Chapter 06 - Hobbesian Trap
Lorca's paranoia over Bex reaches its boiling point during a convoluted Klingon attack.
NOTE: At the end of episode Lethe, Saru informed the Captain that the Admiral was taken by Klingons, but has no clue WHICH Klingons. They do not learn that Kol was behind the Cancri 4 Trap until Into the Forest I Go. In the following chapter, Lorca and Saru will learn this little fact a few hours after Cornwell's capture.
TIME: The following story happens during and directly after the episode Lethe.
Less than two weeks aboard the Discovery and Bex has been kidnapped, imprisoned, poisoned and thrown against the wall a few times. The worst in her opinion, however, has been the food.
"There's been a downgrade in quality..." today's breakfast prescription serves up a simple bowl of low-sodium chicken broth. The cafeteria's white lights reflect off its anemic golden color as a single fleck of pepper floats across the surface.
"Arsenic poisoning is a serious infliction," Kuade chows down on a Ploughman's lunch of exotic cheeses, deli meats and alien fruits, "Long prognosis includes nerve damage, renal failure, skin cancer-"
"Thank you, Doctor Kuade."
"Ooh, Doctor! I like the sound of that. I'm just letting you know how proud I am of you, Sam. Despite Lorca's attempts on your life, you've been such a trooper and a valuable member of this crew."
"Funny man. You know I'm not really here for intel, right? I'm leverage. Leverage against Charlie."
"Mm..." Kuade purses his lips, "I think you give their relationship far too much credit. Lorca made you the short straw for a reason. You had more to offer in his little war. Although, he has shown an incredible amount of patience with you. I suspect he enjoys the power play you provide. Fighting Klingons can be dull work, it's mentally stunting. Most captains pick up chess or Kal-toh to keep their minds sharp. Our captain has picked up a knack for head games."
Bex plays with her soup, "I don't think I'm a willing participant."
"You sure, because you've been on a roll, Ms. I'm Jealous."
The pair sits at a small round table by themselves, as they do almost every day since boarding the ship. Most of the crew remain a good 39½ foot distance from the former Marquida and that weirdo, Friday. There have been, however, new additions to the crew that make an exception.
"Mornin'!" a very boyish security officer joins the table.
"Tyler!" Bex smiles dazzled by the sight of him. The young officer cleans up well with slicked back hair and a freshly shaven chin. She notices his shiny new Commander rank badge, "Did you get promoted?"
"Huh?" he looks down at his badge and then smiles suave, "Yeah. Lorca offered me the position of Chief of Security."
"That is a big promotion," Kuade replies in disbelief.
"I'm sorry, who are you? I should probably get to know all my Operations officers," Tyler holds out a hand.
"Oh, this is Lieutenant Joe Friday. Friday, this is Commander Ash Tyler. We rescued him off that Klingon freighter," Bex introduces and Kuade reluctantly accepts his strong handshake.
"Yes, and before I forget. Thank you. I owe you my life," the Tyler charms Bex with a gracious smile.
"You owe me nothing. We'd still be imprisoned or dead if it weren't for your piloting skills," Bex replies making the young man shrug and shyly look away.
This conversation reminds Kuade of when Bex and Charlie first met. How easily young people lose sight of their reservations and flirt with complete strangers. The spare tire rolls his eyes and spots something far more captivating over by the replicators.
"Michael!" he shouts from across the room, startling everyone in their seats. Burnham just scowls at him and orders food a burrito for her roommate.
Kuade sighs, "What a gal. You know, she was the one who figured out how to work the S-drive without a Boomer. Intelligent, beautiful, and I hear she's got a mean Vulcan pinch. I can see why the Captain's so enthralled with her."
"Oh yeah?" Tyler glances over his shoulder.
"Hey, Michael! Over here!" Kuade calls out again.
"What are you doing?!" Bex snips, "Don't fraternize with the crew."
"What? I'm just being nice. No need to get worked up. You're still my number one," he winks and Tyler chuckles at the two of them.
Tilly appears by the table, "Scuttlebutt is you took out six Klingon warriors in hand-to-hand combat," she tries not to swoon when the handsome Tyler smiles up at her.
"Can't believe everything you hear. Please, sit down," he offers. The small round table can only comfortably sit four people. Tyler and Bex scooch closer together closing in on Kuade and forcing him from the table.
"I'm Cadet Sylvia Tilly," the blushing redhead shakes hands, "Uh, this is my mentor, Michael."
"You're Michael Burnham," he says with fascination.
"The same," she smiles with contempt, "You probably can believe everything you hear."
"I tend to assess people in the here and now," his eyes fix tensely on Burnham, "You're a functioning crew member of a Federation starship. Right here. Right now," he wipes his mouth off with his napkin and reaches across the table to shake Burnham's hand, but she just stares at him with a slight crease in her brow. Kuade and Bex exchange looks and Tilly kicks her foot.
"Don't leave him hanging," the redhead communicates with her eyes.
Burnham realizes her rudeness and takes Tyler's hand.
"Crazy kids," Tilly giggles.
Tyler frowns, "...Michael?" their hands remain clasped and she just stares at the ground.
"Michael, what's wrong?" Tilly asks concerned.
"I should go," Burnham warns in a low voice, but her grip tightens.
"You okay?"
"Yes... No," she starts to pant and her eyes glaze over, "AAAAAHHHHHH!" she shrieks in horror, squeezing Tyler's hand with immense strength. She arches her back and then doubles over in pain. Tilly jumps to her feet to brace her roommate as she hits the cafeteria floor.
"SAREK!" Burnham cries more than screams before her eyes roll to the back of her skull.
Tyler, Kuade, and Bex stand in the hallway outside Sickbay arguing with themselves whether or not they should intrude on Burnham. It would be rude to barge their way into such a private moment, but all three worry for her.
The boyish officer rubs his now bruised hand, "I'd like to check up on her, but I feel like it would be inappropriate. We only just met."
Kuade and Bex shake their heads and look away with no solutions.
"I have to get back to my station. Hey, let me know if you find out anything?" and the new Chief of Security leaves for the bridge.
"...You know," Kuade whispers in Bex's ear, "Starfleet regulation states that any staff member who has spent time in enemy custody must speak with a counselor. Maybe you should schedule an appointment now."
"Good to see you're interfering again, Detective," she cocks an eyebrow at him before softly entering the Sickbay. She gingerly steps across the floor making her steps soft so they do not interrupt Burnham speaking with the Captain. Dr. Culber runs tests with electrical probes and blood drawing but finds anything wrong. Burnham attempts to explain some kind of advanced mind-meld technique while Tilly listens closely to provide moral support.
"The Katra has a healing power. Sarek used it to save me. A kind of soul graft. It's a procedure that's frowned upon, and rare."
"So, you're linked with him? He gets wounded, you feel pain?"
"Has this happened to you before?"
"Excuse me, Cadet," a nurse interrupts Bex's eavesdropping, "Did you need help with something?"
"Uh.. yes, um," she tries to talk and listen at the same time, "I need... to uh..."
"Sarek is delirious. He might be dying," Burnham declares with a waiver in her voice.
"I'm sorry," Bex leaves the nurse to address Burnham, "Are you talking about Sarek, the Vulcan?"
"Yes," she answers.
"You know the Ambassador?" Culber inquires.
"He was witness at your Donatu V hearing," Burnham answers informatively, "He testified on your behalf while you were in recovery."
"Uhh.. yeah, but he did a lot more than that..." Bex wonders how she knows that, "Is he in danger?"
"I think he's been attacked," Burnham's voice hitches.
"Michael and Sarek share a Katra together," Tilly tries to explain, "Their souls are linked."
