Chapter Text
Part Five
The reunited crew of the Bounty found themselves in familiar surroundings. Not for the first time, and almost certainly not for the last time, they were corralled together, inside a secure detention cell.
They had been brought back to the headquarters of the Varris IV Security Division by the backup teams that had arrived to assist Tylor and Jalon, and had little choice but to surrender to their inevitable arrest. Especially when Jalon had followed procedure and read out the full list of charges against them.
Kidnapping, extortion, violence, conspiracy to commit grand larceny, theft of a civilian shuttle, not to mention a multitude of minor traffic offences that Sunek had managed to rack up during their early morning high speed chase through the skies.
And so, a detention cell it had been.
“All things considered,” Sunek offered from where he sat on the floor, slumped against the rear wall of the cell, “We’re kinda boned.”
“We’ve got some pretty big mitigating circumstances,” Denella offered as she perched on the end of a hard metal bed in the corner of the cell, “I mean, they had two of us strapped to a bomb.”
“Yeah, right, we were only following orders,” the Vulcan quipped, “That one always goes down well.”
Natasha ignored the usual bickering amongst the Bounty’s crew and walked over to the shimmering forcefield at the front of the cell, where Jirel stood and stared out into the rest of the holding area, silently musing on what had just transpired. “How’re you holding up, Spotty?” she offered.
Despite his inner worries, he glanced over and gave her a knowing look. “Seriously, if that catches on again, I’m dumping you out an airlock.”
She smiled, managing to coax half a smile back. Jirel silently cursed how helpless he was to do anything else when he saw her face light up.
Then, he turned back to stare out of the cell. He had no idea where Devan had been taken. Nobody had even seen him since Tylor had marched him back off the rooftop. Presumably he was elsewhere in the headquarters, being interrogated along with Mizar.
“I just wonder,” he muttered eventually, “If I could’ve talked him round. If I’d have said the right thing, or tried a bit harder…”
“You did all you could,” she affirmed, “He was just dealing with way too much. I can’t imagine going through something like that.”
She suppressed a slight shudder as she remembered Devan’s full story.
“And,” she continued, “If it makes you feel any better, Varris IV is a Ktarian colony, which means they’re covered by Federation law. Which means a Federation penal colony. Not a stint on Rura Penthe.”
Jirel considered this and then nodded. “I guess,” he replied mirthlessly, “Maybe we’ll wind up being cellmates. At least then we’d be able to catch up properly.”
She grimaced slightly at the reminder of their own potential fate.
“Wanna know the worst thing?” he continued.
“Always.”
“Devan kept saying that the reason he got involved with Mizar, rather than coming straight to me, was because he needed someone who’d help him kill.”
He paused again, wondering quite how open he should be from inside a detention cell.
“Truth is,” he concluded eventually with a sigh, “Having heard his story…I’m pretty sure I would’ve helped him.”
Natasha paused for a moment, and Jirel turned back to her.
“I mean, maybe,” he corrected himself, “I dunno. Sorry, I shouldn’t—”
“No,” she replied, “I get it.”
Before their discussion could go any further, they were interrupted by the sound of the door to the holding area opening, and three familiar Ktarians entering.
Deputy Jalon Sep walked in the middle with a slightly unhappy look on her face. On either side, she was flanked by Tegras Pel and Evina Jix. As they reached the forcefield of the cell, the Bounty’s crew all stood to meet them. With some effort, in the still-injured Klath’s case.
“Well,” Jalon managed after a moment of reluctance, “I suppose you’re all free to go.”
She followed up her comment by deactivating the forcefield with a quick tap of a button, as the residents of the cell stared back in shock.
“Is this a bit you’re doing?” Jirel managed, “Cos it’s really good.”
“No,” Jalon replied, gesturing to Tegras and Evina, “These two have given us the full details of what transpired here. And after a discussion with the other hostages from the Ktarian Moonrise, nobody is willing to press any charges.”
Tegras and Evina smiled in satisfaction, looking over at the confused figures of Denella, Klath and Sunek inside the cell.
“We explained everything to the security teams,” Tegras explained, “How it was all down to those other two, pulling the strings. So to speak.”
“And how you’d actually tried to save our lives,” Evina added, gesturing to Klath’s injury, “Despite the cost.”
Klath gave a respectful nod back at the two Ktarians, as Denella smiled widely.
