Chapter Text
USS Bluefin
Dr. Castille rechecked his figures as the patient slowly regained consciousness. The man had been suffering from radiation exposure but had recently undergone radical nano-therapy in addition to a standard deionization series. He also showed signs of being exposed to high levels of a dangerous stimulant. To make matters more interesting, the man evidenced ligature marks on his neck that suggested someone had tried to strangle him. ‘The expression ‘having a bad day’ just doesn’t seem adequate,’ the young doctor mused as he finished stabilizing the patient.
The man had been beamed off a Klingon escape pod during Bluefin’s return trip to Gibraltar’s coordinates, the captured Bird-of-Prey safely in tow. Two security personnel stood by in case the presumed Maquis attempted anything unfriendly, something Castille believed highly unlikely given the man’s condition.
Strauss entered Sickbay. She approached the exam table and held up a padd. “I think we can forgo the security standby, Doctor. We’ve identified him.”
Castille glanced at the padd, “Sandhurst, Donald M. Captain, Starfleet.” The physician looked curious. “What the hell was he doing in a Maquis escape pod, then?”
“Gibraltar confirms Captain Sandhurst was beamed away by the Maquis when they sent a boarding party into the ship’s Sickbay,” Strauss clarified.
“Well, then,” the young doctor said, smiling. “Let’s get the good captain cleaned up, shall we?”
*****
Sandhurst had been aboard many different classes of vessel in his career, but this was the first time he’d set foot on an Albacore-class cutter. The narrow corridors and burnished wall plating reminded him of his own ship more so than did more modern designs. Thanks to Dr. Castille’s ministrations and a fresh uniform, Sandhurst felt very nearly human once again.
As Commander Strauss escorted him to his meeting with Captain Akinola, Sandhurst paused twice to inspect some manner of engineering irregularity peculiar to this type of vessel. After the second such occasion, he caught Strauss smirking at his boyish enthusiasm for the design. “They obviously built these ships to last,” Sandhurst appraised.
“That they did, sir,” she replied proudly.
Moments later, they arrived in modest ready room off the bridge. Strauss introduced the two men, who shook hands before Akinola offered Sandhurst a seat. Inga slipped out quietly as Akinola assumed his place behind the desk. "It appears you’ve had an exciting few days here in the E’Mdifarr system.”
Akinola carried himself with an easy confidence borne of years of experience. His affability, Sandhurst realized, served to cover a pragmatic interior. It was obvious Akinola had been sitting in the center seat for considerably longer than he.
Sandhurst cocked his head. “Exciting isn’t the first adjective I’d choose, but it’ll do.”
“Can you fill me in on what happened after your away team was captured, Captain?”
The younger captain relayed the story of Gibraltar’s desperate gambit to trap the Maquis ships in the system. Sandhurst wove the tale, eventually ending his summary with what little he could remember of his struggle with the Bolian terrorist in the Bird-of-Prey’s transporter room.
Akinola absorbed the information silently, seeking only occasional clarification on some point or offering an encouraging nod of his head. “And the last thing you remember?”
“Being choked by the Bolian,” Sandhurst said, his voice taking on a detached quality. “I seem to recall reaching for his knife… then waking up in your Sickbay.”
“That jibes with our forensic examination of the ship,” Akinola revealed. “The Bolian was found with a knife in his abdomen. Which begs the question, how did you get to the escape capsule? Other than the two Maquis operatives we captured after we neutralized the scout, the only others we found alive were the two you’d incapacitated aboard Gibraltar who were still unconscious on their transporter pad.”
Sandhurst shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine, Captain. If I managed to crawl to a lifeboat, I don’t remember doing it.” A look of realization darkened Sandhurst’s features. “Ah… I understand. You suspect some Maquis collusion might be involved in my escape.”
Akinola nodded uneasily, uncomfortable with the idea but acknowledging the line of reasoning just the same. “It’s an angle that must be looked at, as I’m sure you're aware. Three of the four Maquis prisoners we captured from the Bird-of-Prey were former Federation officers; two Starfleet, and one Marine. Captain Benjamin Maxwell was among them.”
Sandhurst looked genuinely shocked. “Maxwell?” He sighed, “So much for a successful rehabilitation, eh?”
“Looks that way,” Akinola agreed mirthlessly.
“If you’re afraid I’m in league with the Maquis, Captain, I can assure you that’s not the case.” He shifted in his chair as troubled thoughts clouded his memories. "Ask the Maquis that I butchered aboard Gibraltar how friendly I am to their movement..." he trailed off, closing his eyes to keep the images at bay.
Akinola observed Sandhurst’s discomfort and elected to probe further. “You saw action in the war?”
Sandhurst responded with a distracted nod. “The Venture participated in most of the major fleet engagements and led a hit-and-run squadron operating out of Starbase 53 along the Coridan Front.”
“You seem unusually upset about the Maquis for someone who’s seen so much death.”
A far-away cast to his eyes, Sandhurst replied, “Before this mission, I’d never killed someone face-to-face. Ship-to-ship combat, certainly, but never this close, never this personal.” He shook off his torpor to direct a biting glare at the senior captain. “I apologize of my reticence offends you.”
