Chapter Text
Part Three (Cont’d)
“We need to go down.”
“I’m telling you, we need to go up!”
The conversation, such that it was, had been going around in circles for some time now, with neither party willing to back down.
Klath and Natasha stood in a corridor of the Tolaris, either side of a detailed display of the ship’s deck layout on a wall in front of them. Tasked with returning to the Bounty, they had stumbled into their challenge, with Natasha paying more attention to supporting the injured Klingon than she had been to where they were going, while Klath bullishly continued to walk without stopping to check his bearings. Because Klingons don’t ask for directions.
It was only when they found themselves outside the brig they had just broken out of, having done nothing but completed a circuitous route back to where they started that they had both reluctantly admitted it might be a good idea to figure out where they were supposed to be going.
And that was when the argument had started.
“Look,” Natasha said in frustration, pointing at the deck diagram, “We’re here, and we need to get to the hangar bay here, so we need to go up!”
“Why would you think we are here?” Klath asked, gesturing to where she was pointing.
“Because that’s the brig!”
The burly Klingon shook his head and used his one good arm to point to an entirely different part of the diagram on the front section of the Warbird. “No,” he boomed out, “This is the brig.”
“Why would you think that’s the brig?” Natasha scoffed, “There’s clearly no way that’s the—”
She paused mid-rant, as she actually saw where the Klingon’s thick finger was pointing.
“Oh. That’s the brig.”
“I am aware of that,” Klath replied, with a note of smugness in his tone, “Deck 6. So, we go down.”
Natasha shook her head and pointed back to where she had first indicated, determined that she was still right. “Ok, but…this is also the brig. On deck 47.”
She quickly scanned around the rest of the diagram, pointing around as she did so.
“And...here’s another brig on deck 14. And there’s another one on deck 25—What the hell? What kind of stupid ship has four brigs?”
“A Romulan one,” Klath grunted darkly.
Natasha forced a smile and looked back at the map, seeing what she was pretty sure was a fifth brig nestled on deck 59 and considering their options.
“Ok, so, we need to look around for deck markings, signs, anything to figure out what deck we’re on, then we can narrow down which brig this is, and—”
Klath silenced her with a raised finger. He pointed back down the corridor.
The sound of footsteps. And they were getting closer.
She grabbed Klath’s good arm and tried to drag him away, in the opposite direction to the footfalls. Although Klath resisted for a moment, presumably wanting to take on whoever was approaching rather than beat a retreat, he reluctantly acquiesced to her move. As they reached the next intersection, they spied a turbolift door and raced over to it, calling the lift as the footsteps got nearer. They stepped inside the lift as it arrived and Natasha allowed herself a sigh of relief as the doors closed.
“Ok,” she said eventually, “Now we just need to go up—”
“Down!” Klath growled.
They stared each other down for a moment, preparing to launch back into their endless argument. It was Natasha who realised first, smiling in mild embarrassment.
“Main hangar bay,” she called out, as Klath’s face dawned in his own moment of realisation. A second later, the machinery whirred into life, as the lift whisked them to their chosen destination.
Natasha looked over at the Klingon.
“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
* * * * *
“Why the hell did we split up?”
The latest volley of disruptor fire whizzed past Jirel’s head as the three figures raced down the corridor, leaving a series of gently smoking streaks on the wall behind him, and adding an extra few items to the Tolaris’s repair schedule in the process.
“I’m serious,” the Trill continued as he fired off a few shots of his own, “That’s, like, the first rule of how to get everyone killed!”
They reached the cover of the next intersection and paused for breath, as Not T’Prin and Denella blindly fired back at their pursuers.
They had made little progress, with destroying the cloaking device having quickly become a secondary priority to simply staying alive. Their journey through the Tolaris was being dictated more in terms of evading disruptor blasts than getting to their intended destination.
“There are five of them,” Not T’Prin calmly reported as another burst of weapons fire skimmed past them, “But this disturbance will definitely attract more.”
She ducked out from behind the cover of the intersection to return fire, as Jirel grimaced and glanced over at Denella.
“See, this is why I didn’t want us to be the heroes.”
“I believe there is currently no danger of that,” Not T’Prin offered as a retort as she returned to the temporary sanctity of their cover to check her disruptor’s power levels.
Jirel managed a full-on double take, as Denella smirked. Was the emotionless Vulcan actually joking with him? He forced himself back into the here and now, and gestured further back down the corridor, shouting above further incoming fire.
