Star Trek Big Bang: Mutiny (Part Seven)
Title: Mutiny
Author:exastriscientia
Fan Mixer: To be added
Series: TOS/AOS
Characters: Joanna McCoy, James T. Kirk, Leonard McCoy, Spock Prime, a few scattered OCs
Rating: PG (for violence and some not so nice language)
Word Count: 35k
Warnings: Spoilers for AOS and some of the TOS movies.
Link to Trailer: To be added.
Summary: Joanna McCoy has been accused of destroying the USS Brittain along with most of its crew. There's just one problem, she's not sure she didn't do it. Memories a fog due to what she's pretty sure is Romulan brain-altering technology, she struggles to piece together the events of a Romulan infested planet before a verdict is reached. Meanwhile she is at odds with her father as Jim attempts to reconcile the estranged pair. A tale filled with conspiracy, action, and deceit, this reads like an episode of Star Trek.
Previous Parts: One- Two- Three- Four- Five- Six- Seven- Eight- Epilogue
Go sneak in, Doctor, prepare a vessel sequence. Joanna desperately wanted to mimic T’Pel’s orders in a childish tone; It should be relatively simple. As though one damn semester of Romulan had somehow made her the resident expert. Unless their ships were powered by the letters of the alphabet or the question, “How are you today?” followed up by “I’m fine, thank you,” or “I’ve been better, thanks,” she was fairly sure T’Pel would have the same idea of how to control the thing. Maybe better, due to her acute sense of probability.
The Vulcan in question was currently beside her, crouched in the denser parts of the trees. A Romulan patrol passed below, disruptors at the ready. It would be slow going, but T’Pel had suggested they take higher ground--or branches, as it were--moving only when they were sure no patrol was below and using the hover and shuttle air disturbance to move unnoticed through the trees’ rustled leaves.
It was a better plan than storming the place, just the two of them with Davis for backup. After lengthy discussion, it had been determined that Sirok was in no shape to be acting in a delicate situation and so he was waiting in yet another cave location, awaiting transport with Chabon.
Nothing about the situation felt right. Jo conceded that perhaps none of it should, but one thing in particular nagged on her mind. If she saw Sonek, there was no promise that she wouldn’t act just as irrationally as they suspected Sirok might. Until now she hadn’t had time or energy to let the true feeling of betrayal sink in, or the horror of it. Sonek had been more than just a crew mate. They had taken classes together, eaten together aboard the Brittain. They had lived together. For months she had been living and playfully bantering with a traitor. Someone who would, and had, give her up to the enemy at a moment’s notice. She had gone so far as to let his opinion effect her actions in the later days of the Brittain.
T’Pel’s sudden movement startled her thoughts and she struggled to bring her mind back to the mission. They hadn’t even caught sight of him and Sonek was already disturbing the calm Joanna desperately needed--which of course proved to irk her more. They were close now, the ships in sight under heavier lighting than before and, of course, more substantial guard. By chance, Jo caught sight of a perimeter sensor below and, upon motioning to T’Pel, took up scanning the trees for any. If they had tripped a sensor yet, there was no sign of motion save the constant marching of centurions.
One hand held up to keep Joanna from moving forward, T’Pel took the time to monitor the centurion’s guard patterns. To Jo they appeared somewhat erratic and her initial thought was that they should attempt to bypass the guards who appeared more tired and bored. T’Pel finally gestured for Joanna to watch the more tightly packed guards with a clear direction. They would go for the more predictable patterns, then. She nodded and began to map a path to the entrance of the hub.
From the small well of knowledge of Romulan technology the Federation possessed, two important things factored into their mission. The first was that a Bird of Prey’s engine was never truly off, meaning a start-up sequence would last only the time it took to get everyone aboard and figure out the commands. The second was that in order to take off, a ship needed to request and gain permission from a central information hub. Joanna’s job was to intercept that request from T’Pel--within the ship of choice--and give the permission. To do this, she would have to secure a computer, any computer, and find a way to hack the system and accept the request. Considerably easier said than done. All this, of course, had been suggested by Sonek.
T’Pel alerted Jo to a hover coming up along the tree line. Hanging just over their position, its track light would have most definitely caught them only a few feet back. Jo pressed herself up against the tree as best she could, wrapping her arms around the rough bark. They ought to have looked much like trees, covered in dirt and with twigs in their hair. Not caring much if her uniform caught or if she scraped any part of herself on the branches, Jo was the first to reach the ground. Before she had even a moment to turn and offer a small triumphant grin to T’Pel, however, dread sunk in as she heard voices and booted feet crunching over twigs.