“Quite the opposite,” Akinola parried. “I’d be more concerned if it didn’t trouble you, Sandhurst.”
Sandhurst changed the subject abruptly with a query. “Any updates on Gibraltar’s status?”
“Commander Ramirez reports they’ve completed the initial damage control sweep of the ship and are affecting temporary repairs to shore up life support systems. You’ll need a tow back to a shipyard, however.”
Sandhurst rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. “That figures. Overall, it’s a better outcome than I’d expected, so I guess I can’t complain.”
“Better outcome?”
Sandhurst met Akinola’s unwavering gaze and elaborated. “I had to concede the possibility of Gibraltar being destroyed when I set off the IFEW and trapped the ship in this system with a swarm of angry Maquis. I’m grateful for the timely rescue.”
Akinola frowned as he inquired, “You didn’t have a plan for getting out of here?”
“Not at the time. The device was originally designed to be delivered in open space, where we’d have had the chance to warp out of the effect radius before it detonated. Here, especially with the damage to our shields, the odds of us getting away were very slim.”
“That’s a bit reckless, isn’t it? Gambling with your people’s lives like that?” It was a blunt assessment, but given recent events aboard the Bluefin, Akinola found himself unable to hold his tongue.
Sandhurst gave Akinola a curious look. “I was assigned a mission. Protect the convoy at all costs. That’s pretty self-explanatory. Literally millions of people on multiple Cardassian colonies were relying on those ships getting through. If we’d failed, a lot more people would have died than the crew of a single starship.”
Akinola inclined his head, conceding the point.
“We get the job done, Captain. That’s what counts.” Sandhurst’s features hardened.
“Mission over everything, even the welfare of your crew?” Akinola asked frostily.
“Not always. Each mission is different, and that assessment becomes a judgment call.” Sandhurst’s cheeks began to color, his anger fueled by Akinola’s line of questioning. “Ultimately, we’re all expendable to one degree or another, Captain. You know that. If you don’t, then you weren’t close enough to the war.” Sandhurst crossed his arms defensively. “Being flung against Dominion fleets time and again underscores that point quite effectively.”
Akinola held up a hand. “I’m not questioning your judgment or your people’s bravery, Sandhurst. I’m merely seeking to clarify some of the loose threads dangling from this mission.”
“From where I’m sitting, this feels a lot like an interrogation,” Sandhurst shot back. “Perhaps in the Molari Badlands you have the luxury of 20/20 foresight, but along the Cardassian border we’re not afforded that advantage. If you’re going to be working out here, you should expect to be kicked in the gut on a regular basis.” Sandhurst stared out the viewport over Akinola’s shoulder, vaguely registering the asteroids as they drifted past. “My ship is going to have to be overhauled for the fifth time in nine months. I’ve lost dozens of people since I took command and I’m about to lose my top-notch exec to her own commission. And on a personal level it feels like some days I’m barely hanging on to my sanity by my fingernails. So, before you start judging me, you might want to try pulling a full tour out here in occupied Cardie space. Walk a lightyear in my boots, as it were.”
Akinola held up his hands in a gesture of assuagement as he acceded, “You’re right, Captain. I’m a bit out of my element in this region. We’re used to the occasional knife fight with pirates or rogue Klingon or Romulan elements. What you’re describing sounds more like a persistent, low-level war than a police action. I apologize if I came across as disparaging. I’m simply trying to wrap my head around this new assignment.”
Sandhurst sighed. “Forgive my outburst, Captain. I understand you’re only doing your duty, and you’re asking the same questions Starfleet Command will be when I submit my after-action reports.” He dipped his head to rub his eyes tiredly with one hand. “Our recent excursion to Alshain space proved just as lively as our tour in the old DMZ has been. The few occasions my crew has had for down time hasn’t recharged our collective batteries sufficiently.”
“That I can understand completely,” Akinola offered. “And no apology is necessary. To be perfectly honest, if I’d had the device you employed against the Maquis I might have used it myself under the same circumstances. I just needed to get a look inside your head to convince me I was dealing with a straight shooter. This Maquis business is reopening a lot of old wounds in the Fleet.” Akinola stood and moved around the desk to a shelving unit containing an assortment of glasses situated above a shelf of wooden, hand-carved starships.
He returned with two glasses and Akinola reached into a desk drawer to pull out a bottle of Tennessee whiskey. “Can I offer you a drink, Captain?”
“Gods yes,” Sandhurst breathed. “That sounds fantastic.” Akinola poured two glasses, handing one to the younger officer. Sandhurst accepted the offering gratefully.
Akinola raised his in a toast, “To both our ‘old girls.’ They may no longer be ships of the line, but they’ll always get the job done and bring us home.”
Sandhurst touched his glass to Akinola’s and offered his first smile of the day. "I’ll drink to that, Captain.”
Akinola resumed his seat. “Aside from a tow back to the nearest starbase, is there anything else I can do for you?”
Sandhurst mulled that over for a moment as he savored the bite of the whisky. “There is one favor I would ask of you, Captain.”
“Name it.”
“The nearest repair yard is at DS9, but I’m going to need to take Gibraltar a bit farther afield…”
*****