Outward Bound

a Star Trek:TOS/M7 AU created by TexasAries and Setcheti

Disclaimer: All Hail Gene Roddenberry for creating Star Trek! And we don’t own the boys from M7 either, more’s the pity. This AU is set in the ST:TOS universe, and at the moment it is CLOSED. But we swear we do have more coming, *lots* more. ;) And once we’ve got all the important bits done we’ll be happy to share!

---

Captain Chris Larabee sat back in his seat and wished he could get comfortable – he was fighting the urge to wiggle around on the hard new cushion but that would have been undignified and he’d never hear the end of it. Irritably he stabbed at one of the buttons on the chair’s arm, and after a long moment the laconic drawl of his chief engineer said, “It’s gonna take some time to break it in, Cap’n. Wiggle around on it some, you’ll get there.”

Larabee scowled. “Very funny, Mr. Tanner. Did you finish that engine efficiency test…”

“Yep. She’s only runnin’ at fifteen percent over specs, I’m workin’ on it now. If I can’t get it up another ten percent at least we need to head over to Antares Station…”

“Not for another three weeks and you know it,” the captain shot back, irritation fading somewhat as he fought a grin. The resident engineers at Atares Station would be more than happy to see Tanner and vice-versa, he knew, but Starfleet Command had forbidden them to dock there more than once a month unless it was a bona fide emergency – and Admiral Travis wouldn’t consider the engines running ‘only’ fifteen percent more efficiently than they were designed for to be an emergency. Travis also wasn’t stuck on the Outward Bound with an obsessive perfectionist of an engineer either, but to date Larabee hadn’t been able to make that argument work for him. “But if any salvage freighters come within hailing distance I’ll let you hit them up for parts, all right? Now how about the weapons check I asked for?”

“That aft laser canon is still off frequency.” Tanner snorted. “Only thing I haven’t tried so far is goin’ outside and kickin’ it until it works right again – which ain’t gonna happen. I’ll keep at it, though, got to be a solution somewhere.”

“If you can’t find one we will go back to Antares early,” Larabee told him. The weapons were always top priority out here in the frontier, even Admiral Travis wouldn’t disagree with that. “Keep me posted. Is left aft usable at all right now?”

“You could, but I wouldn’t. I’ll get Ez to give me a hand with it, we’ll come up with somethin’.”

Larabee lifted an eyebrow in unconscious imitation of the man they were discussing. “He down there now?”

“Nope, but he will be after a while. Want me to come up there with a hammer and beat that new cushion into submission for ya in the meantime?”

“Only if you want to be confined to your quarters, Mr. Tanner.” Larabee cut the connection while the engineer was still laughing. “Mr. Wilmington, what can you do if we don’t have the aft cannon?”

“I suppose I can hope no one comes up on us from that side,” the navigator told him, turning halfway around in his seat to look up at his captain. “If we’ve still got phasers on that side it should be okay...”

“Run some sims, see what we’re looking at,” the captain ordered. “‘Should’ doesn’t cut it out here and you know it. Mr. Dunne, have we picked up anything?”

“Not since the last time you asked, sir,” the young man at the Communications station said. If he was irritated by the question he didn’t show it, even though the captain had been asking him the same thing all morning.

Wilmington was not so restrained. “You just asked that ten minutes ago, you know.”

Larabee scowled at him. “And I’ll ask again ten minutes from now, Lieutenant. Aren’t you supposed to be running sims?” Wilmington turned back around with a soft snort and the captain just stopped himself from rolling his eyes. It wasn’t insubordination, not really; the Outward Bound was a frontier patrol ship with a relatively small crew, so they were a little less particular about some of the rules and regs. And Wilmington, who should by rights be a commander and not a lowly lieutenant, had been his friend since their Academy days and so was allowed a little extra leeway.

Thinking about Wilmington’s rank made Chris irritable again. It had been an unfortunate incident and it had been all Buck’s fault, at the time he’d even agreed that busting the man back to a lower rank was a very fair punishment; the thing was, the particular flag officer who’d been involved – or rather, whose wife had been involved – knew how to hold a grudge and had managed to consistently keep Wilmington from regaining the rank he’d lost. Which meant that Chris couldn’t have him serve as the Outward Bound’s first officer no matter how much he wanted him to, couldn’t even field promote him. The captain was keeping a record of all the promotions his friend had earned, though, and by his reckoning by the time the flag officer retired Buck would be able to call himself a rear admiral if he wanted to.

If any of them lived that long, of course. The Outward Bound patrolled one of the most volatile areas of the explored galaxy, a jagged four-way border between Tholian space, a far-flung arm of Romulan territory, a scattering of Federation colonies and a restricted zone so highly classified that even Admiral Travis wasn’t privileged to know anything about it. Usually it was a dangerous, exciting, fascinating place to patrol…but for some reason this week it had been deader than a doornail and Larabee was going out of his mind with boredom. He’d ordered diagnostics on every system on the ship, run drills for contingencies that were never going to occur, walked the corridors on the pretense of checking morale – which supposedly had done more harm than good, according to his first officer’s report – and had even caught up on all his paperwork, a chore he hated and usually avoided until he just couldn’t put it off any longer.

The turbolift doors whooshed open and the ship’s doctor walked onto the bridge with a tread that meant business. Larabee shook his head at him. “Later, we’re running sims.”

“Wilmington is running sims, you’re just sitting there squirming and thinking about how bored you are,” Dr. Jackson challenged. He was a no-nonsense sort of man, which was something Chris usually appreciated as long as it wasn’t being turned against him personally. “There is no reason at all you can’t come down for your physical right now, so let’s get moving.”