"Like telepathic monitoring? I'm familiar. I lived a Betazoid," she addresses the Captain, "So, we're organizing a rescue mission, right?" but she already knows his answer.
Lorca expression remains like stone, but his eyes read, "We can't."
"Captain, please," Burnham pleads, displaying a vulnerability she would normally never dare show, "Captain. Please help me find him."
Hours later, Lorca stands with arms crossed behind the protective glass of the viewing area while Burnham and company leave the shuttle bay. Tyler pilots the small craft with ease as he and Tilly assist in an unauthorized rescue mission. The shuttle's lights disappear into the twisted, purple thunderstorm cloud of the Yridia Nebula where Sarek was last heard. Although the Discovery hovers more than a lightyear away, the walls of the ship rumble at the power of the nebula's storms.
"You're actually letting them go," Bex joins the Captain, "That's a lot of broken protocols. How very un-Starfleet of you."
"I distinctly remember you accusing me of being unlike any Starfleet Captain you've ever met," he sounds slightly offended, but shows a hint of playfulness in his eyes.
Bex questions Lorca's agenda with this rescue mission, but in doing so, she also questions whether or not she really knows the man, "...thank you," regardless of her uneasiness of the Captain, she feels grateful.
Lorca raises his brows at her appreciation, "Does Sarek really mean that much to you?"
"Mm... He only saved my life."
"Kept you out of prison."
"No. I mean he actually saved my life. I owe him a huge debt of gratitude," she answers candidly.
"Well, let's hope Burnham finds him out there," the normally harsh Captain replies with a hint of encouragement in his voice before turning to leave the viewing area.
"He'd make a good Marquida," later that evening, Bex and Kuade walk side by side towards the main cafeteria in the primary hull. Kuade aptly shuffles a deck of cards in his one hand with Charlier Cuts and flourishes, "He abandons his Starfleet integrity quite easily. You should've asked to go with Michael."
"What use would I have been?"
"You have experience with telepathic communication."
"This Katra thing is different. Besides. Lorca's never going to let me leave the ship again. With my luck, I'm probably allergic to nebula pollen."
Kuade groans, "For goodness sakes, woman! We're on a science vessel."
The Marqui work crew mingle drunkenly in the lounge area. They greet Bex with a loving "Heeey!" when she walks in and offers her a seat on one of the couches. The youngest, Howard, runs late, but the rest of the men have already dealt a few hands of Five Card Stud. Bronze chips, Latium slips and bottles of replicated liquor litter the coffee table while the men continue their head start on drinking. They extend Bex a brew and despite what Dr. Culber would advise, she graciously accepts.
These men work under Starfleet's umbrella, but are free of the institution's stiff collars. They don't care much for formalities, politics or the exploration of new cultures. They work to stay busy so they can better appreciate the breaks in between. Usually that means late night poker and as long as you're 'Good People' they'll deal you in.
"Alright gentlemen and Bex," Kuade takes the center seat and shuffles his own deck, "I'm sure we're all familiar with the antiquated poker variant, 'Texas Hold'em'."
"Ow! Ancient, indeed!" Sual already has a comparable heap of chips.
"Alright, seven players?" Kuade asks before dealing.
"Nah, I'm out," the tallest and most drunk of the group backs down, "Boss's got my weddin' ring already," he slurs.
"We've only been playing for ten minutes!" another player points out.
"Bex?" Kuade offers and she nods while stacking chips.
Two cards are placed down in front of each player, then the flop of three cards; King of Spades, King of Clubs, and a Queen of Hearts.
Sual whistles, "Startin' out strong. I call," and tosses a Latium slip into the pot without even looking at his cards. The rest of the players are a little more cautious and peek at their hand before they check.
Howard sprints into the cafe and gets greeted warmly, followed by a lambasting for missing out on another game.
"Hey..." he says breathless, "The Enterprise is outside. Vice Admiral Cornwell is here," he smiles having just met Cornwell for the first time. Saul and the others crane their necks a bit to try an look out a window, but know better than to leave cards unprotected on the table.
"I bet I know why she's here," the drunken player nudges Bex.
"Oh? Did the Cap break protocol again?" Saul feigns surprise, "What's that, like strike ten? First he brought you on," he points to Bex as she finishes her first drink, "Then he got the Mutineer and that babyfaced soldier, Tyler. Most captains would've been hung by now," he shakes his head, "How much you willin' to bet Lorca and the Admiral are sleepin' together?"
The table recoils and dismisses the thought.
"The Admiral would never do that. It's against Starfleet regulation," Howard sweetly defends and pops open a bottle.
"And that's gonna stop, Lorca? How else has he lasted this long? I'm startin' a bet right here. Five slips says they knockin' heels tonight."
"Geeze, Saul. You're always making bets. What are you, a Ferengi?" Howard chuckles nervously.
"Hey, my mother was Ferengi," Sual snaps, but then cackles with the rest of the table, "Come on! Let's finish this game."
Kuade places down the turn of the Ace of Diamonds and everyone sucks in their breath.
The rotund, hairy man smiles coyly while stroking his black handle-bar mustache, "Oh-hoo, I'm all in," he pushes his large pile of chips and Latium to the center of the table.
"You never even looked at your cards," Bex points out.
"Don't matter what the cards say. It's all up here boys," he points to his forehead and then to everyone else, "Poker is war games. Ever heard of the Hobbesian Trap? It's what happens when two conflicting groups preemptively strike each other outta fear that the other'll hit first. Creates an endless spiral of terror. Explains every arms race in human history; World War III," he points at Bex, "Cuban Missile Crisis. Poker ain't no different. We practicing our war games right now. You fear what my cards read, so I'm makin' the first strike."
"I fold," Kuade announces.
The rest of the men toss their cards aside and roll their eyes. Years of poker night with Saul has taught the work crew to be cautious their boss' philosophical ramblings.
"I'm all in," Bex confidently offers her small pile of chips, "I was born after the Cuban Missile Crisis and then abducted before World War III."
Saul chuckles, "Ignorance is confidence."
"Care-fful," the drunkard slurs, "Thass how I loss my weddin' ring."
"You know, Bex. I've been meaning to ask you about your past life," Saul changes the subject, "What was the early 21st Century like?"
Bex throws her hands up a little thrown by the question, "I dunno. How would you describe the mid-23rd Century?"
Saul thinks, "Uh.. advanced?"
"Space-Agey," Howard offers.
"Blue?" says the drunkard.
"Honestly. Today's not much different from the 21st century. I was doing.. This," she gestures to the table, "Playing poker and drinking beer. I wasn't on a spaceship and we were at war with ourselves and not aliens, but if you strip away all the technology and all the off worlders, society hasn't really changed that much."
"Aww, no way! What about art and architecture? That had to change, right?" the youngest workman questions.
"Interestingly, not really. At least, human art hasn't changed much. We're still fawning over the same old paintings and monuments."
"It's been a rough couple centuries for Earth. We try to only remember the good parts," Kuade smiles softly.
"I don't believe it," Saul shakes his head and takes swig of beer, "Times have changed."
"I have pictures,"
"Oh really?" the chubby man calls her bluff.
"Like old-timey film prints?" Howard seems excited.
"No. Digital. On my 21st century communicator."
Kuade leans back a little surprised by this comment.
"I have hundreds of photos. New York, San Fran, Paris. All I need is a computer that can read Java and I can show them to you."
"Java?" Saul winces, "That's like, computer hieroglyphics. Not really our forte."
"Then maybe... a 5 watt AC/DC power adapter that we can plug into battery cell?"
The men shrug and tilt their heads side to side and calculate if they could build such a thing.
