Chapter Text
Part Three (Cont’d)
Some distance behind, a similar Ktarian shuttle was cutting a considerably more dignified pattern through the early morning traffic.
The vessel was working nowhere near its top speed. Instead, it was hanging back and keeping a watching brief. Metaphorically, at least.
Neither occupant could actually see their target. The other shuttle was lost somewhere in the gloom and the rain and the traffic. But that didn’t matter. So long as they kept within range of the tracking transponder of the other shuttle, they were on the right track.
Tylor peered through the forward window of the shuttle, ignoring the gentle throbbing in his temples, as they gently picked their way through the few other vehicles out and about at this time. Alongside him, Jalon expertly worked the controls, keeping her focus on following the trace from the transponder. Which was proving trickier than she’d have liked.
“They’re all over the place,” she grunted as she completed another turn to fall in line behind a bulky cargo transporter, “Altitude, direction, they’re going to cause an accident if they’re not careful.”
“Just keep us in range,” he replied, “Let’s not spook them.”
Jalon nodded and kept her eyes on the instruments.
Tylor could have taken the controls himself. He knew that he was more experienced at pursuit and interception than his deputy from his time further down the ranks back on Ktaris, and especially in atmospheric shuttles as old as the ones still used on Varris IV.
But he’d seen the impact that her momentary lapse in protocol on the comms link back at the Ktarian Moonrise, and the resulting firefight, had caused. And the last thing the grizzled old chief needed now was his most valuable officer having a full-blown crisis of confidence. So he had decided to make sure she had something to keep her focused on the immediate task at hand, without second guessing herself for failing to follow procedure.
“They’re changing heading,” she reported quickly, “Looks like they’re taking a direct route through to the old financial district.”
“Huh,” Tylor mused with intrigue, “Not a lot there these days, is there.”
“I believe that depends on what you’re looking for, Chief,” Jalon replied mirthlessly.
Tylor mustered a nod at this knowing comment.
As Varris IV had faded into insignificance in the eyes of the central Ktarian government, the main financial hubs of the settlements across the planet’s surface, once thriving hubs of commerce filled with mining enterprises, retail spaces and recreational districts for the workers, had all slowly dwindled away.
After the business and the commerce had departed, the deserted streets that had been left behind were filled by financial schemes of a different variety. Nowadays, the financial districts were where you went if you wanted to score some narcotics, some illicit materials, some company for the evening, or any combination of the three.
Still, it now seemed the most likely destination for their quarry, and that was good enough for Tylor to reach for the comms unit on the shuttle’s bank of controls.
“Teams three, four and seven, divert to the south side of the financial district,” he grunted, “All other teams maintain the outer perimeter. Keep your data receivers pointing at that transponder, but do not engage until I confirm. Out.”
He set the comms unit back down and braced as Jalon made another sharp turn to keep them on the right track.
“Chief,” she piped up as she worked, “I need to formally acknowledge my failure earlier.”
Tylor sighed and shook his head. Putting her in the pilot’s seat hadn’t distracted her for long.
“It was an inexcusable breach of protocol to question your order,” she continued, “And it could have resulted in more casualties. Rest assured that when this is over, I will submit a full report to the Head of Ktarian Security and recommend myself for a transfer—”
“Hey,” Tylor grunted, causing her to pause as she flicked the shuttle to the left, “You made a mistake, Deputy. Now, I don’t like it when that happens. But we all make them from time to time. And over the years, I’ve found that what’s really important is what you do after the mistake.”
She went to reply, but immediately had to execute another turn, which allowed him to continue.
“Now, we’ve still got a lot of work ahead of us tonight before we get back to our families. And I need my deputy to stick with me through it all, ok?”
Although her focus was still on the transponder reading and the traffic around them, Jalon mustered a whisper of a smile.
“Ok, Chief.”
“And listen,” he added, “Never feel like you shouldn’t question my orders, ok? Like I said, we all make mistakes.”
She considered this for a thoughtful moment, before an alert from the shuttle’s computer called her attention to another navigational change.
Tylor let her complete the latest sharp turn.
And contemplated whether he was making a mistake right now.
* * * * *
“Ow!”
Jirel couldn’t help but yelp as the tiny laser cutter nicked his skin for what felt like the millionth time.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m really starting to doubt that.”
Natasha couldn’t help but suppress a smile as she redoubled her efforts to complete the task at hand. A task which was proving somewhat difficult.
With some small amount of effort, some coordinated shuffling around the circumference of the bomb, and what she was pretty sure was a strained hamstring, she had managed to hook the small engineering tool with her foot, close enough for the pair to secure it in their hands.
Then, after an awful lot of false starts, Jirel had finally been able to position the tool in her left hand in the right direction for her to activate it and laser through the metal. Or roughly the right direction, at least. It seemed to be pointing at Jirel’s wrist as much as it was pointing at the cuffs themselves.
In fact, so far, she hadn’t made contact with the metal at all.
“I’m doing my best,” she insisted to the slightly singed Trill, “You try doing this when you can’t see what you’re doing.”
“Gladly. Hand it over, and let’s see how your wrist likes it.”
“We don’t have time for that,” she countered, not entirely accurately, “Plus I don’t wanna risk dropping it again.”
“Fine,” he pouted, “Just be a bit more careful? I’d hate to be one of your patients in surgery.”