“Thank you,” the Orion replied.
Next to the two civilians, Jalon wasn’t quite done. “Still, that only deals with some of the items on the charge sheet. But, with the statements you’ve already given, and with the two ringleaders in custody, not to mention the…unique circumstances of this particular case, my Chief has decided to waive the other charges. Except one.”
She handed a small padd to a still-confused Sunek.
“Trelok, you are hereby banned from piloting any form of atmospheric vehicle on any Ktarian colony for life. Commencing immediately.”
Sunek glanced over the padd and grinned, mostly in relief. “Suits me,” he shrugged, “Those things suck.”
Jalon hadn’t been expecting that reaction, but she disguised it well, and merely turned on her heels and started for the door.
“Wait,” Jirel called out, “What about Devan? Devan Gol?”
Jalon paused and looked back at the Trill. “The Chief is talking to him now, and he is fully cooperating. But he will be charged with murder.”
Jirel wasn’t entirely sure what else he had been expecting to hear, but he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness. He nodded back glumly.
Once again, it was down to Sunek to break the uncomfortable silence that descended.
“So, how about we get the hell out of here. Before someone changes their mind?”
* * * * *
After some relieved farewells to their erstwhile hostages, the Bounty’s crew returned to some even more familiar surroundings. And there was one more major issue to deal with.
The five of them stood around the metal cylinder in the Bounty’s cargo bay, as Denella carefully worked on opening the top of the device.
“There’s still one thing that’s confusing me,” Natasha offered as the Orion engineer worked, “Who the hell is Trelok?”
“Oh,” Denella replied, “He’s a gritty, hard-nosed vigilante from the Cerris Nebula. Men fear him, women love him—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sunek griped with a modicum of irritation, “Of course it’s gonna sound stupid out of context.”
Klath, his injured leg now more permanently repaired after a short trip to the Bounty’s medical bay, looked over at the still-confused human woman. “We are yet to locate the appropriate context.”
Sunek griped some more as Denella’s work continued, carefully undoing the series of screws that kept the lid on the cylinder.
“You know, we could just beam it into space,” Jirel offered.
“Yeah,” Natasha added, “Definitely a good idea to add an act of terrorism to our charge sheet just before we leave orbit.”
“Still not entirely convinced it’s a bomb,” he fired back with a slight grin.
He could already feel his old self starting to return. He still felt some residual regrets about what had transpired. But one thing he had learned during his time on the Bounty was that it was rarely healthy to dwell too much on things they had no power to influence.
So he just compartmentalised it up inside. Which he appreciated was probably equally unhealthy for plenty of reasons. But it was how he and his crew seemed to operate.
“Well, I’d feel better knowing it wasn’t a bomb,” Natasha admitted, “Given how long I spent tied up to it.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Sunek piped up again with a cheeky grin, “Top marks on your choice of underwear, doc.”
Natasha shot an unimpressed look at the Vulcan who, one way or another, had gotten to know an awful lot about her just recently. At least her darker secrets, that he had mistakenly found out during a desperate mind meld when she had been rendered comatose by a plant toxin, were still secret for the time being.
“Heh,” Jirel added with a grin of his own, “I guess if nothing else, I got some pretty good blackmail material out of all of this.”
Denella looked up from her work to give the Trill a knowing smile. “Didn’t yours have little spaceships on them, Jirel—?”
“Ok, so we’re all agreed to never mention the ‘tied to a bomb in our underwear’ incident ever again,” he interjected quickly, looking at each member of the group with genuine sincerity.
Denella stifled a chuckle as she finally lifted the lid off the cylinder. “Well, either way—Oh, wow.”
“What?” Klath asked.
“Yeah, I’m gonna need some proper tools over here. This thing’s a bomb.”
* * * * *
After Denella had deactivated what had turned out to be an entirely functional cabrodine bomb, they had set course away from Varris IV. And then the entire crew of the Bounty had decided it was finally time for some rest.
Sunek had headed straight for his cabin as soon as he had set the autopilot, while Denella and Klath hadn’t been far behind. Meanwhile, the other two crew members had headed for the dining area, having realised that they hadn’t eaten for some time.
As Natasha toyed with the remains of her double cheeseburger (with all the trimmings), her go-to meal after all manner of crises, she looked up at a still-preoccupied Jirel.
“You could always talk to him about it, you know.”
