0Title: Lost in Orbit (2/?)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Enterprise crew
Summary: On a mission to track down a missing delegation party, the Enterprise crew find themselves embroiled in a game of cat and mouse with another ship. When some of Kirk’s crew are captured, the chase turns into a nightmare.
Previous Part: 1
Well, before you start asking what happened, there was a misconception on my part. Apparently holiday time does not mean more writing time. That, and once I started to outline the plot points of this story, I realized I needed double my vacation to get our characters somewhere meaningful. Apologies. I do think, though, that is going to be a fun ride, so hang in there!
Part One
The commanding officer of the Revenant cuts a regal figure with one booted foot propped against the balcony’s railing and his right hand resting on the pommel of an old-fashioned pistol. His cape and long coat are gone, displaying a sleeveless waistcoat and a black cravat knotted around a high-collared silk shirt. Beneath thick brows, his dark eyes gleam with calculation, belying an outward appearance of bored tolerance. He has many titles: the Master of Trappers, Commandant of the Bloodfury, and Clan Lord, the revered Mortifier himself. The title which suits him best can change on a whim.
Below the balcony and under Mortifier’s rule, hard-eyed helmsmen and weapons experts are busily inspecting the bridge’s upgraded system. An occasional brawl breaks out over a station, causing taunts and cheers when it turns bloody. Moor (the Clan Lord’s true name rather than his reinvented one) never intervenes and afterward ignores the wounded who drag themselves off to the medical bay in favor of ordering the others back to work.
At length, he becomes aware of someone’s approach, the staccato click of booted heels separating itself from the noise of the melee on the lower deck. The old man, Kolb, is one of the Revenant‘s last faithful subcommanders. His oil-stained jacket has a single ranking stripe melded to the collar and the Clan insignia of two long rifles crisscrossed at the barrels on the left breast. Kolb’s limping stride falters when his captain turns to face him.
“Spit it out, Kolb,” Moor snaps, annoyed enough by the old man’s bland expression to forget his facade as a bored overlord.
Kolb tries to straighten up to give his report but clearly his knobby spine will not allow for it. “Subspace transmission arrived from Rel-7, sir. Starfleet sent a ship.”
“Which one?”
“Her flagship, the Enterprise.”
The gleam in Moor’s eyes changes to a deadly glint. “Madness is the foolish man’s fate. How long before my ship is repaired?”
“The lead engineer says another five standard days, Master.”
Moor’s fingers tighten around his pistol. “Then find a new lead engineer. I want this ship at Rel-7 in three days.”
The subcommander simply nods and makes a hunched bow before hastening away. In the bowels of the ship, he will relay the Master’s new orders and make an example of the unlucky crewman who failed to meet the Mortifier Clan standards.
Moor’s smile is fleeting and full of teeth. He returns to watching the scuffles among his new bridge crew. They must last longer than their predecessors so that the Revenant and her Master can avenge themselves.
Remembering the Garde’s betrayal makes his blood boil. He tears his pistol out of its holster and shoots the man who instigated most of the brawls. The men in the vicinity jump back and scatter; then as one unit, the crew minus their dead compatriot turn their shocked stares up to the balcony.
“Get that body out of my sight,” Moor orders, returning his pistol to his side again. “And back to work!”
Yes, the destruction of the Enterprise, he vows, will be his first act of revenge.
~~~
“Doctor!” comes the cry from around a tall stack of storage bins. The owner of the voice, head of Engineering and one of the only officers on the ship closest to McCoy’s age, appears shortly thereafter, a clear bag of spare parts of some kind in one hand and a tool in the other. He sets the tool down on a nearby desk and uncovers a chair that was hidden beneath several pairs of grey coveralls. He pats the chair’s top rung. “Have a seat. I’ll admit, I’m surprised to see ye.”
Taking a seat, McCoy smiles knowingly. “Thought I’d be on the port station, didn’t you?”
Montgomery Scott points out with obvious amusement, “I do seem to recall seeing your name on the mission roster.”
The doctor flaps a hand. “Bah. Jim doesn’t need me with him every time. He took Spock. They’ll be fine.”
“Well then.” Scott mimes lifting a glass in a toast. “To the adventures we don’t have to go on.”
Leonard breaks into a grin. “Here, here!”
Scott turns away, muttering, “Hold on, I might have something we can use for a real celebration.”
Crossing one knee over the other, McCoy watches the man pull open one cabinet door after another, rummaging through shelves stuffed with assorted odds and ends. Eventually the engineer comes up with an empty jar and, oddly, a champagne flute.