Larabee didn’t budge. “Have you done everyone else?” Rank had its privileges - no way he was going if it could be someone else’s turn.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Everyone but Ezrastas, but he’ll be coming in after he’s had his dinner like usual.” He didn’t add that the Vulcan’s physical was scheduled at Commander Tanner’s convenience, he didn’t have to; it was common knowledge aboard ship that Lieutenant Commander Ezrastas didn’t set foot in Sickbay without Tanner by his side. At first that had irritated Jackson to no end, but after a few unpleasant incidents he’d finally come to accept the arrangement even though he didn’t understand it. “Now do I have to call Sanchez up here or will you come peacefully, Captain?”

The captain stayed seated just long enough to let his bridge crew see that Jackson wasn’t actually bossing him around before he peeled himself up off the uncomfortable cushion and stretched. “All right, let’s go get it over with. Mr. Dunne, if we pick up anything I want to know at once.”

“Yes, sir,” the young man answered. “Who has the bridge, sir?”

Larabee almost said Wilmington, he wanted to say Wilmington…but he couldn’t, the chain of command wouldn’t allow it. “Where is my first officer right now?”

Dunne checked his console, then opened the shipwide intercom. “Lieutenant Commander Ezrastas, please report to the bridge.” He turned guileless brown eyes on his captain. “He’s on his way to the bridge, Captain.”

Larabee started to say something and then thought better of it; Wilmington got leeway because he was an old friend, Dunne got it because he was so damned young to be an officer in the first place. “We’ll wait for him to get here, Doctor.” Jackson grunted but didn’t object – he wasn’t bored, but he also wasn’t looking forward to trying to give his obstinate captain a physical.

He wasn’t looking forward to giving their first officer one either. He’d cheated to finish Tanner’s; the engineer had been all set to go into his obstructive routine when Jackson had handed him a broken medical scanner and asked if he knew what was wrong with it. The doctor had not only gotten to complete all the tests he wanted and more with Tanner’s active cooperation, he’d gotten his scanner fixed too. Pity he didn’t have another trick like that up his sleeve for handling their equally obstructive first officer…

The turbolift doors whooshed again and Lieutenant Commander Ezrastas stepped onto the bridge, his sharp and very un-Vulcan jade green eyes taking in every person present before settling on his captain. “Captain Larabee, you requested my presence?”

“You have the con,” Larabee told him. “I’ll be in Sickbay if anything happens.”

“Very well.” The Vulcan looked around the bridge again and then took the chair his captain had just vacated; Larabee made a face when with one small shift of his weight his first officer apparently found a comfortable seat on the cushion that had refused to accommodate him all morning. “Mr. Wilmington, I believe the simulation you are running would be more useful if you were actually paying attention to it. Perhaps additional viewpoints would be of assistance; please transfer your data to the main screen.”

“I’m just checking to see what we can do with the aft cannon out of whack…”

“I am well aware of the condition of that portion of our weaponry,” the Vulcan interrupted him placidly. “Mr. Tanner is working on the problem as we speak, ours is only to determine possible contingency plans until the situation is rectified. The main screen, please.”

Wilmington grumbled but complied, and Jackson tugged on the captain’s arm before he could get interested in the display. “Sickbay, now. You can always make him run it again later if you want to see it.”

“Or we can send the display to one of the monitors in Sickbay as well,” Ezra offered, turning slightly in his seat to make eye contact with the ship’s doctor. “Would that be of service to you, Dr. Jackson?”

Jackson grinned widely; no matter how much the Vulcan frustrated him sometimes, he could be damned useful to have around. “Do it – open up a one-way channel to the bridge too, he’ll fuss if he can’t hear all of you.”

“Of course. Mr. Dunne, please take care of it. Mr. Wilmington, pause the simulation until the captain is in a position to view it with us, if you would please.”

“Yes sir.” The image that had just come up on the main screen froze, and the navigator glanced back over his shoulder. “Waiting for you, Captain.”

Larabee scowled at them all before following the chuckling doctor into the turbolift. They’d only just reached Sickbay when Dunne commed them to say that everything was set up and they would start running the sims again on the captain’s order. Larabee went ahead and flicked on the intercom speaker closest to the diagnostic bed Jackson had directed him to, and he was shrugging out of his gold uniform shirt when a sudden burst of pounding coming from the speaker startled him. “Thought you were comfortable on that thing,” Wilmington’s voice said with obvious amusement.

“I was, but I would not have remained that way for long,” Ezrastas replied evenly. There was a rustle, followed by an almost inaudible sigh. “Ah yes, that is a definite improvement. The captain should have no difficulty ‘breaking in’ his new cushion now.”

A snort. “I was kind of enjoying watching him try not to wiggle around on it – and it ain’t like he’ll appreciate you fixing it for him.”

Chris didn’t have to be there to see the Vulcan’s delicately raised eyebrow. “I take no pleasure from the discomfort of others, Mr. Wilmington, nor did I correct the problem to garner some sort of show of appreciation from the captain.”

“You wouldn’t have gotten it this week anyway even if you had been.” That was Dunne, who must not have been looking at his board or he would have known that the channel was open. “I sure hope something happens soon, he’s driving everyone nuts.”

“You have been, you know.” Jackson’s voice from right at his shoulder startled Larabee all over again. The doctor plucked the shirt out of his hands and tossed it onto the next bed with a chuckle. Then he hit a button on the intercom and said, “All right, we’re ready, you can start now. I just opened up our end of the channel, is it working?”

“Yes sir,” Dunne told him.

“Initiating simulation number one.” Wilmington was all business now. “Helm weapons controls offline, sir.”

“You may proceed, Mr. Wilmington.” Larabee lay back on the diagnostic bed and ignored Jackson and what he was doing, his eyes glued to the monitor. The first simulated attack was over quickly, a short barrage of phaser fire easily stopping the ‘clay pigeon’ – frontier slang for a renegade freighter with minimal armaments – dead in space. “First simulation successful,” Ezrastas announced. “Good job, Mr. Wilmington; you disabled them with commendable speed and without hitting the hold despite the ship’s unusual configuration.” The captain nodded along with his first officer’s commendation; in this part of space such freighters were often in the business of transporting slaves, so firing on the hold or cargo bay areas was something to be avoided. “Proceed with simulation number two…”

Simulations two through eight went just as smoothly, but the ninth was a disaster; when he saw the Outward Bound hang dead in space before being blown to smithereens Larabee sat bolt upright with a curse. Before he could comm the bridge, though, his first officer said, “Captain, I believe we should change course for Antares Station at once.”