"I might be able to tinker together somethin' for yah, buuut only if you beat me."
The group heaves a big sigh and roll their heads back.
"Aww! Come on, Saul? You're not curious?" Howard teases.
"Oh, I'm very curious about these pictures, but I bet way too much on this hand. You were supposed to fold with everyone else."
"I'm not folding."
"Then we are in a quandary."
The group ponders a moment, "If I remember my game theory correctly," Kuade interjects and sets down the river; a Jack of Spades, "The only way to solve a Hobbesian Trap is for both sides to recognize that they are caught in one. Only then can trust be built and the future of nations spared."
Saul and Bex study each other for a long minute, "How 'bout it, boss? You fold, I fold."
The hairy man pets his mustache and resists the offer.
"I have photos that would make the Earth History Restoration Initiative wet themselves."
Saul grins devilishly, "You're a brat, you know that, Bex? Alright. For the betterment of our nations. On the count of three... one, two, three!" he slams his cards down hard on the table to reveals a pair of 2's. At the same time, Bex flips over her pair of 2's. An improbable, but perfect tie.
"Wha-" Saul chokes, "Friday, you are the worst dealer!"
The eight-foot tall first officer elegantly trots down the upper deck of the Discovery dormitories. Saru tries to maintain his composure despite how stressful he finds it to be the bearer of bad news, although, he fears the cockamamie rescue attempt that will ultimately follow will only add to his already trying day. Such is the life of being a Starfleet officer. One day, he will be the one to orchestrate a mission and he prays that his schemes will be far less reckless than Lorca's.
The Kelpien gathers himself before addressing his dressed down superior in his private quarters.
"Mr. Saru," the Captain never ceases to hide his annoyance.
"Cancri 4. It was a trap, sir," Saru explains pragmatically, "Klingons have taken the admiral. Their ships are en route to enemy space. Shall I-,"
"Notify Starfleet Command. Ask for orders."
The stick alien stammers surprised by such a prudent order.
"Is there a problem?" Lorca grows impatient to return to sleep.
"Er, uh. No, sir. Uh, just in the past we have engaged in alternative thinking on these matters."
"What if we go after her and it's another trap, Mr. Saru? Did you consider that? Starfleet can't afford to lose the Discovery. She's bigger than all of us. If so ordered, we will try and rescue the Admiral, but not without authorization."
Saru can't argue with such reasonable logic, "I will hail Starfleet now, sir," and he departs for the bridge.
How out of character for the Captain, the Kelpien thinks, Admiral Cornwell must've given him quite the tongue lashing. What a tragedy it will be when she is lost...
The next afternoon, after a full night of drunken engineering, Kuade sets down a cup of coffee next to a pile of wires, prototype boards, soldering components and tools on the cafeteria lounge table. Saul managed to get the food replicator to render several different components based off Bex's sketches. In the middle of the table sits a long tube of copper wires all crudely soldered to a small battery cell.
Bex rubs her painful forehead after having fallen asleep drunkenly on the sofa. She takes a gulp of coffee and taps the battery, "Do you think this'll fry my phone?" she asks Kuade in a hoarse voice.
The not nearly as hungover detective sits down next to his client and slowly sips his own cup of brew, "Honestly, I'm surprised you've even entertained this idea. I remember back in San Francisco, you swore to never open that Pandora's Box again."
"Comradery makes me forget why I ever decided to do that."
"Sure it's not the booze? Or maybe this is an elaborate attempt to win over your co-workers. You think they can help you secure the Marqui?"
Bex grins lazily, "No. This was just poker night."
"Oh? Am I to assume you actually enjoy being on the Discovery? Are you planning to stay aboard a while longer?"
"I'm still not convinced you can actually get me back."
"Are you doubting my capabilities again?"
"To perfect time travel? Yes."
"Well then," Kuade huffs, "I should get started on proving you wrong."
"Please do."
Kuade leaves the cafeteria and heads down to the secondary hull. The Marqui work crew begrudgingly returned to the Cargo Bay earlier, leaving the hungover cadet to her independent study. She scoops up some redundant components and dumps them in a rendered-materials recycling chute. Just then, the bubbly Cadet Tilly enters the mess hall looking for someone to talk to.
"Tilly!" Bex greets, "How did the mission go?"
"A huge success!" she smiles big, "Sarek is alive, but in pretty bad shape. He's in Sickbay now with Burnham," she takes a breath, "They're.. Sort of hashing a few things out. Family stuff. Could take a while, so I'm here. Bored. What are you up to?"
"Um. I was just attempting to build a Universal Serial Bus Micro-B Plug," Bex answers candidly.
"Oh! I don't know what that is," Tilly answers with a smile.
"It's a cable connector for my communicator."
"Maybe I can help."
Bex shows Tilly the USB connector she and others attempted to build that night. Replicating copper wire and insulation was simple enough, but finding a power source with low enough wattage was more difficult. The ship has no light sockets, so the boys used the battery from a power screwdriver. The last piece Bex requires is the head of the Micro-USB.
"Let's see if I can remember anything from my old Pre-Quantum Photonics Technologies course," the adroit cadet goes to work identifying the various wire colors, mumbling how the red wire is for '+5V DC' and white and green means 'Data(-)(+)' respectively. She takes the small pair of plyers from the tool kit Saul left on the table and begins twisting the wires into their proper pins.
Bex watches patiently, "Sooo, how does Burnham know Sarek?"
"Are you kidding? She was adopted by him."
"Really! She was raised by a Vulcan? That explains alot."
"Right?" Tilly wrinkles her nose, "I'm so proud of her, though. When we were in that nebula, Michael experienced a lot of strong negative emotions. Normally, she would just bottle it all up. Channel her Vulcan side, but instead, she embraced her feelings," Tilly smiles thoughtfully, "She embraced the human side."
"That's good, but don't you ever wish you could be so statuesque? Seems like it could come in handy."
"It's not healthy for you! Humans aren't meant to suppress their feelings. Not even the bad ones. Here," she hands over a the small USB connector, "I think that should do it."
The two cadets enter Bex's dorm room where the smartphone has been safely stashed away. Bex places the handmade charger and battery cell on her nightstand next to a now stale and unopened fortune cookie.
"Wow, what.. What is that?" Tilly sits down on the mattress.
"A communicator," Bex hands her phone over.
"From your time?" the redhead carefully rotates the phone with the tips of her fingers and studies its contours, "Wait, it's a PADD. No.. it has a speaker."
"It's both."
"This is... really advanced! Are you sure it's from Earth? From 2017?"
"I actually bought that in 2015."
Tilly's eyes widen, "Bex, I've never seen anything like this."
"Never? Now that you mention it, I do find it strange that my PADD and communicator aren't one device," she sits down next to Tilly.
"Hmm.. I wonder why this bit of technology regressed so much?"
Bex thinks a moment, "I've been reading a lot about World War III lately. Apparently, a lot of Earth's written history was lost during those decades. Maybe the technology was lost, too?"
"That could be. It wasn't long after the war when Zefram Cochrane perfected the warp drive. Mankind's pursuits in engineering changed focus... Wow," Tilly smiles wide, "Imagine the kind of communicators we would have today if we yours was never lost."
The time traveler bobs her head and for once doesn't feel so much like a 'primitive'.
"This is so cool!," Tilly gushes, "Can you turn it on?"
Bex takes her phone and carefully slides the delicate micro-USB into its port and switches on the battery. She holds the gadget at a distance in case it tries to spark, but lucky, no smoke appears. Tilly hovers over her shoulder while the loading screen of dead company logos scroll by.
"It works!" the redhead squeals excitedly while the vivid commercials play, making the phone chime happily with jingles. The screen goes dark a moment before loading the homepage with its relative date and time...