“Do I want to know why you have one of these?” the doctor asks as he accepts the flute.
Scott shakes dust from the jar and proceeds to wipe it out with his shirttail. “Probably from one of those fancy dinners we have to attend every now and then. In the morning, I usually wake up doun here with a bunch of empty glasses. Never can remember why.”
McCoy shakes his head slowly but makes no comment.
Scott’s eyebrows fly up as a grin stretches his face. With a cluck of his tongue, he announces, “And now for the best part!”
When the man produces a brown-tinted, stoppered bottle, Leonard’s eyes sparkle. “I sure hope that’s what I think it is.” Once his glass is filled and McCoy has had a sip to confirm his suspicion, he drawls, “Why, Mr. Scott, you do know how to throw a fine party.”
The Chief Engineer touches the side of his nose and winks. “Just a little secret between friends.”
McCoy holds out his flute so his companion can refill it. “Of course—and a much-appreciated gift.”
“I’ll drink to that,” says Scott, and does.
~~~
Brams is watching his visitors with open distrust. Unfortunately, there is no other authority figure available for Kirk to deal with, as the inspector is the highest-ranking officer on the station, lately elevated in status since Brams’s superior—and the man Jim was initially under the impression he would meet—was relieved of command for negligence in adhering to port security protocol. Jim is trying hard to keep his expression neutral, though he already feels a similar distrust to Brams’s. He arrived on Rel-7, at first finding the station’s sounds and vibrations similar to a starship’s, only lower-pitched and distant. Yet the sounds, coupled with the tense atmosphere and wary looks thrown his way, quickly made him uneasy. Even now, Kirk’s uneasiness refuses to dissipate, and in fact, has started an itch of warning at the back of his neck in the past half hour. Something seems wrong.
“What should I make of Starfleet’s interest?” Inspector Brams is saying to Kirk and his first officer cautiously. “Our situation hardly warrants the involvement of a third party.”
Reminding himself not to be so easily offended, Jim explains, “Starfleet has been working closely with both sides of the MRC-Carasian negotiations. Our duty to ensure peaceful relations among members of the Federation has never allowed us to remain far removed from current events in any way.”
“So you choose to exercise your authority on my station?”
The captain straightens away from the wall. “Inspector, I didn’t come to plead a case with you. I have orders to be here—orders your commanding officer was aware of and accepted without question.”
Brams leans back in his chair. “That was his problem. He never asked questions. I do.”
Clearly, thinks Jim with a touch of sourness, then rallies himself after exchanging a quick glance with Spock. “If you have a grievance, take it up with Starfleet Command. Until we hear differently, my men and I will proceed with the investigation as planned.” He tips his head to the man beside him. “Mr. Spock is here to collect what data you have.”
“I can see you’re going to be a difficult man, Mr. Kirk.”
Jim stiffens. “Captain Kirk.”
“Captain Kirk,” Brams amends almost lazily. Then his gaze transfers to the person behind his chair who hasn’t moved or spoken since introductions were made. “I suppose a tour of our computer lab couldn’t hurt. Rima, show Mr. Spock where we work.”
“To my captain’s point,” Spock intercedes, “we are not here at our leisure. I require access to your port’s records, not a tour, Inspector.”
Brams’s entire countenance sharpens. “Records? Now some of that is proprietary information—data not even Starfleet is lawfully authorized to view.” He focuses on Kirk. “You wouldn’t have an ulterior motive for your investigation, would you, Kirk?”
Jim can no longer take the inspector’s accusations in stride. “That’s insulting,” he snaps. “We’re not spies or thieves.”
Brams smiles, then, a thin-lipped affair. “No, I guess not. You’re only here to catch them.”
“Spock,” Jim orders, turning for the door, “with me. We’ll find our own way.”
The man folds his arms over his chest, only saying once Kirk and Spock reach the office’s threshold, causing its door to slide open, “My officer will accompany you—and grant the access you need.”
Facing the hallway and his two startled security officers standing guard outside the door, Kirk closes his eyes for a brief moment, working to regain the leash on his temper. But his “Thank you” as he turns back to Brams sounds as forced as it feels.
Brams makes no attempt at civility, stating instead, “I don’t take my position lightly, Captain. I’ll be watching you.”
A muscle jumps Kirk’s cheek, but he nods, acknowledging the warning—and offers somewhat rashly, “We welcome it.” Then he strides from the office with Spock at his side. His security officers fall into step behind them, and Brams’s junior officer reluctantly trails in their wake.
Almost immediately, now that he is moving again instead of stuck in an argument inside that cramped office, a sense of relief floods Kirk. Some minutes later, he says softly, regretfully, “That could have gone better.”