“Do it,” Larabee ordered. “I’ll be back up there in…”

“About an hour,” Jackson interrupted. “He’ll relieve you in about an hour, Mr. Ezrastas, just as soon as I’m finished with him. And then I want you down here for your physical so we’ll be done before we get there.”

There was the slightest of pauses, and then the Vulcan replied, “Understood, Dr. Jackson.”

The open channel and the display both cut off, and Larabee lay back down with a frustrated sigh. “Dammit, that was something I didn’t need to see.”

“At least it was just a sim – that’s why we run them, remember?” Jackson told him, resuming his work. “And just think how happy you’ve made our chief engineer now.”

Larabee chuckled and relaxed again. “Yeah, there is that. Although I would have given a lot to see him go outside and kick that cannon.”

The doctor snorted. “If he’d just let me help him he could do that without thinking twice about it.”

“If he lets you help him he’ll lose almost every memory he has of his parents, Doctor,” the captain said, frowning at the ceiling. “That’s not a fair trade just to be able to float around in open space in a suit and you know it, now let it go.”

“I just don’t…”

“Like to let things go, I know.” Larabee sighed. “Nathan for the last time, Starfleet passed Tanner knowing he can’t spacewalk and they had no problem with that so you don’t have a right to either. Ditto for Ezrastas and whatever the hell problem he has with feeling unsafe in Sickbay; you don’t have to like it, but if the powers that be accept it then we do too, end of story. Our job out here is tough enough without you stirring up the crew.”

Jackson snorted again. “I’m going to remind you you said that the next time it gets slow and you start wandering around the ship, Chris – stress levels among the crew went up ten percent in two days, you’re a menace when you’re bored.”

“And you’re one when you’re curious, why don’t we both promise to do better.” It wasn’t quite an order, but it was more than a suggestion and the doctor knew it. “Now how does everything check out with the rest of the crew’s physicals?”

“All forty-six I’ve done checked out just fine,” Jackson told him, accepting the subject change to mean the discussion of Tanner and Ezrastas’ phobias was officially over – he knew from experience that he couldn’t out-stubborn Larabee once the man had made up his mind. “Wilmington has put on a couple of extra kilos in the past month but I know I can’t keep him on a diet so instead I’ve ordered him to spend three extra hours a week exercising until he either burns it off or converts it to muscle, I don’t care which. And Ensign Chang from engineering seems a little overstressed, but…”

“But our engineer doesn’t set the easiest standard for his people to live up to, either,” Larabee finished for him. “I’ve read Tanner’s personnel report for this month, though, and he seems to think the ensign will settle in just fine once the new wears off him – he agreed to keep Chang, anyway, and coming from him that says a lot.”

The doctor nodded; Tanner was very picky about who touched his engines, even with his supervision. “Speaking of Commander Tanner, Chris, have you noticed anything…off about him lately? Do you know if he’s involved with anyone aboard ship, or if he’s having problems with anyone?”

Larabee frowned at him. “Curiosity again, Doctor?”

“More like professional concern,” Jackson replied. “He had some bruises his normal activities wouldn’t account for when I checked him earlier, nothing serious but I couldn’t get any answers out of him so I thought I’d better dig a little deeper just to be on the safe side.”

The captain’s frown deepened, but it had turned thoughtful. “Are you sure the bruises didn’t come from one of his workouts with Ezrastas? I saw them sparring the other day down in the gym, and I know Ez holds back but he’s still twice as strong as Sanchez.”

“Hmm, that could be it I guess,” the doctor agreed. “I didn’t know they’d been doing that. I’ll have a talk with Ezrastas about being more careful while I have him down here...”

“That’s probably the very reason Tanner wouldn’t tell you about the sparring,” Larabee warned him with the tone of a man who’s been down this particular road many times. “The man is capable of taking care of himself, you’ll just offend him if you light into Ezrastas for hurting him. And in spite of your opinion of Vulcans I know for a fact that they do have feelings, Nathan – ours more than most. Don’t be rough with him just because you don’t think it matters.”

Jackson’s jaw tightened. The doctor had worked for two years in a Vulcan medical center and the experience had left a lasting – and unpleasant – impression. “They’re trained…”

“I don’t care if they are,” Larabee cut him off. He knew this highly-charged topic was on the same fine line between personal and professional that he had just warned Jackson away from, but the captain also knew that it was his responsibility to make sure things didn’t get out of hand. “My first officer won’t complain about the way you talk to him but Tanner will, and the last thing I need right now is a pissed-off chief engineer. Or have you forgotten what happened the last time one of us made him mad?”

The doctor chuckled in spite of himself. “You have to admit it made for an interesting few days.”

“I guess that’s one way to look at it,” Chris snorted. “You might not think it’s so funny if you’re the one he’s gunning for – and we don’t need a pissed-off doctor right now either.” He sat up again and looked over his shoulder at the board above him. “How come you said I’d be here another hour, you’re almost done!”

“Got one more test to do,” Jackson told him, scribbling with the stylus on the padd he was using. “Thought you’d appreciate a little extra time to get your equilibrium back before you return to duty.”

“My equilibrium?” Then it hit him, and the captain groaned. “Oh no, not the damned lights! You know they make me seasick…”

“Which is why I made sure you’d have time to get over it before you went back up to the bridge,” the doctor interrupted evenly. “I know you hate it, but Starfleet makes the rules, not me – and Starfleet Medical says that now I have to get a baseline on all command-line officers every six months, no exceptions.”

Larabee raised an eyebrow. “They say why?”

