Deus Ibi Est (Hikaru Sulu)
Part II
It's Hard to Kill A Bad Thing
In the dark of the room he could hear nothing but the high-pitched soft whine in his ears, the tinnitus that came to him when all was quiet and he was tucked in bed.
Someone told him once that it was the sound of cells in his ears dying. He believed this to be true up till he was seventeen, where he lived in abject fear that he would lose his hearing by age twenty, and would have to depend on hearing aids for the rest of his life, which really wasn't too much trouble in these times, but there was no knowing the secret prejudices of those who would decide his fate at Starfleet.
Before that he conjectured little stories to explain the noise--it was a symphony led by senorita mosquita and by day their music was drowned out by a harsh and unsympathetic world, or it was the tinkling of a thousand tiny insect bells. It was always insecty and it was always on a microscopic scale, because there was no other way to explain the peculiarities of the timbre. Timbre, he thought, evoked the opposite, for the word had a richness and a deep, woody sort of resonation that was very much unlike the tinnitus, which was trying too hard, it was annoying, like the sound of sound feeding back into sound, the Larsen effect, it was called.
He had just completed a desultory, barely satisfactory wank. He tried to think of Pavel Chekov, just the abstract thought of him, but there was something dishonorable and pernicious about it. It didn't feel right because they hadn't had sex or anything yet; Chekov hadn't really given him permission to access his body, and it had been drilled into him that consent was paramount, even in virtual situations. He tried not to think of Pavel Chekov, but it was too bleak and dispiriting; it had a wilting effect and that, come to think of it, was too laborious and protracted a session. Sleep was not going to come soon.
***
The turbolift doors wooshed open.
"Fuck," Kirk said, making for his chair with angry strides. He sat down impatiently, and thumped his fist on the armrest.
It was a total disaster. As soon as the Klingon warbird appeared Sulu knew all was lost. They were on a rescue mission, with clear and simple orders from the Federation. Here, we've given you all the dilithium they've asked for, you give it to them and get us back the two hundred civilians on the luxury cruise liner SS Queen Zara.
Orion Syndicate pirates had hijacked the ship and held the Federation tourists for ransom. Negotiations were concluded, and the Federation intended to keep interactions with the Syndicate at a minimum. All that remained was for both sides to fulfill their part of the deal. The Enterprise, based on her apparent youth frequently had less favorable tasks shunted to them. They were on a scientific expedition, for fuck's sake, to catalogue new species and worlds and forge new friendships. Not to make enemies, which they had been doing ever since the incident with the rogue Romulan ship. Relations between the Federation and the Romulan Empire had become extremely testy, both sides making the smallest grudging concessions only to stave off full-blown war.
Things had not gone according to plan. The civilians had been placed on a shuttle, halfway to the Enterprise. The dilithium crystals had been on another shuttle, halfway to the Syndicate vessel. And that was when the Klingons showed up, hell bent on eradicating the scourge that was the Orion Syndicate and the Federation, which they considered an interfering pest, blasting everything in sight, allowing the Syndicate to opportunistically scoop up both shuttles and vanish.
"Captain, Federation demands a status report," Uhura said. They could not have afforded to screw up this one, especially when it hadn't been a week since their captain, first officer and chief medical officer were cleared of charges under court martial.
Kirk's report was honest. The admiral's response surprised them. "My family is on that ship," he said. "I want you to get them back. At all costs, you hear me? This is a direct order."
The admiral had too much clout for them to refuse. There was the distinct likelihood that his order was in breach of Starfleet regulations, but failure to obey meant they faced demotion and worse, discharge from duty because there was no more room in Starfleet for their mistakes.
With two well timed blasts and several warp speed jumps Sulu had thrown the Klingons off their trail. The objective now was to hunt down the Syndicate vessel, and Chekov was working on it, tracing likely trajectories for Sulu to bring the Enterprise into a good position for a preemptive strike. But what then? They couldn't blast the vessel to smithereens, they had to get the prisoners out. And it seemed a tragic waste to Sulu, to allow the Syndicate to have all that dilithium.
"We've got to board that ship and bust the civilians out," Kirk said. "We've lost our bargaining chip, the Federation will not help us further."
After some discussion they refined the plan. The boarding party would consist of Kirk, a helmsman and a navigator. They needed the helmsman and the navigator to fly the shuttle back. Kirk did not trust the abilities of commercial pilots in battle situations, he said they tended to be retirees, old coots who'd lost touch decades ago. Sulu saw Chekov shoot him a teasing half-smirk as if to say, someday you'll be consigned to the same fate, Hikaru Sulu. The cruise liner would have her own medical department so that was covered. They'd feign an attack on the vessel, as a distraction and also to draw the vessel close enough to beam the boarding party over. The vessel was probably of Ferengi origin, with a patchwork of modifications from all sorts of technology.
Spock could not see past the illogic of Kirk's insistence on being in every boarding party, suggesting a growing addiction to violence and the rush of battle, it was highly unbecoming of any Starfleet officer. Kirk brushed the remarks aside but Sulu knew he too was guilty. He had an inexplicable, deep-seated urge to do something at all times, to take action, to be in the thick of it, never to stand aside and uselessly wring hands, never to stand aside arms crossed silently observing when there was something that could be done, never to be more then two degrees removed from the action. Naturally his arm was up even before Kirk was done with his briefing, me me me, I want to go, please take me, I have sufficient expertise.
And naturally Kirk knew a kindred soul when he saw one. Out of the corner of his eye Sulu notived Chekov's hand waving in the air, me too me too, and a flash of irritation shot through him. No, not Chekov, he directed to Kirk in a vague form of unworkable human telepathy. Not Pavel. He's not like us, his role is on the ship, he works best when he's on the ship, we need people like him on the ship to save people like us when we fall. And, though he did not fully acknowledge it, he knew that if Chekov were to get hurt, it would cause immeasurable grief.
"No, not you," Kirk said, motioning for Chekov to put his hand down. "I'll take Riley. Chekov, you work with Mitchell here on the ship. We need to be absolutely precise when we feign the attack on the Syndicate, and no one else does it like you."
Chekov's face fell, he chewed his bottom lip as he ran optimal speed calculations. Sulu felt his chest tighten. See, it's not that you're not good enough to go on--on batshit crazy missions--because that was what it was, he wanted to say to Chekov, it's that you're too good to go. Sulu imagined that Chekov would say something silly like how he wasn't ever "too good for anything", that it was the lousiest, cheapest excuse in the world and the real reason was that everyone thought he was too young, too precious. A strange lump formed in Sulu's throat as he imagined that it would be the moment he was forced to confess that it was love, it was that stupid, stupid thing called love that made him worry for Chekov so much, that simultaneously compelled him to go on all sorts of heroic missions so that Chekov would find him impressive and worthy.
It was a sharp stab to his heart when Chekov shot him a dirty look that plainly said if you think going on suicidal missions is going to impress me, then no, I'm not impressed. Oh god he just read my mind, Sulu realised with horror. Did he just read my mind? Oh god, oh fuck.
Kirk sent him off to prepare to beam onboard the Syndicate vessel. Riley and Mitchell were called to the bridge and briefed. Spock was handed the command, and everyone set to work.
And so it was entirely understandable that Sulu should find himself in a state of shock when Chekov showed up at the beaming station with Kirk, with Riley nowhere in sight.
"They're leaning too much portside," Chekov exclaimed, pointing out the window.
"Kirk to Enterprise, Kirk to Enterprise, you're leaning too much portside. You're on a collision course."
"Cut power from the right nacelle, shift it to the left," Sulu cut in. "Take a nosedive, angle of depression round about fifty degrees."
Kirk looked at him like he was crazy. "They have to," Chekov jumped in. "It puts them out of firing range. If they turn the other way the Syndicate gets a direct shot at the engines."
"Okay," Kirk said apprehensively. "I trust you guys, right," he muttered, as if trying to reassure himself.
Chekov had already moved to access the computer, fingers sweeping deftly across the screen. "Tell Enterprise to go into warp, save themselves first. We're headed for sector 187, second planet in the system, we'll meet them there." Kirk relayed the information.
"How long before we get detected?" Sulu asked. They had beamed onto the bridge of the transport shuttle, which they sussed out to be empty while still on the Enterprise. Scotty didn't recommend beaming onto other parts of the shuttle as they had no knowledge of what lay in wait, and the bridge was where they needed to be anyway.
"We will not be detected unless we override the automatic controls on this shuttle," Chekov said. The shuttle was locked to the Syndicate vessel, towing alongside.
"We've told Enterprise to meet us at the planet, if they're there we'll do the manual override when we drop out of warp," Kirk said. "If they're not, well, we do the override anyway, and hide in the planets. Chekov, how many people are there aboard this shuttle?"
"Two hundred and fourteen, sir. All alive."
"Can we make an announcement to them?"
"No, sir. The main ship will hear, sir."
Kirk sat down, deflated. He gave the command to take a rest and study what they could without interfering with the automatic controls. The shuttle had absolutely no weapon systems, and had a maximum speed of warp 0.8. Maneuverability was extremely limited, and Sulu had a nasty feeling he'd be driven to tears and insanity trying to steer this shuttle.
It was another four hours before they would exit warp speed. Chekov had fallen asleep lying flat out on the floor, and by the looks of it he was deep in slumber, one hand folded on his chest, lips slightly parted, head tilted towards them, a pool of drool slowly accumulating.
"So," Kirk said, trying to make conversation. "You still with Jess?"
Sulu shifted uncomfortably. "No, we broke up what--almost two years ago? I can't believe it's been two years."
"It happens," Kirk said, putting on a comforting tone. This is so weird, Sulu thought, why are we having a heart to heart in the middle of now.
"You and Jess always seemed such a sweet couple," Kirk continued, and Sulu wanted to die. Oh god this is not happening, he was squirming all over, gaze obtusely fixed on the region of Chekov's right knee.
"Why do you ask?" he managed to squeezed out.
"I was just thinking, you and me," Kirk said. "When this is all over we should keep in touch, you know? Have some man to man bonding, leave wifey at home, go watch a football game or something."
Sulu froze in terror. He swore he saw Chekov bristle at the exact moment Kirk said "leave wifey at home". Wasn't he supposed to be fast alseep?
"Uhh," Sulu said. "If we don't die first, of course."
Kirk laughed bleakly. "Sure thing."
The Enterprise wasn't there when they dropped out of warp, along the outer regions of the unknown system. Chekov let out a frustrated, strangulated grunt, a combination of anger at whichever incompetent fools were at the helm and disgruntlement at having his sleep interrupted. He looked at Sulu, pleading for sympathy, which Sulu heaped in generous dollops.
