eyes there would be a slew of scathing remarks directed his way. Not all of them in standard. It was obvious something denied him sleep. Something troubling enough to warrant his personal presence on board a ship to collect a lowly "awol cadet" when he should've been back on earth managing starfleet. The current task could have easily been delegated to a captain. So the nagging question of why kept her temperment contained. For the moment anyway.
Seeing that she was waiting for direction from him, Archer turned about face and strode towards the automatic door, "Cadet, if you'll follow me. Everyone else as you were. If I'm needed I'll be in the captain's ready room and should only be hailed if someone's dying or about to start a war. Should I be interrupted for anything less I'll make Delta Vega look like Disney land compared to where the idiot stupid enough to bother me will end up."
"Sir, at least allow one of my men to accompany you should the cadet decide to become a threat," a lieutenant stepped forward halting the hasty exit. A suggestion he immediately regretted as the admiral swiveled his sharp gaze upon him. "If I wanted the extra company I would have asked for it. I'm perfectly capable of handling myself, thank you. Now, if you're done questioning my authority I have matters to attend to."
He didn't wait for a response. A man of his position and age rarely did. Quickly the two made their way into the sterile white hall, navigating through the busy networks of the starship. Annoyingly every crew member they past would stop everything to stand to attention and salute their superior, per regulation. A regulation that wore on Atlas's already strained nerves, but more than anything it posed as an unwanted reminder of why she left. It was those very same regulation and protocols that destroyed her faith in everything the organization stood for. Peace for a price. A heavy price. One that she vowed never to pay again.
Following Archer into the turbolift they stood side by side, both staring forward into the abyss, the floor lurching upward as he tapped the recall button to the bridge. Silence permeated the small space and only the tell tale hum of machinery dare break it. With an unperceived side glance the admiral decided to take proper stock of his former protege. The first moment he had seen her his old rickety heart almost stopped with a sputter in the brig. She'd looked so beaten and worn down. A pale image of the vibrant young woman he had known and he'd always blame himself for that. If only he had never suggested the Atlantis team take her to Theta Sigma five as a work credit towards her command track he might have saved the last bits of innocence she had had. Those shinning ideals and beliefs she'd held fast to that Starfleet seemed to lack for the past twenty-five years. A change that was desperately needed in the way they operated. One Archer had thought she might have one day brought about. Would one day bring about, he reminded himself. Because unfortunately for her fate had come a knocking calling for Atlas. But looking at her, with skin so pale it was almost translucent, eyes so guarded and distrustful of the world, and a body edging dangerously on the thin side of the spectrum, it was like re-meeting the sixteen year old version of her all over again. Save with more curves, heftier chaise, and fuller caboose. So he had to wonder if she were truly up for the task he was about to thrust upon her. Though, stifling a weighty sigh, he knew he had no other choice. He dare not trust anyone else with it.
With a metallic hiss the lift doors opened revealing the bridge, all crew members turned towards the new arrivals as a navigator announced them, "Admiral on the bridge!"
Everyone stood to attention as he nodded his head in acknowledgement and proceeded to walk across to the other side, everyone returning to their work as he glanced at the captain. "If you don't mind I'll be commandeering your ready room for thirty or so minutes, I'm not to be disturbed."
The captain, a gruff old battle axe, watched Atlas with an analytical eye as if searching for whatever possible reason Archer would have an interest in her for. Apparently he must have found something to satisfy his curiosity as he held back a smirk and waved them on. "Take as much time as you need admiral. I have a feeling you'll need it."
"Don't I know it," the older man grumbled as he punched in a code for the slightly concealed door beside it. Atlas fought the urge to roll her eyes at the male camaraderie and followed her previous mentor into the room, exit firmly shutting behind her as she did so. The space was slightly small, spare in furnishings save an oblong mahogany table with a holo projector in the middle and of course surrounded with the appropriate amount of chairs reflecting the number of superior officers on board. Though, to her surprise, there was also no observational window into space, clueing her into the age of the ship she was currently held "hostage" on. Although taking in the slightly darker grey of the materials used in building everything it narrowed it down considerably. The USS Mayflower to be exact. One of the more older models, though the hull would have been upgraded with the newer stronger iridescent plating.