7:12 PM
FRI, APRIL 24, 2020
...along with the image of a toddler's face.
Bex's heart leaps and she abruptly flips the phone over and pushes it away. Her eyes close tightly as if suddenly struck with pain, "That's it.." she grimaces, "That's why I stopped turning this thing on..."
"Wha-what's wrong?"
Bex covers her mouth with her hand and her whole body turns pink with feelings of stupidity and heartache.
"Are you okay?" Tilly asks in a small voice.
"Yeah... I just need a moment."
Silence blankets the room as the two cadets bashfully stare into space. Tilly fidgets with her hands and rehearses different questions in her mind, but politely remains quiet.
PPPPUUUHHHH-RRRRUMMBLLLE!
The ship unexpectedly vibrates.
"Did... do you feel that?" Tilly asks.
PPPPUUHH-PPUHHHH-RRRRUMMBLLLE!
"The engines kicked on?"
"No... That was an explosion."
The lights in the dorm switch to Red Alert. Tilly steps over to the small 1'x 2' window and stands on the tips of her toes.
The ship rumbles again and part of the shield lights up, "It's a very small explosion," Tilly determines, "I can't see any ship."
"Asteroids?" Bex wipes her nose and unplugs her phone to hide it back under the bed.
"We wouldn't be in Red Alert," Tilly leaves the dorm to look out the larger hall window. Several other crewmen with the same idea point out the small Klingon Bird of Prey in the distance spitting non-damaging torpedos.
"What is it doing?" Tilly asks aloud.
"Provocation," a bald Deltan Operations officer replies, "Those torpedoes aren't doing any damage. They're just trying to get our attention."
Bex joins Tilly by the window and her communicator chirps.
"Hey, Bex! We're under attack!" Howard shouts a little panicked.
"Yes, I'm aware," surprising that he has reached out to her, "It's a Klingon. Starboard side."
"Two just decloaked back here by the stern."
Another communicator chirps down the hall and a Lieutenant Science officer informs the others about three more ships on the portside and bow, all spitting small blasts of torpedos.
The Deltan sighs heavily and gently rubs her smoothed head, "I don't think I have the energy for another Klingon attack."
A few of the crew groan in agreement.
"Bex, what is this?" Howard asks over the communicator, "Boss said to call you, cause you're our Klingon intel. Have you ever seen any like this?"
"Yes. They're in trade formation," she heaves, not thrilled.
"Oh.. uh.." Howard falters and his voice trails off.
"I should get down to Engineering," Tilly leaves the window along with the rest of the crew, leaving Bex to play look out.
Lorca speed walks down the hall and throws on his uniform top. His normally parted bangs lay flat and scruffy against his forehead. He storms onto the bridge while Saru requests scans and hailing frequencies, "Damn Klingons don't give us a moment's rest," the Captain looks even more haggard than his crew, thanks to his late night with the Admiral, "Mr. Saru. What do we have?"
"Eight Klingon Fighters total, Captain Lorca. 500 kilometers."
"Are they doing any damage?"
"No, sir. Shields are still at 100%," Lieutenant Jr. Owosekun responds.
"Have we located the mother ship?"
"Scanners pick up no other ships."
"What the hell are they doing?" Lorca chews his lip. This seems familiar, "Give me a visual of their current formation on the viewscreen."
The large 20 foot tall panorama window at the front bulkhead of the bridge lights up with a blue schematic of the Discovery. Eight Bird of Prey surround the ship, all equal distance apart and all taking turns firing small rounds of torpedos.
"It's a mech Ha'. They're in trade formation," Lorca determines and takes a seat at the Captain's chair.
"Trade formation?" this confuses Saru, "Sir, the last documented mech Ha' was well over 50 years ago. The tradition has since been retired."
"Looks like we found some Klingons who still practice. Word has spread about the Discovery. It's Starfleet's prized weapon. Priceless, but some people think she can still be bought. I say humor 'em. Let's see what they have to offer," Lorca leisurely sits in his Captain's Chair without a hint of concern, "Hailing frequencies... This is Captain Gabriel Lorca of the USS Discovery. You have our attention. Stop your attacks immediately and identify yourselves," he addresses the Klingons and they bark back demands in their ugly native tongue.
"Translation," the Captain requests.
Saru reads off his projection, "'Attention Discovery. This is House Kor. We have the... the... 'aCH?'" he waits for the translator to convert the Klingonese to English, but the last word remains in pIqaD, "I'm sorry, sir, but it appears our universal translator is struggling with this dialect. Ahem... 'Prepare for trade deal.'"
"Sorry, Starfleet will not negotiate with terrorists. Besides, we have nothing we can trade you."
Saru reads the next translation, "Yes, you do. You're sitting on it."
Lorca's expression drops and he smacks his lips, "Black Alert. Set Coordinates for Starbase 46," he instructs and briskly leaves the bridge to return to more sleep. The panorama window shows off the dazzling colors of the exposed mycelium plane as the ship jumps away.
Saru tilts his head and checks his map projection, "We are... only one astronomical unit away from our previous location."
"What?" Lorca stops short of the Bridge doors, "I said Starbase 46!"
"Yes, sir! That's where we should have landed."
"Do it again," Lorca stands by Saru and watches the lanky alien set the coordinates correctly. The ship enters Black Alert once more and jumps. The map projection readjusts to the ship's new location, only 0.3 light years from the previous jump, "What the hell is going on?"
"Detecting a sudden dip in spore production," the augmented Spore Operator, Airiam informs in a computerized voice.
"Bridge to Engineering," the Captain hails the comm, "Lieutenant Stamets, why can't we jump?"
"Um, Captain," Stamets answers, "The spores are all gone!"
The Engineering team have been keeping themselves busy with multiple test jumps with Stamets as their new Tardigrade replacement. Several empty canisters line on the floor outside the Cultivation Bay waiting to be sterilized. Cadet Tilly removes one canister from the storage wall to inspect the spores inside. Only a few hundred are present; a mere 30% of the expected quantity.
"What do you mean 'gone?'" the Captain questions Stamets while they inspect the Cultivation Bay. The normally giant plumes of blue clouds float like thin, dim rivers along the ground. The fungi themselves look their perfectly colorful selves, so contamination or physical sabotage could not be the culprit.
"I know! It's the weirdest thing!" Stamets rubs his chin. His first trip down the mycelium super freeway gifted the stringent Lieutenant some potent irreverence, "At first we thought it was a mechanical error with our spore chutes," he points to a vent in the upper corner of the bay, "Spores from the Cultivation Bay are pumped through pipes in the wall into our storage canisters. Then we detected a slight depletion with the spore production a few days ago, but nothing concerning. We're dealing with organic matter. Organic matter fluctuates, but within the last few hours, production has dropped nearly 60%!" Stamets speaks fast with big, animated hand gestures.
"Is this a result of the ship making longer jumps?"
"Ehhhhh.. longer jumps do require more spores, but we should have more than enough to make an unlimited number of jumps."
"Any theories?"
Stamets shrugs big, "Perhaps... a side effect from the introduction of human material via horizontal DNA transfer?"
"How would that affect the fungi in the Cultivation Bay?"
"The mycelium are connected within a vast super network. A network of incredible, unlimited possibilities. If one specimen is ever damaged, several others will also be affected."
"How long will it take to replenish our supply?"
"Maybe.. 9, 10 hours? Until then, we can return to making smaller jumps with my old software... I guess. Boring!" Stamets rolls his eyes.
The Captain worries for his mycologist, but makes no other arguments. Groundbreaking science is finicky and setbacks are par for the course, as are moments of stressed induced mania. He encourages Stamets to fix the problem and greets Saru who waits outside the bay.