"Wing it," Kirk said, and Chekov punched in the manual override code, Sulu detached the shuttle from the main vessel and Kirk began an announcement to brief the two hundred plus civilians on what was going on, what to expect and what to do.
The Syndicate vessel reacted immediately, turning on them. They dodged phasers left and right, up and down, and then Kirk suggested they make a surface landing, because unlike the shuttle the Syndicate vessel was not constructed to withstand atmospheric pressure.
They were falling down the stratosphere when a phaser beam hit the side of the shuttle. An ominous crack split the outer hull on the passage linking the body of the shuttle to the bridge, and Kirk ordered everyone to put on the breathing apparatus. It was a battle to see which would happen first, if they would fall fast enough to reach the troposphere where they could safely begin the landing process, or if the hull would be torn too far apart, enough for the low pressure to knock them unconscious from hypoxia.
"Captain, I've successfully sealed and pressurized the main cabin," Sulu reported. "What about us?"
Kirk was tearing through the storage cupboards on the bridge, looking for anything that would help. "Parachutes," he said, tossing two bags over. "Put them on."
It was sheer dumb happenstance that Kirk should find the parachutes and get them them wear it, Sulu would realize later. Kirk was still strapping on his parachute when the shuttle jolted in mid air. The Syndicate had trained a tractor beam on the shuttle, albeit inaccurately, and the opposing upward force of the tractor beam and the downward force of gravity ripped the bridge from the shuttle. Before he could react Kirk was sucked out of the bridge, half his parachute straps still unattached and flapping in the wind. A parachute bag, a chair, bits of the console, another parachute bag followed suit. Sulu's first instinct was to lunge for Chekov.
"The captain," Chekov said, thick with accent.
"We'll go after him," Sulu replied. He put the remaining parachute bag on Chekov, threading the straps through both their bodies and clung on to him, arms around his neck, head over his shoulder, a wild, electric sensation shooting through his body. "Go."
They leapt off the crumbling bridge, just in time to escape the photon torpedo the Syndicate launched. They were falling, falling down below, the wind too strong to keep his eyes open. Sulu fumbled around for the tab that would open the parachute, and yanked it. The planet, or at least the portion of the planet where they were presently located was mountainous and teeming with plant life. From the looks of it they were in a tropical region, humidity was likely to be high. The plants were so vividly colored to the point of looking unnatural, and the leaves appeared to have a bluish tinge. Kirk was nowhere in sight. Debris rained down from above, mostly small and quietly aflame, but Sulu thought that they had to look out for larger, more dangerous--
***
Sulu came to with a groan. The first things he saw were small pom-pom blossoms, like the mimosa, only colored periwinkle. He could almost taste the soil, it had a tangy, metallic taste, indicating a high level of minerals. He pushed himself up. They were in a forest. The undergrowth had a fuzzy, carpetlike quality. Not too far away Chekov was lying prone, limbs splayed out, thankfully not broken, exhaling into tiny ferns that tickled his upper lip. Sulu looked up, and saw the parachute shredded and draped in the boughs of the tall trees that surrounded them. It was a miracle, he thought, that they weren't strangled by the tangle of parachute ropes. Nestled in the upper branches of a tree the chrome underside of a chair glinted in the sunlight. Sulu guessed that it was the offending object that knocked them out. He bent down to rouse Chekov, who startled and sprang up, spitting and spurting at the itchiness of the tiny fern leaves that brushed on his lips.
Sulu whipped out his communicator, and tried to reach Kirk. It was no use, his communicator wouldn't switch on at all. Chekov tried his, but the communicator was likewise unresponsive. They broke off to scavenge for parts, but everything they found was either grossly damaged or unusable. Sulu had no idea when it would get dark, but used a still-burning piece of debris to start a small fire.
"Is this planet inhabited?" Chekov asked.
Sulu shrugged. Chekov sat down next to him and leaned in close, a bit too close. "They'll come for us," he said. "I believe they will."
Sulu felt a multitude of unpleasant emotions bubbling up to the surface. He didn't want to, he desperately didn't want to, but he felt angry. Was he angry at Chekov for coming along this clearly dangerous mission? Was he angry at himself for bungling up? He hadn't a clue what else he could have done but he felt with near certainty that he must have bungled something along the way, or they wouldn't have been in this situation now, lost and cut off on an unknown planet. Was he angry at himself for even daring to be angry at Chekov?
"What did you say to Kirk, to make him put you on this mission?" Sulu blurted out, before he could stop himself.
Chekov looked stricken, and Sulu felt so, so guilty. He hadn't meant to start a confrontation at all, he wanted to take it back if he could, but it was all out in the open now.
Chekov shifted his weight away from Sulu. "I said Riley has a wife and children. I said he could get killed, and we could not face his wife and children. I said I don't have a wife and children."
"What about your parents," Sulu said quietly.
"What about your parents," Chekov countered. "And your sisters."
Sulu didn't say anything for a while. "Oh fuck you," he muttered at last, more despairing than anything.
"Yes, fuck me," Chekov replied accusingly. "Fuck me," he repeated, in a tone forceful and challenging, eyes trained on him.
Sulu gawked for two seconds, then looked away, silently stewing. The forest noises seemed to get louder and louder, the incessant chirping of the insects and the crackling of the fire became so overwhelming he broke the impasse and turned to look at Chekov. Chekov was still facing away, and for an instant Sulu's heart shattered when he thought he saw a tear roll down his cheek, but it turned out to be a droplet of rain. He got up to look for something to shield the fire, eventually returning with a battered sheet of metal he folded like a tent over the smoldering twigs. The flame dimmed, the pool of light surrounding them shrunk, so that all they could see now was each other.
The rain fell heavier, dense and suffocating. Chekov pulled his outer shirt over his head, revealing a bare patch of skin at the small of his back. I want you, Sulu thought, and it frightened him to realize just how much he wanted Chekov. It was a hopeless magnetism that drew him nearer to Chekov, though he did not do much by way of resisting. He was leaning in far too close, the thin layer of air between them supercharged by the fear of actual contact. Chekov pulled down his shirt, as if emerging from a shell. He glowered at him, then unceremoniously smashed their mouths together, lips and teeth and all.
"Pasha," Sulu gasped, in between kisses, as he felt Chekov's fingers tickle his waist, impatiently, confusedly tugging at his clothes, first his shirt and next his pants. "Is this a good idea?" he asked lamely. For all he knew Chekov was a wirgin or something, and this was so unglamorous.
"I don't know about good ideas," Chekov said with all honesty, moving to peel off both Sulu's shirts with one go.
Sulu steadied himself. "I mean, have you done this before?" he said. He had to go through all the preamble, had to. Inexplicably yielded to Chekov and found himself shirtless.
"What?" Chekov said loudly. "You mean sex?" Something about the way he said it made Sulu want to shrink back into the darkness and die from embarrassment.
"Yeah, I mean that," he replied in a timid voice.
"You mean you haven't done it before?" Chekov goggled.
"Uh, I have," Sulu replied.
"So what's the problem?" Chekov said, still too loudly.
"Oh," Sulu whispered, and tried all he could to suppress the urge to laugh uncontrollably, at the absurdity of the whole thing, but the more he thought about it the more absurd it seemed, from the sex to being stuck on a random alien planet to the heavy rain and the silly campfire and how Kirk flew out of the shuttle. Oh god, this is all wrong, he thought, and it was wrong that he wanted to laugh at all the wrongness because it was this stupidly asian part of him he'd never get rid of.
Chekov traced a finger down his shoulder, and Sulu snorted. Concern flickered over Chekov's face and he lifted a hand to cradle Sulu's cheek, pressing his thumb into a stray raindrop. Sulu buried his face in the crook of Chekov's neck, nervous laughter escaping in fits. Chekov kissed him just under the eye, near the bridge of his nose, and Sulu decided that if he was going to die anyway, from embarrassment or whatever this planet would throw at him he might as well die having had sex with Chekov.
He kissed Chekov on the nape of his neck, and they removed the rest of their clothes in what must have been an ungainly, unsexy manner, but he was past caring about that. He worked his way down Chekov's chest, circling around the nipples and trailing kisses down to the belly button. Chekov's tummy rumbled softly, and Sulu realised that he was hungry too, in the literal meaning of the word. They hadn't eaten in almost half a day.
"We should find something to eat soon," Sulu mumbled into Chekov's skin. "Like mushrooms or something."
Chekov whimpered. "I like picking mushrooms," he replied, barely coherent. "Used to go mushroom picking all the time, with baba. Not baba, I mean, not now, is weird, talking about baba now."
Sulu nodded vaguely, running a finger down Chekov's hardened cock. It abruptly occurred to him that he hadn't done this in ages, he might have forgotten a good deal of stuff. He took Chekov's cock into his mouth, worried that he would choke or cough, didn't, sucked on it gingerly. Chekov leaned back into the tree behind him for support, knees buckling a little.
He was braver now, he could go at it with more gusto. Gusto--he wanted to tell Chekov what a funny word it was. He wrapped a hand around the base of Chekov's cock and pulled gently, swirling a tongue around the tip. Chekov mumbled something, maybe about mushrooms. He looked up at Chekov, who was biting hard on his lower lip and looking up into the branches of the tree, faintly illuminated by the flickering orange glow of the campfire, hands scrabbling at the grooves of the tree trunk as Sulu increased his speed. Chekov tilted his head down and gasped for air, looking right into Sulu's eyes. Instinctively and good-naturedly Sulu tried to smile, an incongruously silly act, and Chekov came with a shout and spurted into Sulu's mouth, and damn--Sulu had forgotten how unpalatable come could taste, but at least this wasn't sour.
"I'm really, really hungry," Chekov said, sliding down to kiss Sulu on the mouth.
"Yeah? Me too."
Chekov helped him jerk off, and it was strangely fun, the most fun he'd had in an orgasm for a long time, it wasn't too strenuous, too exhausting, too intense or cloying, it was utterly devoid of self-consciousness and they talked about bacon, which, though embarrassing to admit, made it genuinely enjoyable.
***
"So who have you had sex with?" Sulu asked, as they dressed themselves. They were awoken by the harsh morning light that pierced through the canopy of leaves. The leaves were violently green and menacing, not like the plants Sulu knew.
"Many people," Chekov answered coyly.
"Alright, what about the first?"
