Episode One - Crazy Old Man

Chapter 5
Locally Owned and Operated

Tuvok returned to the bridge to find Mister Paris and James Ayala there. Tuvok was not convinced in his own ability to command a starship—logic was, perhaps frustratingly, often not enough to bear the weight of command. Many of Vulcans, of course, did… but Tuvok considered himself a poor candidate. He eyed Dax for a moment, thinking she might at least have the years of experience required, if only in a sense.

He could think of that later, in the event a captain was needed to anything longer than the few hours it would take to return to Deep Space Nine from the Badlands. "Mister Paris," he said, and stepped up next to the captain's chair but did not sit. "Take the conn and set course for the fifth planet."

"Where's the captain?" Mister Paris asked.

Mister Worf stepped forward, sitting in the empty captain's chair. "I am still in command, Mister Paris," he said.

If Paris had any objections, he didn't voice them. "Aye, sir, course laid in."

"Engage at full impulse." Worf directed his gaze to Tuvok. "Mister Tuvok, take tactical."

Tuvok nodded, feeling a slight relief at Worf returning to his post. He nodded back to Dax when she offered a look of tense greeting, and tapped into his console. "Picking up a debris field five-thousand kilometers from the array, a ship. Minimal weapons and shields, one lifesign. It appears to be a small cargo vessel."

Dax turned to Mister Worf. "A local. Maybe they have some idea what's going on."

"Obtaining more intelligence may be prudent at this point, Captain," Tuvok offered. He decided the ship was a very small cargo vessel, but didn't say that. It was little bigger than a shuttle craft. If it had anything dangerous on board, it wasn't much.

"Hail them." Worf sat back in the chair.

The screen was covered with debris, what looked like a net and some metal trinkets, and, apparently, upside down. The alien that appeared shortly after to clear the screen and set it mostly-upright was spotted, had two skull ridges, and a central mane of blond hair. The word that immediately sprang to Tuvok's mind in regards to his fur coat and lack of apparent care for personal presentation was mangy.

"Whoever you are," the alien growled leaning in to the screen to show his sharp teeth, "I found this waste zone first."

Worf frowned, but also managed to look mildly amused at the same time. "We're not interested in your waste zone, Mister…?"

"Neelix." The alien hesitated, apparently reflecting on Worf's words. "And since you're not interested, I am delighted to know you."

"Captain Worf of the Federation starship Defiant," Worf said.

"A very impressive title," Neelix said before Worf could continue with the obvious follow-up inquiry, and paused. "I have no idea what it means, but it sounds very impressive."

Worf hesitated. Tuvok couldn't think of anything reasonable to respond to that, either. "Yes," he said finally, but more as a weak segue than anything. "Do you know anything about the array that's sending energy pulses to the fifth planet?"

Neelix huffed. "Wait, let me guess: you were whisked away from somewhere else in the galaxy and brought here against your will." He didn't let Worf respond, saying, "I've heard it all thousands of times before," then hesitated. "Well, hundreds of times. Maybe fifty."

Paris glanced back over his shoulder, making eye contact with Tuvok long enough to indicate amusement and disbelief.

"The Caretaker has been bringing ships here for months now," Neelix continued.

"The Caretaker?" Worf said.

"Well, that's what the Ocampa call him. They live on the fifth planet. I assume he kidnapped members of your crew," Neelix added.

Worf sighed, realigned himself in the chair. "We would appreciate any help you could give us in locating these Ocampa, Mister Neelix."

"Well." Neelix paused, smacked his lips, and looked around his ship as though it were suddenly very interesting. "I really wish I could help you. I do. But, as you can see, there's just so much—so many things here for me to investigate today. You'd be surprised the things of value some people abandon."

Worf glanced at Tuvok as if for permission. "We may be able to compensate you for your inconvenience."

"Well, there's really very little you could offer me… unless…" Neelix paused, returning his gaze to his screen to check that he had Worf's attention. "Unless, of course, you had water."

"Water?" Worf gave a slow nod, obviously trying not to betray how very strange and simple a request it seemed to be. "That may be arranged."

Neelix wagged a finger at the screen. "We may have an arrangement, Captain Worf of the Federation starship Defiant."

"Very well. We'll beam you over and tow your ship into our shuttle bay." Worf gave Tuvok the signal to cut off the communication. "Beam him to Transporter One."

"I'll pull in his ship," Dax offered.