A decision had to be made. Either she scrambled back up into the tree and the pair perched another three hours for the guarding cycle to start once more or Jo moved on, not knowing if T’Pel would even reach a ship. Deciding she was sick of the place, Jo re-gripped her phaser and started forward, sidling around the wing of the nearest ship. Dropping to her knees, she trotted forward through the sparse grass. The raw dirt below felt familiar, packed under feet, like a baseball mound. The two pairs of feet would come just across the shadow of the wing, turn left, and disappear around a side building. Trailing them with her eyes, Jo made move after move, darting through shadows, below the underbellies of ships, and around corners until she reached the back door.
Only one Centurion stood there and none passed in the rotation but once every hour. This gave Jo roughly forty-five more minutes before anyone would realize he was missing. She took her time, target practice never having been a strong point, and fired a stunning blast across the short distance from where she hid. Making sure he wasn’t about to get up and call for back-up, Jo used his limp hand to access the door and dragged him by the wrist just inside the door. She found herself in a dimly lit hallway. Compared to the daylight-like atmosphere outside, this was dank, too quiet. The hall before her seemed endless, stretching on into darkness save for small, slowly rotating ventilation fans to the night air, casting eerie shadows upon the wet floor.
Phaser at the ready, she stuck to the walls. It must have been a waste disposal hall for, as she drew closer to the center of the complex, she could make out distinct voices and computer sounds. The hall led to only one door through which she could not see. Pressing her ear to the cool metal, she picked out each voice. There were four, no, five centurions within, along with one central commander. Jo lingered, half hoping, half dreading to hear Lieutenant Commander Sonek’s cool tone. It was not among them. Praying her ability to discern voices was as good as she thought it was, Jo set the phaser to a wide stun beam and opened the door.
Luck was on her side that day and all the occupants of the room fell to the floor or slumped where they sat. Racing to the three additional doors, Jo locked and secured the room. She had stumbled across something better than a hallway garbage computer. This was the central hub. It was eerily void of officers, however, and she comforted herself with the thought that the Romulans had simply opted to hide their small numbers by using higher ranking officers to post as centurions.
Now came the hard part. For all intents and purposes, the Rihannsu keypad designs could have been made up of children’s drawings and would’ve made just about as much sense. Like High Vulcan, the more elaborate dialect was reserved for the upper echelons, leading citizens to join the military simply for the chance to learn it. What Romulan texts the Federation had at their disposal to teach cadets with were somewhat ancient and only updated by means of computer projections of language development. Jo suddenly wished she’d left at least one of them awake to coerce into helping her. Fool move.
Taking a deep, slow breath, she pressed the largest key on the top of the keyboard. It was surrounded by a series of characters of varying sizes. Menus and sub-menus, she suspected. The screen hopped away from its current sub-menu and offered a great number of smaller icons matching the icons on the console. So good so far. She began selecting secondary sub-menus, looking for anything that looked like a ship. Nothing. Squinting at the menu, she frowned; these were in the more basic Romulan dialect, and broken up unusually. On one side were a series of what must have been Romulan names, family first. Following was a list of names in not Romulan, but Vulcan. This tongue she was far more familiar with.
A sudden clanking across the room caught her attention and she had not a moment to find somewhere to hide when the door slid open. Davis burst in, the door slamming shut behind him.
“You were taking too long. T’Pel sent the request ten minutes ago.” He strode over to the console and shoved Jo out of the way gently with his shoulder. “Lets see what I can do--what is that?”
“Not sure.” Jo gently shoved back. “Looks like a list of names.” Scrolling back up to the top, she struggled to read the description. The word “spy” stood out distinctly. “It’s a list of spies...It looks like Romulans and Vulcans.”
“Could those be people in the Federation?” Davis frowned. “What does it say, Jo?”
“I-I’m not sure, I can’t read Romulan that well.”
“I thought you were the expert, that’s why we sent you!”
“I still fail to see how one semester makes me an expert,” she grumbled. “Can we just get on with--” A loud banging on the far door cut her off and the pair turned to look. “No chance that’s T’Pel, is there?”
Grimacing, Davis shook his head. “Lets not worry about that just now, right?”
“Right.” Jo paused, something clicking in her mind. “Those are pseudonyms, Davis. I know that guy, he was in my Transporter Theory seminar.”
“I have never wished to have a tricorder more than this moment.” He sighed, re-opening the main menu. A flashing light blinked inconspicuously at the bottom left corner. Opening the sub-menu, Jo could see an image of T’Pel in the captain’s chair of a small craft, anxiously staring at the screen. Upon seeing them staring back from the hub, she attempted to school her features.