“Nope, it’s classified.” He slanted a look up at his captain, a twinkle in his brown eyes. “Probably the Enterprise again, I’d guess.”

Chris snorted again. “If it’s classified, yeah, probably – they’re the reason our restricted zone is restricted, after all.” He peered over the edge of the padd. “What are you writing about me?”

“That the stress of inactivity is making you irritable,” the doctor said, making a final note before setting the padd aside. “And that you apparently lost the weight that our navigator found, so I’m ordering you to cut back on your coffee intake, not more than two cups a day for the next two weeks, and I want you to make sure you eat at least three meals a day – I don’t care when and I don’t care what.” He did care, actually, but Jackson knew he couldn’t get the captain to follow dietary recommendations any better than their navigator would so that particular battle just wasn’t worth fighting. “You’re fine otherwise. You could probably work out some of that stress in the gym, just don’t overdo it. Maybe you could join Tanner and Ezrastas for a round or two, then you could keep an eye on them at the same time.”

The captain frowned but held back his comment. Perfectionism was part of Jackson’s nature, and in spite of what some of the crew thought – and said, behind the doctor’s back – the constant harping on minor issues didn’t have any malicious intent behind it. Being stubbornly curious made Jackson good at his job and Larabee didn’t want to change that; he’d already warned the man to back off the engineer and the first officer, so although he really wanted to reiterate the point he knew it wouldn’t be good for the doctor’s morale to push too hard. If worst came to worst, Ezrastas could take care of himself and Tanner wouldn’t do anything too damaging. He hoped. “Maybe I’ll get Buck to join me, you said he needed the exercise,” the captain replied evenly. “And it wouldn’t hurt to learn a few new moves.”

“Just don’t overdo it,” Jackson reiterated. “Okay, hop down and get into the iso chamber, you know the drill.”

Larabee grumbled under his breath but complied, not bothering to put his shirt back on, and the doctor sighed when he saw the tension evident in the man’s muscular back and shoulders. He snagged the hypo he’d already prepared and dialed the sedative dosage a little stronger to compensate; it was a short-acting hypnotic drug that usually had no side effects but in his captain’s case combined with the blinking, flashing lights of the Spectrum Frequency Tolerance Test caused lingering dizziness and nausea – seasickness, in Larabee’s terminology. Jackson didn’t blame him for hating it, but the test had to be done and there was no alternative way to administer it. “At least it’s only every six months, could be a lot worse,” he consoled as he pushed the hypo against the captain’s bicep and injected the contents. “Now sit down in there and let’s get it over with, it’ll be done before you know it.”

“The test will, the rest of it won’t,” Larabee complained, but he dropped into the padded chair that sat in the center of the isolation chamber and let the drug relax him. Maybe this time would be different…

Half an hour later Chris was stretched back out on the diagnostic bed cursing Starfleet Medical, Jackson and flashing colored lights while vertigo made his head spin nauseatingly in spite of his tightly closed eyes. The subtle vibration of the ship’s engines that he usually found reassuring had become a constant, jarring irritation at his back, and every time Jackson took a step in the room Larabee had to grit his teeth against a fresh convulsion from his unhappy stomach. Not that there was anything left in his stomach, not any more. Damn but he hated that test.

An abrupt change in the vibration he’d been cursing popped his eyes open in spite of the vertigo and he pushed himself up on one elbow with a barely repressed groan as the flashing red alert light over the door assaulted him. He was about to reach for the intercom when Ezrastas’ voice crackled through it. “Sickbay, what is the captain’s status?”

“I’m fine, what was that?” Larabee demanded before Jackson could answer. “It felt like…”

“We were just fired upon, Captain,” the first officer confirmed. “Three small ships, the lack of identification would indicate raiders. Our shields were undamaged, but I believe they are preparing to make a concerted attack.”

“On my way – and watch that unprotected aft side!” Larabee rolled off the bed and grabbed his discarded shirt, pulling it on while making a beeline for the turbolift.

Jackson watched him go, shaking his head. The comm. buzzed again. “Dr. Jackson, what is the captain’s condition?”

The doctor chuckled. “He’s okay, Mr. Ezrastas – but right now he’s greener than you.”

“Ah, the spectrum test,” the first officer replied understandingly. “Understood, Doctor. Bridge out.”

Ezrastas was secretly relieved that Larabee was on his way, sick or not. While the Vulcan had no doubts regarding his own ability to lead the Outward Bound into battle, he also knew that it helped the crew to have someone in command that they trusted implicitly. The first officer knew he had the crew’s respect, but it was Captain Larabee who held their loyalty. The thought didn’t bother him; the captain held his loyalty as well, and it was a situation where ego simply didn’t enter into the picture.

The turbolift doors whooshed open and Ezrastas quickly vacated the captain’s chair and returned to his own station. Larabee slid into the seat with his jaw set, glaring at the front viewscreen. “Have they hailed us?”

“No sir, and they aren’t responding to our hails either,” Dunne answered quickly.

“The first shot may have been a test of our shielding, Captain,” Ezrastas informed him. “The three ships are in attack formation but have yet to fire a second time.” He glanced back at his readouts. “Sensors show that they have minimal shielding of their own.”

“So they’re relying on speed to keep from getting hit,” Larabee concluded. “Where exactly did their first strike impact?”

“Directly over the port warp nacelle juncture.” The Vulcan shook his head. “A very specific target which would not be the first choice of someone unfamiliar with a Valhalla class ship. It was most likely an attempt to disable us while doing the least possible damage to the ship itself.”

“I read the attackers’ weapons charging for another strike, Captain,” Wilmington said suddenly. “And two of them are powering up their thrusters, think they’re going to try to catch us in a crossfire.”

“Open up a channel, Mr. Dunne,” Larabee ordered. “Unidentified ships, this is Captain Larabee of the USS Outward Bound. I advise you to break off your attack at once and surrender yourselves or we will have no choice but to destroy you.”