“Feels like it might be a good idea to keep our tactical retreat going.”
“No arguments here,” Denella shouted back.
“That may not be possible,” Not T’Prin offered, her voice remaining impassive despite the situation, “I can detect the sound of others approaching from that direction.”
Jirel couldn’t see or hear anything apart from the ongoing disruptor blasts. But he opted to trust in her more carefully attuned Vulcan hearing.
“Huh,” he managed, “Crap.”
“So we’re surrounded,” Denella groaned, “At this point, I’d just like to say: This plan sucked.”
“Indeed,” Not T’Prin nodded.
Jirel scanned their immediate vicinity, and suppressed a satisfied smile as he spied a doorway a few paces behind them. Why had nobody else thought of that?
“New plan,” he announced with confidence, firing off a few covering shots and then making for the doorway, “Follow me!”
“That serves no logical purpose—”
He ignored the Vulcan’s comment, as a further flurry of weapons blasts fizzed by. He ducked into a roll and dived through the doors just as they parted, mentally congratulating himself on that fancy little manoeuvre as he jumped back to his feet. Denella and Not T’Prin followed in an altogether more traditional manner moments later, so he opted not to make too much of a public show about his duck and roll. Still, it had been pretty cool.
“Ok,” he said, as he looked around the room they had entered for the first time, “Now we need to—”
He paused, as he took in the expanse around him. It was a huge room, filled with bulky metal housings and structures that presumably contained a litany of shipboard systems. The ceiling stretched way above them, the whole area must have spanned at least four decks vertically. And, most importantly, there were no obvious exit points, beyond the door they had just entered through.
“As I was attempting to tell you,” Not T’Prin patiently continued, “I do not see the rational purpose in electing to run into a dead end such as this.”
Jirel saw Denella give him a slightly smug look at the same time, amused by the Trill’s clear tactical failure despite their situation.
“Yeah, well,” he replied eventually, trying to save at least some face, “If it was such a bad idea, why did you follow me, hmm?”
Not T’Prin considered this for a moment, then raised an eyebrow, apparently having failed to locate an answer. Instead, she moved to the control panel next to the door and tapped the controls.
“I have locked the door with a secure encryption. It will take them some time to decode it.”
The three figures watched as the bottom right section of the door began to glow and smoke, as the Vulcans on the other side began to cut through the metal.
“Doesn’t look like they’re interested in decoding it,” Denella muttered mirthlessly.
“Ok, there’s gotta be something we can use in here,” Jirel said, looking around the expanse of the room, “Some other access point.”
Not T’Prin assessed the room they had entered. “This is a maintenance section for the Warbird’s lower decks,” she explained, gesturing to the metal structures around them, “Air circulation, environmental controls, gravity generators…”
“No transporter pads then,” Jirel sighed as he looked around.
“It would not be logical to locate a transporter pad in such a facility.”
Even as the smell of burnt metal began to fill the room, Jirel looked over at Denella and forced a smile.
“See how annoying it’d be if our Vulcan was like that all the time?”
If Not T’Prin was offended, she disguised it well. Denella gave the room another scan. Then, she pointed at something above their heads. Well above their heads. The others followed her finger to see a long tube running diagonally across the high ceiling of the room, and an access hatch visible where it met the far wall. An accompanying ladder ran down the wall to ground level.
“Intriguing,” Not T’Prin mused, “That is an access conduit traversing the room. However, it is unlikely that we would be able to climb all the way up there before our pursuers gain access to the room—”
“Way ahead of you,” Jirel grinned, recalling the items the Vulcan had listed in the room they were in.
“You can’t be serious,” Denella said with a slightly sickly look, as she came to the same conclusion moments later.
“Oh, I’m totally serious,” the Trill smiled, pointing his disruptor at a nearby metal structure, “Hold onto your lunch everyone, we’re gonna—”
“What is your intention behind destroying the air circulator for this deck?” Not T’Prin asked with an entirely logical innocence.
Denella’s sickly look gave way to one of amusement, as she saw the Trill’s heroic stance wilt a tad.
“Um,” Jirel managed, gesturing around with his disruptor, “Which one’s the gravity generator?”
“Ah,” Not T’Prin nodded, “I see.”
She levelled her weapon at one of the other metal structures. And fired.
* * * * *
Sokar’s mood was dark enough when they got to the bridge, a combination of the report Tepal had given him and the fact that it had taken him three attempts to summon a turbolift car. He burst through the lift doors and stalked over to the tactical console where Tepal was still working, followed by Sunek and T’Len.