"Most were when I was drunk, so I honestly don't know who they are," Chekov qualified. "But the first was when I just arrived at Starfleet, with my landlady. I was fifteen, I had no friends in San Francisco, I could not go to parties because I was too young. The landlady was lonely and forty-three."
Sulu reeled. "Wow," he said, not knowing what else to say.
Chekov laughed at him. Sulu shrugged with a sheepish grin and thrust his hands into his pockets, where he heard the crinkle of a plastic that proved, surpassing all hope and expectation, to be a neglected packet of beef jerky. He greedily opened it, proffering half to Chekov.
They'd decided to get a move on, maybe they would find civilization and a way back to the Enterprise. They hadn't much hope from what they saw of the planet while in the shuttle, but it did not hurt to try. Maybe they would find Kirk. There was no doubt that Kirk had survived, or they were just too afraid of entertaining the alternative. The forest was thinning out, but Sulu noted that debris was everywhere. In fact, there was so much debris that Sulu began to suspect that not all of it came from the shuttle.
The suspicions were confirmed when Sulu caught sight of tiny metal cylinders winking in the sunlight. He bent down to pick them up, and were most likely the spent shells of projectile weapons. On closer inspection Sulu had the unsettling feeling they originated from Earth. But they were clearly not on Earth, he thought, and if humans had any business here they should have known. He pocketed a few of the casings and noticed that they formed a trail. Eventually he came to a shrub at the base of a tree, and found a gun, unmistakably human, nestled in the thorny branches.
"What is it?" Chekov called out.
"It's a gun," Sulu replied. He tugged it out of the shrub with some force, small cuts opening up the skin on his hands. Chekov caught up to him and stared at the gun, puzzled.
"It's an AK-47," Sulu said, and Chekov's face lit up with recognition. "Invented in Russia, as you know."
Sulu removed the magazine. There were fewer than ten rounds left. He put it back in, pushed the lever to safe. Saw Chekov looking at him.
"I know, I read about it in a book you lent me, remember? Called 'I Know You Got Soul'. Can I try?" he asked.
"It's pretty easy to handle. This is the selector lever, the highest is safe. You don't really want it in the middle, that's automatic. At the bottom it's single-shot. It makes a really distinctive sound when you push it. To fire, make sure this is at the bottom, and over here, at the top, you pull back and release this lever. And then you pull the trigger. You've got to watch for the recoil, they're not like phasers. The recoil is like, a reaction, where the gun kicks back a little." He motioned for Chekov to stand back, and fired at a fallen branch in the distance. Pushed the selector lever up, and helped sling it over Chekov, correcting his position. "The sight's kind of crap," he admitted.
He looked up, searching for something Chekov could aim at, and holy mother of fuck, there was another gun high up in the branches of a tree. "Shoot there," he said, "see if you can knock it down."
Chekov obeyed, and Sulu went to pick up the gun. Sweet jesus, he thought, this was an antique. Single shot, unloaded, slightly battered, and--dare he say it--probably a Winchester. He felt giddy with excitement and grinned at Chekov, who obligingly returned a smile. It suddenly dawned upon Sulu that this was not a windfall, that something foreboding was afoot. It suddenly dawned upon him the ugliness he had inflicted on Chekov, the ugly symbolism of the AK-47, the inelegance of its construction, the ugly, violent history of human weaponry.
He wanted to take the rifle off Chekov, couldn't bear the thought of having Chekov be sullied by it any longer, but didn't know how to explain it, to articulate its irredeemable darkness. They strode on forward, where they came to a clearing, surrounded by rocky cliffs on one side and the forest the other. Chekov gasped, and Sulu looked up. The clearing was overrun with thousands and millions of tiny white flowers, like miniature lilies, shimmering pearly and almost iridescent in the sun, like billowy, intricate lacework. Sulu was stunned speechless by the purity of the white, marveling at the beauty of the landscape before him, and failed to notice when a group of people crept up behind them. There were four of them: one human, two Orions, one Farian, all male. The human spoke.
"Starfleet, eh? What brings you here, oh wait, let me guess, you were from the USS Enterprise and you want the civilians back."
"Yes," Sulu said, spinning around, guard down. "Where are they?"
"How about we take you there?" The human motioned for them to follow, and they trudged along the edges of the clearing.
"Who are you?" Sulu asked.
The human called himself Colt. He was a science officer on board the USS Lexington. He was also part of the Syndicate. Sulu felt sick to the core just thinking that Federation officers could be part of the Syndicate.
"Oh don't be so naive," Colt said. "We've got plenty of Starfleet officers on our side. And either you leave this planet one of us, or you don't leave it at all. What a wonderful proposition, don't you think? They use the same tagline for holiday destinations, don't they, Taang?"
The Orion grunted.
"I'll never join you," Sulu hissed. "You betray all that the Federation stands for." He was ranting and raving now, he knew the stories about what the Syndicate did, how utterly low they were. The next thing he knew, a heavy blow swung into side of his head.
When he regained consciousness, Chekov wasn't there. He was in a cell, rank and gray. Pavel, he called out, Pavel, Pasha, Pashuska. The Winchester single shot had been taken from him, his pockets emptied of all its contents--the spent cartridges and beef jerky and random nuts and bolts collected along the way. There was no door, only a small metal grille, thirty centimeters square. Sulu felt his breath catch in fear of suffocation. He tried to dismantle the grille, see where it would lead. Faintly he heard agonized screams, and his imagination latched on to it. Chekov--were they torturing him? Was it Kirk? It sounded female, the realization felt like a low punch to the abdomen. He knew the Syndicate dealt in prostitution, offering the hope of employment and transcendence from menial tasks to females in less developed planets only to enslave them in a vicious cycle of dependence. The women would know no freedom, they would know no other livelihood except selling themselves for money, money to buy themselves out of slavery, money the almighty weapon of the Syndicate.
Sulu doubled over from sheer horror and sat there clutching at his head, wishing his imagination would stop conjuring images of what was happening to Kirk, to Chekov, to the two hundred civilians from the Queen Zara, to the Enterprise.
***
An outline of a door traced along the wall opposite him. Guards appeared to haul him up, and they dragged him out of the cell, down a hallway, out of a cave and into the blinding field of white. They handed him the Winchester, loaded with a single shot.
"This is our execution field," Sulu heard Colt say. "People we want to get rid of, we do it here. Sometimes, we leave a bunch of people and a bunch of weapons, and tell them the last one standing gets to go free." Colt paused for dramatic effect. "I know you'd rather die. So we're not going to let you die. You're a pretty good shot, Hikaru Sulu," he continued. "I looked up your file."
Sulu refused to acknowledge him. He let the Winchester drop to the ground.
"We're asking you a favor, Hikaru," Colt said. "See, we have this guy, we want to get rid of him. He's a pretty high ranking Syndicate member. Admiral Bilic, as you may know him. Has a mansion in Verex III full of slave girls, resells confiscated opoids to the black market, gives us phaser overstock. Set up his wife's 'accidental' death when she threatened divorce. Invites low-ranking, physically attractive cadets to his quarters where he rapes them."
Several Orion guards emerged, roughly shoving a man down on his knees before him. A sack covered the man's head. "You know he teaches advanced organic chemistry in Starfleet. Your sister's taking it this semester. She's quite pretty."
Sulu trembled. "Why do you want him dead?" he asked.
"He broke the Syndicate code of brotherhood. He reported one of us to the Federation, in order to seize his assets for himself."
"Why don't you do it?" Sulu asked.
"Our honor code prevents us from killing people higher ranked than we are," Colt said with a sly smile. "Just get it done, and we'll send you to Bajor, where Starfleet can pick you up."
Sulu balled up his fists to stop them from shaking. Was it true, what Colt said about Admiral Bilic. Anger thrummed in his heart and veins. There had to be a catch somewhere, something Colt deliberately left out. "What about the others," he asked brusquely.
"You mean the boy and your captain?"
"Yes."
"We'll send them along with you."
Sulu wasn't convinced. Something wasn't right, he couldn't place his finger on it. Stared at the man before him. Could Starfleet personnel be that vile? He bent down to pick up the rifle. Moved like he was going to shoot point blank. In a quick movement grabbed the sack off the man's head, and oh god, it was Kirk. The guards turned to hit them, Sulu shot Colt's left leg and fought off the guards with the body of the rifle. Stretched out a hand to a dazed Kirk, pulled him up.
"Run," he cried, and Kirk tugged on his hand, not letting go. A guard grabbed onto the barrel of the Winchester, and Sulu relinquished his grip. They ran, they ran like mad, back into the forest, praying the guards would give up the chase before they gave out.
They slumped down by the roots of a tree, and for the first time in his adult life Sulu burst into tears. Kirk put a hand on his arm, but Sulu was childish and irrational now, he wanted Chekov, he wanted to know that Chekov was safe and in one piece. Neither man said anything, and in time Sulu began to calm down.
Abruptly, there was the sound of a communicator crackling. Sulu looked at Kirk, who fished deep in his pants and pulled out a communicator.
"It works?" Sulu asked, stunned.
"No, it doesn't," Kirk replied. "It can only receive messages, not send them. And even so, it's only on a universal frequency."
Uhura's voice crackled over the communicator, bringing Sulu more comfort than expected.
"They've been doing this," Kirk explained, "once every two hours. They'd send an update on the universal channel."
"Doesn't this expose their location?" Sulu asked.
"Yes, but they've been desperate to reach us, even though the Syndicate says we're dead," Kirk said. "They're in orbit around this planet, but they can't beam down. They have to fight off Syndicate starships every once in a while, sometimes they fly off but they will return." Kirk smiled a half-smile, inhaled deeply. "It seems we mean a lot to them," he said, half-joking.
Sulu didn't know what to say. It made him want to cry some more, overwhelmed by the surge of emotion, and he noticed a moistness coming over Kirk's eyes.
"We will get out of here," Sulu told Kirk. "We'll find Chekov and rescue the Queen Zara passengers and get out of here."
"What happened to Chekov?" Kirk asked.
"We were separated."
"I know where the passengers are," Kirk said heavily. "Not good."
"Not good?" Sulu's heart sank.
"The Syndicate got to them first. They offered the passengers a deal: join them, and they get to go home."
"Effectively becoming Syndicate slaves," Sulu replied. "Shit."
"Come with me," Kirk said, standing up to move.
Kirk led him to a cluster of buildings, built in a tropical style, with thatched roofs and wooden beams. He told Sulu in a voice cracked and trailing, that this was where they kept the women. This was a pleasure planet, these were sex slaves. We could get some of them out of here, Kirk told him. We'll bring them on the Enterprise, claim Federation refugee status and let them make a life for themselves. Sulu nodded in agreement. If they couldn't save the Queen Zara passengers, they could at least try to save someone else.