It was a threat that had defused similar situations in the past, but after a long moment Dunne reported, “Still no response, Captain – and I know they can hear us.”

Larabee’s jaw tightened – and not just against the rolling in his stomach. “All right then, if they want to do this the hard way we can certainly accommodate them. Mr. Wilmington, take us to battle stations.”

Wilmington hit the appropriate button on the tactical station’s controls and the shipwide klaxon alarm sounded. “All hands, battle stations,” he announced succinctly. And as though that had been some kind of signal, two of the attacking ships peeled out of their triangular formation while the remaining one fired on the Outward Bound. The ship trembled slightly as the energy beams impacted her shields. “No damage to shields,” Wilmington reported. “That was a low-power shot, sir.”

“Don’t let them flank us,” Larabee instructed him. “They’re holding back for a reason and I don’t want to find out what it is after the fact.”

“Aye sir, beginning evasive maneuvers,” the helmsman confirmed, his hands sure and steady as they flew over the controls. The forward viewscreen showed them smoothly arcing up and to the left, reversing position to put the three ships back in their sights. In response one flanking ship corkscrewed to fire another low-power blast across the Outward Bound’s starboard side while the other arced downward and rejoined the first ship. “We’re back where we started, Captain.”

“I can see that.” Larabee’s eyes narrowed. “Try it again, Mr. Wilmington.”

Wilmington took the ship through evasive maneuvers again, and again the Outward Bound ended up exactly where she’d started. The third try was no different. “Captain, based on the tactics being employed we may be dealing with something other than raiders,” Ezrastas observed from his station. “It is possible these ships are attempting to hold us in place while awaiting the arrival of something more powerful.”

“See if you can track their ion emissions, find out where they came from,” the captain told him. “Mr. Dunne, you try the long-range scanners, see if you can pick up any transmissions to or from those ships. Mr. Wilmington…take us backwards at full impulse and be ready to reverse power and fire on my mark.”

“Aye sir.” The small ships receded momentarily, then began to draw in again. “Should I try for a phaser lock on them, Captain?”

“Wait for it.” Larabee watched the ships narrowly, knowing he couldn’t give them time to figure out what he was up to but wanting them in far enough to make the first shot count. “Just a little closer…now! Reverse engines!” The Outward Bound lurched sickeningly and suddenly the three smaller ships were much closer. “Fire forward phasers!”

Two streams of blue energy streaked through the airless void that separated them and impacted one of the smaller vessels, which promptly exploded. Wilmington immediately threw the Outward Bound into a barrel roll to avoid answering volleys from the remaining two ships and then the deadly game of tag began in earnest. It was times like this when Larabee was shamefully glad that his ship’s navigation and tactical officer had been held back from promotion all this time; Buck had more experience to back up his tactical skill than any other junior officer in the fleet, and the combination had kept them alive more than once.

“Captain!” Ezrastas exclaimed suddenly. “Sensors detect no biotic matter from the wreckage, but I am picking up signs of antimatter conversion. I do not believe these ships are manned.”

“We’re fighting drones?” Wilmington asked, his eyes never leaving his console. “These are remote fighters?”

“Puppets,” Larabee growled, frowning. “It looks like you were right the second time, Mr. Ezrastas. Any sign of the puppet master?”

“No sir.” The Vulcan pulled back from the hood that shielded his station’s monitor so he could look Larabee in the eye. “Sensors detect no long-range ion trails corresponding to the emissions of these ships. I believe these drones may have been left lying in wait in this location.”

“Waiting for us?”

Ezrastas shrugged. “It would be illogical to assume so given how narrow the chances are that we would pass this way , but as other space traffic regularly uses this route it is possible the drones are programmed to attack only certain types or sizes of ships.”

Larabee nodded thoughtfully, grabbing hold of his chair’s arms as Buck threw the ship into a forward tumble steep enough to strain the inertial dampers. “Ours being one of them – so they may only be after Federation ships. Do we have any record of ships like this attacking anyone else in this sector?”

“No sir, nor anywhere else. There was no match found in the database at all.”

“Damn.” Larabee tabbed the comm button on the arm of his chair. “Tanner, how are we doing down there?”

“About the same as you’re doin’ up there, Cap’n,” came the irritable reply. “Engines are fine, shields are holdin’, what did you need?”

“I need you to check out the nearest viewscreen and tell me if you’ve ever seen a battle drone like these before. Ezrastas says they aren’t in Starfleet’s database.”

“Probably ain’t the only thing,” was the answering snort. “Okay, I’m lookin’…SHIT! Captain, get us the hell out of here, those are needle ships!”

“Needle ships?” But Chris Larabee hadn’t lasted as long as he had in this part of space by being thrown easily; he might not know what was going on himself but he trusted his officers, so if Tanner said to get away they would do that first and ask questions later. “You heard the man, Mr. Wilmington, get us out of here now!”

“Might be easier said than done, Captain,” was the helm officer’s reply. “They’re on us like fleas on a dog, I can’t seem to break away.”

“Keep trying,” Larabee barked. “Tanner, somebody, what the hell is a needle ship and why are they dogging us?”

Ezrastas answered before the engineer could. “The database has multiple reported sightings of so-called ‘needle ships’, named after a narrow-beam weapon which can apparently go through a shield to punch small holes in the hull of the attacked ship. Reports were all made by trading vessels and salvage ships, no discernable time pattern. They were dismissed as hysterical misidentification by Starfleet Command.” The faintest of frowns crept over the Vulcan’s face. “Captain, I see from these reports that all vessels reported attacked by the needle ships were making use of parts salvaged from Federation ships – sections of hull plating in particular.”

The captain’s scowl deepened; sometimes it wasn’t good to be right. “How many reports are in the record?” Much to his surprise Ezrastas hesitated before answering, and the momentary silence sounded very loud. “Mr. Ezrastas?”

