This chapter has stubbornly refused to write itself, but finally managed to get it done, and will try and get on with some more now.
Chapter 11
Bridge, S.S. Mirage NTL-439
High Orbit, Argaya II(a)
Tillg jans Grak sat at the controls, willing her heart to steady itself and her body to stop shacking. The Border Service team had been as good as their word, repairing and boosting their shields, setting up a secured emergency channel for them to use, before they fell back behind one of the largest chucks of rock. Even knowing they were there, Grak couldn’t spot them. She could only hope these Chanok couldn’t either.
At the thought of the alien race that had been manipulating them for so long, she felt sick. What had they been forced to carry for the last four weeks? How illegal was it? Had anyone been harmed because of them?
The cry of the proximity alert shook her from her morbid thoughts. She looked at the sensor displays and saw the ship approaching slowly. Grak noticed they ran a thorough scan of the area, going right past the location of the Stallion without a second glance. Breathing a sigh of relief, she prepared for the comm link, making sure she had the cover story straight in her head.
The larger ship slowed as it got closer. Though not the largest ship Grak had ever seen it was big enough to dwarf the J-Class transport. Every time she saw it she shivered, put off by it’s non-symmetrical design, with spikes and fins all over the hull, numerous weapon ports, three nacelles in an upside down Y configuration, and lack of any windows. It filled the viewport with its bulk.
She knew she couldn’t power up the impulse engines until Rebecca was onboard, but she checked that Ixaab was ready in the engine room to dump all the power he had into the reactors. Her focus was on piloting them away from the Chanok vessel, Ixaab’s was to ensure that they stayed in once piece long enough to survive, and down at the transporter bay Lieutenant Solvaar stood ready at the control, he would also be responsible for the shields. Once Rebecca was onboard and he raised them, she had to be ready to get them moving.
The comm panel flashed. She took a deep breath and tapped it. “This is the Mirage,” she said, surprising herself at how calm she sounded.
“Where is Captain Mellor?” the distorted voice asked, Grak found the sharpness of it grating.
“He was injured during an attempt to keep our warp drive stable. I speak for him.”
There was silence on the other end of the commlink and she wondered if they were buying it or not. “A shame. I had wanted to converse with the Captain one last time,” the voice said. Grak didn’t particularly like the way the alien captain said that. If she wasn’t certain it was a trap before, she was now.
“We have business to do,” she asked pointedly, not wanting the transaction to go on a moment longer than necessary.
“The contract is valid. Our cargo?”
Grak hit the transmit stud. “Those are its co-ordinates, as well as for our transporter.”
There was another pause. On her sensor panel she noticed an energy build up in their transporters. A few moments later, their container dematerialised from the secret cargo compartment they had returned the contraband to. For a moment Grak wondered if they were just going to blow them into dust without returning Rebecca.
“Transport complete. It hasn’t been scanned. You follow instructions well. Perhaps we could do business another time.”
“Give us Rebecca! Now!” Grak snapped, feeling sick to her stomachs.
The voice snarled. “Watch your tongue Tellarite pig! We shall keep out end of the bargain. Prepare for transport.” With that the Chanok ship cut the transmission.
She tapped the intercom. “Stand ready everyone.”
***
Detention Block, Chanok Striker Gzek’ta
Argaya System
From down the corridor, Rebecca Mellor heard several pairs of heavy footfalls approaching. Using the wall of her cell for support, she pushed herself to her feet, ready to face whoever was coming. Her heart pounded in her chest, she feared the worst—but between the prospect of being raped and being murdered, she would prefer the latter, at least then her ordeal would be over.
What about Ixaab? she asked herself, feeling an ache in her chest at the thought of her husband. He had lived his whole life alone, orphaned on New Sydney as an infant. He was used to living alone, his first few years on the Mirage had been tough on all of them, until he started to feel more comfortable around the small crew. She had been attracted to him since he came onboard but due to his mistrusting nature, she hadn’t done anything about it. They had only gotten together thanks to an ion storm. The Mirage had been hit by a class-four storm, which had depolarised the magnetic constrictors, turning the warp core into a Tesla Coil and making the engine room into a death trap. She and Ixaab had been forced into a supply closet for almost twenty-six hours until they passed through the storm, during which time a few home truths had come out.
