Chapter 08 - To Bury the Bat'leth
The Discovery makes a desperate attempt to outwit the Klingons and Bex's cocksure attitude finally breaks.
NOTE: More flashbacks are included in this chapter, and I feel compelled to write them in past-tense, but I'm not sure if that's grammatically correct. Also, I dunno if Culber is actually studying psychology, but for the purposes of this fic, he is now!
The room continues to spin as Burnham's voice rings muffled in the Captain's swollen ears. Incredibly, one of his eardrums feels bursts from the explosive crowd he stood before only moments ago.
"Captain?" Burnham tries to explain something to Lorca, but he steps backward out of the room, cupping the side of his head. He breathes hard, holding himself up by leaning on his knees, allowing sweat to drip to the ground. A trickle of blood runs down his cheek from his ear while he watches the puzzled faces his crew pass by down the hall.
"Captain!" Burnham's voice calls out again. Lorca stands to his feet, faking as much of his composure as he can, "Captain, I found something," the Science Specialist steps out into the hall, offering her tricorder picking up an alien frequency. She speaks to him frankly, oblivious to the trip he just took, "It's extremely faint, but I'm picking up an electromagnetic subspace waveform."
"A... a what?"
"A signal pulse. One very similar to what was heard at the Battle at the Binaries. This whole ship is vibrating with sympathy."
"What?" Lorca struggles to keep up, "Why are you only now picking it up?"
"This pulse frequency is a micro-fraction in scale compared to the Light of Kahless beacon. I was only able to detect it after analyzing this," she holds up Bex's phone, "Sir, this device's technology, it's material... I think it's too old. It's incompatible with the vibrations. There's something else on this ship."
If Lorca's stomach wasn't already turning, this bit of information makes it do somersaults, "Hmmmmm..." a skin-crawling voice registers behind his good ear, "Now what other foreign material could possibly be on this ship?" Q stands at the Captain's side, but Burnham sees nothing. Lorca does not address the intruder, but listens intently at his words, "Time to show me your mettle, Captain. Prove you're more than the sum of your simple-minded race."
Burnham types away on her tricorder, "I can have an approximation of tracker's location in-"
"I know where it is," Lorca interrupts as a light switches on in his head, "I know..."
Alone, Lorca races down to the depths of the Discovery cargo bay, deep towards the back bulkhead where a triple secured vault door lies in wait. He allows the security analyzer to scan his eyes and hand before giving his name and title for the voice recognition software. The two-foot deep cellar door slides open, revealing its massive Klingon weapons cache inside.
Hundreds of artillery, blades, and ammo lay scattered about the floor. Disruptor cannons, bat'leths, chonnaQs, and Haf'leths hang orderly on the wall, while massive crates and barrels take up the remaining space. Impressive that the 100-meter Marquis managed to hold such a mother load. The Marquida must have slept on artillery boxes just to make everything fit.
Lorca begins his digging, opening up trunks and crates and dumping out arms and gadgets to the ground. His tricorder trills as he scans each spear and each knife, but nothing of this pulse signal's origin point appears. He all but gives up when a green light flickers in the corner of his eye. A small and extremely out of place token, no bigger than a silver dollar, lies on the floor of the vault. It buzzes faintly against the metal floor and causes the tricorder to sound its alarms. He picks the token up and recognizes its greenish, sleek shell as Romulan in origin.
How did a Romulan tracking beacon get mixed up with this tech? Lorca ponders, And how did the Klingons know about it?
"Oooh! That's riiiight!" Q chimes in behind Lorca, despite the vault being closed, "The Marquida and I stole this hoard from the Romulans. Why they would be in possession of such a cache is a mystery, but it's no leap in logic as to why they would try and track it. A gun bunny like yourself can understand the value of these treasures. Didn't you once describe this stockpile as a 'jackpot'?"
Lorca grips the tracker and smashes it against the ground, crushing the small widget and breaking the skin on his palm.
Q sighs, "And to think, just a little common sense and you wouldn't have to take your antagonism out on your innocent crew."
"Get out," Lorca snaps to his feet, "I don't care who you are or what you want. Get the hell off my ship, now!"
"Temper, temper, mon Capitaine. You've proven yourself a capable problem solver. So don't worry, I'm gone! You won't even remember I was here," Q snaps his fingers one last time and disappears in a shimmering white light, leaving the Captain momentarily stupefied. Lorca feels the dryness in the back throat and the pounding of his heart. He was just yelling at someone, but cannot remember who or what.
His communicator jingles, "Captain Lorca!" Stamets greets on the other end, "We just got a major influx in spore production. We have enough to jump!"
"Do it," Lorca's voice rings pained and gravely, "Get us out of here."
With the ship's shields barely holding on to a full 20% power, the Discovery bounces out of hostile space, 20 light years towards safer territory. The crew members take a moment to gather themselves and unwind their nerves. Many retire to their private quarters to catch up on sleep while others find more proactive means, like repairing the ship. Bex chooses rest and rides the turbo-lift up to the dormitories along with Burnham and Tilly. The three women silently study the walls of the lift for several minutes to try and pass the time, but Burnham feels compelled to say something.
"...Your daughter is beautiful."
"Thank you."
"What's her name?" Tilly inquires sweetly.
"Billie. Billie Jean."
"Like the Michael Jackson song?" the redhead reminisces, "I haven't heard that name in forever."