The first officer shook himself. “There are forty-seven separate reports, Captain,” he replied so evenly that Larabee had to wonder if the frozen pause had just been his imagination. “They span a period of slightly more than thirty years, with the most recent report dated just five months ago.” Larabee used a word Ezrastas recognized as Andorian, and from the shocked look on Dunne’s face the communications officer had understood it as well. He prepared himself to hear it again as he finished, “Starfleet Command dismissed that incident as the result of micro-meteors and sub-standard shielding. All hands on board were lost.”

Whatever other colorfully crude expression had been about to squeeze its way out from between the captain’s clenched teeth was forestalled by Wilmington’s cry from the helm. “Captain, I’m reading a power surge…”

A red beam almost too fine to be seen lanced out from the nearest drone and went through the forward shields with only a small round energy disruption to mark the point of entry. The beam hit the hull…and immediately an alarm sounded. “Hull breach in Section 4, Captain!” Ezrastas reported.

“Section 4 reports no casualties,” added Dunne immediately, listening intently in his earpiece. “The breach is being sealed…” He trailed off, a surprised look on his face, but quickly recovered. “With a piece of gum, sir. The breach is approximately two millimeters in diameter.”

“Micro-meteors.” The way Larabee said it made it sound worse than the Andorian word he’d used before. “How did it get through…”

The ship jerked violently and everyone on the bridge grabbed frantically for handholds just to keep their seats. “That one almost pinholed our port engine nacelle,” Wilmington reported. “I don’t think they’re still playing with us, Captain.”

“Get us out of here!” Larabee ordered. “Tanner, do you know any way to block those beams?”

“They can’t be stopped by any energy shield in existence,” the engineer reported. “The beam carries a plasma-shielded particle of antimatter, Captain.”

“Fascinating,” Ezrastas said. There was a faraway look in his eyes, but it disappeared when he sensed Larabee looking at him. “The plasma is disintegrated by the shield, then contact with the antimatter particle in turn disintegrates a small portion of the shield briefly and allows the beam to get through. Mr. Tanner is correct, Captain, such a weapon would be unblockable by any conventionally known method of shielding.”

“So we’ve either got to outrun them or destroy them.” But leaving the drones there to lie in wait for the next unsuspecting ship wasn’t an option and Larabee knew it; this was the Outward Bound’s territory, it was their responsibility. “All right, time to earn our pay,” he barked. “Wilmington, try to get us another shot – and if you see one take it. Ezrastas, comb those records, there’s got to be something in there that could help us. Dunne, try jamming them, any open frequency you can detect I want it scrambled. And Tanner…you might want to pass out chewing gum to the damage control crews.”

He’d expected a response and got silence instead, but before he could worry too much about it Ezrastas even voice intruded on his thoughts. “Captain, it might be advisable to move all crewmen not in a critical position into the center of the ship, out of reach of the beams should our hull be punctured again.”

“Good thinking, Ezrastas; Dunne, see to it.” He’d figure out what was wrong with Tanner once they were out of this, right now he had a fight to win. “I need options, people! We can’t run, can’t outmaneuver and can’t bluff, so somebody tell me what we can do!”

“Captain, I think there’s something we could try,” Dunne offered, turning away from his station to nervously face Larabee. “I’ve been monitoring the transmission frequencies from the remaining two ships like you ordered, and even though the signals they’re using aren’t something we can permanently jam I think an EM pulse of sufficient intensity might scramble them long enough for us to get another shot.”

Larabee looked sharply from Dunne to his first officer, who nodded without looking up from his own readouts. “It could work, Captain – but if it does not, we would be placing ourselves at a decided disadvantage.”

“Tanner?” the captain asked, not sure if he would get a response this time or not. “Can we do it?”

“We can do it one time,” the engineer answered immediately, much to Larabee’s relief. “But it ain’t like we’ve got much other choice, the ship can’t take this kind of treatment too much longer before somethin’ gives…”

The Outward Bound ducked to the side again as another one of the deadly red beams sliced through the vacuum, but this time the hull-breach alarm was joined by a loud yell and a sudden spate of cursing from over the open speaker. Ensign Chang’s nervous voice abruptly replaced Tanner’s. “Dr. Jackson to Engineering, the commander has been hit…”

“Belay that!” Tanner growled in the background. “My damn arm just got pinholed, hurts like hell but it ain’t even bleedin’ so it can wait. Cap’n, I’m settin’ up your EM pulse now, gonna have to route it through the shield generator so you’d better take out both ships while they’re stunned or else we’ll be a sittin’ duck.”

“How long will they stay stunned?” Wilmington wanted to know.

“Approximately fifteen point three seconds,” Ezrastas informed him. “Although if the needle ships possess any sort of internal EM shielding that window of opportunity could well be cut in half.”

Larabee grimaced. “Guess we’d better make the first shot count, then. So when the pulse discharges we lose shields, right? For how long?”

“One-point-four minutes, Captain – the charge emission will knock the shield generator offline completely, all circuits will have to be cleared before the shields can be reactivated.”

“Oh that’s just great,” Wilmington groused, frantically evading another shot. “So if we don’t take them both out at once they could knock us out of commission with the low-power phasers they were using before.”

“Don’t miss, then,” Larabee snapped at him. “And be prepared to immediately initiate evasive maneuvers again - I’m not worried about taking a few normal hits without the shields, but I don’t need them getting in a lucky shot with that needle beam – antimatter conversion poking holes in the shields is one thing, antimatter conversion on the hull or God forbid near the engines is something else.”

Ezrastas intercepted the question Dunne was about to ask before it could leave the lieutenant’s mouth. “You would not have time to worry about it, Mr. Dunne. Please focus your attention on your station.”