Tuvok only nodded his agreement, and left the bridge. Transporter One was only a hallway away, very close behind the bridge. In some ways, Tuvok thought it was a very efficient design, though it didn't leave much room for error in situations like these. Not that the Defiant was intended to be making contact with new lifeforms. Perhaps he should suggest that the commander always use Transporter Room Two, a deck below the bridge, in the future—assuming there was a future.

Tuvok locked onto the signature forwarded from the bridge, and a moment later Mister Neelix appeared on the transporter pad.

"Astonishing!" he said as he patted his chest as if to make sure he had arrived in one piece. His eyes lighted on Tuvok, and he said, "You Federations are obviously an advanced culture."

"The Federation is made up of many cultures," Tuvok said, watching as the alien made a circle around the back wall of the transporter pad. "I am Vulcan," he added, wondering how to take control of a conversation that didn't seem to be happening.

"Neelix!" he said, and stepped down from the pad to envelop him in a nearly-oppressive hug. Either the alien smelled terrible or his furry coat did. "Good to meet you!" he added, and then bent ever so slightly to look at the transporter controls on the edge of the wall. "What—what exactly…?" He stepped across the hall to look at another panel. "What exactly does all this—all this do?"

"I assure you that everything has a specific function," Tuvok said. "However, it would take several hours to explain it all. I suggest we proceed to the bridge."

"Ah, yes, of course." Neelix took a step back and gestured down the hallway in the only direction there was to go. "After you, Mister Vulcan."

With a nod, Tuvok led Mister Neelix to the bridge. Captain Worf was sitting in his chair, nodding at their guest as they entered.

"Thank you for agreeing to assist us, Mister Neelix."

"Oh!" Neelix waved that away, looking around the bridge. Tuvok could see it was requiring no mean amount of restraint on his part to not touch the nearest consoles. "Happy to help, happy to."

"It will be about twenty minutes before we arrive at the fifth planet," Paris reported.

If anyone had anything else to say, Neelix interrupted. "Yes, of course, of course. I was wondering if I might sample the, um… the water?"

"Oh. Of course." Worf looked at Tuvok, almost appearing apologetic. "Mister Tuvok, could you see to Mister Neelix's request."

"Yes, sir. I will take Mister Neelix to the mess hall." It occurred to Tuvok that their power generation capabilities would not match their needs to replicate the sustenance and equipment needed over the long journey ahead, if there was a long journey ahead. He took note to make projections.

"That would be fine. Thank you, Mister Tuvok." Worf nodded again and directed his gaze back to Neelix. "We will negotiate further on the amount of water we will trade in exchange for your assistance."

"Yes, of course, of course." Neelix looked up at Tuvok with a broad grin. "Shall we?"

Tuvok led Mister Neelix back down the hallway to the turbolift and signaled for deck three. It didn't escape his notice that Neelix had been looking at him curiously the entire time, even staring at his ears for an entire two seconds before discovering his combadge.

"Mister Neelix."

The alien almost jumped backwards as he responded. "Yes, Mister Vulcan?"

"Am I correct in my assumption that you know this area of space well?" Tuvok asked.

"Certainly," Neelix answered. "I am well-known for knowing it… well." He paused, then, as if he'd said something that didn't quite make sense to him. He recovered to add, "Your captain Worf told me about your missing crewmembers. I hope we're able to find them, but, frankly, for all the stories I've heard of this business with the Caretaker, I've never heard of anyone getting their crewmembers back." He paused, and then added contemplatively, "Of course, no one really comes back to tell me the rest of the story."

"I assume you know where the missing crewmen are, at least?" Tuvok asked, though he didn't know why he'd bothered.

"Oh, yes. And," he added with a chuckle, "I must say, I am absolutely delighted at the opportunity to act as your guide and make any introductions. Captain Worf must be a very important man where you come from? To have so much water for the trading."

Tuvok nodded placidly, though Worf's importance was unknown to him, at least outside of his being the only Klingon in Starfleet and with an exemplary service record besides. "Indeed. This way, please." Tuvok led Neelix into the mess hall.

The place was deserted. It was good to know the crew could continue working even under these circumstances. Tuvok walked to the nearest replicator, next to the door, and said, "Computer?" It beeped. "One glass of water, ten degrees."

The computer complied, and a clear, cylindrical glass of water appeared in the alcove. Tuvok took it out, and handed it to Mister Neelix.

Mister Neelix was only paying some attention, his full interest fixed on the replicator. "My, my, my, my, what is this?"

"It is a replicator," Tuvok replied.