"Mr. Saru," he nods and the two head back to the primary hull, "Something wrong?"
"Captain, I've been attempting to finish translating that last transmission we received from the Klingons. I believe it comes from a dialect that does not differentiate between the pronunciation of 'J' and 'CH'. Thus, the word 'aCH-"
"Is 'aj," Lorca stops dead in his tracks curses under his breath, "'Admiral'," he stands with his hands on his hips a moment and motions to Saru to come close, "Are you sure? Does the rest of the crew know?"
"Uh-er, well no, sir. You requested-"
"Good. I don't want to start a panic. Update Starfleet Command," and Saru replies by bowing his head obligingly. The Captain struggles with this information, "Doesn't make sense. What kind of a Klingon trades an admiral as soon as they've captured her?" the hallway quakes hard, "How the hell did they find us so fast?" Lorca complains and runs down the corridor back to the bridge with Saru loping closely behind.
With no console to manage like the rest of the crew, Bex finds herself drawn to the Critical Care Wing of the Sickbay. She peeks around the room and finds a somewhat familiar patient. She can't really remember Sarek's face well, due to the severe head trauma she suffered when they first met. Simple math, however, tells her the only Vulcan in the wing must be him. He rests in a small force field netting similar to the one used in the brig. The energy wall creates a containment field so that the alien can better heal from his stomach wound. He sits upright on his bed, eyes closed in deep meditation.
There are many questions that Bex was never given a chance to ask the Vulcan, but she can see that now is not the right time.
"Is ther-ah.. Doctor?" a very pale crewman zig-zags his way into the wing looking severely confused and sick.
"This is the Critical Care Wing. Sickbay is jus-" Bex attempts to direct him down the hall, but he knees give out and he tumbles to the floor, "Ah! Nurse!"
"Oh no!" a nurse runs over and takes out her medical tricorder, "Another one. Sir, when is the last time you've slept?"
"Uh.. since.. Four days ago?"
Bex takes the sick crewmate by the shoulders and helps lift him up on a nearby bed. The nurse continues with her scans and determines chronic fatigue as his ailment, "He's our fifth case today. The crew has been working too hard," she looks about to drop as well.
"Oy! Nurse!" a familiar accent calls into the wing, "I need one of those sobering solutions. My boy's about to ralph out here. Hey, Bex!" Saul greets.
The nurse points to a cabinet along the wall and the work man helps himself to a few packets of bright blue gel. Bex follows the rotund man out into the hall and finds young Howard sitting on the floor looking green.
"Oh no, Howie. You overworked, too?"
"Nahh," Saul dismisses and hands over the gel packs, "Just drank too much last night. Got a little motion sick when the Klingon's stated bangin' the ship, whatever that was about..."
"Ugh.. These things taste awful," the boy groans while tearing open a pack with his teeth.
"You said they were wantin' to trade?" Saul inquires.
"Mech Ha'. Literally means 'trade deal', although, that translation makes it sound more cordial."
"Ah, a pillaging."
"No. An actual honest to goodness trade of equivalent technologies between species. Klingons do try to be honorable, though in my experience, not all houses follow tradition."
"What did they want?" Howard asks while sucking on a baggie.
"The ship of course! What else?" Saul answers, "But what could they have that'd be worth the Discovery?"
"Their cloaking technology?" Bex suggests.
"No.. the Admiral," the boy declares and his face turns from green to white. The ship jerks and the halls turn red when the Red Alert siren sounds.
"They're back!" Saul watches the walls of the ship vibrate.
"Isn't the Admiral still on the ship?" Bex asks Howard.
"No. She left early this morning," he starts to pant, "I-I wanted to say goodbye, because she was on the ship so briefly. She was assigned to some secret mission with the Klingons. I didn't want to overstep my rank by asking too many question, but I did overhear her say... D'Ghor?" Bex recognizes the name and gets a bad feeling. The young mechanic continues, "I think it was a mission of peace. That Vulcan Sarek was originally supposed to go, but some logic fanatic blew up his ship. Cornwell volunteered."
"Well, that wasn't too smart, was it?" Sual mocks.
"It was a trap set by House Kor and now they have Admiral Cornwell," Bex sways her head with sudden nausea and crouches on the floor.
"Whoa, whoa! Put your head between your knees," Saul turns to Howard, "Gimmie one of those sobering packets."
"No no... that's not it," Bex puts her hand out to steady herself, "This isn't a trade. Not really... I need to speak with the Captain."
The two Command Officers return hurriedly to their stations, "How many are out there?" Lorca asks Owosekun.
"Just the one, Captain, but it's relaying a message from an unknown source," she informs.
Bex cautiously steps onto the bridge. The large room dwarfs the Marqui. Eight stations curve around in a half moon shape with the Captain's Chair in the center. The recently promoted Tyler sits at one of these stations, but busies himself with ship operations.
An older Klingon's face projects in the panorama windows and begins bellowing orders causing the cadet to misstep. She cannot recognize his face, but being bombarded with such a large and hateful holographic visual can be jarring for anyone. The message broadcasts from a several light years away, causing the signal to fuzz and flicker. The Klingon snarls and adjusts his feed to a wide shot of a torture room. A human lays exhausted and restrained to a metal standing table with their head strapped in a multi-pronged helmet. The feed comes through poorly, so the prisoner's only discernible feature is her gender. The Klingon flips a large latch on the wall and a bolt of electricity pulses through the table causing the woman to grunt through gritted teeth. The weak current does little damage, since the inquisitor means to only to demonstrate.
The feed cuts off.
The gangly first officer reads off his console, "'Discovery Captain. You surprise me. I did not expect you to run away like a... bIHnuj?" the translator falters, "bIHnuch? Ah! 'coward'," Saru corrects, "'But you did not run far enough. Now, let me show you how House Kor treats cowards...'" the Klingon Bird of Prey begins firing repetitive shots of small ammunition.
"Prepare the torpedoes," the Captain orders bluntly and confidently steps forward towards the viewing window where the image of a BoP hovers in the distance, "Let's show them what happens with they poke the hornet's nest. FIR-"
"No! Wait!" Bex interjects, but the cannon fires a massive ball of orange energy, knocking the enemy craft's shields in half.
Lorca spins around "Bex!?"
"This is not a typical trade deal."
"Yes. I'm aware."
Another transmission cuts in. The inquisitor strikes the prisoner hard across the face with the back of his scaly hand before cutting the feed off once more.
"Where is that transmission coming from?" Lorca demands losing patience.
"It's an advanced interrogation technique and the calling card of House Kor," Bex quiets the room with this revelation, "Instead of just using standard torture practices, the Klingons are using the mech Ha' as a ploy to add in a third variant... Us. Every move we make other than surrender determines how they will administer pain. If we attack, the prisoner is stuck. If we run away, she's bolted. If we stand down, they will continue prodding us, all in hopes that one of us will be coaxed into a confession. It takes away the predictability of traditional interrogation techniques."
"Chaos," Lorca declares, "Sounds like a very dishonorable tactic for a Klingon to implement," the Captain points out.
"From my experience, that describes House Kor perfectly."
The Captain shows surprise at this knowledge, "How do you know so much about them?"
Bex's mouth tightens and hesitates to speak aloud. Lorca, luckily, knows the word caught in her lips, "Allies."
"Ready Room. Now."
In the Captain's Ready Room, Saru reads off his PADD while Lorca scrolls around a projected map of the ship's location. Bex stands quietly, watching the bowl full of fortune cookies buzz around the Captain's desk. The Klingons mean to drive the crew out of their minds with constant torpedo interference and by the Captain's current disheveled look, they may just succeed.