“A number of centurions are relocating to your position. I suggest immediate departure.” Banging commenced on a second door.
“It took me about ten minutes to bypass the door lock,” Davis mumbled, “I’m guessing if you know the language it’ll only take roughly four minutes. Lets say we take three to figure this out.”
“Can we send that list to the ship?” Jo tapped the screen anxiously. “We can’t just go without it.”
Davis shook his head. “No time, just memorize as many names as you can.”
Staring at the screen intently, Jo tapped her long-latent gift of crash-course memorizing terms for med school and paired up the names in her mind. “Is there another page?” she asked, just as Davis snagged her wrist and dragged her towards the door, yelling, “Ok, just go.”
“Did you finish?” She blinked at him owlishly, prying his hand away.
“No, but I’ve almost got it. Get to the ship and tell T’Pel to transport me as soon as she takes off, okay?”
“I’m not leaving you alone! They’ll be in here any minute.”
“And then neither of us will get out of here. You memorized the list, someone needs to know there are others like that snake Sonek.” When it looked like Jo would protest more, he shoved her out the door. “The sooner you get to the ship, the sooner you can get a lock on me. Go!”
Now with a real sense of purpose, Jo did what surviving on this rock had taught her well. She ran. Down the corridor and bursting out into the cold, glowing night air. A disruptor blast scored her leg, but the adrenaline would not let her falter. The mouth of the ship hung open and, completely disregarding the advancing battalion of centurions, she flew across the field and up the ramp into the waiting darkness.
-----
Everything was as she had left it a few hours before her nap, but something still felt off. She had been sleeping more than usual; she suspected it had to do with the vivid nature of her dreams. Whenever she woke, she somehow felt more complete than before, but the effect always wore off after a few hours.
Stepping into the living room, Joanna wiggled her toes in the thick gray carpet, eyes roaming the expanse of the room. The window was still open, the silvery incandescent secondary curtains flowing slowly in the cool breeze. She could smell a storm coming, the wind picking up every few minutes. Goosebumps rippled up her bare legs as a reminder. Winter would come soon and perhaps her father would cool off with it. The summer months of San Francisco, though nothing like the hot sticky Georgian summers Joanna had grown up with, were still a painful reminder that he’d be heading back into the black soon; that he wouldn’t be off somewhere in a field or making a house call in return for a slice of apple pie. At heart he was still the simple country doctor he claimed to be- that was not to say he didn’t manage to occasionally enjoy an adventure or two with Uncle Jim (or, begrudgingly, Spock). Joanna stepped back into her room briefly to grab the sweater carelessly flung over the back of her desk chair, and slipped her arms through the sleeves. She entered the small kitchen.
“Lights.” She yawned, grasping the silhouette of a mug on the counter and lifting it to her lips. No response. The coffee was cold. “Computer, kitchen lights at forty percent.”
A pause, then the supplementary computer chimed. “Due to the storm, this sector of the city is currently experiencing momentary power outage. All superfluous programs are suspended.”
The computer always seemed to be in a pleasant mood. Joanna scowled. “Alert me when the power has returned.” The computer chimed its response. “Hundreds of years of technology, and we still lose power in storms with back-up generators.”
A soft laugh then caught her attention. It was so quiet that at first she thought the sound travelled up from outside. Turning slowly, she finally saw what had given her such an unsettled feeling. The centurion.
Like a villain straight from Uncle Jim’s horror film collection, still on DVD, he sat in one of the shadow-shrouded chairs, out of the momentary light provided by the flashes of lighting beginning outside.
“Congratulations. You’ve snuck back in to the Federation. Bonus points on discovering one of the least-favored criminals as of this morning’s news poll.”
He slowly uncrossed his legs and unclasped his fingers. Leaning forward, she could see his eyes scan her figure. Wrapping her sweater more tightly around her form, she shifted back against the counter, taking another chilling sip of the coffee.
“Well?”
“I waited for you to awaken. I did not wish to disturb you from your nap.”
“I meant more why you’re here, breaking into my apartment, being creepy in my father’s chair…” She set about preparing more coffee. It was similar to the haze of the early morning, before the first cup has been savored or the mossy feeling has been brushed from ones teeth; fingers clumsy, but recognizing the motions. She realized her hands were shaking and found herself glad of the waxing darkness.
“The Empire has an offer.” He, of course, wasted little to no time, shifting back in the chair as she kept her back turned and her motions purposeful.