"...I didn't forget about her, by the way," Bex blurts, feeling the need to explain herself, "It's just... I thought I deleted those pictures," the lift comes to a halt and Bex quickly steps off, putting a good distance between her and the other two women.
Burnham tilts her head, finding her last statement curious, "How interesting. Why would she feel compelled to delete the photos?"
"Maybe they became too painful to look at? Maybe she deleted them in some kind of grand gesture to a life lost?"
The half-Vulcan tightens her lips, "It doesn't make logical sense for a human to cope with her feelings so irreparably."
"I can see how it would be difficult to understand for someone who was raised by Vulcans," Tilly replies meekly, "It's challenging for an emotionless species to empathize with those that have feelings."
"A common misconception. Vulcan's do have feelings but choose not to engage in them. They have conscious control over many bodily functions, such as their heart rate and blood pressure. With this ability, they are able to enter into a trance-like state to better repair injuries, but this control also extends to their limbic systems. They can halt the chemical signal between their amygdala and hypothalamus, thus creating an 'off switch' to an emotional response. Vulcans embraced this ability to the point that their entire culture evolved around the ideology of 'logic and reason above emotion.' Some bloodlines are so in tune with their bodies, they live and die without ever expressing sadness or anger. Others, like Sarek, have to make a more conscious effort to suppress their feelings."
"Huh!" Tilly finds this fascinating, "I never knew!"
"...I too have embraced this ideology, but lack the biological control of a Vulcan."
"Well... maybe that's for the better?" Tilly offers, entering their private quarters first. Burnham pauses a moment to contemplate this suggestion but continues to wrestle with her emotions and adopted alien ideology. With the Klingons still on the hunt and crew exhausted or heartbroken, she determines that now is not the best time to explore her own personal feelings.
Bex's adamant refusal to talk about her past leaves very few in this world with knowledge of her child's existence. Burnham even reacted quite shocked at the revelation, despite already knowing plenty of the cadet's background. Sharing a Katra with Sarek grants privilege to confidential information, but even a Vulcan understands the basic right to privacy and restricted certain memories from his foster daughter. When returning the phone, Burnham apologized profusely for her invasion, but Bex simply reminded her, "You were just following orders..."
Many young mothers would lose their composure after being reminded of their lost child, but this young mother cannot allow herself the luxury to brood in misery. She learned early on, humans of the future act far less sentimental towards things compared to the humans of her time. It's most likely a consequence of mankind's continuing relations with more levelheaded species, although no species enjoys bleak conversation and Bex tries her damnedest not to be a killjoy. The only other people who show any interest in her past are the dozens of Federation investigators who, she suspects, only wish to cover up the mishandling of Donatu V. Thus, the time traveler maintains her veil of mystery, not only to protect her own emotional well-being, but spare others from the more depressing details.
She takes a hot shower to collect her thoughts before meeting with the Captain. He gave no reason for his summons, but she predicts he will want to pick her brain some more before proceeding with the Klingons. After a nine-month hiatus from the species and limited exposure to their culture, she highly doubts the usefulness of her knowledge. As the hot water stings against her skin, she thinks back on her life on Donatu and the last time she found herself caught in a mech Ha'.
On the brink of starvation, a malnourished Klingon sentry demands the humans to hand over the last of their food resources. They request in return for clean water, but this Klingon swore his allegiance to the corrupt House Kor, thus responds accordingly, "I exchange only my mercy not to slaughter you all," and aims a busted disruptor rifle at General Fallon, a judicial leader who never needs to raise her voice, not even in the direst of circumstances.
"That is not proper mech Ha' form," she replies with only a hint of annoyance in her voice, "Either you are ignorant to your own traditions or you are a disgrace to your species. Unfortunately, you leave me no choice. Burn it all," she instructs her team to destroy a silo's worth of Bitter Melon crop and to lay the ashes at the feet of the raider. Despite needing the food to feed her own people, Fallon only burns enough crop to make her message clear, "We will not be intimidated by likes of someone who doesn't even deserve to eat our ashes," and forces the alien attacker to lower his weapon and leave without another word.
Klingons are a peculiar species to Bex. Had the roles been reversed and humans demanded food, they would not give up after a single display of intimidation. Humans would attempt thievery or bribery, but the thought of stealing food never crosses the mind of a Klingon.
"Better to die than to become vermin," Fallon later explains to her while the two clean up the burnt remains of fruit, "You must appeal to their sensibilities, in this case, strength and boldness. If we attempted at compromise and shared our resources, the Klingons would think us no better than livestock. They would not hesitate to turn us into slaves, because to them, kowtowing is no better than cowardice."
"But won't they retaliate? Come back with reinforcements?" Bex worries.
"If their situation is truly so desperate, then yes. Which is why I've given the orders to set aside 15% of our crop to burn again. Once a week, we will set a new bonfire to remind the Klingons of our indomitability," although only in her mid-forties, General Fallon possesses the knowledge and experience of several lifetimes. While the rest of the humans agonize over their imprisonment on Donatu V, Fallon displays an incredible amount of enterprise and rationality, as if she had been planning for this mission her whole life. Not surprising, she was unanimously voted to be the leader.
Bex admires her, "I hope it works, but if not," she raises up her phone, "We need some kind of evidence to leave behind," she sets the phone to record while Fallon pats down her blouse and hair, "State your name, hometown and abduction year."