"Captain. Cadet Bex is correct," the exhausted Saru reads, "I've been reading through our database on the mech Ha'. Recent conservative uprising on Qo'nos has caused the tradition to fall out of favor, because it encourages trade with non-Klingon species. Our intel on Kol suggests that he aligns himself with these beliefs."
Bex's chest tightens to the sound of Kol's name.
"So, how do we get them to call it off without just handing over our ship?" Lorca asks the room.
Saru's ganglia twitch in aggrievance, "Even with small rounds, our shields have started to buckle. We can't afford to just sit here, but the nearest Starship is 45 hours away and the nearest Starbase is 75," he thinks aloud, but struggles to come up with any plan bordering on feasible, "We can attempt a rescue-"
"That's exactly what they want us to do," Lorca rubs his tired eyes, "Whether we attack or defend, we will cause harm. If we give the Klingons a chance to take the Discovery, they'll have no more use for their prisoner," he states grim, suggesting possible execution.
"You're over complicating this," Bex interrupts, "The Klingons are playing a game with us. They have our best token and want to have a little fun. There is a very simple defense-counter; remove ourselves from the board."
The Captain sighs, "You mean a long jump? We can't. Not for several more hours. Our spore reserves are depleted for some unknown reason," he pauses a moment, "What do you mean 'our best token?'"
"Admiral Cornwell."
Saru gasps lightly under his breath and Lorca's eyes turns stern, "How the hell do you know that? Who told you?"
"Simple deduction," she answers the Captain, thrown by his reaction.
"Break it down for me," he asks with heat in his voice.
Bex exhales softly, "The Admiral left this morning for a mission and I overheard one of the crew mention the name D'Ghor," she fibs a little to protect Howard, "During our imprisonment, L'rell mentioned D'Ghor as one of the Great Houses that allied itself with House Kor. Add it all together, House Kor has the Admiral."
"Mentioned or fed to you?" Lorca asks accusingly. He takes a deep breath and lowers his head trying to calm himself, but the persisting rumbling of his ship edges on his temper, "Why didn't you tell me this, Bex? Had I known about House D'Ghor's coalition, I could have spared Cornwell's life!"
The cadet's face burns hot at his words and she speaks in stammer, unable to explain why the name slipped her mind. Lorca leans his hands on his desk, arms wide and stiff, while his mind whirls fast with dubiety. The lanky First Officer senses the hostility between the Captain and his cadet. He only just met the infamous woman face to face a few minutes prior, but despite her history, he discerned nothing inhospitable. In fact, she seemed quite interested in acquainting herself with his species and apologized for staring at tendrils for too long. The way the Captain glares at her now, however, causes the Kelpien to doubt his judgement
"Uh, are we still capable of small jumps?" he inquires of Lorca in attempts to keep the conversation moving towards a solution.
"Yes, but we will have less control of where we land until we can figure out what's causing the spore depletion."
Saru types a few hasty computations on his PADD, "Based on my calculations, if we keep our jumps to less than 20% of our current stores, we can safely maneuver without over taxing our supply," he shakes his head, "No. The Klingons would retaliate if we attempted this."
"Not if we sever communication first," an epiphany hits Lorca, "Complete radio silence. Turn off all frequencies. If they can't relay their feed from the interrogation room, their game comes to a halt."
"You mean..." Bex speaks up, "Just cover our ears and ignore them."
"Would that work?" the Captain asks his intel.
She thinks a moment. Her only experiences with this form of mech Ha' required the threat of violence in order to solve the trade. Not really a recourse that many on the Discovery would favor, so perhaps a more pacifistic strategy could work, "It'll piss them off, but... maybe? Klingons are restless, overgrown, green toddlers. They'll get bored and move on."
Saru covers his sensitive ear holes from the constant thudding of the ship, "Even if it grants us just an hour of peace, it would allow us the clarity to devise a better alternative."
The Captain takes a deep breath, "Alright then. We go dark."
A small lime green Klingon sits at the weapons helm of his shuttle and presses the 'fire' button on his joystick every five seconds. This riveting task causes him nod off to sleep.
[Hey! Thock!] the pilot of the craft speaks up, [The ship's gone dark.]
Thock jerks awake and sits up in his seat. The Discovery's engines shut off and all the lights around its hull dim to black, [What's it doing?] Thock stops his firing, [Hail it!]
The pilot broadcasts an all subspace frequencies, but the Starship does not answer nor does it seem to even be receiving the hail, [They've gone into radio darkness.]
Thock grasps his joystick, holds down the charge button and releases a large, angry torpedo. The Starship spins in place and jumps before the round makes contact.
[Ah! They jumped. Contact the Sarcophagus!] he demands excitedly and brings up a map projection and scans for the Discovery. The scanner picks up the the Starship easily, [They only jumped 0.2 AU away,] on the map's projection shows an icon of similar shape as the Discovery. A red dot and ring pulsate from this icon, [Hail the other shuttles. Let them know the Discovery is in range.]
[I see it.]
A second Klingon Bird of Prey warps into firing range of the Discovery. The Starship's lights and engines have returned and the female Klingon pilot attempts to hail.
[Discovery! Your cowardice will be punished!] she screeches, but the Starship switches off once again, [Open your hailing frequencies, Starfleet! Starfleet!] she demands, [Starfleet! We wish to show you your Admiral!]
The Discovery jumps.
A third Klingon vessel approaches the lit Starship. A dark gray weapons operator glares at the ship with one scarred eye. His map projection pulsates with that little red dot.
[Shall I contact the Sarcophagus?] his pilot asks.
[I watched that ship clear Corvan 2 orbit,] the one-eyed Klingon replies in a choked voice, [It jumped over 20 light years to blow up my brother's shuttle. Why does it continue to linger?] he questions as once again, the Discovery powers down.
[Engine trouble?] the pilot suggests.
[No,] the Klingon growls, [They toy with us.]
"I think they get the message," the Captain and his crew sit on a completely dark bridge. Every corridor of the Discovery, save for a few emergency lights, settles into darkness. Only the few mandatory consoles on the bridge and the medical bay remained powered on, "Make this next jump bigger," Lorca instructs his helmsman, "Go."
The ship jumps once more, putting a good light year between it and the last Klingon shuttle. Bex's knees wobble a bit from the maneuver, but weeks of acclimation to the ship grants her a better stomach for jumping. She admits Lorca's pacifistic plan of 'going dark' is rather clever. It could even work considering her alternative counter which would upset a few of the crew.
"Based on this distance, it should take the Klingons an estimated 45 minutes to track us down," Saru replies contently.
"Good," the captain rises from his seat as the lights brighten, "Let's get to brainstormin'," he and Saru begin to converse.
Bex ambles around the bridge looking at the various consoles and their projected schematics. Most of the information goes over her head, but she still finds it fascinating. The Discovery comes equipped with so many more options than the Marqui. Almost all functions of the ship can be run modularly, from shutting off life-support to individual decks, to manually overriding the self-destruct sequence. The Cadet also takes notice of the other recently promoted officer. Michael Burnham sits at the main outer science console closest to Ops. She and Tyler reminisce about their recent trip into the nebula.
"Hey, you alright?" he asks the half-Vulcan when she rubs her temples.
"The synthetic mind-meld augment I used to communicate with Sarek has... mentally drained me. I feel like I haven't slept in days."
"Heh. I know what you mean," he replies friendly, "I don't know how much more of this prodding I can take. I may just confess to something myself."