Gesturing to take a seat Atlas did so begrudgingly, watching Archer do the same. "Computer," he prompted without removing his eyes from hers, "lock all doors, Chief medical override only, and initiate privacy level five: restricted access."
"Please state rank, name, and security code," a disembodied robotic voice replied. "This is Grand Admiral Jonathan Archer, security code: delta-9-7-2-omega-K-3-Q-R-34."
"Request granted."
"So," Atlas prompted, drumming her fingers against the table, trying to act casual when all she wanted to do was scream and shout, "Grand Admiral now, huh?"
"Yeah, well, a lot has happened in the three years you've been gone kid. It's good to see you though..." He trailed off as an uncomfortable silence encompassed the room. Unsaid words hung in the air but no one knew how to voice them. How to broach what needed to be said. To Atlas's surprise she found herself feeling incredibly uncomfortable, a rarity for her, but one that staved off her anger towards the confusing situation. Like for instance, why the hell was she there!?
Archer fidgeted in his seat, arms crossing and uncrossing as if he didn't exactly know where to put them, before his eyes caught hers. He sighed, body deflating in some unnamed grief, "Look...Atlas about the Atlantis team-about what happened-about Bishop and the cover up-"
In an instant the young woman stood up, her chair violently smashing into the wall from her abruptness, slamming her palms onto the table. "Don't! Don't you dare," she growled lowly, voice wavering with thick emotions bubbling up from the name. The air in the room grew heavy, almost electric. "You don't-you don't get to talk to me about that. No one gets to talk to me about that day. Because if that's why I'm here, if that's why you brought me here," She shouted, pointing an aggressive finger towards him, venomous woods curling at the tip of her tongue surging for freedom. Chest heaving in restrained anger as a strange energy seemed to thrum around them. A low metallic chattering began to pick up as anything not glued down to the floor began to shake as if in an earthquake. "No one gets to apologize to me! No one gets to tell me it's going to be ok! Because it's obviously not! It will never be ok!"
A picture frame, still clinging to the wall, shattering from some unknown force, sending glass raining down around them as it started a chain reaction, moving from picture to picture around the room. "Atlas, calm down. Now!"
Said woman blinked at his tone. Never had he yelled at her before, not even when she had been a particular teenage pain in his ass, but then, glancing at the slightly shambled room, she realized what she'd done. Fuck! Taking in a couple deep fast breaths she shakily pulled another chair to her and sat down, suddenly feeling as if the floor might lurch up to meet her if she didn't. Running a tired hand down her face she cursed. "Fuck. I'm sorry I didn't...dammit this is part of why I left! Ever since….," her voice cracked as her eyes once again slightly glassed with tears that she refused to acknowledge or set free, "ever since that day my control has been shit. So what ever it is, what ever reason I've been summoned here, I'm no help to you. Hell, the only thing I'm good for is fixing machines. At least there I never have to...it's what I deserve after everything. So what ever it is you have to say I don't want to hear it. Just fix this mess and send me on my way."
Leaning her elbows upon the table Atlas hid her face between her hands, to cowardly to face the man before her, and tried to shove down the feelings of guilt and sorrow she'd kept buried for over three years. Shifting in his spot, the admiral crossed his arms over his chest, the sight causing his old heart to squeeze in a sharp ache, but he realized then nothing he could say would help alleviate her pain. He didn't rightly know how. So he steeled his features starting on the next best thing. One he hoped would not only save lives but also, in some strange roundabout way, save hers. "You're right. I suppose there is nothing to say on that matter so...I'll move on to the one that has brought you here today. I'm sure you're eager to find out why you're listed as an AWOL cadet."
"Listen I don't care! Just fix it-"
"Shut it," Archer commanded with every bit of absolute authority he was know for, "You've had you're turn to talk, now it's time for you to sit back and listen. In three days we'll be docked at headquarters, and I only have a few hours left in which to pull all this off, so to save time keep all your comments till the end. Now, I know you've lost all belief in starfleet, and I understand your reasons, but we need you. I need you."
Atlas glared and opened her mouth only to promptly shut it when he returned the gesture. Continuing on he pulled up a visual schematic onto the holo-screen before them. Her breath hitched, face morphing into a look of utter surprise. Never did she think she'd be seeing that particular project again. As far as she was aware it only made it to her professors desk for grading then the trash bin.