They charged into the nearest building, where Kirk grabbed onto a Cardassian woman. "We're here to take you off this planet," he said. "We're here to free you."
The Cardassian woman looked at him with hollow eyes, but did not say anything. Gently she prised Kirk's fingers off her arm, and walked away sadly. "We're Starfleet," Kirk insisted. "We're the good guys."
Kirk went around the room repeating the same to other women, to no avail. Sulu couldn't fathom why they were resistant. Finally a Vulcan woman came up to them, and the emptiness in her tone gutted Sulu to the core. Sulu wondered if she could ever rationalize the events of her life, if she could ever find logic in it. She was probably kidnapped at a young age for being in the wrong area at the wrong time, now a thrall to an outmoded, power hungry patriarchal organization.
"If we leave they'll find us," she said. "They'll only bring us back here. If you want to escape there's a hangar two kilometers from here, the ships undergoing maintenance should be easy to take."
"Come with us," Sulu said. The Vulcan woman shook her head. "It is illogical to escape when you face recapture and severe punishment."
That wasn't how logic worked, Sulu wanted to scream. It was false logic, forced upon her by the Syndicate, to perpetuate her enslavement. "Let's go," Kirk said with a small shake of the head, and guided him out of the building. Sulu wanted to fight back, but was unable to find the strength. He looked at Kirk and saw the despair reflected in Kirk's face.
They walked on in silence, until Kirk's communicator crackled. Uhura gave a status report, then broke away from her professionalism. "Kirk, Chekov, Sulu, the Enterprise needs you, we miss you." Sulu heard McCoy's voice in the background, "Jim, you'd better come back, or I'll whoop your ass. In fact, I'll whoop your ass anyway."
Sulu saw Kirk press the back of his palm to his face. He thought, what the hell, he'd already broken down in front of Kirk, Kirk could do the same before him. He put a hand on Kirk's shoulder, and felt it quake. Some man to man bonding indeed, he thought.
They recced the exterior of the hangar, and found a way to sneak in. The hangar was empty, completely empty, there was not a vehicle in sight. The lights flashed on, security guards swooped on them and they were taken to the cells again. We knew you'd be coming, they offered by way of explanation. Your communicator's kind of loud.
Sulu could hear a scuffle going on outside, and the sound of gunfire. Kirk jumped up, and he too pressed his ear to the ventilation grille. There was some shouting, and then, suddenly, the door of their cell opened.
"Haul butt!" Kirk commanded, and they ran down the hallway toward the source of the scuffle. There was--there was a Mexican standoff, Sulu noted, and Chekov was there, Pasha Chekov, surrounded by security, pointing the AK-47 at Colt, who pointed a phaser at Sulu and Kirk. The guards rearranged themselves so that they were pointing at all three of them in equal measure.
"Let them go," Chekov said forcefully, to Colt. "And release the Queen Zara passengers. I've collected enough evidence from your computers, which, at my discretion, will be broadcast to Starfleet, enough evidence to indict you for treason. Starfleet will swoop down to dismantle your filthy operations here."
"You don't want that," Colt responded immediately.
"No?" Chekov said, and Sulu had never seen him like this before. Sulu was--was impressed. How did he single-handedly infiltrate the Syndicate's operations on this planet? It was so beyond the realm of Sulu's imagination.
Colt sighed heavily. "The passengers are no longer here."
"They're not?" Chekov asked. "How?"
"We made them a simple deal. These people are used to a certain standard of comfort and luxury, so all we had to do was give them that, and they were like putty. You'll never get them to squeal about us."
"Where are they?" Chekov insisted.
"Home, or somewhere along the way home."
"I will still report you," Chekov threatened.
"No, don't, please don't," Colt said, fear creeping into his voice. "I'm one of the good guys here."
"Good?" Chekov barked derisively. "How can you be good?"
"I give them food and sanitation, all right?" Colt yelled. "Have you seen the other planets? Have you seen how the Syndicate runs the other planets?"
Chekov blinked, the gun wavered in his hands.
"I give them contraceptives, I give them safe abortions. If you take me off this planet they will have none of these. You can't take down the Syndicate, God knows I tried. I tried, and I became one of them. I'll let you go, but you can't do anything. I'm trapped, you're trapped. You'll have to let it be."
Sulu heard a sharp intake of breath from Kirk. "But let us at least take some of them," Kirk interrupted. "Some of them are so young. Let us take the children, please."
"The Syndicate keeps tabs on all of them. You can hide them in any corner of the galaxy you want, we'll come for them."
"Is there no way out?" Kirk shouted in anguish.
Colt did not reply. In the distance, the sound of a shuttle landing grew louder. Colt jerked up, surprised.
"That's the escape shuttle I arranged," Chekov spoke up.
"Go," Colt said, his voice cracking, "leave this planet, and know that they are safer here than anywhere else."
"Is there no way out," Kirk roared again. How could it be, Sulu raged. How could the Syndicate have so much influence? Colt lifted a hand, and began to fold down his fingers one by one, counting down the time.
"You have thirty seconds," Colt said plainly, hardened once more, cocking his phaser, ready to fire.
Kirk waved a hand, beckoning them, and sprinted down the hallway snaking through the planet's mountains. Chekov had unlocked all the prison cells, and there was chaos everywhere, people making a mad dash for the exit and guards trying to restrain them. They darted left and right, occasionally backtracking, completely lost.
"Help me," a faint cry called out from one of the cells.
Kirk pushed the door open, and Chekov said he would go on to search for the exit.
Sulu stepped into the cell with Kirk. There was blood everywhere, grisly and reeking. A human woman lay on the floor, quietly sobbing. In her arms she held a small baby, tinier than any baby Sulu had seen.
"She was born yesterday," the woman said. "It was as if someone wanted her to come into this earth. They'd tried to get me to go for an abortion many times, for some reason it always failed. I asked God why, I asked him why on earth it was this way. They don't allow our babies to be born, they don't want to cause problems with genetic tracing. If she stays here she'll only be killed. I said to God, please whatever you do, get her out of here."
"Come with us," Kirk said, reaching out a hand.
"I can't, my legs are broken," she said. "They broke it to stop me from escaping."
"You're coming with us," Kirk said, and Sulu bent down to receive the baby. Kirk scooped the woman into his arms, and they left the cell.
"Here!" Chekov waved at them, "the exit's this way."
As they ran towards the exit several guards caught onto them, screaming something about the woman. The baby seemed extraordinarily important, it occurred to Sulu. He had a hunch it had something to do with her identity. Kirk asked the woman for her details, her name, her age, her location of birth. The woman steadfastly did not reveal her name, but divulged other details.
They reached the exit, dodging bullets and phaser beams, and made a beeline across the field of white towards the escape shuttle. The guards were catching up with them.
"Duck!" the woman yelled at Sulu, and he dropped to the ground. A bullet flew over his head, straight into the woman. Sulu couldn't speak, couldn't scream, his throat was raspy and dry. Blood splattered all over Kirk as he turned around to look at Sulu.
"Drop the girl," a guard said, pointing a gun at Kirk. Kirk shook his head. The guard shot at Kirk's elbow, and the woman's body slipped from Kirk's arms.
"Go, go, go," Chekov yelled, leaping onto the escape shuttle and began the lift off. He stretched a hand to Kirk and pulled him up. Sulu was still plastered to the ground, shielding the baby girl with his body, staring upwards through the petals of the white flowers. He thrust a hand out, digging into the soil, uprooting several small flowers in his palm as he pushed himself off the ground. He shoved the flowers into his pocket.
Chekov unslung the AK-47 from his shoulder and cast it off the shuttle. He took the baby girl from Sulu, and pulled him in. Kirk jabbed the button to shut the door, and Sulu piloted the shuttle out of the clearing, over the mountains and high above the planet.
"How did you do it?" Sulu asked.
"What?"
"I don't know, everything," Sulu marveled. "Unlocking the doors, programming this shuttle, forcing Colt's hand, saving us."
"It wasn't much," Chekov said with a shrug, stroking the baby girl's face. "Maybe mafia is actually Russian invention?"
"Kirk to Enterprise," Kirk began, establishing communication. On the other end, completely beside herself, Uhura screamed triumphantly. "They're alive! They're alive!"
***
"That's a wee bairn you've got there," Scotty remarked, in sickbay, where they were subjected to a full check-up. "Have you thought of what to call her?"
Kirk laughed wearily. "No," he admitted.
"We could call her Demora," Chekov suggested softly. "Just the other day I said it was a nice name."
Just the other day, Sulu echoed. So much had changed. McCoy ordered everyone to leave them alone, and Sulu didn't think he would ever be able to retell the story in full to anyone, he would only ever be able to talk about it in fits and starts, so immense was the trauma. Kirk gave a report to the admiral who sent them on this mission, and they found out that Admiral Bilic was taking credit for the rescue of the Queen Zara passengers. As soon as his check-up was complete Sulu made a long call to his sister.
Two days later, Chekov found Sulu in the arboretum, looking at the miniature white lilies he plucked from the ground just before they left the planet. They had lost their pearly sheen, the petals were dull and almost gray.
"I signed on as Demora's second guardian," he said to Sulu. Each Federation child had to have at least two registered guardians, regardless of the relationship between the guardians. There were children with a biological parent and the biological parent's sibling as registered guardians, or children whose uncle and aunt or elder siblings were their registered guardians, there were even children with four or five registered guardians, biological and adoptive parents and their parent's current partners. Registering as a guardian meant taking on the legal responsibility to ensure the child's safety and health until he or she came of age.
"Aren't you a bit too young," Sulu teased.
"I'm past eighteen, I qualify. Besides, it was between Kirk or me, and I would prefer it be me. Kirk can always sign on later if he wants. And, on a more serious note," Chekov paused to consider, then continued, "her mother was sixteen."
Sulu looked at Chekov, felt tears well up in his eyes. He wound an arm across Chekov's waist and pulled him close, pressing his cheek to his torso. "We're young enough to pass off as her brothers still," Sulu said.
"No, not really," Chekov began, and Sulu realised that this was going to be a forever thing.
"What were you doing before I came in?" Chekov asked lightly, changing the subject.
"I was looking at the plant," Sulu said. "It's dying. I've fed it all the nutrients I've got but it's still dying. I think--" he said, choking a little, "I think it feeds on the blood and flesh and bone of the dead, all the people they've killed on the field."