“Affirmative. Though perhaps it is not my place to say this, I find the inspector’s disregard for our offer to assist in his investigation appalling—and most illogical.”
“Some men are suspicious by nature.”
“Or have something to hide,” mutters one of the officers behind them.
Kirk sighs, finding it both gratifying and unfortunate that he isn’t the only one thinking along similar lines. Then a thought occurs to him. He admits to Spock, “I know we’re in the business of mediation, but perhaps we need a mediator of our own. I should have insisted McCoy come with us.”
Spock stops walking. So do the other men, one of the officers flushing, quick to grab his confused-looking partner’s shoulder and turn them both around to offer some pretense of privacy. Rima stops too, frowning at the lot of them.
Kirk suppresses a smile. Lieutenants Niraula and Connock cannot see it, and Spock wouldn’t understand his amusement.
In fact, Spock is already in the midst of advising his captain with an air of gravity: “That may not be the wisest course of action. Dr. McCoy tends toward highly emotional responses.”
The smile breaks through despite Jim’s best efforts. “That’s exactly why Bones is our best bet to handle these difficult individuals, Mr. Spock. Do you think the chief inspector would have been able to say no to him?”
The agreement is slow in coming and, if Kirk didn’t know better, accompanied by the slightest of sighs. “Very well,” relents the Vulcan. “I will contact the ship.”
Kirk would love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation but unfortunately, duty calls him elsewhere. “Can you handle the lab? One of us needs to take a look at the docking sector.”
“Affirmative.”
“Lt. Niraula, please accompany Mr. Spock. Check in with the ship on the hour. Lt. Connock and I will do the same.”
“Yes, sir,” the lieutenants say in unison, facing Kirk and Spock once again. Then Connock says something quietly to his partner before giving the man a cheerful little push towards the Vulcan.
Kirk offers Spock and Niraula a one-handed dismissal, then, and calls up a mental image of Rel-7’s layout which he made certain to study carefully. Take the left turn at the fork in the corridor, he decides. Lt. Connock catches up to him while double-checking the phaser and communicator clipped to his belt.
Glancing back only once, Kirk notes the female inspector has paused indecisively at the corridor junction. Eventually she chooses to follow Spock.
~~~
Neither workers or crew seem perturbed to see a Starfleet officer prowling the gangways. They treat Kirk like he’s not there, offering vague, unhelpful answers when he manages to corner one of them with his questions. No doubt, Brams has already spread the word among his men not to hinder the investigation, but also not to encourage it.
When Lt. Connock’s frustration begins to show at their lack of progress, Kirk sends him ahead to locate the sector of the ring where the missing freighter, the Calypso, had been docked to off-load cargo and pick up new passengers.
Once alone, Kirk discovers some of the ship captains are far more willing to talk. He soon finds himself ensconced with a particularly garrulous man named Tobias, self-proclaimed to be the most famous trader in exotic wares (and after seeing a sample of such wares, Jim is of the opinion that description is a bit exaggerated). He comes to learn that this captain also has a penchant for rumors rather than hard facts.
“So you see, Captain Kirk,” the excited fellow explains, his enthusiasm nearly making him breathless, “I didn’t know that freighter captain personally but I heard he gambled everything he owned to the portmaster, including those unfortunate souls aboard his vessel!”
Kirk manages to tamp down on his surprise. “You’re saying he sold his crew and passengers into slavery?”
The trader jerks back with a gasp and wide eyes. “No, why, no! Slavery is a foul, foul trade! I would not stand for such a thing if I knew of it!”
Kirk fears this confusing conversation is never going to end. “Then what are you proposing happened to the Calypso?”
“Clearly that captain threw away his livelihood and had no money to pay his people and therefore had to turn them all out here!”
Jim looks at his surroundings doubtfully. “Where would they go?”
The man flaps his hand. “Another ship, perhaps. Maybe they’ve gone into hiding inside the concourse. It happens more often than you think. What better way to disappear from your troubles than to become another person entirely?” Before Kirk can reply to that, the trader latches onto his arm and says, “Speaking of new identities, have I shown you my best-selling elixir?” He waves his hand over Kirk’s face. “It gives one a brand-new perspective look on life—quite literally, Captain! You won’t recognize your face!”
“I like my face the way it is,” Jim says gravely. Then, because something about this man has been niggling at him since they met, he remarks, “You seem… familiar.”