"Good," Archer remarked, "I see you recognize your work. I believe it was a requirement for your PhD in advanced technology at MIT. It should just be gathering virtual dust in their archives, but unfortunately that's wasn't the case. Apparently Admiral Marcus took a keen interest in your career path for some time and found these plans quite...appealing. So much so that during your second year at the academy he began constructing the damn thing in secret. A week ago he brought it to an emergency proposal meeting on dealing with the current rising tension between the Romulan and Klingon Empires towards the federation. It passed, unfortunately. So, effective it's completion, the USS Geronimo, the first Nautilus class vessel, will accompany a federation ship upon it's exploratory mission to see wether or not tactical ships should be employed within starfleet. If this "test" deems that they are indeed necessary then we're a stone throw away from a military armada. Not only will this provoke the Romulan and Klingons, but it will illicit war. Thankfully, I was able to gain some conditions for the venture demanding a neutral party be the proctor in assessing and recording any and all findings. I would like-no, need you to be this person. While you don't particularly hold fond feelings towards starfleet you're smart enough to know the importance of it remaining a peace keeping armada."
Atlas, while she sympathized with the admiral, couldn't find it in herself to do what he was proposing. Shaking her head she said as much, "Find someone else."
Next second she was jumping in her chair as Archers fists suddenly smashed against the table in anger "Dammit! There is no on else! Can't you see, you're the only person I can trust without a shadow of a doubt to complete this task. Anyone else could easily be manipulated into siding with Marcus, be it by a promise of career advancement or the threat of none. You're in the unique position that you wouldn't give two shits because of what happened. So I know you won't bend to their will. Please Atlas, I need you to do this if not for me then for the lives that could be saved."
The light orange haired woman swallowed, grimacing at the low blow. Reminding her yet again of the one life she wanted to save but failed. Where had anyone been that day for Bishop. Why hadn't any one been there for her. Again, she had to refuse the offer. Her life was better served repairing machines. Fixing damaged parts. At least there she didn't have to worry about life or death decisions. "I'm sorry, really I am. But I just can't-I can't return to starfleet. That's not my life anymore."
"And being some recluse Mechanic on the edge of the neutral zone is!? Christ Atlas, I have never seen someone with some much potential piss it away because of one day, one awful horrible day. You scream, you cry, you beat your fists against the injustice, you rage against the world, but you're supposed to pick yourself back up and keep carrying forward. You don't just give up and quit! We have all lost people kid. I'm 145, you don't think I haven't lost close friends, people I love, in the line of duty. But I have to keep moving on so I don't loose any more. That's the way the world works. And don't think I don't know what you were doing at that outpost. That you've exiled yourself there as some sort of personal penance because you believe you don't deserve to live the life you want when the one you cared for the most slipped through your fingers and there was nothing you could do to stop it. Well, you don't get to chose your penance, that's not how it works! It's chosen for you. So if you truly believe you deserve punishment for what happened on Theta Sigma five then for god sake take the job. Do this one last thing. Do it so no one else has to die. So that no other family has to grief over the lose of a loved one. Hell, do it for Bishop."
Archers last fevered words clung to the air as silence in the wake of his passioned speech fell. It was a gamble to use guilt as a motivator, hell to even speak about that which she'd asked him not to was, but he was desperate. He had to convince her. And as the air somewhat crackled again with that invisible energy he began to doubt his abilities for the first time in many, many, years. Preparing for some telekinetic backlash his muscles tensed underneath his leathery skin. However it never came.
Atlas, who now rested her chin upon her intwined hands, vacuously gazed across at him. Yet an intensity blazed in her violet eyes that he had never seen before, almost making them appear as if they were glowing with her emotions. Ones he, for the life of him, could not decipher, but ones that caused a cold chill to run across his spine and the hairs on his old body to stand on end. "Alright, but only for this one year mission. After that I'm gone. I won't be taking another commission when it's over."