"Replicator," Neelix whispered, and held the glass up under his nose. After smelling it and mildly swirling the water, he took a gulp. With a satisfied smack, he said, "That is good, Mister Vulcan. Now, um, what, um—what does it do, hm, exactly?"

Tuvok wasn't sure what Mister Neelix would understand, so decided to be brief, but thorough. "It is a molecular synthesizer that uses matter-energy conversion technology to convert one form of matter into another."

"Fascinating, hm." Neelix squinted at it, and Tuvok still wasn't sure what he understood. After a moment, he said, "Can it replicate anything larger? We'll need several containers of water to bring for barter to find the Ocampa." He took another gulp of the water, obviously satisfied.

"We can replicate large quantities." Of course, he wouldn't use these. There was a single industrial replicator in Cargo Bay One.

"And does it make anything else?" Mister Neelix asked. "Clothing, for example?"

"Yes." Tuvok wondered if he should be a bit more explicit. When he said one form of matter into another, he didn't think he was contextually excluding matter to only edible matter.

"Will it make me a uniform like yours?"

Tuvok considered that, and then made a note to ask Captain Chakotay about that, as well. "No," he said. "It most certainly will not."

"Shame." Neelix looked at the replicator for a moment, and then finished his glass of water in three great draughts. He handed Tuvok the glass and then watched him closely.

Perhaps even something as elementary as recycling would be interesting to an individual who had no such concept. He placed the glass in the replicator, and pressed the button to recycle it. The glass dematerialized.

"A very advanced culture," Neelix said.

"Indeed."

#

"Lieutenant?" Marius pressed his fingers lightly against the Human's shoulder to no response. "Lieutenant." Unfortunately, he didn't know the Human's name, either. However, Marius didn't think he would have responded even if he knew it.

With or without him, Marius had to get out of here. The lights were too bright—which ordinarily, for him, would not have been a problem. He had grown accustomed to the light-level exposed to a star's rays to the point that he was not usually uncomfortable. But it had become painfully obvious: he was sick. So was the Human doctor. Leaving with the doctor was therefore the ideal situation.

Mistress T'Rul might be in a similar condition somewhere nearby. So might Sulla. He had already ordered his priorities.

To pass the time, Marius inspected the walls of their cage. The small door was locked, and there were no windows. There were no seams in the walls, leading Marius to believe that they had been placed on a planet. He would usually be more suspicious of the Human… but the Human appeared to be in the same predicament as he. Infecting oneself with a mysterious disease to humiliate his mistress seemed beyond the pale of what he personally considered Humans willing and capable of doing.

The Human doctor came to on his own a few minutes later, groaning in pain and looking around the room in confusion. His eyes fixed on Marius, his brow furrowed. "Where are we?" he asked.

"I do not know." Marius spun, holding his hands behind his back.

The doctor gasped suddenly and looked at his wrist where Marius saw a welt similar to those covering his own body. "What the hell…?" he muttered, and Marius assumed the question was not for him.

He turned back to the door. "I believe I might break through the door. Without more information, I would assume the worst. But," he added, looking over his shoulder at the doctor. "I need you alive." Which meant he needed another option.

Since it was the primary function of a door to open… he would only have to wait.

"That's… good to hear?" The doctor furrowed his brow at him. "You're Reman, then," he said, as though it were not a question.

Which made sense. They had more important things to concern themselves with. "My name is Marius." He didn't add the usual salutation, that he was Mistress T'Rul's bodyguard and had a title that other languages roughly translated to killer. He wasn't one to quibble.

"Doctor Julian Bashir," the Human offered in return, evidently not paying his full attention to the conversation as he inspected his wounds much in the way Marius was inspecting the door.

Good. They each needed to play their part.

Marius stood to the side of the door. Doctor Julian Bashir sat up and pulled open the robe someone had dressed him in. Dressed them both in. Marius knew he had been wearing the flexible black suit that set him apart from the rest of the Defiant crew and his mistress. The Defiant had been damaged, and he had been injured. He thought he might have suffered a blow to the head, but lack of any physical indication threw that into some question.

"God, it hurts like hell," the doctor muttered. "They're everywhere." He looked up suddenly, gesturing at Marius. "May I?"

"I would prefer if you stayed where you were," Marius said, but the doctor didn't pay attention.

Doctor Bashir slid off the table, wincing a bit painfully before hobbling toward him. Without asking, he took Marius's hand to find the welts on his skin. "Alright, uh… we have to get back to the Defiant. This isn't good."