The Captain's favoritism of these two does not gone unnoticed with the rest of the crew, especially Bex, who determines that her treatment aboard the Discovery has been less than fair. She doubts mutiny qualifies as one of Starfleet's forgivable sins, so the Captain must have the soft spot for mutineers. Many enlightened alien races often remark how irrational humans beings can be when they allow personal interests to get in the way of work. Lorca seems dead set to only worsen that stereotype.
"Oh! We are being hailed by the USS Gagarin," Saru pulls up the transmission on his console. Captain Kovil's round face appears on the holographic projection.
"Captain," Lorca greets.
"We received a subspace frequency recording from a Klingon vessel a few AU's from your position. It's attempting to contact you, Lorca."
A lead ball forms in the Captain's stomach, "Alright, let's hear it."
The Gagarin relays the message to Saru's console. The one-eyed gray Klingon addresses Lorca in brutal English, "Discovery Captain. You can run. You can ignore, but your ship calls to us. You once described your ship 'a ghost', but I see it clearly. You cannot avoid House Kor!" the ship lurches and the recording flickers.
POOOWWWWW!
"Impossible!" the First Officer's ganglia reawaken, "No subspace scanner is that fast!"
Three new Bird of Prey warp within torpedo range and bombarde the Discovery with full-powered attacks, rocking the Starship violently. Lorca calls for evasive maneuvers and Burnham blinks with sudden burst of clarity.
"A tracking beacon!" she turns to her console and begins initiating every available scan, "That's what the message means! The Klingons have somehow placed a tracking device on the ship."
"How? Did they beam it aboard? Were we in transporter range of their ships?" Lorca asks.
"No sir," Saru clarifies, "It must have been brought on board physically. Perhaps when you were captured?"
Tyler's mouth hangs slack and his eyes become alert, "Sir!" he abruptly stands to his feet, "I believe I have compromised the ship."
"Tyler?!" the Captain questions in surprise.
"I think I'm the tracking device!"
Dr. Culber runs his medical tricorder wand up and down Commander Tyler's forearms and legs, "I can't find any subcutaneous transponders. He's clean."
"Room came up clean too," Lorca puts away his communicator.
"Sir, you may retire me from the bridge and place me in the brig if you still find me to be a threat to your crew," Tyler responds responsibly.
"No, no soldier. There's no need for that..." Lorca breathes out war-weary. The wrinkles on his face look deeper than normal thanks to his higher than average blood pressure causing his skin to swell.
"Captain," Culber instinctively begins waving his medical tricorder wand over Lorca's chest and face, making the brusk leader annoyed, "You're adrenal glands are over taxed. When's the last time you had a break?"
"I'm fine!"
"I'm not so sure. Chronic exhaustion can lead to delayed reaction time, poor judgment and even hallucinations. The Discovery needs its Captain at his best," Culber advises expecting a harsh retort, but Lorca's fatigue hinders his ability to chew the doctor out.
Still combating motion sickness, Howard nurses his spinning head with a cooling pack and listens intently on the the conversation. His weak constitution for space travel disqualifies him from being an official Starfleet officer, but he can't help but worry for Cornwell after his starstruck introduction with her the night before.
"Sir, this tracking device, whatever it is, could've been brought aboard weeks ago and laid dormant until now," Tyler suggests, switching on a light bulb on in the young mechanic's throbbing head.
"Sweep every deck. Find it!" Lorca instructs his security team.
"Umm.." the weakened Howard interrupts, "C-Captain Lorca, sir," he cowers a bit, "I..I think I might know who has this tracking device."
A blue flurry of stars streak across the Discovery nacelle as Lieutenant Keyla Detmer proceeds with evasive patterns to try and shake the Klingons. Security officers scour the halls for tracking devices and Bex waits outside the bridge, watching the green bat wing pursuers through a large porthole. The Discovery just needs to hold out for a few more hours for its spore reserves return to peak levels for maximum jumping distance. Once cleared of the attackers, Starfleet can begin orchestrating a rescue plan.
Clouds of doubt, however, stir to life in Bex's head, House Kor would not attempt a mech Ha' of such caliber if they did not have an Ace up their sleeve, signs of anxiety start to display in her stance; teeth grinding and leg shaking.
Her new 'friend' Kuade joins in on her stargazing and he attempts to ease some of her tension with a bit of light chit-chat, "Sooo, I've been bending my ear about the ship, and learned that Michael Burnham has also been promoted!"
"Yeah, I saw her on the bridge. She's our new Science Specialist," Bex replies dryly while her attention remains focused on the porthole.
"Oh! The Captain finally allowed you on the bridge?"
"No. I had to invite myself."
"Pff. Figures," Kuade pouts, "We're the first two black sheep aboard the ship, but the last to be promoted. Ugh... What a racket..." he turns his attention to the display outside the window, "How are you holding up?"
"I don't care about my position aboard the ship."
"No, I mean the Klingons," he addresses her gently, "This is the closest you've been to House Kor since your extraction, isn't it?"
"Huh... you're right," a sharp pain spikes in the center of her chest and her nerves start to flare up again, "...how thoughtful," she replies softly, "You're the only one who's checked up on me..."
"Of course," he makes no big deal of it, "What are friends for?" the Detective no longer blames his professional relationship for his personal interest in his client's life. Despite her old complaints of Kuade overstepping his boundaries, Bex resists the urge to protest this new budding friendship. Even if it has to be with the most annoying being in the galaxy, having someone to confide in brings the troubled woman some comfort, "The Captain's behavior is rather reckless, don't you think?" he complains, "We stand in the looming presence of a Klingon threat-a byzantine ambush that no one aboard this ship has ever experience, except you. Yet, here you bide; an untapped well of knowledge that Lorca refuses to utilize."
"I don't think he shares the same confidence in my abilities."
"No. I fear he has far more paranoid concerns," he cocks an eyebrow to suggest fowl play.
Bex half smiles, "What? Like I'm a Klingon plant?"
Kuade shrugs, "Can you blame him? With your history and attitude. I don't understand you sometimes, Sam. You give no qualms about being buddy-buddy with the likes of Saul and Charlie, but you completely button up around Lorca."
"Saul and Charlie, despite their vibrato, are incapable of duplicity. They wear their agenda on their sleeves, unlike the Captain."
"Well, as true as that may be, for the sake of this war, you two had better kiss and makeup before we lose another admiral!"
"Whoa!" Bex grasps Kuade on the arm "How did you hear about the Admiral?" she knows now Lorca means to keep that bit of information close to the chest, "Is that more ship gossip?"
"Ohhh, Samantha, I've been busy," Kuade gives a cockneed smile and a smoldering stare, "My knowledge about this ship extends well beyond the Discovery Daily News. I have an IQ over 2000, you know. Very few things elude will me now," he gives a big toothy grin, exposing the upper gums where a speck of twinkling blue lays trapped between his teeth.
Bex recognizes the blue glint as a soggy, half-eaten spore, "Kuade. What have you been doing this whole time?" she squeezes his arm and glares.
He gasps and licks his teeth, turning away to hide his evidence.
"Are you the reason why the spore drive's broken!?" she hisses, "KUADE!"
"Cadet Bex!" chimes a smooth voice exiting the bridge, "Could I get your opinion on some possible scenarios," Burnham asks, prompting Bex to hide her anger and let go of Kuade's collar.
"Uh.. scenarios?"
"Yes, to solve this trade deal. I've been working on a simulation," the Science Specialist turns her PADD to Bex, "If we surrender the ship, we will have to rendevouz with the Klingons for the trade off. We can use our docking bay as the negotiations chamber, blocking the Klingons from the rest of the ship. When they transport aboard with the prisoner, we will have a split second to beam our own team onto their ship once they lower their shields. We can commandeer their vessel securing both it and the prisoner."