He pulled Chekov closer, as they watched the plant wilt.
originally posted here
It's Hard to Kill A Bad Thing
In the dark of the room he could hear nothing but the high-pitched soft whine in his ears, the tinnitus that came to him when all was quiet and he was tucked in bed.
Someone told him once that it was the sound of cells in his ears dying. He believed this to be true up till he was seventeen, where he lived in abject fear that he would lose his hearing by age twenty, and would have to depend on hearing aids for the rest of his life, which really wasn't too much trouble in these times, but there was no knowing the secret prejudices of those who would decide his fate at Starfleet.
Before that he conjectured little stories to explain the noise--it was a symphony led by senorita mosquita and by day their music was drowned out by a harsh and unsympathetic world, or it was the tinkling of a thousand tiny insect bells. It was always insecty and it was always on a microscopic scale, because there was no other way to explain the peculiarities of the timbre. Timbre, he thought, evoked the opposite, for the word had a richness and a deep, woody sort of resonation that was very much unlike the tinnitus, which was trying too hard, it was annoying, like the sound of sound feeding back into sound, the Larsen effect, it was called.
He had just completed a desultory, barely satisfactory wank. He tried to think of Pavel Chekov, just the abstract thought of him, but there was something dishonorable and pernicious about it. It didn't feel right because they hadn't had sex or anything yet; Chekov hadn't really given him permission to access his body, and it had been drilled into him that consent was paramount, even in virtual situations. He tried not to think of Pavel Chekov, but it was too bleak and dispiriting; it had a wilting effect and that, come to think of it, was too laborious and protracted a session. Sleep was not going to come soon.
***
The turbolift doors wooshed open.
"Fuck," Kirk said, making for his chair with angry strides. He sat down impatiently, and thumped his fist on the armrest.
It was a total disaster. As soon as the Klingon warbird appeared Sulu knew all was lost. They were on a rescue mission, with clear and simple orders from the Federation. Here, we've given you all the dilithium they've asked for, you give it to them and get us back the two hundred civilians on the luxury cruise liner SS Queen Zara.
Orion Syndicate pirates had hijacked the ship and held the Federation tourists for ransom. Negotiations were concluded, and the Federation intended to keep interactions with the Syndicate at a minimum. All that remained was for both sides to fulfill their part of the deal. The Enterprise, based on her apparent youth frequently had less favorable tasks shunted to them. They were on a scientific expedition, for fuck's sake, to catalogue new species and worlds and forge new friendships. Not to make enemies, which they had been doing ever since the incident with the rogue Romulan ship. Relations between the Federation and the Romulan Empire had become extremely testy, both sides making the smallest grudging concessions only to stave off full-blown war.
Things had not gone according to plan. The civilians had been placed on a shuttle, halfway to the Enterprise. The dilithium crystals had been on another shuttle, halfway to the Syndicate vessel. And that was when the Klingons showed up, hell bent on eradicating the scourge that was the Orion Syndicate and the Federation, which they considered an interfering pest, blasting everything in sight, allowing the Syndicate to opportunistically scoop up both shuttles and vanish.
"Captain, Federation demands a status report," Uhura said. They could not have afforded to screw up this one, especially when it hadn't been a week since their captain, first officer and chief medical officer were cleared of charges under court martial.
Kirk's report was honest. The admiral's response surprised them. "My family is on that ship," he said. "I want you to get them back. At all costs, you hear me? This is a direct order."
The admiral had too much clout for them to refuse. There was the distinct likelihood that his order was in breach of Starfleet regulations, but failure to obey meant they faced demotion and worse, discharge from duty because there was no more room in Starfleet for their mistakes.
With two well timed blasts and several warp speed jumps Sulu had thrown the Klingons off their trail. The objective now was to hunt down the Syndicate vessel, and Chekov was working on it, tracing likely trajectories for Sulu to bring the Enterprise into a good position for a preemptive strike. But what then? They couldn't blast the vessel to smithereens, they had to get the prisoners out. And it seemed a tragic waste to Sulu, to allow the Syndicate to have all that dilithium.
"We've got to board that ship and bust the civilians out," Kirk said. "We've lost our bargaining chip, the Federation will not help us further."
After some discussion they refined the plan. The boarding party would consist of Kirk, a helmsman and a navigator. They needed the helmsman and the navigator to fly the shuttle back. Kirk did not trust the abilities of commercial pilots in battle situations, he said they tended to be retirees, old coots who'd lost touch decades ago. Sulu saw Chekov shoot him a teasing half-smirk as if to say, someday you'll be consigned to the same fate, Hikaru Sulu. The cruise liner would have her own medical department so that was covered. They'd feign an attack on the vessel, as a distraction and also to draw the vessel close enough to beam the boarding party over. The vessel was probably of Ferengi origin, with a patchwork of modifications from all sorts of technology.
Spock could not see past the illogic of Kirk's insistence on being in every boarding party, suggesting a growing addiction to violence and the rush of battle, it was highly unbecoming of any Starfleet officer. Kirk brushed the remarks aside but Sulu knew he too was guilty. He had an inexplicable, deep-seated urge to do something at all times, to take action, to be in the thick of it, never to stand aside and uselessly wring hands, never to stand aside arms crossed silently observing when there was something that could be done, never to be more then two degrees removed from the action. Naturally his arm was up even before Kirk was done with his briefing, me me me, I want to go, please take me, I have sufficient expertise.
And naturally Kirk knew a kindred soul when he saw one. Out of the corner of his eye Sulu notived Chekov's hand waving in the air, me too me too, and a flash of irritation shot through him. No, not Chekov, he directed to Kirk in a vague form of unworkable human telepathy. Not Pavel. He's not like us, his role is on the ship, he works best when he's on the ship, we need people like him on the ship to save people like us when we fall. And, though he did not fully acknowledge it, he knew that if Chekov were to get hurt, it would cause immeasurable grief.
"No, not you," Kirk said, motioning for Chekov to put his hand down. "I'll take Riley. Chekov, you work with Mitchell here on the ship. We need to be absolutely precise when we feign the attack on the Syndicate, and no one else does it like you."
Chekov's face fell, he chewed his bottom lip as he ran optimal speed calculations. Sulu felt his chest tighten. See, it's not that you're not good enough to go on--on batshit crazy missions--because that was what it was, he wanted to say to Chekov, it's that you're too good to go. Sulu imagined that Chekov would say something silly like how he wasn't ever "too good for anything", that it was the lousiest, cheapest excuse in the world and the real reason was that everyone thought he was too young, too precious. A strange lump formed in Sulu's throat as he imagined that it would be the moment he was forced to confess that it was love, it was that stupid, stupid thing called love that made him worry for Chekov so much, that simultaneously compelled him to go on all sorts of heroic missions so that Chekov would find him impressive and worthy.
It was a sharp stab to his heart when Chekov shot him a dirty look that plainly said if you think going on suicidal missions is going to impress me, then no, I'm not impressed. Oh god he just read my mind, Sulu realised with horror. Did he just read my mind? Oh god, oh fuck.
Kirk sent him off to prepare to beam onboard the Syndicate vessel. Riley and Mitchell were called to the bridge and briefed. Spock was handed the command, and everyone set to work.
And so it was entirely understandable that Sulu should find himself in a state of shock when Chekov showed up at the beaming station with Kirk, with Riley nowhere in sight.
"They're leaning too much portside," Chekov exclaimed, pointing out the window.
"Kirk to Enterprise, Kirk to Enterprise, you're leaning too much portside. You're on a collision course."
"Cut power from the right nacelle, shift it to the left," Sulu cut in. "Take a nosedive, angle of depression round about fifty degrees."
Kirk looked at him like he was crazy. "They have to," Chekov jumped in. "It puts them out of firing range. If they turn the other way the Syndicate gets a direct shot at the engines."
"Okay," Kirk said apprehensively. "I trust you guys, right," he muttered, as if trying to reassure himself.
Chekov had already moved to access the computer, fingers sweeping deftly across the screen. "Tell Enterprise to go into warp, save themselves first. We're headed for sector 187, second planet in the system, we'll meet them there." Kirk relayed the information.
"How long before we get detected?" Sulu asked. They had beamed onto the bridge of the transport shuttle, which they sussed out to be empty while still on the Enterprise. Scotty didn't recommend beaming onto other parts of the shuttle as they had no knowledge of what lay in wait, and the bridge was where they needed to be anyway.
"We will not be detected unless we override the automatic controls on this shuttle," Chekov said. The shuttle was locked to the Syndicate vessel, towing alongside.
"We've told Enterprise to meet us at the planet, if they're there we'll do the manual override when we drop out of warp," Kirk said. "If they're not, well, we do the override anyway, and hide in the planets. Chekov, how many people are there aboard this shuttle?"
"Two hundred and fourteen, sir. All alive."
"Can we make an announcement to them?"
"No, sir. The main ship will hear, sir."
Kirk sat down, deflated. He gave the command to take a rest and study what they could without interfering with the automatic controls. The shuttle had absolutely no weapon systems, and had a maximum speed of warp 0.8. Maneuverability was extremely limited, and Sulu had a nasty feeling he'd be driven to tears and insanity trying to steer this shuttle.
It was another four hours before they would exit warp speed. Chekov had fallen asleep lying flat out on the floor, and by the looks of it he was deep in slumber, one hand folded on his chest, lips slightly parted, head tilted towards them, a pool of drool slowly accumulating.
"So," Kirk said, trying to make conversation. "You still with Jess?"
Sulu shifted uncomfortably. "No, we broke up what--almost two years ago? I can't believe it's been two years."
"It happens," Kirk said, putting on a comforting tone. This is so weird, Sulu thought, why are we having a heart to heart in the middle of now.
"You and Jess always seemed such a sweet couple," Kirk continued, and Sulu wanted to die. Oh god this is not happening, he was squirming all over, gaze obtusely fixed on the region of Chekov's right knee.
"Why do you ask?" he managed to squeezed out.
"I was just thinking, you and me," Kirk said. "When this is all over we should keep in touch, you know? Have some man to man bonding, leave wifey at home, go watch a football game or something."
Sulu froze in terror. He swore he saw Chekov bristle at the exact moment Kirk said "leave wifey at home". Wasn't he supposed to be fast alseep?
"Uhh," Sulu said. "If we don't die first, of course."
Kirk laughed bleakly. "Sure thing."
The Enterprise wasn't there when they dropped out of warp, along the outer regions of the unknown system. Chekov let out a frustrated, strangulated grunt, a combination of anger at whichever incompetent fools were at the helm and disgruntlement at having his sleep interrupted. He looked at Sulu, pleading for sympathy, which Sulu heaped in generous dollops.