She elected not to go for another jibe in response, and instead refocused on her task, feeling for the cuffs and doing her best to align the end of the laser tool with the edge of the metal, before carefully depressing the button for a test shot.
“Ow!”
“Sorry!”
While still apologetic, part of her did start to wonder if she was subconsciously doing it on purpose.
There was a moment of silence, as she tried to prepare for another attempt. A silence that JIrel decided it would be a good idea to fill.
“Hey, listen, I guess…I’m sorry too.”
She suppressed a frustrated sigh. There was definitely something to the subconscious theory. “Ugh. If this is about—”
“Mizar!” he hissed back quickly.
“Yep, that’s what I thought. And as I am getting so very bored of telling you, it’s none of your business—”
“No,” Jirel hissed again, more urgently, “He’s coming down the corridor!”
With realisation now dawning, Natasha jerked her hand up so quickly that she nearly dropped the cutting tool completely. But she was just about able to gather it up and hide the small device inside her palm as best she could, pressing her hand into Jirel’s own hand in an action that she hoped would simply come across as a strategic attempt to hide their means of escape, and nothing else.
“What the hell are you smiling about?” Mizar grunted at the dorky grin on Jirel’s face as he and Devan entered the bay.
Before Jirel could muster a response, Mizar’s attention was drawn to the mess around the supply cupboard that Devan had been using earlier.
“And what the hell’s all that?”
“Um,” Devan muttered nervously, chewing his nails, “That—Um, I slipped.”
Natasha felt herself tense up involuntarily as she saw Mizar studying the bits of engineering equipment on the ground. She couldn’t help but push her hand further into Jirel’s, who squeezed back tightly.
“And what if one of these tools had fallen close enough for them to get it, hmm?” the taller Ktarian continued to berate Devan, “What then?”
As the other Ktarian stammered and squirmed, Jirel felt the need to act. Both from the desire to somehow protect his old friend from further verbal abuse, and also from how emboldened he felt from the hand squeezing that was going on. “Come on, Mizar,” he scoffed, “You really think if we had a cutting tool, we’d still be tied up here like a pair of idiots?”
Mizar whirled around to the Trill, as Natasha felt herself tense up even more. Why the hell was Jirel lampshading their actual plan like this? She did her best to communicate her displeasure with a slightly irritated squeeze of her clenched fist, causing Jirel’s grin to widen slightly.
The Trill remained confident in his approach, as he kept his attention on the handsome Ktarian. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was beginning to see that he might have more than a little in common with Mizar. Specifically when it came to his ego.
And that meant that, if Jirel was correct, he could be easily distracted. After all, as far as Mizar’s ego was concerned, he was a genius, and they were a pair of idiots. So how could they have the means to escape?
Mizar’s eyes narrowed with disdain, as Jirel kept his focus on him, hoping that he was a good enough judge of bad characters. “You know,” the Ktarian replied eventually with a slightly superior grin, “I’m almost going to miss these little chats of ours.”
His grin stretched to a sneer as he stepped over to the other side of the bomb, where Natasha was putting on her best impression of someone who didn’t have a small cutting tool nestled inside her palm.
“And as for you,” Mizar’s ego continued, all concerns about the engineering equipment now forgotten, “I guess I’m going to miss just about everything about you.”
“Gross,” Jirel chimed in.
For once, Natasha was in complete agreement with him. And she mentally added yet another session that she’d need with the quadrant’s best counsellor to try and get to the deeper reasons for her consistently terrible taste in men.
“P—Please,” Devan quietly offered, “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” Jirel said, more seriously, “Your shuttle?”
Mizar allowed himself a lingering look at Natasha before walking back over to his partner in crime with a casual swagger. “Yes, I’m afraid this is farewell. Your friends down there definitely need a hurry-up. So we’re going to try and save a bit of time and make sure we’re at a suitably safe distance to bring our little present into play.”
He gestured idly to the bomb in between the two of them. Jirel grimaced and forced his focus back for one last effort to appeal to his old friend. “Devan, come on. I’m telling you, if this guy stole your wife, I can help with that.”
“N—No, you can’t,” Devan replied, “Only Mizar can.”
“Why?” the Trill asked, with genuine confusion.
Devan paused for a moment, and looked over at the confident Mizar, and then back at his old friend from the Tyran Scrapyards.
“B—Because I need someone who can help me kill.”
Jirel felt a chill pass down his spine.
As soon as Devan said the words, he looked away, unable to face his friend’s glare any longer.
Before Jirel could formulate an appropriate response, Mizar patted Devan forcefully on the shoulder, and the two of them made for the exit of the cargo bay, heading for the Bounty’s transporter. He stared into space for a few moments, still processing his friend’s words. Until he heard a cough from behind him.
“You can let go of my hand now,” Natasha urged with a waggle of her clenched fist, “Kinda feels like we need to get out here as soon as possible.”
“Oh,” Jirel nodded quickly, “Yep.”
He unclasped her hand, and Natasha quickly started to reposition the cutting tool for another attempt to breach the cuffs. As she continued to work in silence, Jirel’s attention switched to something else that he’d just realised.
“I, um, we were just holding hands that tight to hide the cutter, right?”
There was no immediate response forthcoming from the other side of the bomb. At least, not a verbal one.
“Ow!”