"Ahem," Fallon stands straight with her chin up, "My name is Agent Fallon. I was born in the year 3029 in a little town in South Dakota on Earth. I have two sons-"
"Oh, shoot..." the camera beeps.
"Is it broken?"
"No. I'm just out of memory," Bex flips over her phone and pulls up a list of old photos still stored on her memory card, "I'll have to delete some things... uh... I have a lot of stuff on here..." she scrolls through various photos of her daughter and life back on Earth and chews her bottom lip, trying to decide which picture should be deleted to make room for Fallon's testament.
The General watches Bex thumb through the photos, "I-it's fine," she dismisses politely, "You don't need my statement."
"Are you kidding? I need everyone's statement, in case we don't make it off this planet alive. Your family needs to know what happened to you."
"I've already discussed these eventualities with my family," Fallon says very plainly.
"You... you knew you were going to be abducted?"
"Well, I wasn't sure of how I would end up on this planet, only that I would not be leaving it," she replies with a soft smile, "It's fine, Samantha. This was meant to happen."
Bex blinks hard, finding the General's serene demeanor alarming, "Wha-wait... how do you know?"
Fallon's calm smile twitches, "Because you told me."
Lorca skims through his last Captain's Log, reading his detailing of the strange vision that struck him in the lab. He remembers the finer details of the Federation palace gardens, the roar of the crowd and even the crude wrinkle patterns on the boy Krell's forehead, but nothing of the man who escorted him through this experience. The mysterious man's words remain quite vivid in the Captain's memory, but nothing of his face, species, or even the sound of his voice.
Funny, Lorca thinks to himself, I can remember the number of stones on Bex's dress, but not the name of the man who introduced her as my wife, he flinches at the thought of his cadet. It makes sense that his guilty conscious would construct such an outrageous scenario, but he can't help shake the feeling that this 'hallucination' truly was his future spoiled. He chooses not to bring it up to the ship's counselor just yet. Nothing personal against Culber, but Lorca hates doctors.
Even if I was experiencing the symptoms of acute exhaustion, he determines, shutting off his PADD, my behavior was unbecoming of a captain.
The electronic bell for the ready room door chimes, "Enter," Lorca beckons and turns away to look thoughtfully out the window. His guest makes no attempts at a greeting. She simply folds her hands behind her back and waits for him to recite his rehearsed concession.
"I have, in the past, been accused of being a sort of 'foster' captain... Of taking in outsiders and the refuse of the world under my wing," out of natural habit, Lorca's posture and facial expressions default to intimidation, so he concentrates on softening his voice to seem more approachable, "Unlike my other wards, whom I have granted favor and privilege, my treatment of you has been unkind," he turns slowly and faces Bex who takes a quiet breath of relief to hear him admit this. With effort, she holds back her anger and allows Lorca to make his peace.
Her walls are back up. Definitely not the same Bex from that... whatever that was... he takes in her face for a moment, noticing the red rim around her eyelids from a long cry, I've taken this too far, he thinks to himself, We've locked horns long enough and I need her on my side...
"I suspect I'm part to blame for your animosity," she replies, breaking the silence. He leans his head, questioning her meaning, so she explains, "You obviously have a prejudice against Klingons and take issue with my former cordiality with them," he pinches his lips and looks away. She corrects her passive-aggression, "Or maybe, I should be more cooperative with you."
"Or maybe it's my paranoia," he interrupts, "The stress of war or your criminal past," he pauses and softens his voice, "Or maybe I don't have an excuse," a hint of accountability reveals in his eyes and the muscles in his back and shoulders loosen, "I can be very myopic at times, but I always take full responsibility for my actions. My poor judgment caused me to unearthed a painful memory for you and... I am sorry, Samantha," the softness of his voice breaks the cadet's stoicism.
I was not expecting an actual apology from him, she knits her eyebrows in thought, Is he that easily persuaded by a couple of photos?
She blinks a few times and swallows, "...thank you," finding it relieving to know the steely leader is capable of admitting fault, "I apologize for not properly disclosing information to you..."
Lorca half smiles in return and his eyes drop to the floor, "You and I started off on the wrong foot. I know you're here to liberate the Marquis and I've allowed you to remain aboard my ship so I can ensure your failure in that endeavor," his usual brusque parlance returns to his voice, "Missions change, of course. Cornwell had to throw a wrench into both our plans and now you are no longer my prisoner, but a member of my crew. Problem is, we don't trust each other and that transgression has started to bleed over and put at risk the very life of the Admiral," his posture tenses, "We have received a distress call from the USS Gagarin. Our Klingon friends have decided to include them in our little mech Ha'."
Bex sighs aggravated and mumbles some expletive under her breath.
"I want to put an end to this, which means I need to use everything in my arsenal," he continues, "Including the weapons I'm not ready to unshelve just yet," he tilts his head down and implores her with his eyes, "You and I need a do-over and I can't think of a better way to re-introduce ourselves then putting a stop to this little charade... So, consider this as me taking the other end of that olive branch."
She nods to accept his apology and her new mission, but her focus drifts from anger to anxiety. Bex finally recognizes just how ominous of a situation she finds herself in. No longer just annoyed by her ex-confederates' presence, the former captor starts to feel cornered by House Kor.