Of course it took him another three years to propose to her.
The sound of heavy boots on mental grew louder. Rebecca stood her ground, determined to face whoever was coming. Moments later, two of the copper-coloured aliens stepped into view and between them was the officer who had stopped their cohorts when she first came onboard. He reached over and tapped a panel beside the doorway and the bars parted. She stood her ground.
“You will come with us,” the darker skinned soldier stated.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, not moving.
His nostril slits flared and he narrowed his yellow eyes. “You will come with us now!”
The other two took this as their cue and moved into her cell. The presence of their superior couldn’t quell the vile look in their eyes, and when they gripped her upper arms tightly, her skin crawled. She tried to pull her arms free, but her struggle made them squeeze tighter.
“Let me go!” she cried, trying to will her weakened muscles to fight off the two bigger, stronger men.
With little effort they lifted her between them and they followed the officer out of her cell and down the passage between the rows of cells. Inside some she could see people locked up just as she had been, many of the species she couldn’t identify, but most looked terrified, a few were still defiant and some were obviously broken by their incarceration. Rebecca tried to keep her mind for descending into total panic. Her heart pounded, adrenaline pumped and her fight or flight response was weighed heavily towards flight, but held painfully firm by the guards she couldn’t escape.
They left the prison block and its fetid stench, but the corridors beyond smelled of bad breath and body odour—though it was a vast improvement from her cell. They marched through three other corridors before stepping into a large lift. The officer hit the control panel and she felt her stomach lurch as they ascended. There was silence in the lift; the only thing she could hear was the heavy breathing of the guards on either side as well as her thundering heart.
The lift slowed and stopped. The officer led them out into the corridor, rounded a corner and then stopped at a large alcove, where another officer stood at a control console. She looked in the alcove and noticed the four lit panels on the deck with corresponding once in the ceiling, reminding her of a transporter pad. It could have been some kind of torture device for all she knew, or if it was a transporter they could be about to beam her out into space, or disperse her atoms to the stellar winds.
The officer from the cells gestured to the guards, who directed her into the alcove before unceremoniously dropping her on the hard deck. They stepped back out and continued to leer at her. Rebecca climbed to her feet again, never taking her eyes from the man she assumed to be the security chief.
As terrified as she was, it they were about to kill her, she wasn’t going to let them see her fear. It was something her mother had shown her, when she was being eaten from the inside out by Naakellian brain fever—a long and painful death. Rebecca had always hoped that when her time came, she could meet it with even an ounce of the same courage she would do her mother proud. But then again, Shirley Mellor was always the bravest of the family, the steadfast rock she and her father had been tethered too. When she had died Rebecca had fortunate, in that she had Ixaab to help her through it. But her father wasn’t one to open himself up and share how he felt. She had seen how hard it had been on him, and dreaded to think how he was coping with her abduction.
The security chief nodded to the officer at the controls and a second later a high-pitched whine filled the air and she felt the tingling effects of a transporter beam take hold. Exactly where she would find herself was the question.
It took less than ten seconds for her to materialise on a very familiar platform on a very familiar ship, though with a very unfamiliar man at the controls. The surge of giddy relief she felt at being home quashed all questions about who the uniformed Vulcan was. She felt her legs buckle and tears stream down her face.
The Vulcan tapped a control on the panel before moving towards her as she slumped onto the deck. She expected to wake up and find herself back in the cell, but no, she was actually back onboard the Mirage. She hadn’t expected to see the old ship ever again.
Just as the Vulcan Starfleeter reached her, she felt the deck vibrate. Having spent twenty-seven years onboard the old J-Class transport she knew what every groan and shake meant—they were at full impulse and manoeuvring sharply.
“Ma’am, are you alright?” he asked.
Before she could speak the ship banked hard right, an evasive manoeuvre—they were under attack!
Her relief turned to dread. Her captors had double crossed them. Rebecca pushed herself back to her feet, the Vulcan helping her up.