“And what would the Romulan Empire possibly want with a lowly Starfleet medical officer?” She slowly filled the glass pot, measuring the water with her finger. It was not until she had poured the contents of the pot into the coffee maker that she remembered there was no electricity. Instead, she set her hands down on the cool counter, attempting to make out Sonek’s form in the dark.
“You have information.” It wasn’t a question. “Information you obtained in your escape from Gamma Beta 6, which the Empire would rather you not share with the Federation.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that…” She stepped back around the counter slowly. “So why don't you skitter back across the Neutral Zone and tell your commander that, Centurion.”
“I am afraid it is not so simple.” There, she could make out the slightest hint of irritation in his tone. He didn’t like that title.
“Your Empire is willing to make a deal with someone who may or may not have information? I thought it was the Romulan way to simply take what you want and kill if you can’t get it.”
The soft blue glow of the emergency lights finally flickered on. He was dressed simply in a black long-sleeved shirt and pants of a matching fabric, and the Federation issue boots, muddied as the day she had last seen him on Gamma Beta 6.
The computer then chimed, “Partial power has been returned to this sector.”
Taking advantage of this interruption, Sonek stood and strode towards Joanna, hands dormant at his sides. She stepped carefully around the counter. “Coffee?”
“Please.” He paused where she had been standing moments before, draping himself against the edge of the granite counter, eyes following her every motion. His actions were so practiced, his stature and grace so flawless, that she could almost convince herself of his Vulcan heritage had she not painfully known better. If her father had entered the room, he would’ve thought so as well.
“What about Davis?” She again made herself busy, flipping on the coffee maker. Reaching up to draw two mugs from the cabinet, she took her time in choosing. Though he would take no milk or sugar, she went about taking out the sugar and pouring some cream into a smaller cup, setting both items by the empty mugs. He could sit there in silence for as long as necessary, she knew. But he had also attempted to distract her. This simple act of preparing coffee gave her time to think. “I won’t go anywhere until you assure his safety.”
“I am afraid such a transaction is well out of my abilities,” was the reply. Jo wasn’t sure if she wanted to know whether that meant he was dead or if he was living out his days a prisoner of the Romulan Star Empire. She wasn’t sure which was a worse fate. Before she had the chance to ask, however, he interjected. “They will come for you, Joanna,” Sonek finally said in his soft way, brown eyes set calmly against what he could now see were Joanna’s frightened blue.
“Who?” She looked up, the coffee pot issuing gargling sounds followed by a strong, rich smell.
“Your Federation.” His self-distancing from the word--from the concept--was a shock to the system. “Eventually, someone will believe you and begin to question their decision to imprison you. They must quiet you before that happens.”
“You believe they’re so convinced of my treason?”
“The only reason they have not announced it is because your father is a high ranking Medical Officer and you have Admiral Kirk on your side. Without them, you would have already been convicted. This trial is a courtesy. They will come for you at night, when they cannot be seen.”
“That’s absurd.” She sure could talk big. Her imagination kicked in with full force. She could see herself in bed, legs tangled in the blankets. The door would chime once, twice, maybe three times. Tearing herself from sleep she would wiggle her arms into her sweater once more and trudge to the door through the carpeted living room. The door would slide open and there they would be. Five men in red, phasers in hand.
“They will, of course, wait for your father to be back on duty.” They would reach in, pulling her through the door by the arm, simultaneously reading her her rights. The Federation had to do everything by the book, even the illegal transport and elimination of prisoners. After the whole fiasco, she was no longer under the impression that the Federation, especially Starfleet, was entirely free of prejudice or bad decisions or rotten officers.
“So what exactly is it you want from me?”
“You have information pertaining to the Empire’s military operations. The Empire wishes you to remain silent. I believe it has become clear that the information you posses will neither aide your case nor be believed by anyone save perhaps your closest friends and relatives, if you are very lucky. It is only logical that you accompany me across the neutral zone.”
“And who’s to say your people don’t just want an excuse to kill me away from Federation space? It’s an awfully convenient story: Federation insurgent runs away, never to be found again.”
“I am afraid I have not given you a choice.” At Joanna’s frown, he expounded, “You will come with me regardless of your desire to do so.”
“Yeah, right,” Jo wanted to say, but instead it came out sounding more like Klingon. With a hearty “yarght,” Jo watched the floor come up to meet her skull. It ought to have hurt, she supposed, but her whole form was numb. The rat bastard had poisoned her. He didn’t even need to get her off Earth to assure her silence. Darkness swarmed in the corner of her eyes and her vision began to blur. She could hear him speaking but the words slid off her consciousness like rain on a slick surface.
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