"Thank you for the prognosis, Doctor. Please sit down."

Doctor Bashir paced away, gaining strength as he walked. He muttered about diseases—viruses and bacteria and genetic mutations. It was impossible for him to tell with a simple visual inspection what the problem was, but he had a few theories. Marius let him mutter and tried to focus his hearing beyond the lights that were too bright.

The door opened, and Marius lashed out. His arm intercepted a body in a white coat, humanoid. He was small, weak, and Marius could feel the fragile bones in his neck and head. Alien organs beat within. Marius pulled the man against him, exactly where he wanted him.

The woman that had followed the man into the room yelped, and Doctor Julian Bashir said his name. Marius backed away from them both, dragging the man's heels on the floor. "Make no sound, say nothing. I will kill him," Marius whispered.

"That's really unnecessary!" Doctor Bashir whispered back.

Marius glared at him—how could he say what was necessary in his condition.

"He's right." The man with his back against Marius's chest clawed at his arm. "We don't mean you any harm."

Sedation, he heard the woman think, glancing once surreptitiously toward the door. Marius saw two other men dressed like these two hiding in the corridor outside. In the neck or chest.

Marius growled and pivoted to face her more completely. "Telepaths?" Marius hissed and pressed his fingertips to the back of the man's head, using his mind to project the images Marius chose with his foreign telepathy. I will kill him, he told her in his mind, and let her see how easy it would be.

The woman's eyes flew wide as she backed up against the wall behind her. The incomprehensible scream in her mind was enough proof to Marius his projection had succeeded. He glanced toward the door where the two men waited for the order to come through.

"Come no closer."

The woman whimpered on the floor and the two stayed in the hall.

"Now what?" Doctor Bashir snapped.

"Now, we are leaving," Marius said, and tightened his grip on the man's neck wedged in the crook of his arm. "Where is my mistress and where is our ship? Tell me."

"I don't know about a ship—" The man choked and clawed again at Marius's arm. The thoughts in all the heads around him confirmed that what the man said was at least a consensus. "Please. But there is a woman that arrived with you. She is just next door. Please, she is unharmed, only sick like you."

The doctor put his hands up, eyes fixed on Marius as he approached as one might come near a wild animal. "Come on, Marius, let him go."

Marius bared his teeth and hissed at the condescension in word and deed. Doctor Bashir thought he was out of control? He had no idea what that would look like. And, in fairness, neither did Marius.

"They have no weapons," Doctor Bashir said, gesturing at the man Marius was holding. He pointed at the woman, then, moved to kneel beside her. "If they meant us harm, why would they come in here unarmed?"

"Perhaps they have infected us, Doctor," Marius said. "Or else they have underestimated my ambition. Regardless, these people stand between me and my mistress. It will be no difficulty removing them."

Marius took a few long steps toward the door, the man in his arms still struggling to escape. Despite the weakness in Marius's arms, this man was even weaker.

"Show me," Marius said.

Suddenly, he felt dizzy and lightheaded—his arms refused to obey his commands and fell to his side as he tipped over backwards right into Doctor Bashir's arms. The doctor let him down to the floor softly; his hands were so gentle and light it was a wonder they could hold him. But, then again, no wonder they had. He never anticipated their coming.

"Sorry about that, Marius," the doctor whispered, showing him what looked like a hypospray. He must have gotten it from the woman. "You'll thank me later."

Marius shut his eyes, even as he struggled to keep them open. A warm and pleasant darkness encroached, but anger and humiliation kept him from completely falling away—but he couldn't fight it much longer.

He knew he shouldn't have trusted a Human.

#

The compulsion to smash his head against something with a hard edge passed after maybe five minutes. Now, Chakotay was only shivering like he was freezing, and he couldn't shake the feeling… the disturbing feeling that something awful had happened to him. The sense of violation and humiliation seemed to have saturated his entire mind, seeping between every fold of his brain and sticking there, constricting his thoughts so that only he was there in every dark corner peeking into his past and shifting through his intentions like a library he owned.

He sniffed into the back of his hand, and finally found Riker sitting in the chair a few feet in front of him. He was leaning toward him, elbows on his knees, and Chakotay had rarely seen anyone so concerned... even though Chakotay wasn't sure why he should be. They'd been pen pals at most for the last six months, and met face-to-face for the first time today.

"What the hell did he do to you?" Riker asked quietly after Chakotay managed to hold his gaze for more than a few seconds.