"And Bex," Lorca replies gently, taking full note of her sudden change in intensity, "I promise you, I will get you back home, somehow, some way," a similar vow to what Kuade and Sarek once pledged, but unlike those two, the Captain offers actual sincerity in his words, "Let's do this."
Every console on the bridge lights up with bizarre and dangerous looking schematics and command lines. Lorca confidently enters the room and checks over these protocols, instructing the crew to make small adjustments in the formulas. Bex enters after and stands stiffly between the captain's chair and Burnham's station. She reads off the main viewscreen that the ship has only recovered half of its shield power. Dilithium resources rest at a quarter capacity, but the spore storages are maxed out. The impulse engine deck beats red warning of a hull breach and the medical bay currently houses 20 patients with acute exhaustion. Not the best stats to go into battle with, but starships can handle quite a beating.
"Coordinates are set for the Orion sector, sir!" Saru confirms to the Captain.
"Good. Is everybody ready? Do we all know the plan?" Lorca waits for his crew's confirmation, "Go!"
The Discovery jumps within range of the Gagarin, but the viewscreen goes dark.
"Adjust the vantage point," Lorca instructs and the view zooms out to reveal a massive, gold and black vessel about eight times the size of a Constitutional-class starship.
"The Ship of the Dead..." Tyler mumbles under his breath. The massive, trident-shaped warship eclipses the sky and hovers above the heavily damaged Gagarin like a vulture. Shattered bits of debris float widely through empty space, but the Sarcophagus chooses not to destroy the what remains of the starship. The Klingons mean to draw the Discovery in closer by using the Gagarin like a wounded animal.
Once Lorca gets his fill at the sheer enormity of the situation and addresses the Gagarin, "Kovil, how are you holding up?"
"Tzzzt... not well," the Gagarin Captain answers through a weak feed, "...zzzsst... Our warp drive is shot... life support systems down. We can't outrun them with our impulse engines. Don't you worry though... ssstttz... we got our fair share of hits on them!" the round-faced captain tries to remain positive.
"How long before you can get that warp drive up and running?"
"Maybe... crssshhzz... ten minutes if the power couplings don't blow first!"
Lorca takes a deep breath, "I'll buy you some time," and coolly sits in his chair and hails the monolith as if was only the size of a nat, "This is Captain Gabriel Lorca of the USS Discovery. You've had your fun harassing me and my crew, but I will not allow your childish game to continue. Stand down your ship now and let the Gagarin go!" he commands but the comm just hums with static. He turns to Saru who ensures him that the hailing frequency is being received, "I demand to speak with your commander," Lorca barks again, "It's Kol, isn't it? Do you want my ship or not? It's the most capable vessel in Starfleet's armada and I have delivered it personally to you! Answer me so we can finish this damned trade," he tries to bait the Klingons into a honey-trap, but they continue to turn a deaf ear. He turns to Bex, "You have to give me something to work with. How do get him to talk?"
She mutters a few times, but the pressure to perform renders her speechless. Lorca turns away disappointed and readdresses the Klingons, but the buzz of the comm suddenly switches off.
"Uh! They cut off the frequency," the first officer he tries to reinitiate the hail.
Lorca huffs and chuckles to himself, "Using our own tactics against us..."
"Sir! They've locked weapons onto the Gagarin!" Owosekun informs, "They're preparing to fire!"
"Get their attention!" Lorca orders, "Initiate the self-destruct imitation protocols!"
The crew enters their individual commands into their stations. The Red Alert siren blares down the halls and the ship's millions of lights pulse red. Several empty escape pods launch out the back end of the Discovery while the engineering crew carefully release a small amount of anti-matter into the atmosphere.
Green swirls of energy ignite to life inside the Sarcophagus' disruptor cannons but then die back down when anti-matter particles reach the colossus' scanners. The massive freighter hovers motionless above the wrecked starship while internal mechanisms lurch to redirect power. Two green tracking beams open up on the two outer prongs of the trident and lock onto the Gagarin. The dwarfed starship begins to shake violently as the two tracking beams pull in opposite directions.
"I thought the ship only one tracking beam!" Lorca turns to Burnham.
"That's what our intel collected, but it's been months since our last encounter," she defends herself, "Kol has added his own upgrades. He's attempting to tear the ship apart!"
"He's calling our bluff..." Lorca presses a switch on the arm of his chair and address on a separate frequency, "Captain Kovil! You have to get those warp drives online!"
Kovil attempts to answer, "Tttzzzzt... krrrsh... can't!... More... zzztsss time!" but the background sounds of torn metal interrupt the feed.
"I've reestablished an open line with the Sarcophagus," Saru informs.
The Captain jumps to his feet, "Kol! So help me, I will blow this ship apart!" he shouts with such authority, the crew believes he may actually have the guts to do it, "Do not ignore me, Kol!" the Captain shouts in vain, "General Kol!"
"...General Kol?" Bex repeats with slight distaste. Her voice barely registers, but she finds her way into the conversation. Lorca snaps his fingers to Saru to redirect the comms to pick up her voice, [If you're a General now... and I'm the only one left in our alliance, does that make me your Lieutenant-General?] her voice breaks as she stumbles on her imperfect dialect.