"Wing it," Kirk said, and Chekov punched in the manual override code, Sulu detached the shuttle from the main vessel and Kirk began an announcement to brief the two hundred plus civilians on what was going on, what to expect and what to do.
The Syndicate vessel reacted immediately, turning on them. They dodged phasers left and right, up and down, and then Kirk suggested they make a surface landing, because unlike the shuttle the Syndicate vessel was not constructed to withstand atmospheric pressure.
They were falling down the stratosphere when a phaser beam hit the side of the shuttle. An ominous crack split the outer hull on the passage linking the body of the shuttle to the bridge, and Kirk ordered everyone to put on the breathing apparatus. It was a battle to see which would happen first, if they would fall fast enough to reach the troposphere where they could safely begin the landing process, or if the hull would be torn too far apart, enough for the low pressure to knock them unconscious from hypoxia.
"Captain, I've successfully sealed and pressurized the main cabin," Sulu reported. "What about us?"
Kirk was tearing through the storage cupboards on the bridge, looking for anything that would help. "Parachutes," he said, tossing two bags over. "Put them on."
It was sheer dumb happenstance that Kirk should find the parachutes and get them them wear it, Sulu would realize later. Kirk was still strapping on his parachute when the shuttle jolted in mid air. The Syndicate had trained a tractor beam on the shuttle, albeit inaccurately, and the opposing upward force of the tractor beam and the downward force of gravity ripped the bridge from the shuttle. Before he could react Kirk was sucked out of the bridge, half his parachute straps still unattached and flapping in the wind. A parachute bag, a chair, bits of the console, another parachute bag followed suit. Sulu's first instinct was to lunge for Chekov.
"The captain," Chekov said, thick with accent.
"We'll go after him," Sulu replied. He put the remaining parachute bag on Chekov, threading the straps through both their bodies and clung on to him, arms around his neck, head over his shoulder, a wild, electric sensation shooting through his body. "Go."
They leapt off the crumbling bridge, just in time to escape the photon torpedo the Syndicate launched. They were falling, falling down below, the wind too strong to keep his eyes open. Sulu fumbled around for the tab that would open the parachute, and yanked it. The planet, or at least the portion of the planet where they were presently located was mountainous and teeming with plant life. From the looks of it they were in a tropical region, humidity was likely to be high. The plants were so vividly colored to the point of looking unnatural, and the leaves appeared to have a bluish tinge. Kirk was nowhere in sight. Debris rained down from above, mostly small and quietly aflame, but Sulu thought that they had to look out for larger, more dangerous--
***
Sulu came to with a groan. The first things he saw were small pom-pom blossoms, like the mimosa, only colored periwinkle. He could almost taste the soil, it had a tangy, metallic taste, indicating a high level of minerals. He pushed himself up. They were in a forest. The undergrowth had a fuzzy, carpetlike quality. Not too far away Chekov was lying prone, limbs splayed out, thankfully not broken, exhaling into tiny ferns that tickled his upper lip. Sulu looked up, and saw the parachute shredded and draped in the boughs of the tall trees that surrounded them. It was a miracle, he thought, that they weren't strangled by the tangle of parachute ropes. Nestled in the upper branches of a tree the chrome underside of a chair glinted in the sunlight. Sulu guessed that it was the offending object that knocked them out. He bent down to rouse Chekov, who startled and sprang up, spitting and spurting at the itchiness of the tiny fern leaves that brushed on his lips.
Sulu whipped out his communicator, and tried to reach Kirk. It was no use, his communicator wouldn't switch on at all. Chekov tried his, but the communicator was likewise unresponsive. They broke off to scavenge for parts, but everything they found was either grossly damaged or unusable. Sulu had no idea when it would get dark, but used a still-burning piece of debris to start a small fire.
"Is this planet inhabited?" Chekov asked.
Sulu shrugged. Chekov sat down next to him and leaned in close, a bit too close. "They'll come for us," he said. "I believe they will."
Sulu felt a multitude of unpleasant emotions bubbling up to the surface. He didn't want to, he desperately didn't want to, but he felt angry. Was he angry at Chekov for coming along this clearly dangerous mission? Was he angry at himself for bungling up? He hadn't a clue what else he could have done but he felt with near certainty that he must have bungled something along the way, or they wouldn't have been in this situation now, lost and cut off on an unknown planet. Was he angry at himself for even daring to be angry at Chekov?
"What did you say to Kirk, to make him put you on this mission?" Sulu blurted out, before he could stop himself.
Chekov looked stricken, and Sulu felt so, so guilty. He hadn't meant to start a confrontation at all, he wanted to take it back if he could, but it was all out in the open now.
Chekov shifted his weight away from Sulu. "I said Riley has a wife and children. I said he could get killed, and we could not face his wife and children. I said I don't have a wife and children."
"What about your parents," Sulu said quietly.
"What about your parents," Chekov countered. "And your sisters."
Sulu didn't say anything for a while. "Oh fuck you," he muttered at last, more despairing than anything.
"Yes, fuck me," Chekov replied accusingly. "Fuck me," he repeated, in a tone forceful and challenging, eyes trained on him.
Sulu gawked for two seconds, then looked away, silently stewing. The forest noises seemed to get louder and louder, the incessant chirping of the insects and the crackling of the fire became so overwhelming he broke the impasse and turned to look at Chekov. Chekov was still facing away, and for an instant Sulu's heart shattered when he thought he saw a tear roll down his cheek, but it turned out to be a droplet of rain. He got up to look for something to shield the fire, eventually returning with a battered sheet of metal he folded like a tent over the smoldering twigs. The flame dimmed, the pool of light surrounding them shrunk, so that all they could see now was each other.
The rain fell heavier, dense and suffocating. Chekov pulled his outer shirt over his head, revealing a bare patch of skin at the small of his back. I want you, Sulu thought, and it frightened him to realize just how much he wanted Chekov. It was a hopeless magnetism that drew him nearer to Chekov, though he did not do much by way of resisting. He was leaning in far too close, the thin layer of air between them supercharged by the fear of actual contact. Chekov pulled down his shirt, as if emerging from a shell. He glowered at him, then unceremoniously smashed their mouths together, lips and teeth and all.
"Pasha," Sulu gasped, in between kisses, as he felt Chekov's fingers tickle his waist, impatiently, confusedly tugging at his clothes, first his shirt and next his pants. "Is this a good idea?" he asked lamely. For all he knew Chekov was a wirgin or something, and this was so unglamorous.
"I don't know about good ideas," Chekov said with all honesty, moving to peel off both Sulu's shirts with one go.
Sulu steadied himself. "I mean, have you done this before?" he said. He had to go through all the preamble, had to. Inexplicably yielded to Chekov and found himself shirtless.
"What?" Chekov said loudly. "You mean sex?" Something about the way he said it made Sulu want to shrink back into the darkness and die from embarrassment.
"Yeah, I mean that," he replied in a timid voice.
"You mean you haven't done it before?" Chekov goggled.
"Uh, I have," Sulu replied.
"So what's the problem?" Chekov said, still too loudly.
"Oh," Sulu whispered, and tried all he could to suppress the urge to laugh uncontrollably, at the absurdity of the whole thing, but the more he thought about it the more absurd it seemed, from the sex to being stuck on a random alien planet to the heavy rain and the silly campfire and how Kirk flew out of the shuttle. Oh god, this is all wrong, he thought, and it was wrong that he wanted to laugh at all the wrongness because it was this stupidly asian part of him he'd never get rid of.
Chekov traced a finger down his shoulder, and Sulu snorted. Concern flickered over Chekov's face and he lifted a hand to cradle Sulu's cheek, pressing his thumb into a stray raindrop. Sulu buried his face in the crook of Chekov's neck, nervous laughter escaping in fits. Chekov kissed him just under the eye, near the bridge of his nose, and Sulu decided that if he was going to die anyway, from embarrassment or whatever this planet would throw at him he might as well die having had sex with Chekov.
He kissed Chekov on the nape of his neck, and they removed the rest of their clothes in what must have been an ungainly, unsexy manner, but he was past caring about that. He worked his way down Chekov's chest, circling around the nipples and trailing kisses down to the belly button. Chekov's tummy rumbled softly, and Sulu realised that he was hungry too, in the literal meaning of the word. They hadn't eaten in almost half a day.
"We should find something to eat soon," Sulu mumbled into Chekov's skin. "Like mushrooms or something."
Chekov whimpered. "I like picking mushrooms," he replied, barely coherent. "Used to go mushroom picking all the time, with baba. Not baba, I mean, not now, is weird, talking about baba now."
Sulu nodded vaguely, running a finger down Chekov's hardened cock. It abruptly occurred to him that he hadn't done this in ages, he might have forgotten a good deal of stuff. He took Chekov's cock into his mouth, worried that he would choke or cough, didn't, sucked on it gingerly. Chekov leaned back into the tree behind him for support, knees buckling a little.
He was braver now, he could go at it with more gusto. Gusto--he wanted to tell Chekov what a funny word it was. He wrapped a hand around the base of Chekov's cock and pulled gently, swirling a tongue around the tip. Chekov mumbled something, maybe about mushrooms. He looked up at Chekov, who was biting hard on his lower lip and looking up into the branches of the tree, faintly illuminated by the flickering orange glow of the campfire, hands scrabbling at the grooves of the tree trunk as Sulu increased his speed. Chekov tilted his head down and gasped for air, looking right into Sulu's eyes. Instinctively and good-naturedly Sulu tried to smile, an incongruously silly act, and Chekov came with a shout and spurted into Sulu's mouth, and damn--Sulu had forgotten how unpalatable come could taste, but at least this wasn't sour.
"I'm really, really hungry," Chekov said, sliding down to kiss Sulu on the mouth.
"Yeah? Me too."
Chekov helped him jerk off, and it was strangely fun, the most fun he'd had in an orgasm for a long time, it wasn't too strenuous, too exhausting, too intense or cloying, it was utterly devoid of self-consciousness and they talked about bacon, which, though embarrassing to admit, made it genuinely enjoyable.
***
"So who have you had sex with?" Sulu asked, as they dressed themselves. They were awoken by the harsh morning light that pierced through the canopy of leaves. The leaves were violently green and menacing, not like the plants Sulu knew.
"Many people," Chekov answered coyly.
"Alright, what about the first?"
"Most were when I was drunk, so I honestly don't know who they are," Chekov qualified. "But the first was when I just arrived at Starfleet, with my landlady. I was fifteen, I had no friends in San Francisco, I could not go to parties because I was too young. The landlady was lonely and forty-three."
