Chapter Text
Part One (Cont'd)
The two figures awkwardly stumbled and slipped their way towards the entrance to the caves, leaving the battered and weathered remains of Escape Pod NC-12c behind them. All around them, a fierce wind kicked up sand from beneath their feet, assaulting their faces with a flurry of grit and dust.
“Nice place,” Jirel shouted through the wind, holding his hands up to his face to try and offer some protection against the relentless sandstorm, “Remind me again why we didn’t just beam down inside the caves?”
They struggled on. There was no reply from his companion. Jirel winced slightly from the pain from his still-tender leg. Which did little to help his mood.
“And don’t give me a load more engineering crap about the ionic signature of the rocks or something. I’m sure you make half that stuff up.”
Denella sighed and checked the readings on the bulky tricorder she was carrying, ignoring the stinging in her eyes from the sandstorm.
“We needed to check the pod,” she reminded him, spitting out the inevitable mouthful of sand she got for her troubles, “Now shut up and keep moving. We’re nearly there.”
She was right about that. They staggered up the rocky incline in front of them as fast as they could and soon found themselves inside the altogether less hazardous surroundings of the caverns they had been aiming for. Now out of the worst of the storm, they patted themselves down, coughing up lungfuls of sand. As they took in their new surroundings, Denella scanned around the sinister interior.
“Ok,” Jirel eventually managed between coughing spasms, “Where’s our lifeform?”
“Can’t get an exact fix,” she reported, gesturing to the rocks with her tricorder, “Must be the mineral composition of the rock strata, throwing the scans off.”
Jirel’s coughing subsided, and he managed to fix her with an angry glare. “Seriously, do you do that on purpose?”
She maintained a plausible air of innocence as she tapped at the tricorder. Eventually, Jirel sighed. “Fine. I guess we’ll do this the old fashioned way.”
They walked on into the cave. Jirel pulled out a flashlight and shone it in front of them as they made their way deeper into the structure.
“But just so you know,” he continued, “I’m absolutely certain there’s an easier way to—”
The leg seemed to come out of nowhere, swinging out as Jirel was passing a particularly large rock on the ground, and connecting solidly with his leg. It wasn’t the cleanest of kicks, but coupled with the existing injury, it was more than enough to knock him off balance. With a yelp of pain, the Trill tumbled to the ground in an awkward heap.
“Goddammit!” Jirel screamed, with a mixture of anger and pain.
Denella watched on in shock as the rogue leg’s owner jumped out into the open. She found herself confronted by a filthy red-headed human woman, wearing a tattered Starfleet uniform and brandishing a small type-1 phaser.
For a split second, the woman looked confused as she stared back at an Orion woman in dirty overalls, armed with a thirty year old Cardassian tricorder. The unexpected sight caused her trigger finger to falter for a moment, which was just enough of a delay to allow Denella to hold her hands up in a show of peace.
“Woah, woah, woah, calm down!” she said as quickly as she could, “This is the weirdest reaction to a rescue party I’ve ever seen.”
Natasha Kinsen paused, struggling to make sense of the situation. Of all the things she had been expecting from the sensor trace on her emergency unit, it hadn’t been the two dishevelled figures that had actually shown up. She couldn’t tell if they were traders, pirates, scavengers, or even some sort of practical joke being played on her for reasons her brain couldn’t figure out at this exact moment. But as she looked at the kind smile on the face of the Orion woman, oddly streaked with what looked like dirt or grease from somewhere, she felt herself relax slightly.
“Who are you?” she eventually managed, keeping the phaser raised.
“I’m Denella. And the guy you just kicked is Jirel. We’re here to help.”
“Yeah,” Jirel coughed sarcastically, still lying prone on the floor, “It’s so nice to meet you.”
Natasha looked around, realising for the first time how ragged her breathing was. Even with her strict exercise routine, the weeks spent on a scant diet of emergency rations had weakened her. But she kept her weapon raised.
“Starfleet sent us,” Denella added, gesturing to the ragged uniform Natasha was wearing, “Don’t worry. We’re taking you home.”
Natasha glanced from the Orion woman to the Trill and back again. Absolutely nothing about them seemed to corroborate that story. But equally, she knew that she couldn’t stay on this planet any longer. Regardless of who her rescuers really were working for.
“I’m sorry,” she said eventually, holstering her phaser and moving to help Jirel back up, “I just—My comms unit picked up your ship, but didn’t tell me who you were.”
Jirel gingerly got back to his feet, and she supported him as he hobbled over to a nearby rock. He leaned on it and winced, rubbing his leg. “So, is this how all Starfleet officers greet anyone in the wrong uniform?”
She looked down at his injury, and then scurried off deeper into the cave.
“Don’t worry,” she called back, “Just let me check you out.”