The Gagarin's quaking comes to a sudden halt, "The tracking beams have stopped their counter pull," Owokeson chimes just before the bridge floods with the lime green light from an enemy video feed. Kol addresses the Discovery personally, allowing his severe, damascus-colored face to take up the viewscreen. Bex's knees involuntarily buckle at the sight of him and she braces herself on the captain's chair. Kol's leathery skin looks darker, scared even, but when her eyes adjust to the brightness of the screen, she sees the coloration is nothing more than red war paint. He means to intimidate his opponents, and lucky for him, it's working.
"Sam. Bex," Kol's choppy dictation echoes boisterously through the comm, [You're still alive? Impossible. This must be a Starfleet hoax. A hologram. I watched you bleed out.]
She swallows hard and tries to goad, [You don't hit hard enough,] but her adversary responds with a sharp, guttural laugh. The crew steals glances at one another, unsure of how to take his response. Lorca rushes over to Saru's station to read the universal translation.
[It is you!] Kol seems genuinely amused by his old ally's presence, [And you're on a starship! Congratulations! You've finally been rescued. I remember you vowing to make Starfleet burn for abandoning you on that hell rock, yet here you stand in blue, defending them!] he chuckles again, [Seems I failed to knock in common sense into you. You're still just as arrogant. Just as gullible. When will you learn to stop making friends out of enemies?]
Lorca looks up from the console, concerned by the translations. He addresses the Gagarin in a hushed voice, "Kovil! Get the hell out of there!"
"Two minutes!" Kovil pleads waiting for his warp drive to power up.
[You're still up to the same old tricks,] Bex finds her voice, [A botched mech Ha'? You must be really bored. Has acting this dishonorable ever worked for you? You know I can counter this.]
Kol ponders this a moment and shrugs in agreement, [...I have taught you well,] he waves his hand, signaling his crew to release the Gagarin from the dueling tractor beams. He grins with sharpened teeth at the Discovery's confused faces, [Our trade is complete. Starfleet has delivered to me some very interesting intelligence.]
The Gagarin transfers all power to its impulse engines and haggardly runs away leaving just the Discovery and the Sarcophagus to duke it out alone.
"Black alert," Lorca commands and the crew switch off the faux self-destruct sequence in favor of the S-drive.
[I'm glad your back, Sam,] Kol continues to heckle, unconcerned by the Discovery's attempt to flee, [This war was becoming monotonous. I wanted to add in some excitement to this slaughter; inspire Starfleet to act with more prescience and now that I know you're caught up in this fight...] he points, [We can really have some fun. Next time I see the Discovery, I'll pull out my more experimental tricks,] he runs his thumb down the front of his chest, sneering at his old comrade. A bizarre gesture, but by the look of Bex's drained face, she understands his meaning of 'next trick'.
"Go!" Lorca demands not requiring a translator to appreciate a threat when he hears one. The Discovery brews a massive lightning storm and jumps across the sector and half back into Federation safety, "It's over," the Captain announces breathlessly.
The crew sighs loudly in relief after enduring the most mentally taxing trial yet and pat each other on the back. The Discovery may have been promoted to warship status, but its company remains purely scientific. Long nights of reading textbooks and mulling over complicated formulas build strong minds, but not the kind of minds for war. Lorca understands that some of the hardest battles to fight are not always physical and his mission to turn these intellects into soldiers has proven difficult. They need proper rest to recuperate their minds, so he allows his crew to take a longer than usual moment to congratulate itself for a job well done.
"Patch me through to the Gagarin," he returns to his seat at the captain's chair, and to his surprise, finds Bex crouched on the floor next to him, "Bex?" he shakes her shoulder, making her jerk hard in surprise, "Woah, easy..."
She pants hard and brushes aside her bangs which lay flat against her forehead with sweat.
"It's okay," he whispers in disbelief by her reaction, "You did fine. We're safe now."
She swallows dryly and gently pats her fingers against his hand to communicate, "I'll be okay," and then stands to leaves the bridge without dismissal.
Lorca pivots his seat around to watch her exit and realizes this is the first time she's ever shown any fear, "She's fought monsters worse than me..." he worries what demons he just stirred up, but cannot think of an appropriate way to comfort her. He remembers Cornwell once instructing him to give PTSD victims their space, so he allows Bex to retire to her private quarters without arguing.
To her disappointment, Bex finds her room empty and stale, "The Gagarin is safe. The Discovery is safe. Kol is far away. The Gagarin is safe. The Discovery is safe. Kol is far away," she repeats these three lines over and over and paces the small space between her bed and Kuade's. Her sheets lay crumbled and unmade, while a thin layer of dust coats his. She rubs her face and rakes her fingers through her hair noticing how his bed looks suspiciously never used. Worse, a lightness forms in her chest; a feeling sort of the opposite of being watched. She takes out her communicator and requests it contact Lieutenant Friday, but the line buzzes continuously unanswered, "Computer," she hails the comm, "What is Lieutenant Joe Friday's current location?"
"Lieutenant Joe Friday is not aboard the Discovery."
"Excuse me? Did he go for a walk?"
"The Lieutenant's last known location was in the Discovery's citadel."
"The vault..." Bex says breathlessly and plops down on her bed, "That sonuvabitch, he didn't... computer!" she addresses the comm again, "Where is the USS Marquis?"
"Secured in the docking bay... Requesting permission to report Lieutenant Joe Friday as missing in action?"