"It won't work. They're not trying to trade a prisoner."
"But they are. We have evidence to believe the Klingons have captured a Starfleet officer that went missing several weeks ago-."
"Burnham, the Klingons never actually offered us anything to trade," Bex interrupts and lays out the truth quite frankly, "And that's because they're waiting to see what cracks first; us, the prisoner, or the ship."
Burnham absorbs this grim truth and her expression falls, "Of course. We're not fighting in an honorable battle," the Science Specialist breaths a heavy sigh and mutes her anger before her face cracks a wrinkle. How frustrating she finds it to fight such an unscrupulous opponent.
"There is counter," Kuade offers up.
"Yes, but the Captain won't like it," Bex points out.
"Captain doesn't have a choice if he wants to keep his precious ship."
Burnham shifts her eyes between Bex and Kuade and speculates on their odd relationship for a moment, "Do you mean," she narrows her eyes, "Allow the Klingons to kill the prisoner in order to spare the Discovery?"
"What, no!" Bex rejects,
"Okay, there's two counters..." Kuade whispers to himself.
"There is a very simple solution; one that has worked for me every time," Bex explains, "Force a stalemate. Use their own dirty tactics against them. If they want the ship, threaten to destroy it."
The human-Vulcan blinks hard at this strategy. How elementary, but such a difficult plan to execute, "A self-destruct sequence."
"One hell of a bluff considering Lorca's history," Kuade raises his eyebrows in gesture.
"We don't even have to put the ship at any real risk. We can run everything procedurally from the bridge," the cadet remembers her walkthrough of the command center.
"Set the alarms, switch on the evacuation lights, launch a couple of escape pods for good measure and then release just enough antimatter to trip their sensors," Burnham finishes, typing schematics into her PADD.
While the three bounce ideas off one another, just down the hall, Commander Tyler hands the Captain a white rectangular device he found in Bex's room. Lorca takes the objects and flips it around in his hand, examining the black screen covered in old fingerprints, "What the hell is this?"
"Some kind of PADD, but I've never seen the design," Tyler replies, "It's definitely not Klingon."
"And you found it in her room?" the Captain gently fingers the small buttons along the side of the gadget, but dares not to switch on. A grievous thought weasels its way into his mind and his frustration with his new cadet and her prevarication begins to boil over, the Admiral is being held hostage by Bex's former allies... she obtained confidential party-line information from the enemy... this is more than a coincidence...
"You can't treat the Discovery like your own fiefdom," he remembers Cornwell warning just the night before, "You're putting the ship in harm's way!" Lorca's mind races and his ears pick up the conversation down the hall about initiating a self-destruct sequence. He turns his head and spots Bex and Burnham and one other face he does not recognize.
"You!" he snaps and storms up to Kuade, "Who are you? I don't remember ever assigning you to my ship," he pushes on the tall man's shoulder to get a better look at his face, "Do I know you? You look familiar..."
"Ur-uh.. I'm Friday," Kuade stutters. His 'disguise' only works if certain key players are oblivious to his presence on the ship.
The Captain's jaw slowly drops open and his grip on the intruder's shoulder tightens, "You're a Marquida... How the hell are you still on my ship?"
"Captain-" Bex tries to cut in, but Lorca calls over security. Tyler dutifully and firmly secures their wrists behind their backs and escorts them to the Captain's private laboratory.
Burnham joins at Lorca's requests, "I need you to break into this thing," he hands over Bex's phone prompting the cadet to lunge at it protectively, but Tyler pulls her back.
"What.. what is it?" Burnham frowns at the skinny device.
"I believe it's transmitting a Klingon tracking frequence," Lorca explains. Burnham looks skeptically at Bex who shakes her head at such a ridiculous allegation, but calms herself before Tyler's strong hands twists here wrists any tighter.
"Sir," the Chief of Security addresses, "Why not just destroy it?"
"I need proof of complicity first."
Bex and Kuade stand quietly to the side while Burnham fashions a cable to the charging port of the phone. After several minutes of fiddling, the Science Specialist manages to get the computer to recognize the outdated programming, displaying the raw code through the holographic projection. She scrolls through a few thousand lines of dead application names and finds several files marked 'DONATU', all images. She opens them.
In the first photo, an older woman stands alone in wide crop field with opulent blue mountains towering behind her in the distance. She holds in her wrinkled, sun spotted hands a card with her name, 'Francisca Fernandez; Madrid, Spain; 1942'.
"It's.. one of the abductees," Burnham whispers out loud. She clicks to the next photo of two men in tan camo, 'Pvt. William Fallow & Pvt. Cam Cordrey; Operation Desert Storm; 1991' with the same majestic blue mountainous background. The half-Vulcan clicks through the next several photos, all photographic records of the Donatu V colonists standing either in pairs or in groups, displaying their names, country of origin and year of abduction. She clicks faster through the next set of photos; landscapes of an uncharted world, exotic spaceships, Klingon weaponry and then a photo not so alien looking.
"New York!" Times Square burns the sky with bright neon corporate logos and LCD advertisements. Quite a different dressing from the less flamboyant metropolis of today. The hostility of the room gradually dissipates as the group admire the rare photographic evidence of an era long passed. Tyler's grip loosens around Bex's wrists and even Lorca forgets why he was so angry just a moment ago.
Burnham advances to the next photo in the line up; a portrait of Bex standing in front of the Statue of Liberty while embraced in the arms of a man not much older than Tyler. The levity of the room grows a little heavy and Kuade sneaks glances at Bex from the corner of his eye. Her focus remain fixed on the vibrant projection of a man she pushed out of her mind years ago.
The clicks from Burnham's hand grow more hesitant as the next set of photos appear; a young child holding up a red maple leaf in front of her face followed by a black and white portrait of a sweaty Bex holding a newborn infant in her arms. For a moment, everyone stands mezmorized from this revealing imagery, not fully encompassing how extraordinary a photo of a mother and daughter now two and a half centuries apart. Kuade can appreciate such a paradox and turns his big sympathetic eyes towards his friend as she loses composure.
A wavering sigh breaks the silence of the room when Bex crouches to the floor, burying her face into her knees while her hands remain cinched behind her back. Tyler's posture slouches and Burnham averts her eyes from the projection, "Sir, I'm not finding rogue programming..." she informs.
Lorca's face grows hot, "Turn it off," he waves away the projection and his ears burn when he hears faint sobs from his broken cadet.
"Captain, sir," Kuade implores from behind, "Is this really necessary?" he huffs and walks over to Lorca, "I once complimented you for your cool military savvy, but here are flying off the handle!"
Lorca recoils when the Marquida steps up to him, "Tyler! Restrain this man!" he turns to his Chief of Security who stands, mouth agape and eyes wide, "Tyler?" the Captain walks up to the young man and waves a hand in front of his face, but Tyler remains perfectly still, not even breathing. Burnham stands motionless as well, her eyes unblinking and hand hovering mid scroll.
"You're really starting to embarrass me. What happened to you, Lorca? Where's that pragmatism you're known so well for?" Kuade accuses.
"Captain to the security team!" Lorca takes a cautious step backwards and notices he cannot hear Bex' whimpers, nor the dull roar of the ship's engines, "I need backup in my private lab, now!" he addresses the comm, but received no reply, "Security team! Answer me now!" the computer doesn't even chime back acknowledging his hailing request.
Kuade sighs, almost in pity, "I originally scheduled our first meeting to be at a later date, but circumstances force me to approach you now."
"What the hell have you done to my ship?" the Captain growls.
"No more harm than you will cause if you do not heed my warning."
"Who are you?"
Kuade simpers, looking quite pleased with himself, "You may call me Q."