“Ah yes,” the man agrees amiably, seeming not too upset at failing to make a sale, “that would be my cousin—yes, my cousin whom I am told I very much look and sound like—he knows you, Captain Kirk. Oh but he did talk a lot about you! And here I am lucky enough to meet the very excellent Kirk in person!” He lets Jim go, looking expectant.
Oh no. Jim aborts a drawn breath. “Your cousin… Would his name happen to be Cyrano Jones?”
“That’s him!” cries Jones’s beaming relative. “Finally, we are properly introduced.” He pumps the captain’s hand all over again.
Swallowing a sigh, Kirk thinks, I might have known. He surveys the ship in stasis with a brand-new perspective not requiring the use of an elixir. “You wouldn’t happen to trade in tribbles, would you?” he asks grimly.
The man appears taken back. “Captain, of course not. Cyrano has his business, and I, mine. We are family, not competitors, my good fellow.”
Jim has heard more than enough. He thanks the trader for his time and information and backs down the ramp at a pace that cannot quite be labeled as running away. The man calls after him, “Do not forget, Captain Kirk! I, the great Tobias Jones, am always at your service!”
Farther along the gangway, Kirk’s communicator beeps. He flips it open. “Kirk here.”
It’s Connock. “Captain, I found the place. Pier two-seventeen.”
“On my way, Lieutenant.”
Kirk closes the device, reads the nearest overhead sign, and points himself in the correct direction.
~~~
But Niraula doesn’t like to talk, not since a very young age, and in the presence of someone who prefers ship’s business to any kind of friendly overture makes him feel like he’s stuck in a world of his own.
That does give him time to gauge the threat posed by the lab personnel, none of whom will return his stare of suspicion.
“That is our central computer, Commander,” their appointed guide is saying to Mr. Spock, indicating a station at the end of the lab.
Niraula turns his attention to her, wondering why she isn’t as ill-mannered as her boss. Rima catches him looking and meets his gaze with an impassive one of her own.
His hand twitches at his side, missing the weight of some kind of weapon. But he doesn’t draw his phaser on anyone. Mr. Spock wouldn’t stand for it, and neither would Giotto if the man found out. The Chief of Security has spent years drumming into his officers’ heads that a perceived threat is not the same thing as a certain threat, and overreactions can do more harm than good. Kirk will try to defuse the situation first, Giotto always reminds them. We have a right to defend ourselves, but not to act like bullies.
Sighing through his nose, Niraula forces his hand to relax. Rima seems to sense him changing his mind. Some of the tension leaves her stance, and she leads the Starfleet officers to a pair of chairs by the central computer’s console.
Niraula positions himself to the side of Mr. Spock, who takes a seat next to the junior inspector. Facing the other occupants of the room, he folds his arms across his chest and plants his feet wide.
“I will grant the access to the database now,” Rima informs them with an air of levity.
An unsettling feeling, like a voice whispering a warning in his ear, crawls across Niraula’s shoulders. Is that a hint of regret he heard in the woman’s voice?
It doesn’t matter. In his experience, a situation can shift from safe to dangerous in a heartbeat. It’s his job to be prepared for that. Whether Mr. Spock talks to him or not, whether these odd people acknowledge his presence or not, he will perform his duty to the utmost of his ability.
Rom had said to him earlier, Don’t frown like that, Tyee. Mr. Spock is certain to discover something interesting. Then the Captain and I will be back with you guys in no time!
What had Rom been going on about? Niraula doesn’t want interesting. He wants uneventful. He wants one of Kirk or Spock to figure out what happened to the Calypso without a life-threatening situation occurring for once.
After all, no one in his right mind courts disaster.
And that, of course, would be why Tyee Niraula’s stomach drops sometime later as Kirk’s first officer inhales louder than usual and utters, “Interesting.”
Rima, who had wandered off while Spock began his data review to engage others in the lab in a hushed tone, thankfully hasn’t heard that remark yet.
Niraula asks the commander cautiously, “Have you found something, sir?”
Spock twists at the waist to look past Niraula to Rima and her team for a moment. When his gaze returns to Tyee, his expression is unreadable, his tone measured. “I believe so, Lieutenant. I suggest we locate Captain Kirk as quickly as possible—and discreetly.”
Discretion, Niraula comes to learn soon thereafter, is difficult to pull off when an entire space station is on your enemy’s side.
~~~
“I imagine so,” Kirk agrees, more amazed that he has just learned this young man’s life story in a matter of minutes than, as Connock insists, that they both have Latin-based names in common. Did he ever talk so fast—or so much—at Connock’s age? Better to return both their minds to present day. “Lieutenant, what was the name of the bar the Calypso‘s captain frequented while he was here?”