"...No." Bex tosses her communicator onto Kuade's bed, "He'll turn up eventually... he always does," she doubts her own words, "How ironic... the one time I actually want him around..." she laughs a little and lays back in bed. She attempts to calm her throbbing heart with shear willpower, but the lingering warmth of Lorca's hand on her shoulder rouses another memory.
Bex stands on a great precipice, hundreds of miles high in the cobalt blue mountains of Donatu V. Her eyes burn with tears and the taste blood runs down her throat. Above the clouds and the oil slick sheen of the planet's barrier floats the remains of a dilithium trail. Another starship has left orbit after spending several weeks studying the inhabitants below. Another captain determined those inhabitants were not worth saving, or so Bex can't help but think. The biting, cold winds whip her long hair through the air making her body wobble against the gusts. A strong hand takes her by the shoulder before the wind knocks her off the cliff.
[Do not repress your rage,] Kol encourages while she tries to muzzle her anger, [Revel in it. Build upon it. Anger is just as much a weapon as your fists. It makes your bones stronger. Flesh thicker. Mind sharper. You must learn to embrace and control it.]
[I am tired...] Bex answers, voice hoarse from screaming at starships, [Rage is good for the soul but not for the heart.]
[Then I will share the burden,] Kol grasps her other shoulder, turning her body to face his. He towers over her, pushing down hard on her shoulders as he grooms her for crusade, [We will escape this planet. Together, you and I will take our rage to Starfleet and incinerate them all.]
Bex needs some way to calm her nerves, like taking a drag on a cigarette, but a much better and healthier alternative comes to mind. In the higher ranked quarters of the dormitories, the weary cadet finds the counselor's private office. The room looks no different from any most other psychiatrist's office; thick, leather-bound books line shelves across one wall, while anatomy charts of various non-human brains hang on the opposite wall. A bit more cramped given the limited size of the starship, but nonetheless, professionally inviting. Bex enters promptly and greets a familiar, friendly face, "Dr. Culber! You're the counselor?"
"Samantha Bex! Are you surprised?" he asks, rounding his large oak desk.
"No. I'm glad," she likes Culber.
"Good! I'm glad you finally came to speak with me," he offers her a seat at one of the leather, grommet covered seats, "Before we start, I need to inform you that I am not a fully licensed psychiatrist, yet. I still have one semester of space psychology courses to complete in between my acting as a physician," he sits down across the desk, "It doesn't leave much time for a social life, but my partner is a bit of a workaholic himself, so it works out for the both of us," he gives his typical introduction in attempts to seem approachable and then gets down right to business, "Given your unique history, there is quite a lot we need to cover. It would be optimal to start at the beginning, prior to your abduction, so I can get a better sense of who you really are," he watches her shift uncomfortably in her seat to the suggestion, "But, it may be best to start more simply," he takes out his PADD and begins his analysis, "So, tell me. How are you enjoying yourself aboard the Discovery? It's been an adventurous couple of weeks for you."
"Typical of a starship, I would think," Bex crosses her legs and places her hands on her lap, "If the ship's not getting lost in nebulas are falling into stars, it's not much of an exploration vessel, is it?"
"The Captain mentioned you have quite the sense of humor," he replies with a big grin.
"Oh, the Captain can take a joke?"
Culber stifles a laugh in respect for his superior, "You know, humor can be a good coping mechanism. I bet you have lots of friends."
"Friends? Sure. A couple of mechanics invited me to poker night."
"That's good. Extracurricular activities are an excellent way to socialize with your fellow crewman, but you've spent enough time here to have made closer connections. Is there anyone aboard you can console with? Possibly even share secrets with?"
Bex thinks a moment and debates just how much she should reveal. This is not her first time to speak with a shrink. Starfleet provided consultation after her abduction and she also spoke with an adolescent psychologist as a child. It's old territory, but she admits Culber is the least intimidating psychotherapist to speak with. No one better to pick apart her skeletons, "Yeah, I have a friend... Kua-" she stops herself before giving his full name, "Kew...Q."
"Q?" Culber detects the lie, "Okay, when did you meet this... Q?"
"In San Fransico," Bex draws her fingertips along the grommets of her armrest.
"Oh, so you've known each other for some time now," he makes a note of her fidgeting, "How would you describe him?"
"Eccentric. Possessive. Old-Fashioned. He uh... sort of just appeared one day and never left. I've tried getting rid of him, but he's sort of stuck to my boot. I don't think he has any family or has spent any significant time with other people. He has an odd fascination with my abduction. Obsessed, really. I've accused him more than once of being a pervert. Luckily, he is very much inert in the respect."
"Some people are not as tactful when meeting a time traveler."
"We have a much more avuncular relationship now. He can be very overprotective at times and makes a lot of promises, but he has saved my hide more than once..." her voice drops a moment and her heel begins to tap on the floor, "...I think he's the one who abducted me."
The doctor looks up from his notes perturbed by this, "W-what makes you say that?"
"I dunno, it's one of those little... bad thoughts that get stuck in your head."
"Intrusive thoughts?" he corrects.
"Yeah! I mean, why else would he keep following me around? He only recently started calling me his friend and before that, I likened him to a serial killer revisiting an old crime scene."
"So he's dangerous?" the Doctor's tone turns serious.