Sulu reeled. "Wow," he said, not knowing what else to say.
Chekov laughed at him. Sulu shrugged with a sheepish grin and thrust his hands into his pockets, where he heard the crinkle of a plastic that proved, surpassing all hope and expectation, to be a neglected packet of beef jerky. He greedily opened it, proffering half to Chekov.
They'd decided to get a move on, maybe they would find civilization and a way back to the Enterprise. They hadn't much hope from what they saw of the planet while in the shuttle, but it did not hurt to try. Maybe they would find Kirk. There was no doubt that Kirk had survived, or they were just too afraid of entertaining the alternative. The forest was thinning out, but Sulu noted that debris was everywhere. In fact, there was so much debris that Sulu began to suspect that not all of it came from the shuttle.
The suspicions were confirmed when Sulu caught sight of tiny metal cylinders winking in the sunlight. He bent down to pick them up, and were most likely the spent shells of projectile weapons. On closer inspection Sulu had the unsettling feeling they originated from Earth. But they were clearly not on Earth, he thought, and if humans had any business here they should have known. He pocketed a few of the casings and noticed that they formed a trail. Eventually he came to a shrub at the base of a tree, and found a gun, unmistakably human, nestled in the thorny branches.
"What is it?" Chekov called out.
"It's a gun," Sulu replied. He tugged it out of the shrub with some force, small cuts opening up the skin on his hands. Chekov caught up to him and stared at the gun, puzzled.
"It's an AK-47," Sulu said, and Chekov's face lit up with recognition. "Invented in Russia, as you know."
Sulu removed the magazine. There were fewer than ten rounds left. He put it back in, pushed the lever to safe. Saw Chekov looking at him.
"I know, I read about it in a book you lent me, remember? Called 'I Know You Got Soul'. Can I try?" he asked.
"It's pretty easy to handle. This is the selector lever, the highest is safe. You don't really want it in the middle, that's automatic. At the bottom it's single-shot. It makes a really distinctive sound when you push it. To fire, make sure this is at the bottom, and over here, at the top, you pull back and release this lever. And then you pull the trigger. You've got to watch for the recoil, they're not like phasers. The recoil is like, a reaction, where the gun kicks back a little." He motioned for Chekov to stand back, and fired at a fallen branch in the distance. Pushed the selector lever up, and helped sling it over Chekov, correcting his position. "The sight's kind of crap," he admitted.
He looked up, searching for something Chekov could aim at, and holy mother of fuck, there was another gun high up in the branches of a tree. "Shoot there," he said, "see if you can knock it down."
Chekov obeyed, and Sulu went to pick up the gun. Sweet jesus, he thought, this was an antique. Single shot, unloaded, slightly battered, and--dare he say it--probably a Winchester. He felt giddy with excitement and grinned at Chekov, who obligingly returned a smile. It suddenly dawned upon Sulu that this was not a windfall, that something foreboding was afoot. It suddenly dawned upon him the ugliness he had inflicted on Chekov, the ugly symbolism of the AK-47, the inelegance of its construction, the ugly, violent history of human weaponry.
He wanted to take the rifle off Chekov, couldn't bear the thought of having Chekov be sullied by it any longer, but didn't know how to explain it, to articulate its irredeemable darkness. They strode on forward, where they came to a clearing, surrounded by rocky cliffs on one side and the forest the other. Chekov gasped, and Sulu looked up. The clearing was overrun with thousands and millions of tiny white flowers, like miniature lilies, shimmering pearly and almost iridescent in the sun, like billowy, intricate lacework. Sulu was stunned speechless by the purity of the white, marveling at the beauty of the landscape before him, and failed to notice when a group of people crept up behind them. There were four of them: one human, two Orions, one Farian, all male. The human spoke.
"Starfleet, eh? What brings you here, oh wait, let me guess, you were from the USS Enterprise and you want the civilians back."
"Yes," Sulu said, spinning around, guard down. "Where are they?"
"How about we take you there?" The human motioned for them to follow, and they trudged along the edges of the clearing.
"Who are you?" Sulu asked.
The human called himself Colt. He was a science officer on board the USS Lexington. He was also part of the Syndicate. Sulu felt sick to the core just thinking that Federation officers could be part of the Syndicate.
"Oh don't be so naive," Colt said. "We've got plenty of Starfleet officers on our side. And either you leave this planet one of us, or you don't leave it at all. What a wonderful proposition, don't you think? They use the same tagline for holiday destinations, don't they, Taang?"
The Orion grunted.
"I'll never join you," Sulu hissed. "You betray all that the Federation stands for." He was ranting and raving now, he knew the stories about what the Syndicate did, how utterly low they were. The next thing he knew, a heavy blow swung into side of his head.
When he regained consciousness, Chekov wasn't there. He was in a cell, rank and gray. Pavel, he called out, Pavel, Pasha, Pashuska. The Winchester single shot had been taken from him, his pockets emptied of all its contents--the spent cartridges and beef jerky and random nuts and bolts collected along the way. There was no door, only a small metal grille, thirty centimeters square. Sulu felt his breath catch in fear of suffocation. He tried to dismantle the grille, see where it would lead. Faintly he heard agonized screams, and his imagination latched on to it. Chekov--were they torturing him? Was it Kirk? It sounded female, the realization felt like a low punch to the abdomen. He knew the Syndicate dealt in prostitution, offering the hope of employment and transcendence from menial tasks to females in less developed planets only to enslave them in a vicious cycle of dependence. The women would know no freedom, they would know no other livelihood except selling themselves for money, money to buy themselves out of slavery, money the almighty weapon of the Syndicate.
Sulu doubled over from sheer horror and sat there clutching at his head, wishing his imagination would stop conjuring images of what was happening to Kirk, to Chekov, to the two hundred civilians from the Queen Zara, to the Enterprise.
***
An outline of a door traced along the wall opposite him. Guards appeared to haul him up, and they dragged him out of the cell, down a hallway, out of a cave and into the blinding field of white. They handed him the Winchester, loaded with a single shot.
"This is our execution field," Sulu heard Colt say. "People we want to get rid of, we do it here. Sometimes, we leave a bunch of people and a bunch of weapons, and tell them the last one standing gets to go free." Colt paused for dramatic effect. "I know you'd rather die. So we're not going to let you die. You're a pretty good shot, Hikaru Sulu," he continued. "I looked up your file."
Sulu refused to acknowledge him. He let the Winchester drop to the ground.
"We're asking you a favor, Hikaru," Colt said. "See, we have this guy, we want to get rid of him. He's a pretty high ranking Syndicate member. Admiral Bilic, as you may know him. Has a mansion in Verex III full of slave girls, resells confiscated opoids to the black market, gives us phaser overstock. Set up his wife's 'accidental' death when she threatened divorce. Invites low-ranking, physically attractive cadets to his quarters where he rapes them."
Several Orion guards emerged, roughly shoving a man down on his knees before him. A sack covered the man's head. "You know he teaches advanced organic chemistry in Starfleet. Your sister's taking it this semester. She's quite pretty."
Sulu trembled. "Why do you want him dead?" he asked.
"He broke the Syndicate code of brotherhood. He reported one of us to the Federation, in order to seize his assets for himself."
"Why don't you do it?" Sulu asked.
"Our honor code prevents us from killing people higher ranked than we are," Colt said with a sly smile. "Just get it done, and we'll send you to Bajor, where Starfleet can pick you up."
Sulu balled up his fists to stop them from shaking. Was it true, what Colt said about Admiral Bilic. Anger thrummed in his heart and veins. There had to be a catch somewhere, something Colt deliberately left out. "What about the others," he asked brusquely.
"You mean the boy and your captain?"
"Yes."
"We'll send them along with you."
Sulu wasn't convinced. Something wasn't right, he couldn't place his finger on it. Stared at the man before him. Could Starfleet personnel be that vile? He bent down to pick up the rifle. Moved like he was going to shoot point blank. In a quick movement grabbed the sack off the man's head, and oh god, it was Kirk. The guards turned to hit them, Sulu shot Colt's left leg and fought off the guards with the body of the rifle. Stretched out a hand to a dazed Kirk, pulled him up.
"Run," he cried, and Kirk tugged on his hand, not letting go. A guard grabbed onto the barrel of the Winchester, and Sulu relinquished his grip. They ran, they ran like mad, back into the forest, praying the guards would give up the chase before they gave out.
They slumped down by the roots of a tree, and for the first time in his adult life Sulu burst into tears. Kirk put a hand on his arm, but Sulu was childish and irrational now, he wanted Chekov, he wanted to know that Chekov was safe and in one piece. Neither man said anything, and in time Sulu began to calm down.
Abruptly, there was the sound of a communicator crackling. Sulu looked at Kirk, who fished deep in his pants and pulled out a communicator.
"It works?" Sulu asked, stunned.
"No, it doesn't," Kirk replied. "It can only receive messages, not send them. And even so, it's only on a universal frequency."
Uhura's voice crackled over the communicator, bringing Sulu more comfort than expected.
"They've been doing this," Kirk explained, "once every two hours. They'd send an update on the universal channel."
"Doesn't this expose their location?" Sulu asked.
"Yes, but they've been desperate to reach us, even though the Syndicate says we're dead," Kirk said. "They're in orbit around this planet, but they can't beam down. They have to fight off Syndicate starships every once in a while, sometimes they fly off but they will return." Kirk smiled a half-smile, inhaled deeply. "It seems we mean a lot to them," he said, half-joking.
Sulu didn't know what to say. It made him want to cry some more, overwhelmed by the surge of emotion, and he noticed a moistness coming over Kirk's eyes.
"We will get out of here," Sulu told Kirk. "We'll find Chekov and rescue the Queen Zara passengers and get out of here."
"What happened to Chekov?" Kirk asked.
"We were separated."
"I know where the passengers are," Kirk said heavily. "Not good."
"Not good?" Sulu's heart sank.
"The Syndicate got to them first. They offered the passengers a deal: join them, and they get to go home."
"Effectively becoming Syndicate slaves," Sulu replied. "Shit."
"Come with me," Kirk said, standing up to move.
Kirk led him to a cluster of buildings, built in a tropical style, with thatched roofs and wooden beams. He told Sulu in a voice cracked and trailing, that this was where they kept the women. This was a pleasure planet, these were sex slaves. We could get some of them out of here, Kirk told him. We'll bring them on the Enterprise, claim Federation refugee status and let them make a life for themselves. Sulu nodded in agreement. If they couldn't save the Queen Zara passengers, they could at least try to save someone else.