“Report!” he snapped at his equally irritated second in command.
“I have teams scouring the whole ship for them,” Tepal replied, trying to keep his anger under control in the presence of his leader, “Nothing yet.”
Sokar growled in frustration, looking past the forward helm station being manned by Ronek to see the stars streaking past. The ship was still cloaked, still at warp, and still on course. At least for now. He tried to use that fact to calm himself down.
They were so close, three hours away from Vulcan, if that.
“And you’re sure T’Prin was behind it?” he asked.
“Yes,” Tepal nodded, “She attacked Ledok in the brig, and she has not reported back since.”
Sokar didn’t reply immediately. But he did make his feelings known by slamming his fist down onto the side of the command chair. Tepal couldn’t resist the opportunity to twist the knife a little.
“I told you I didn’t trust her.”
Sokar’s eyes flamed with rage. Tepal had indeed talked to him about T’Prin before. She had been one of his later recruits to the cause, and one of the few he didn’t know from the V’tosh ka’tur. As a result, he had quietly had some concerns of his own. Though apparently not enough.
“And I cannot pinpoint them on internal sensors,” Tepal continued to twist the knife, “Because you didn’t feel such a system was essential.”
“Nice operation you’ve got here,” he heard Sunek chime in from behind him, “So glad to be a part of something so professional.”
It was a joke from Sunek, but not a playful one, like he usually aimed for. This one was far more cruel, designed to annoy and humiliate rather than gently entertain. This was very much a New Sunek joke. Not an Old Sunek joke.
Sokar’s eyes narrowed further. He forced himself not to rise to that particular bit of bait.
“Time to Vulcan,” he barked out in the direction of Ronek, who so far had elected against joining in the spirit of minor mutiny being aimed in his leader’s direction.
“Two hours, fifty three minutes, present speed,” the younger Vulcan replied.
He whirled back to Tepal, a steely focus back on his face. “Are the weapons calibrations complete?”
“All disruptor arrays are charged and calibrated, torpedo bays are loaded, targeting controls have—”
Tepal paused in the middle of his smug report, as an alarm chirped out from his console. He checked the details with practised haste.
“We have just lost artificial gravity on deck 47!” he reported with urgency, “There are reports of weapons fire in that vicinity.”
Sokar aimed a second, less well timed punch at the side of the command chair. He was so close to his glory that he could practically taste it. And yet now, it was threatening to fall apart. He whirled around to Sunek, who merely stared back with a twisted sneer.
“This is all because of your friends?” Sokar spat, ignoring her comment.
Sunek shrugged, his confident air not shifting despite the palpable tension in the conversation. Old Sunek might have backed off, or tried another joke to disarm the situation. But New Sunek wasn’t that much of a coward.
“Probably,” he replied, “They’ve broken out of your brig, now you’ve got gunfire and chaos down there. Certainly sounds like them. I assume they’re trying to stop what you’re doing.”
“They can’t stop me!” Sokar spat out at him with irritation.
“They probably can,” Sunek retorted, “They’re annoying like that.”
Sokar stared back at him, but declined to reply. Instead, he stalked over to a storage locker at the rear of the bridge, throwing Tepal a glare as he walked past.
“Get the backup gravity generators back online down there, now!”
Tepal looked back defiantly for a moment, not appreciating his tone. But he eventually nodded and started to work.
Sokar reached the storage locker and opened it, retrieving three disruptor pistols.
“I will not allow them to ruin everything I have planned here,” he hissed, “You know so much about your friends, Sunek? You will help me find them.”
He holstered one of the weapons on his belt and proffered the others out to them. T’Len took one without question. Sunek stared at the other one.
What the hell are you doing, Old Sunek called out. Don’t you dare pick that thing up!
But Old Sunek was still behind the wall of anger that had grown inside himself. New Sunek looked down at the stubby green pistol being held out to him. For a second, he closed his eyes, and pictured the Voroth Sea. He felt the intensity of the storm, and the pounding waves on the helpless ship. It energised him.
“Are you going to help me?” Sokar repeated, more urgently.
No, Old Sunek screamed without being heard, Of course I’m not gonna help you, you psycho!
Sunek opened his eyes, his dark leer as wide as it had ever been.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he replied with relish.
He reached out and took the disruptor pistol, looked at T’Len and nodded. She nodded back. The three of them walked quickly over to the turbolift doors. Sunek’s leer didn’t slip once as he marched on.
To hunt down his friends.
End of Part Three