"Not... intentionally. He's not malicious... or," she can't think of a better word, "...evil." she points towards the bridge, "What we just dealt with. That's evil, but Q?" she shakes her head and rolls her eyes at the accusation, "I will admit his personality has changed a bit since boarding the Discovery. He seems more apathetic. More careless, but nothing out of my control."
Culber nods slowly and shorthands this interview into his PADD. He anticipated to hear some interesting backstories about Klingons or vigilanteism, but jumping straight to the identity of her abductor was quite unexpected, "Uh, so you think the abduction was an accident?"
"I think he built something. Despite his claims to the contrary, he is quite the engineer. Maybe something went wrong and his machine went haywire..." she trails off and fails to come up with a good explanation.
"Is he human?"
"No, but he tries to act human. Most of the time, he's like a living uncanny valley effect."
"If you had to guess his species?"
"...non-corporeal?" she shrugs, "Do you know of any species that can survive being impaled through the heart?"
"Not off the top of my head. You say he's aboard the ship, can I meet him?"
"He uh... he's not here anymore," she says almost embarrassed.
"Where did he go? We haven't made landfall in months."
"Last time I saw him, he was standing right next to me in the lab..." Culber leans back with an epiphany when she says this, "He vanished. For good this time, I think. I've been around him long enough to have built a sixth-sense for his presence," she tries to describe that sense, "It feels like a heaviness or a crowding sensation."
Culber rubs his chin, finding her story quite concerning as it has all the signs of a stress-induced hallucination. A mysterious 'protector' appears upon her arrival back to Earth only to disappear after an emotionally trying experience. He asks the following question carefully, "Has anyone else aboard the ship interacted with Q?"
"Plenty! They all think he's a weirdo. Why do ask? You think I'm making this up?"
The doctor smiles painfully, "It is... unusual. Most people in a situation like yours would not react so hospitable to their possible abductor. I do have it right in that you feel your abduction has had a negative impact on your life? You've been separated from your daughter, the rest of your family and everything that you know."
"Yes, but-"
"So, why continue to associate with this person? Why not tell the Federation about this theory of yours?"
"I have no proof and I could never get him to confess."
"Is that your concern or have you grown too attached to him?" his tone loses sympathy.
Bex leans back in her chair and takes a deep breath. She understands how absurd this all sounds and regrets seeking Culber's counsel, "I bet you'd try to diagnose me with Stockholm Syndrome or something."
He shrugs, "Right now, I'm not sure what to make of any of this."
"Do you know what I think it is? I think it's more a case of 'Deserted Islanders Syndrome.'"
"Deserted Islanders Syndrome? Can't say I've heard of that one."
"Imagine an island, a metaphorical island, completely separated from the rest of the world," she uses her hands to help convey her analogy, "Somewhere in the ocean, a ship sinks leaving only two survivors. They swim to the island and are forced to live there for the rest of their lives. No way back. Adding to their predicament, each one blames the other for the boat sinking," she holds up both index fingers a foot apart to denote the two survivors, "They hate each other, so they live on opposite sides of the island and never interact with one another. Eventually, after many years, the natural need for socialization becomes too great and they seek each other out," she pulls her two fingers together to meet in the middle, "They forgive their past transgressions and incompatible personalities. Despite being natural enemies, they form a strong bond and learn to rely on each other, because they have no one else."
Doctor Culber narrows his eyes in question, "Is that how you feel, Samantha? Like you're on a deserted island?"
"...yes," she answers truthfully.
"Does it make a difference that you ride a starship through a galaxy of millions of species and cultures open for exploration?"
She chuckles a little, but returns to a frown, "It's kind of hard to enjoy any of it when I'm so homesick."
-Personal Log, Patient SM-202.001-
I admit I may be in over my head here. Samantha Bex's case is unprecedented. Although there is evidence to suggest that humans have time traveled before, she is one of the few civilians on record to be displaced by non-regulated means. Complicating this subject, even more, is her experience on Donatu V. Captain Lorca granted me the clearance to research further into these events, but I am confounded by the lack of evidence. Either her abductors have done well to cover their tracks or the bureaucratic powers that be have severely mismanaged information. Acquiring Bex's point-of-view may be our only chance at solving this case, but I do not wish to press her further until I secure a proper diagnosis of her... imaginary friend.
Cadet Bex shows a strong sense of detachment and fails to find a purpose and plant herself in this new world. She behaves erratically, jumping from one scenario to the next; Starfleet, to the Marquida back to Starfleet again. It's as if she's in search of something and I can only conclude it's due to her unfortunate displacement. She is experiencing a level of loneliness most people could never fathom. I admit to once entertaining the idea of traveling into the future, but I cannot fully appreciate what it would mean to lose Paul or my mother. I can only imagine how overwhelming it feels to be trapped in an overstimulating world with no one to share it with. I believe this extreme sense of isolation has manifested into the delusion that Bex refers to as 'Q'.
She claims other members of the Discovery have met this man, and although I reserve the right to question their knowledge, I do not wish to overstep and break the trust of my newest patient. I do have severe doubts that this man actually exists based simply on his apparent immortality, but I cannot say for sure what is causing these possible hallucinations. She is far too lucid to suggest Schizoaffective Disorder, but I cannot rule out Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or even a possible physiological defect.
It is still, however, very early in her therapy and I must remind myself not to jump the gun with prognoses. I can assess now that I do not believe she is a threat to herself or this crew and she can return to her post, pending she gets proper rest.