They charged into the nearest building, where Kirk grabbed onto a Cardassian woman. "We're here to take you off this planet," he said. "We're here to free you."
The Cardassian woman looked at him with hollow eyes, but did not say anything. Gently she prised Kirk's fingers off her arm, and walked away sadly. "We're Starfleet," Kirk insisted. "We're the good guys."
Kirk went around the room repeating the same to other women, to no avail. Sulu couldn't fathom why they were resistant. Finally a Vulcan woman came up to them, and the emptiness in her tone gutted Sulu to the core. Sulu wondered if she could ever rationalize the events of her life, if she could ever find logic in it. She was probably kidnapped at a young age for being in the wrong area at the wrong time, now a thrall to an outmoded, power hungry patriarchal organization.
"If we leave they'll find us," she said. "They'll only bring us back here. If you want to escape there's a hangar two kilometers from here, the ships undergoing maintenance should be easy to take."
"Come with us," Sulu said. The Vulcan woman shook her head. "It is illogical to escape when you face recapture and severe punishment."
That wasn't how logic worked, Sulu wanted to scream. It was false logic, forced upon her by the Syndicate, to perpetuate her enslavement. "Let's go," Kirk said with a small shake of the head, and guided him out of the building. Sulu wanted to fight back, but was unable to find the strength. He looked at Kirk and saw the despair reflected in Kirk's face.
They walked on in silence, until Kirk's communicator crackled. Uhura gave a status report, then broke away from her professionalism. "Kirk, Chekov, Sulu, the Enterprise needs you, we miss you." Sulu heard McCoy's voice in the background, "Jim, you'd better come back, or I'll whoop your ass. In fact, I'll whoop your ass anyway."
Sulu saw Kirk press the back of his palm to his face. He thought, what the hell, he'd already broken down in front of Kirk, Kirk could do the same before him. He put a hand on Kirk's shoulder, and felt it quake. Some man to man bonding indeed, he thought.
They recced the exterior of the hangar, and found a way to sneak in. The hangar was empty, completely empty, there was not a vehicle in sight. The lights flashed on, security guards swooped on them and they were taken to the cells again. We knew you'd be coming, they offered by way of explanation. Your communicator's kind of loud.
Sulu could hear a scuffle going on outside, and the sound of gunfire. Kirk jumped up, and he too pressed his ear to the ventilation grille. There was some shouting, and then, suddenly, the door of their cell opened.
"Haul butt!" Kirk commanded, and they ran down the hallway toward the source of the scuffle. There was--there was a Mexican standoff, Sulu noted, and Chekov was there, Pasha Chekov, surrounded by security, pointing the AK-47 at Colt, who pointed a phaser at Sulu and Kirk. The guards rearranged themselves so that they were pointing at all three of them in equal measure.
"Let them go," Chekov said forcefully, to Colt. "And release the Queen Zara passengers. I've collected enough evidence from your computers, which, at my discretion, will be broadcast to Starfleet, enough evidence to indict you for treason. Starfleet will swoop down to dismantle your filthy operations here."
"You don't want that," Colt responded immediately.
"No?" Chekov said, and Sulu had never seen him like this before. Sulu was--was impressed. How did he single-handedly infiltrate the Syndicate's operations on this planet? It was so beyond the realm of Sulu's imagination.
Colt sighed heavily. "The passengers are no longer here."
"They're not?" Chekov asked. "How?"
"We made them a simple deal. These people are used to a certain standard of comfort and luxury, so all we had to do was give them that, and they were like putty. You'll never get them to squeal about us."
"Where are they?" Chekov insisted.
"Home, or somewhere along the way home."
"I will still report you," Chekov threatened.
"No, don't, please don't," Colt said, fear creeping into his voice. "I'm one of the good guys here."
"Good?" Chekov barked derisively. "How can you be good?"
"I give them food and sanitation, all right?" Colt yelled. "Have you seen the other planets? Have you seen how the Syndicate runs the other planets?"
Chekov blinked, the gun wavered in his hands.
"I give them contraceptives, I give them safe abortions. If you take me off this planet they will have none of these. You can't take down the Syndicate, God knows I tried. I tried, and I became one of them. I'll let you go, but you can't do anything. I'm trapped, you're trapped. You'll have to let it be."
Sulu heard a sharp intake of breath from Kirk. "But let us at least take some of them," Kirk interrupted. "Some of them are so young. Let us take the children, please."
"The Syndicate keeps tabs on all of them. You can hide them in any corner of the galaxy you want, we'll come for them."
"Is there no way out?" Kirk shouted in anguish.
Colt did not reply. In the distance, the sound of a shuttle landing grew louder. Colt jerked up, surprised.
"That's the escape shuttle I arranged," Chekov spoke up.
"Go," Colt said, his voice cracking, "leave this planet, and know that they are safer here than anywhere else."
"Is there no way out," Kirk roared again. How could it be, Sulu raged. How could the Syndicate have so much influence? Colt lifted a hand, and began to fold down his fingers one by one, counting down the time.
"You have thirty seconds," Colt said plainly, hardened once more, cocking his phaser, ready to fire.
Kirk waved a hand, beckoning them, and sprinted down the hallway snaking through the planet's mountains. Chekov had unlocked all the prison cells, and there was chaos everywhere, people making a mad dash for the exit and guards trying to restrain them. They darted left and right, occasionally backtracking, completely lost.
"Help me," a faint cry called out from one of the cells.
Kirk pushed the door open, and Chekov said he would go on to search for the exit.
Sulu stepped into the cell with Kirk. There was blood everywhere, grisly and reeking. A human woman lay on the floor, quietly sobbing. In her arms she held a small baby, tinier than any baby Sulu had seen.
"She was born yesterday," the woman said. "It was as if someone wanted her to come into this earth. They'd tried to get me to go for an abortion many times, for some reason it always failed. I asked God why, I asked him why on earth it was this way. They don't allow our babies to be born, they don't want to cause problems with genetic tracing. If she stays here she'll only be killed. I said to God, please whatever you do, get her out of here."
"Come with us," Kirk said, reaching out a hand.
"I can't, my legs are broken," she said. "They broke it to stop me from escaping."
"You're coming with us," Kirk said, and Sulu bent down to receive the baby. Kirk scooped the woman into his arms, and they left the cell.
"Here!" Chekov waved at them, "the exit's this way."
As they ran towards the exit several guards caught onto them, screaming something about the woman. The baby seemed extraordinarily important, it occurred to Sulu. He had a hunch it had something to do with her identity. Kirk asked the woman for her details, her name, her age, her location of birth. The woman steadfastly did not reveal her name, but divulged other details.
They reached the exit, dodging bullets and phaser beams, and made a beeline across the field of white towards the escape shuttle. The guards were catching up with them.
"Duck!" the woman yelled at Sulu, and he dropped to the ground. A bullet flew over his head, straight into the woman. Sulu couldn't speak, couldn't scream, his throat was raspy and dry. Blood splattered all over Kirk as he turned around to look at Sulu.
"Drop the girl," a guard said, pointing a gun at Kirk. Kirk shook his head. The guard shot at Kirk's elbow, and the woman's body slipped from Kirk's arms.
"Go, go, go," Chekov yelled, leaping onto the escape shuttle and began the lift off. He stretched a hand to Kirk and pulled him up. Sulu was still plastered to the ground, shielding the baby girl with his body, staring upwards through the petals of the white flowers. He thrust a hand out, digging into the soil, uprooting several small flowers in his palm as he pushed himself off the ground. He shoved the flowers into his pocket.
Chekov unslung the AK-47 from his shoulder and cast it off the shuttle. He took the baby girl from Sulu, and pulled him in. Kirk jabbed the button to shut the door, and Sulu piloted the shuttle out of the clearing, over the mountains and high above the planet.
"How did you do it?" Sulu asked.
"What?"
"I don't know, everything," Sulu marveled. "Unlocking the doors, programming this shuttle, forcing Colt's hand, saving us."
"It wasn't much," Chekov said with a shrug, stroking the baby girl's face. "Maybe mafia is actually Russian invention?"
"Kirk to Enterprise," Kirk began, establishing communication. On the other end, completely beside herself, Uhura screamed triumphantly. "They're alive! They're alive!"
***
"That's a wee bairn you've got there," Scotty remarked, in sickbay, where they were subjected to a full check-up. "Have you thought of what to call her?"
Kirk laughed wearily. "No," he admitted.
"We could call her Demora," Chekov suggested softly. "Just the other day I said it was a nice name."
Just the other day, Sulu echoed. So much had changed. McCoy ordered everyone to leave them alone, and Sulu didn't think he would ever be able to retell the story in full to anyone, he would only ever be able to talk about it in fits and starts, so immense was the trauma. Kirk gave a report to the admiral who sent them on this mission, and they found out that Admiral Bilic was taking credit for the rescue of the Queen Zara passengers. As soon as his check-up was complete Sulu made a long call to his sister.
Two days later, Chekov found Sulu in the arboretum, looking at the miniature white lilies he plucked from the ground just before they left the planet. They had lost their pearly sheen, the petals were dull and almost gray.
"I signed on as Demora's second guardian," he said to Sulu. Each Federation child had to have at least two registered guardians, regardless of the relationship between the guardians. There were children with a biological parent and the biological parent's sibling as registered guardians, or children whose uncle and aunt or elder siblings were their registered guardians, there were even children with four or five registered guardians, biological and adoptive parents and their parent's current partners. Registering as a guardian meant taking on the legal responsibility to ensure the child's safety and health until he or she came of age.
"Aren't you a bit too young," Sulu teased.
"I'm past eighteen, I qualify. Besides, it was between Kirk or me, and I would prefer it be me. Kirk can always sign on later if he wants. And, on a more serious note," Chekov paused to consider, then continued, "her mother was sixteen."
Sulu looked at Chekov, felt tears well up in his eyes. He wound an arm across Chekov's waist and pulled him close, pressing his cheek to his torso. "We're young enough to pass off as her brothers still," Sulu said.
"No, not really," Chekov began, and Sulu realised that this was going to be a forever thing.
"What were you doing before I came in?" Chekov asked lightly, changing the subject.
"I was looking at the plant," Sulu said. "It's dying. I've fed it all the nutrients I've got but it's still dying. I think--" he said, choking a little, "I think it feeds on the blood and flesh and bone of the dead, all the people they've killed on the field."
He pulled Chekov closer, as they watched the plant wilt.
originally posted here