“I’ve got to help Ixaab,” she told him and headed aft, pushing aside the exhaustion and frailness of her body, and ignoring his objection. They were under attack and she would need to help her husband keep the ship in one piece, long enough for her father to get them out of the system and away from their attackers. The Mirage groaned under the strain of the manoeuvres she was being forced to pull off.
“Hold together old girl,” she muttered under her breath. “I just got home, and I have no intention of dying now.”
***
Tactical Centre, Chanok Striker Gzek’ta
Argaya System
“Transport complete,” reported Zaks’ky.
Drak Verr’ja nodded at her Second-in-Command and looked over to Ordnance Officer Vret’ez. “Lock plasma cannons and load kinetic missiles. I want nothing left but dust.”
“Yes—” Vret’ez began, but was cut off by a piercing alarm from the opposite side of the Tactical Centre.
She turned her crimson eyes onto Scanner Operator Ysot’la, who was frantically looking over her readouts. The young Intermediate looked up and recoiled at the sharp eyes that glowered at her from above.
“The Mirage has activated their defence grid and power up their sublight drive.”
“WHAT?” she snarled, rising from her chair and descending to the lower level. She moved straight to Ysot’la, her hand closing around the handle of her t’aka blade, ready to end the other females life for such gross incompetence.
“They are moving towards the planetary debris.”
“Pursue!” Verr’ja hissed at Astronavigator Krat’jk. By now Zaks’ky had moved over to join them, adding his own menacing presence to Verr’ja’s, both of them scrutinising the younger female with disdain. She glanced across the Tactical Centre. “Ordnance Officer, fire at will. Destroy that vessel!” She looked back at Ysot’la. “Monitor them very closely.”
“Yes Mistress,” she replied instantly, her voice tight and high with fear—she could see Verr’ja’s hand on the ornately carved handle of her blade.
On the forward display, the Mistress of the Striker Gzek’ta watched as the tiny Federation vessel twisted and turned—with an agility she had not expected from such an old ship—dodging the discharge from their heavy plasma cannons and volleys of missiles. She had underestimate the Federation crew, they were not the helpless fools she had thought them to be, whose compassion for their own had made them so easy to manipulate and control.
Somehow they managed to evade the worst of the Gzek’ta’s weaponry, only a few bolts of plasma grazed their defences—that somehow managed to remain mostly intact. They were making a mockery of her! But their defiance would be short lived, and she would exact her revenge.
As the Mirage ducked behind a large chunk of rock, they manoeuvred in closer in order to deliver the killing blow. The dull thuds and clangs of small chunks of debris hitting the hull resonated throughout the ship, but their hull armour was designed to handle much worse. The larger pieces they avoided. As the Striker moved past one such meteoroid, the ship rocked hard to port. Quickly followed by three other jolts.
“What was that?” she demanded.
“I…I don’t know!” replied Ysot’la, frantically working her controls.
“Mistress, a smaller ship has just emerged from behind the meteoroid,” stated Vret’ez. “It bares a resemblance to Starfleet auxiliary craft.”
“That’s n—” Ysot’la did not finish her sentence. Verr’ja’s t’aka blade tearing through her throat saw to that, just as the Striker lurched again. The Scanner Operators body fell forward onto her control panel.
Verr’ja looked at Zaks’ky. “Take over and see that her body is properly displayed—I will not tolerate ineptitude on my ship!”
“Yes Mistress,” he replied, as he pulled her lifeless body off the console and let it crumple to the deck plating.
“Ordnance Officer, switch target to the Starfleet vessel. Missile warheads at maximum and all available power to the pulse batteries. Astronav, evasives.”
“Mistress, the density of the debris makes it impossible to manoeuvre,” replied Krat’jk.
“Reverse engines. Continuous fire, all salvos.”
“Yes Mistress,” both Intermediates replied.
She had greatly underestimated the Mirage. But an ancient transport and an auxiliary craft wouldn’t last long against a fully armed Chanok Striker. Though she had wanted to avoid any encounter with Starfleet, they were now given the opportunity to learn more about their tactical advancements over the last century.
Verr’ja moved back to her seat as the small ship hit them again. Someone was going to pay dearly for their turn of events, and she would make sure that it wasn’t her.
***
Anyway, I'm liking it all.