The Trill smiled wryly, knowing exactly who she was referring to. The one person he knew who might be able to do something for Devan, now he was set to be prosecuted under the auspices of Federation law. His father. Admiral Jenner.
“I mean,” he offered back as he pushed his own unfinished meal away, “You’re the one still on speaking terms with him.”
“Touche,” she nodded.
She reminded herself that she still wasn’t entirely sure why she was on speaking terms with the admiral. Why exactly he had asked her to effectively keep tabs on Jirel and the Bounty’s movements as they went about their business. But that was an issue for another day, she surmised.
“Anyway,” Jirel added, “Even if my relationship with him wasn’t a therapist’s wet dream, I’m pretty sure that getting someone off a murder charge would be a step too far. I guess Devan’s at the mercy of the system now.”
Natasha nodded in understanding, even as Jirel stood up and took his leftovers back to be processed back into the replicator.
“You sure you’re ok?” she called out as he walked.
“Sure,” he shrugged, “Like I said, he was an acquaintance.”
Natasha had seen enough by now to see through the lie. But she didn’t want to push it any further, so she let it slide, even as Jirel made for the exit.
“Any other acquaintances from your old scrapyards we need to look out for?” she asked.
This time, it was Jirel’s turn to have a memory of a woman’s face flicker to the front of his mind, but he quickly dismissed it.
That was an issue for another day as well.
“Nope,” he lied, before turning back to her, “Um, but, also, I am sorry, you know? About being an idiot earlier. With you. And Mizar—”
“Apology accepted,” she replied quickly, not wanting the Trill to make things any more awkward on that front.
“Right,” he nodded back with a smile, “It’s just…I guess I feel like I know you pretty well now. And you can definitely do better than Mizar Bal.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow at this, slightly amused by Jirel’s attempt at a pep talk. “Yep,” she replied, “I can.”
The Trill paused at the doorway for a moment, considering whether he should follow up with what he had been intending to follow up with.
It was enough of a pause for Natasha to jump in on his behalf. “I can do better than that, as well,” she added knowingly.
Jirel floundered for a moment, before mustering a grudging smile. “Yep,” he nodded back, “You can.”
He walked out of the doors and Natasha watched him leave, before she turned back and idly took a bite out of the remains of her double cheeseburger (with all the trimmings), as she got lost in thought herself, contemplating the Trill that had just walked out of the room.
And not for the first time in the last 24 hours, she cursed her terrible taste in men.
* * * * *
It was early the following morning when Deputy Jalon Sep returned to her desk at the Varris IV Security Division’s Headquarters. Despite the very late shift she had endured the night before, she was in earlier than anyone else who had been on duty during the crisis.
She had barely slept in the meantime as well, her mind racing with thoughts about her greatest piece of crime fighting on the colony to date.
This hadn’t been just another meaningless patrol, or a false alarm, or a minor drug bust or scuffle between street gangs. This was a major event. Hijackings, murder, the lot.
She was still slightly perturbed by the willingness that the Chief had shown in letting the five strangers go, given that they clearly appeared to at least be accomplices. Regardless of how unwilling they might have been. Still, she hadn’t questioned his orders.
Although, as she sat and worked on the paperwork from last night’s arrests, she decided that she might bring it up with him during a quieter moment today.
As she worked, she was approached by Section Constable Rogan Kel, a slightly scatterbrained man on the next rung of the latter below her. And one that she had eased past during her initial rise through the ranks before she had arrived on Varris IV. Not that it seemed to bother Rogan Kel that a woman many years his junior outranked him. He was one of the security personnel who had been here for so long because he had no real plans for career progression.
As he arrived at her desk, he handed her a small padd with a friendly smile, and took a sip from a mug of steaming coffee.
“Section Constable,” she nodded formally, “What do you have for me?”
“Release papers from this morning,” he explained jovially, “All processed now. But we need you to countersign for the records.”
She suppressed a sigh. Once again, the Varris IV Security Division was playing fast and loose with procedures. Procedures meant that she should have countersigned the release papers before the subjects had been processed, not after.
Still, all of her minor concerns about a lack of due process vanished into irrelevance when she saw the actual name on the top of the papers.
“Devan Gol?” she gasped, “That’s the guy we picked up for murder! What the hell does the Chief think about this?”