Larabee almost smiled when the communications officer swallowed and immediately returned his attention to his board, but his amusement just as quickly faded. The damned kid was too young to be out here, genius or not. Larabee hadn’t been paying proper attention when he’d seen Dunne’s posting among all the others, he’d just noted a rank of lieutenant, several commendations and an impressive list of linguistic fluencies that included Romulan. It hadn’t been until he’d actually seen his new communications officer that the age factor had registered, and by then it was too late; Travis wouldn’t allow him to refuse a competent officer solely on the basis of age, especially when said officer had a hard to come by skill that was desperately needed where they were going. And their first confrontation with the Romulans had proved the admiral right, but it still hadn’t completely reconciled the Outward Bound’s captain to the idea of having a twenty-three year old lieutenant on his bridge – nor did it help that Wilmington had made it his mission in life to protect the young officer from both his captain and his own naïveté. Not that Dunne was really all that naïve, either…

Another lurch, this time accompanied by an ominous metallic groan, yanked him back out of his thoughts and he silently cursed Jackson, Starfleet Medical and flashing colored lights again because his attention didn’t usually wander in the middle of a battle. “Get us in position, Mr. Wilmington, and be prepared to discharge the EM pulse as soon as we’re in range to get a phaser lock.”

“Aye, Captain.” But the hull breach alarm had to be silenced twice more before the Outward Bound could get into the necessary position. “Discharging EM pulse now!”

There was a crackling bright flash across the forward shields and then they collapsed like a popped soap bubble and the deadly electromagnetic pulse leapt toward the two needle ships…but when the Outward Bound’s phasers followed in their wake they cut through inexplicably empty space. The two ships had vanished completely. “Did we…”

Ezrastas was already talking before Larabee could finish his question. “No signs of antimatter conversion and no debris, Captain, and sensors detect no discernable ion trails except for ours. It appears they went directly to warp.”

Wilmington spun around in his seat. “You can’t go to high warp from a stationary position!”

“We cannot, but we also do not possess plasma-shielded antimatter particle beam weapons,” the Vulcan pointed out. “There is no other logical explanation for their sudden disappearance. Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”

“Sherlock Holmes, Mr. Ezrastas?” Larabee smiled slightly when his first officer merely raised an eyebrow in response. “Fitting – this is his sort of problem, isn’t it? Mr. Dunne, damage reports?”

“All hull breaches sealed, only one casualty,” the communications officer reported. “Engineering reports minor damage to the ship and recommends we proceed to Antares Station at once…slowly. They recommend Warp 5. Commander Tanner is on his way to Sickbay, and Dr. Jackson requests that Lieutenant Commander Ezrastas come down for his physical now as well.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Mr. Wilmington, plot a course for Antares Station, warp factor five. And you have the con. I’ll be in Sickbay.” The captain’s smile widened, both because he finally had an excuse to put Wilmington in charge for a while and at the backhanded way Jackson had used both he and Tanner just now to get Ezrastas into his clutches. “Come on, Mr. Ezrastas, let’s not keep the good doctor waiting.”

Sickbay seemed busy to Larabee after having it all to himself earlier, even though only the three of them and Jackson were actually there. He perched himself on the edge of the biobed he’d been occupying before and watched Tanner fight with the doctor about painkillers while his first officer reluctantly peeled off his blue uniform shirt and laid it aside. At one time Larabee would have had to make an effort not to stare, but now the Vulcan’s uncharacteristically short, stocky frame barely registered with him; the first time he’d seen Ezrastas he’d been convinced that the man was a half breed. Which he wasn’t, although he didn’t get offended if the mistake was made the way most Vulcans would have. Not that any Vulcan would admit to being offended, of course – they’d just look it in that supercilious way most of them seemed to have. Ezrastas could do the look, but as far as Larabee was concerned his heart wasn’t really in it.

Now if he could just get Jackson to see that the Vulcan actually had a heart…

“Is there any particular reason you’re down here?” the doctor demanded irritably, leaving the now grinning engineer and planting himself in front of Larabee. “Because this room isn’t big enough for spectators.”

“I needed to talk with Tanner, and he’s here,” the captain returned placidly. “Why don’t you tell me about that pinhole of his while you get started on my first officer – who you haven’t thanked me for delivering, by the way.”

Jackson snorted, but a twinkle of amusement brightened his brown eyes as he shook his head and moved over to the biobed Ezrastas was sitting on. “Lay down,” he ordered the Vulcan. “The sooner we get this done the sooner I have you and that fool engineer out of my hair. It’s a pinhole,” he threw over his shoulder at Larabee. “Like someone jabbed him with a hot needle, never seen anything quite like it.”

“I have,” Tanner said, hopping down off his own biobed and joining his captain, absently tugging on his shirt as he did. “But of course accordin’ to Starfleet that must’ve been more of those hysterical misidentifications.”

Larabee knew better than to let Tanner get going on that topic – yet. They could discuss the big, ugly picture later, right now what he wanted was information about the needle ships. “How many of these things have you seen?”

“Seen ‘em twice,” was the laconic answer, but the engineer stiffened slightly. “Pretty damned lucky, most people only get to see ‘em once and they don’t get to tell nobody about it after.”

“Guess you could call that lucky.” Larabee wasn’t so sure, though. “When was the last time? And where?”

“Incident number thirty-nine,” supplied Ezrastas. “Sector Five, outer rim, stardate 232.1.”

Jackson muttered something about needing a patient not a computer. “Thank you, Mr. Ezrastas,” Larabee said pointedly over his comment. “Now shut up or he’ll keep you here longer. What can you tell me about that encounter, Vin? I know you must’ve been pretty young…”

“I was fourteen, so I remember a bit,” the engineer replied. “That was the last time O’Riley let the boys patch things with hull plating off a ‘Fleet ship. I helped Decker and Bean strip those sections and cast ‘em adrift. Put us in tight quarters for a while, but the old man said that was a sight better’n havin’ open space all around us so we all sucked it up until we got some more plates.” He chuckled. “I took to sleepin’ with the engines just to be away from his snorin’.”