“Hmm,” Jirel said as he gave Denella an impish grin, “Never hurts to have a girl say that to you—”
“She means medically,” the Orion woman replied with a patient smile and a roll of her eyes, as she scanned around the rest of the area with her tricorder.
Natasha returned from the depths of the cave moments later, holding a Starfleet-issue medical tricorder and medkit. She quickly assessed his leg with well-drilled ease, raising an eyebrow when she saw the results of her scans.
“Wow. I really am sorry,” she said as she worked, “There’s a hairline fracture of the anterior bone in your lower leg.”
She grabbed a bone knitter from her medkit and ran it across the area.
“To be completely honest,” Jirel replied, “That might have been the Miradorn.”
She paused and looked up at the Trill, quizzically.
“Long story.”
Natasha returned to her work, her unspoken questions not really answered. Denella walked over to join them, her attention on the other woman. “And you are?”
“Lieutenant Natasha Kinsen,” she replied, “Junior medical officer for gamma shift, USS Navajo.”
She saw her two guests glance at each other, but she kept her focus on her patient, reaching into the medkit for a hypospray and gently pressing it into his skin.
“That’ll deal with any residual pain,” she continued, “And the bone’s back in one piece. Whoever was responsible.”
Jirel rubbed his leg again, feeling the pain gently subside. “Well, no doubting your qualifications at least, doc,” he grinned, “Thanks.”
“We didn’t realise there were any survivors from the Navajo,” Denella said, trying to keep focus on the bigger picture.
“There aren’t,” Natasha replied in a quiet voice, “Not apart from me.”
Her gaze drifted for a moment, remembering those final moments onboard the Navajo. Specifically, remembering that one doomed ensign’s face. She had to force herself back to the present, distracting herself by packing away the medkit.
“I’m sorry,” Denella said gently, the words doing little to lighten Natasha’s mood.
“We should get moving,” Jirel nodded, standing and testing out his leg, “Our ship’s in orbit, we can get you back to Federation space in a couple of days.”
Natasha nodded. Although, for some reason, somewhere inside her, hearing that seemed more unsettling than anything else. She was glad to be leaving Kesmet IV, that much was certain. But there was something deeper that she was struggling with.
Returning to Starfleet.
She had become increasingly uncertain as to whether that was even what she wanted to do. In fact, she was pretty sure that it wasn’t.
“Thank you,” she said eventually, before gesturing further back into the cave, “There’s just a couple of things I need to get.”
Jirel nodded and let her go. He and Denella watched as she disappeared into the gloom, both a little surprised that the woman they were rescuing didn’t sound more elated to be returning home.
“Well,” Jirel offered to his companion with a casual shrug, “Pretty sure this’ll make up for not finding that black box.”
* * * * *
The two figures studied the remains of the USS Navajo’s black box, now merely a haphazard collection of tiny metal fragments on the floor.
They had found the device several days ago, drifting in the vast debris field they had located near the fourth planet in the system, and had studied it as much as they could. But the details that they were looking for had eluded them. This mounting frustration was the main reason that, seconds earlier, the smaller of the two figures had wrenched the device out of the computer port it had been plugged into and hurled it at the deck of the ship, smashing it into pieces.
The secondary reason for the outburst was more subtle, but the larger figure knew enough to see the signs in his colleague’s demeanour.
Withdrawal.
“I apologise,” the smaller figure muttered, deferring to his senior comrade.
“It was worthless to us now anyway,” the larger figure replied, “And we all feel the same frustrations. I suggest you allow yourself another dose from your rations.”
The smaller figure considered this, blinking rapidly to try and maintain focus.
“I do not have much of my own ration left,” he admitted.
“Nevertheless, it would appear that you need it.”
The pair of them looked down again at the shattered remains of the Navajo’s black box. The smaller figure had to concede that his colleague had a point. He nodded in deference and hurriedly exited the room, just as another subordinate entered and hastily approached his senior.
“This had better be good news,” the larger figure snapped, feeling his own irritation rising and contemplating whether he should follow his own advice.
The newcomer took a second to glance at the debris on the ground, but knew better than to ask any questions.
“Forgive me for the intrusion,” he replied, “But our scans have indicated that the vessel we detected is departing the system. With one additional lifeform onboard.”
The larger figure considered this in silence. The newcomer, himself appearing only slightly skittish, continued. “It…is possible that this lifeform has the information we require.”
His superior looked over at him, causing the smaller figure to shrink back slightly.
“That is possible,” he said eventually, “Follow that ship, but make sure we remain undetected on their sensors. For now.”
The newcomer nodded, and affirmed the order with a familiar saying from their past.
“Obedience brings victory.”
First Clora’gerax shot him a bitterly annoyed look.
“Just do it,” he replied icily.
From its concealed location, nestled inside the corona of the Kesmet System’s star, the Jem’Hadar fighter continued its secret vigil.
End of Part One