Connock activates the padd in his hand, scrolling through a transaction log associated with the Calypso‘s account while Kirk looks on. “The name was—”
“Finally!” interrupts a familiar, annoyed voice, causing both men to look around them. “What’s the point in asking me to beam down if nobody’s at the coordinates?”
Kirk’s mood lightens instantly. “Bones, you made it.”
“Of course I did.” Dr. McCoy’s look of annoyance deepens a moment before vanishing altogether as the man looks up and down the gangway. “Well. Where is he?”
“Who?” Jim says, then answers himself. “Spock?”
“Yes, Spock.” McCoy folds his arms over his chest. “He gave me some vague nonsense about pestering people. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he was asking me to come down and pester him.”
Kirk chokes on a laugh. “Someday, Bones. We’ll get there.”
Connock is grinning. The doctor gives them both a strange look. Then that look is replaced by something more sheepish. “Sorry, I woulda been here sooner, but I had a project to finish.”
Jim blinks.
“A project in Engineering,” the man goes on to mutter before clearing his throat.
Kirk makes a mental note to ask about the nature of that project later. If it makes McCoy nervous to mention it, it’s definitely something of interest to Jim. “I left Spock to investigate the port records,” he says, leading their small party from the outlook post of the gangway to the next level that circles back to the main concourse.
McCoy falls into step with him with Connock bringing up the rear. “Ah, computer research. Vulcans love that.”
Amusement touches Kirk’s face, there and gone. “Truer words never spoken. Let’s see what our Vulcan found out.”
“Sounds good to me. On the way, you can tell me about these folks I’m here to straighten out.”
He claps a hand to the man’s shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”
The doctor’s smile is fleeting but genuine. “Glad to be of some help.”
“I can’t do without you,” Kirk returns warmly. “Remind me of that next time I entertain the idea of leaving you behind.”
His companion snorts but says, “Whatever suits you, Captain.”
And the three men go on.
~~~
When no reply to either summons appears to be forthcoming, McCoy stops his curiosity-driven touring of the lab and returns to Kirk’s side, followed by their wide-eyed security lieutenant now fumbling with his own communicator, calling, “Connock to Niraula. Tyee, it’s Rom. Are you there?”
Kirk says, “Connock.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When’s the last time you exchanged a report with Niraula?”
“He called to confirm that he and Mr. Spock reached the computer lab,” Connock answers. “I did the same when we arrived at the piers.”
Grimly Jim tries to reach the officers once more, to no avail. After a tense second or two, he switches the device’s channel. “Kirk to Enterprise.”
Uhura answers the call. “This is the Enterprise. We read you, Captain.”
“I need the time and coordinates of Mr. Spock and Mr. Niraula’s last report-ins, Lieutenant.”
The communications officer responds, brisk and businesslike, “They coincide. Time, eleven hundred hours precisely. Coordinates—the same as your coordinates now, Captain.”
“Is Spock’s communicator signal active? Where is it?”
“Yes, it is, and at the beaming point, sir. I’m showing Lt. Niraula’s—” She makes a small gasp. “—as inactive. Just now. As if someone…”
She doesn’t finish that statement, but Kirk can finish it for her. “Destroyed the device.” He meets McCoy’s alarmed gaze before asking his final question. “Do you have their biosignatures, Uhura?”
The doctor inhales softly and takes the medical tricorder slung across his torso into his hands.
Uhura returns. “I do have them, sir. Showing the same coordinates as your entry point.”
“Thank you, Uhura. Report to me immediately if any information changes. Kirk out.” Jim flips his communicator closed. “Spock must have returned to the Inspection office.”
“But he’s not answering? And what happened to Niraula’s communicator?” McCoy presses his mouth flat. “I don’t like it, Jim.”
“Neither do I,” Connock seconds.
And nor does Kirk. He can think of only a handful of reasons why Spock wouldn’t react to a call from his captain—and in his experience, none of those reasons have been attributed to pleasant scenarios. “Phasers set to stun,” he tells McCoy and Connock.
The doctor trades the tricorder for a phaser. “Good thing Giotto won’t let anyone come down without one.”
That’s just one of the many reasons that Kirk feels Giotto is perfect in his position as head of Security. “Let’s go,” he says, his uneasiness finally becoming stronger, close to fear when he thinks of the men he cannot contact. He turns, leading the way from the lab.
Wordlessly, McCoy and Connock follow their captain.
Related Posts:
- Lost in Orbit (4/?) – from November 2, 2018
- Lost in Orbit (3/?) – from January 11, 2018
- Lost in Orbit (1/?) – from November 4, 2017