The admiral let go of the breath he hadn't realized he'd been keeping. It was a small relief to hear her accept his plea—though he'd rather her stay with starfleet permanently. Of course, if he played his cards right, fixed her to accompany the right ship, sent her on the right missions with the right people, he may not have to worry about losing her again. Because he would lose her if he couldn't get her to change her mind. Because when she left next time she would not be so easily found. Next time she'd use every bit of intellect and cunning she had to make sure of that. The only reason he had found her was that he suspected, in her grief, she didn't really care about erasing her tracks. Although he still wasn't sure exactly were she had went the first year out of her three year hiatus, but he did have a sneaking suspicion she fell back onto the streets she'd grown up on. A thought that always made him shudder.
Looking back across the table Archer nodded his head. "Thank you. That's all I can really ask for. So," he started, pulling up a data file on the holo screen. Her academic record popped up with a few reports and articles accompanying it on the side. One or two dating back to the year she left. "This is how it's going to go. You're going to finish your last six months of the Academy on the command track. From there you'll graduate as a lieutenant commander. The only reason you're not a captain is due to the three year absence. The other admirals weren't sure of your current proficiency to fulfill that job tittle, though if some had it their way you'd be back to an ensign. Now the cover story will be that during your studies you became concerned about the border outposts, more specifically the mining ones, when you fell across a small report depicting the dangerous conditions and the lack of federation presence at these facilities. The places that work tirelessly to supply us with a steady stream of dilithium. Upset you had brought this to the attention of your superiors but they brushed you off stating it was being taken care of. By taken care off I'm sure you're aware they only send a ship every six or seven months to make sure they're still alive from your time spent on that moon. So, being outraged, you had left to do an unauthorized undercover survey to conclude that more security was needed. Taking you three years to gather evidence and complete your assessment of every mining colony near the border. Now you got demoted for going awol but managed to prove your point, thus ensuring the safety of millions of miners and there families from pirate raids. Which is why you were able to keep some rank."
"So basically one big lie. Shouldn't be to hard. Starfleets done it before," Atlas murmured as she leaned on one hand lazily, falling back into her earlier disposition. Though an angry undertone subtly lay in the last bit of her sentence, much to the admirals discomfort. Though he wisely chose not to acknowledge her last comment. "Some parts of it yes," he agreed, "Others, not so much. In fact, we will be sending more security and patrols to all our border outposts. Of course not for the reasons we're claiming. You're cover will hide the official reason. That's prompted by rising tension against the federation."
The now re-instated cadet stood up, ready to get things over with. "Alright. Since we're done here I'd like to go acquire a shower. Your security officers messed me up, throwing me down into a booth filled with drinks. I smell like a distillery."
"Just wait one minute, I'm not done yet," he ordered, halting her from further retreat. "Now for those control issues you've previously admitted to, I'd like to set you up with a weekly appointment to help. I don't need cadets getting blasted by you're telekinesis because you're barriers are eroded from trauma. Nor would I care for the rest of the brass finding out about your particular abilities. I'll send the details to your PADD once you're settled back at the academy. I can assure you, this person is deserving of trust and will be beneficial to your healing. Now..." he pulled out some cadets reds, placing them upon the table, "Put these on cadet and report to sick bay for evaluation. They know your coming and I'm sure they'll let you take a quick shower while you're down there."
Atlas looked at the uniform with unconcealed disgust and opened her mouth to refuse—she did not wear skirts, they weren't tactically efficient and proved a hinderance in a fight. As if hearing her thoughts Archer smirked smugly before unfolding the clothes, revealing a key difference. "Don't worry, these female regs include pants. No skirts. Besides I don't need cadets getting distracted during classes lusting after your long legs."
She resisted a smile at his piss and vinegar tone, clearly more upset with people lusting after her than their imagined dropping grades. She would have laughed if her mood weren't so terrible. "You know me so well."
From the author: Well that's it for now, how did I do? I know the enterprise crew has yet to make an appearance but that'll be next chapter. Though two people from the first enterprise did make a cameo, ten points to who ever guesses who they were and what I'm talking about. Now as I'm new to the fandom i apologize for any inaccuracies. Voyager and the two new movies are the only ones I've watched. :P But I do fact check for interesting things on wiki to try and stay true to the genre. BTW this is before the events with Nero.
Next time: The academy is just as Atlas remembered, petty. Of course what had she been expecting a welcoming party? Of course not. What she hadn't expected though was to make new friends, rekindles old rivalries, as well as enemies, and somehow manage to keep running into trouble. When the hell did school get so difficult?!