Rogan looked a little confused, as though the cogs of his brain were still being lubricated back into life for the day by the coffee in his hand. “Chief was the one who signed them off in the first place,” he shrugged.
Jalon looked at the padd again. He was right.
“What the hell?” she snapped, all of her usual calm decorum forgotten, “I need to talk to him about this. Right now!”
“He’s not in yet,” Rogan replied, taking another lazy sip from his mug, “Must be running late, I guess. Could wait in his office, if you wanted?”
She stood from her desk, nostrils flaring in indignation. “I’m going to do just that, Section Constable. Thank you.”
She stormed across the bustling office, leaving Rogan and his coffee behind, and straight into the Chief’s private sanctum. She didn’t even bother to stand on ceremony and wait outside, instead sitting herself down in front of his vacant desk. She wanted answers. Answers as to exactly why Security Chief Tylor Ral had just let a murderer walk free.
And so she waited in his office.
For a very long time.
* * * * *
Ex-Security Chief Tylor Ral leaned back in his chair and smiled.
He was reclining in his study back at his private residence on the outskirts of the main settlement on Varris IV. And he couldn’t remember the last time one of his headaches had flared up.
This wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Technically, he was supposed to have started his next duty shift an hour ago. But instead of being there, he was at home. With who he wanted to be with.
“Tell me,” his wife, Ilena, smiled as she walked into the room to join him, “If you really have retired early, how come your office keeps trying to call?”
She dropped his comms unit onto the desk in front of him, just as it chirped out another alert.
Tylor shrugged and spun around in his chair, beckoning her to sit on his lap. “Well, the thing is,” he replied, “I sent my official statement of retirement to Central Security back on Ktaris this morning. It’ll take a bit of time for the old wheels of bureaucracy to turn enough to get the message out to the office here.”
“You could always tell them,” she pointed out as she gently sat down.
“Eh, they’ll figure it out.”
She smiled and hugged him, wrapping her arms tightly around him, barely able to believe that she’d finally got him all to herself.
As they broke the hug, he reached up and stroked her aged face with his hand, eliciting a slightly coy reaction from the love of his life. He knew that she no longer felt as though she could quicken a man’s pulse. But as far as he was concerned, she was still as beautiful as the day they’d met. And on that matter, his was the only opinion that counted.
He couldn’t help but smile back at her, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek.
“So,” she said as she playfully batted away his affection, “I guess I’m going to have to get used to you being around the house all the time now, am I?”
“Not necessarily. Actually, I thought we might go travelling.”
At this, she looked a little confused. “Travelling? Where?”
“Wherever you’d like, my darling,” he smiled, “Thought maybe we’d start with a month on Risa, and work our way out from there.”
“A month?” she chuckled incredulously, “Someone’s feeling flush.”
“Hey, I’m retired. On a very generous pension.”
She studied his face. Something didn’t quite add up to her. But she couldn’t quite place what it was, and eventually, a feeling of joy overwhelmed her other concerns. “I’ll think about it,” she affirmed, as she stood back up, “And in the meantime, I’ll fix us some tea.”
She walked off, leaving Tylor to recline one again, as he planned everything out in his head.
He could explain to her that the new executive shuttle he was planning to buy was a gift from the Ktarian government for his forty years of service to the force. He could explain that their luxury suites on Risa were part of a package deal that he’d managed to wrangle.
He was pretty sure he could explain everything away.
As his attention drifted to the relentless rain outside, he thought about his final act as Security Chief for Varris IV.
Devan Gol had told him everything. About his wife, the drugs, his misery and his need for revenge. And in that moment, he had decided to take pity on him. And organised his release papers before his officious deputy had the chance to intervene.
Maybe it had been the story itself that had convinced him, the sense of trauma he felt to hear of Devan’s loss, and all the times he’d worried about losing Ilena. Maybe it was the fact that, in a strange way, Devan had done him a favour by killing Palmor Fot. The master criminal of Varris IV was no more. Maybe it was because he was feeling demob happy that close to retirement. After all, they still had Mizar Bal bang to rights for the little crime spree that had just taken place.
Or maybe it was the offer that Devan had made him. The offer that, in the heat of the moment, he had trusted his instincts over.
Tylor smiled in satisfaction as he watched the rain fall outside. It was probably that last one, truth be told.
After all, fifty bricks of gold-pressed latinum was a hell of a retirement package.
The End