-End Personal Log-
With the latest Klingon threat finally neutralized, Sarek readies for his departure in the shuttle bay. Lorca makes the time to properly bid farewell to the Ambassador, a nicety the Vulcan expected from his ward, but she offers him what humans call 'the cold shoulder.' The revelation of his choosing Spock over Burnham to join the Vulcan Expeditionary Group has put a thorn in their relationship. Sarek suspects, based on her recent display of emotional acuity, Burnham will leave that thorn embedded for a long time. Dwelling on such things provides no solutions, however, so he bids farewell to Lorca and turns to enter his vessel.
"Ambassador Sarek!" Bex runs onto the docking bay and catches him at the last second. Lorca attempts to apologize for his cadet's lack of military etiquette, but Sarek politely raises his hand taking no offense.
"The cadet only wishes to thank me for my assistance on Donatu."
"Assistance... yes, of course," she does not take his part in her rescue as lightly, "I also wanted to ask you something."
"Why I did it," the Vulcan predicts correctly, "To put quite simply, it was the right thing to do."
"Six other starships passed over Donatu V and accused us of being co-conspirators with the Klingons," she points out, unsatisfied with his answer.
"Logically speaking, there was no reason to believe otherwise. All evidence pointed to an ambuscade. Starfleet determined your imprisonment was an elaborate conspiracy to coax the Federation into war. I theorized your complicity was nothing more than an act of desperation. Thus, despite orders to stay away, I opted for rescue."
"When I returned to Earth, I learned many in Starfleet sympathized with our cause and wanted to help, but their loyalties to the Federation outranked their sense of justice. They put their oath to an institution before the lives that institution swore to protect," Lorca perks up to this. Bex tries her best to keep her emotions in check, but still bites down on her words, "So you see, Ambassador, it does not surprise me that you are a believer," she makes her exact question more obvious, "What I don't understand is, what drove you to break Federation law? Why did you act so illogically?"
Sarek takes a moment to find the words, "I... studied your transmissions for several months before arriving at my conclusion. I documented your conflict with the Klingons and your eventual, unpredicted union. You lived peacefully with your enemy and with the strengths of both of your species, you not only survived but thrived on that unforgiving planet," he hesitates a moment, "It... stirred in me a feeling I once repressed years ago with the birth of my son, Spock... An emotional reflex Vulcans dare not to experience themselves...one absolute wonder," Bex and Lorca are taken aback by this admission, "It reminded me of a vision I abandoned years ago," the Ambassador doesn't skip a beat, "One of harmony and prosperity between species, even those in conflict," he lowers his head, "I have been accused more than once of favoring inferior species and betraying my Vulcan ideology. Dontu V was to be my proof that this vision is not so illogical."
"I'm sorry to have disappointed you..." Bex replies shamefully.
"There is no logic in feeling pressured by this responsibility. If peace were so simple, the world would have no need for diplomats like me."
"Ambassador Sarek," a Vulcan pilot politely interrupts, signaling the time of departure.
Sarek nods his head to his associate, "I must conclude this conversation prematurely. Samantha Bex, it would be wise for you seek my consultation again," he raises his hand and parts his fingers into a Vulcan Salute, "Live long and prosper," and turns to enter his ship without another hitch.
The escort ship, decorated in blue lights and bronze metallics, ignites its ring of engines. Lorca stands in the viewing box of the shuttle bay and quietly reflects back on Bex's perspective of certain events. She joins him and admires how elegantly the Vulcan craft levitates off the ground. The shuttle bay doors slowly unfasten to allow the chic vessel to warp back to its home planet. When the howl of the warp drive finally stops echoing off the walls of the Discovery, Lorca speaks up.
"Did you get the answer you were looking for?" he asks with honest curiosity.
She thinks a moment, "...I'm not sure. There was so much more I wanted to ask, but..." Lorca eyes thoughtfully dart about the shape of her profile. She answers his curiosity, "Mostly technical stuff... Like, how he broke through the barrier or how much of my memories did he meld with."
"You mean, you don't know?"
"Most of the investigators I've spoken with were more interested in getting information out of me, rather than providing their own answers."
Lorca purses his lips, "I can help you with that," she turns her attention to him, "I've been doing my homework on you. I don't have all the facts, but I might be able to fill in some gaps. For instance, that barrier was not completely impenetrable. Shorter radio frequencies, like your transmissions, were still able to pass through. Sarek and his team correctly hypothesize it consisted of 60 energy pylons forming a truncated icosahedron shape around the planet. Using 60 shuttles, they were able to isolate and bombard these pylons with disruptor frequencies, breaking the entirety of the shell all at once."
"Huh, neat. Very clever," she smiles softly.
"Vulcans are," he returns a small smile.
Her expression drops and she looks away, "Promise me one thing, Lorca," she turns back, "No more mind games. Let's just be frank with one another. I have enough enemies on my roster, I don't want to add your name to the list."
"I get it now..." he finally understands why Bex is the way she is, "...I promise."
The pair says nothing more to each other, but not out of consequence from their hostility or indifference. For the first time in their fractured relationship, the two share an honest respect for one another. Bex demonstrated her moxie and helped save the Gagarin and Lorca proved he's not just another lemming by aiding in Sarek's extrication. Friendship seems a far better alternative than enmity and without all the doublethink cluttering their view, the pair can finally enjoy the gleam of the stars.