Chakotay shook his head, and hoped Riker took that to mean he didn't ever want to talk about it. Some small part of Chakotay's conscious wondered if he didn't deserve it: he had been lying. Tuvok had been right about that. But, damn… Chakotay just shook his head again.

"Alright." Riker leaned back in the chair. "Well, if you want to talk about it."

"I don't." Chakotay brushed his hands on his shirt, and pressed back to lean against the wall.

He'd have to write to whoever was taking over his class at the Academy when he was in prison. They really should be doing some telepathic interrogation resistance training.

Of course, Vulcans were almost universally Federation members—those that didn't consider themselves as such generally stayed on Vulcan or other holdings within Vulcan space and largely kept to themselves. Only a handful had defected to the Maquis. The only reason this had happened was because Chakotay was trying at the moment to not be a Federation member anymore. Would Tuvok have deduced Chakotay was trying to pull one over on him if that wasn't exactly what Chakotay'd been trying to do?

He tried not to sob, and scrubbed the tension and terror from his forehead and eyes. "Okay. What's happening?"

"Out there? No clue." Riker sighed, pressing his two fingers to his lips in thought. "Looks like you were right. It's not going to happen, is it?"

Chakotay let his head come to a rest in his palm. "Whatever edge we had is gone. We're still in the Delta Quadrant, and Tuvok knows. Everything."

"Yeah."

This was a nightmare. What had he done?

Despite his better judgement, Chakotay tapped his combadge. "Chakotay to Worf."

"Worf here," came the stiff reply.

Of course, Tuvok had told him everything. "Do I get to ask what our status is?"

After a pregnant pause, Worf said, "Report to the bridge." The line between them died.

Chakotay looked at Riker, feeling nothing but confusion and an absolute desire to be anywhere but wherever Tuvok was. Which was probably on the bridge. But he had to be there—as the theoretically ranking officer onboard. Traitorous intentions notwithstanding, he had experience. He, like everyone else on board, cared about getting out of here.

His mind was currently shredding itself apart looking for intruders that were no longer there. Chakotay clawed at his hair and looked at the ceiling. "Okay." He didn't know who he was talking to, but he got up, dusted himself off, and looked at the door.

A moment later, he was walking through it and heading to the bridge. He knew the captain's office was close to the bridge, but it had never seemed this close. It was only getting closer, and soon—

The door slid open to allow himself and Riker entrance. Chakotay straightened, and didn't look at Tuvok. Otherwise didn't let his presence affect him, though. He looked directly at Worf. "Yes, Captain?" Chakotay asked.

Worf frowned in severe disapproval. Somehow Paris seemed to still be at the conn, though. Riker's non-spy XO didn't look like he was any worse off. The Betazoid might have been in Engineering, still.

"We have arrived at the fifth planet," Worf reported, "and obtained a guide to the Ocampa. I intend to accompany Mister Tuvok to the planet and leave Commander Dax in command."

Chakotay sighed, looking at the new arrivals on the bridge: Lieutenant Geissler, Petty Officer Amal, and an alien. He had no doubt Worf intended to bring one of the present security officers with him down to the planet, as well. "Does the Enterprise first officer often let the captain head down to a planet under uncertain circumstances?"

"These are unusual circumstances, Commander," Worf said.

He was damn right about that, and Chakotay didn't feel like arguing anyway.

"I would also like Mister Riker to accompany us," Worf added. "Not necessarily because I believe you will be useful, but because I would prefer to separate you and the commander."

Chakotay couldn't blame him for that. Besides, Riker could probably make himself useful down there. "I'll help Commander Dax hold down the fort up here."

Worf eyed him, but nodded. He left bridge with the alien, Tuvok, Riker, and Lieutenant Geissler. Commander Dax circled the captain's chair once, but never sat down. Instead, she turned to Chakotay and Riker. "Is there anything either of you want to say?" she asked.

"Yeah," Riker said, and took a small step in front of Chakotay. "Where the hell does Tuvok get off forcing a superior officer into a mind-meld?"

"Forget it, Riker." Chakotay sighed and looked around the bridge.

More, he wanted to have a few more hours before he heard Tuvok's name again. Give himself a few more minutes to stop flinching at the dark corners in his own head, expecting to hear Tuvok asking what the hell he was doing here.

"He was doing his job," Commander Dax said, her expression impassive and hard. Then she looked at Chakotay. "Though I know it not a pleasant experience."

"You can say that again."