“Guess that’s a habit that stuck, huh?” Larabee teased him, and was rewarded with a light punch to the arm; there was an easy, almost brotherly camaraderie between he and Tanner, had been since their first meeting in the smoke-filled engine room of the battle-damaged USS Seminole. “So how’d O’Riley get you away from them?”

“He didn’t.” Vin’s easy smile disappeared. “There were two of them and they just…left. Could’ve been because it was taking too long; we were in the dead dock, lots of debris to hide behind and lots of ships goin’ through, and even though they had our comm jammed they might have been worried someone would show up to back us.”

Larabee frowned. “So the puppetmaster is watching,” he mused. He reached over and tabbed the intercom on. “Mr. Dunne, I want you to go over the sensor logs with a fine-tooth comb, look at everything twice. I want to know how those drones were getting their directions.”

The communications officer responded with a quick affirmative, obviously eager for something to occupy himself with. Ezrastas propped himself up on his elbows to look at his captain. “Mr. Dunne will not find anything he did not make note of before, Captain.”

Larabee cocked an eyebrow at him. “What did he find before?”

“A slightly higher than normal concentration of subspace radiation in the immediate area, extending to just beyond the area in which the confrontation occurred,” was the reply. “It is only noteworthy because no other anomalies appeared to the sensors, no trace of any conventional signals at all.”

Jackson frowned. “Why were you checking up on Dunne?”

The Vulcan lay back down with what passed for him as frustrated sigh. “Overseeing Communications is part of my job, Doctor. And I was monitoring the sensor array myself in an attempt to detect the drones’ ion trail.”

“And now we know why there wasn’t one,” Larabee said darkly. “Dammit!” He got up and started to pace, anger overcoming his intention to stay calm. “Why hasn’t Starfleet taken any action on this? These things have been hanging around this part of space all these years, attacking ships with our plating, and it’s down in the records as micrometeors and hysteria!” He whirled on Tanner. “What about the first time you saw these things, what happened then?”

To his shock, the engineer blanched. Ezrastas sat up again, brushing away Jackson’s hands, his green eyes fixed on Tanner and dark with apparent concern. “Mr. Tanner, I have read the record. If you would rather I…”

“No, I…I can.” Tanner took a deep breath and blew it out. “I weren’t old enough to know too much about what was goin’ on, but after Da shoved me out the airlock I could see the beams, they laced the ship with ‘em. A beam would go in, an’ then a little white jet would shoot out. I remember thinkin’ it was kind of pretty, the way the ice crystals glittered. They just kept punchin’ holes until no more white came out and then they were just gone.” He looked thoughtfully, sadly into the past, an adult looking back through the eyes of a child and seeing more than the child had seen. “They never went near her engines, would’ve only taken one pinhole back there and she would’ve blown to bits. They just kept punchin’ holes.”

“Testing the ship’s hull integrity,” Larabee observed slowly. He was shaken; he’d known the bare details of Tanner’s parents’ deaths, but he’d never suspected this. And it certainly explained why the man had stopped responding to him earlier during the fight. “I’m guessing they didn’t come back.”

“Nope, but I spent three days waitin’ for ‘em to,” the engineer answered, still distant. “When O’Riley and the boys found me they asked lots of questions – and once I started talkin’ to ‘em they got some answers, but we were long gone from the dead dock and the ship by then. They’d salvaged what they could, but near everything had a hole in it someplace, even my stuff from my room. O’Riley reported it but Starfleet never got back to him except with the standard automated response thankin’ him for reportin’ a possible anomaly in that sector.” He shook himself, coming back to the present and fixing Larabee with an intense look. “He kept reportin’ things, but a lot of the others stopped about then. Especially after my folks’ ship disappeared from the dead dock. They all knew who must’ve took it.”

Larabee returned the look with one of his own. “You joined up anyway.”

“Yep.” Tanner smiled at him, a small smile but genuine. “Like the old man taught me, you’ve gotta take the good with the bad if you want somethin’ out of life, ‘cause life ain’t all one way or the other. He’s been right so far.” He glanced at Ezrastas, who was being chivvied up off the biobed by Jackson to be herded into the iso chamber; blue eyes met green and held while the hypospray hissed against the Vulcan’s bare arm, and then the engineer returned his attention to his captain. “I’d best be gettin’ back to Engineering…”

“You mean to your quarters,” Jackson corrected immediately. “By way of the mess, and take the captain with you, he needs to eat.” He started to give the lagging first officer a little nudge toward the iso chamber and then stopped, catching his arm instead. “Where’d you get those bruises?” he asked.

“From an…enthusiastic encounter with Commander Tanner,” Ezrastas informed him, reaching one hand behind his back to rub at the marks in question only to have his hand swatted away by the doctor. “They are not severe enough to require your attention, Doctor.”

“That’s my decision, not yours,” Jackson scolded. He examined the bruises more closely and then straightened with a frustrated sigh. “You two need to be more careful with the sparring from now on – and if you get hurt, I expect to see you down here that same day, understand?”

“Understood, Doctor,” the Vulcan answered, echoed by a noncommittal grunt from Tanner as the engineer slipped out of Sickbay. “And now if you are quite finished, I am beginning to feel the effects of the substance you just gave me and I believe I should go take my place in the isolation chamber.”

In answer Jackson gave him a little push in the right direction. “Just go sit down, I’ll start the test up in a minute – and shut the door behind you.” The Vulcan did as he was told and the doctor turned back to Larabee with an expression of compounded resignation and honest admittance on his face. “You don’t have to say you told me so.”

“And you don’t have to say I was right all along,” Larabee replied wryly. “Although it would be nice to hear for once.”

Jackson made a face. “There’s no way I could have known, I realize that. But if he had let me fix it…”

“We’d all be dead right now,” the captain finished in a flat voice, not accusingly. “But you’re right, there’s no way you could have known…so you should have trusted my judgment, and Starfleet’s. In spite of the fact that it looks like they put us in this position in the first place.”

“They had to have had a reason…” the doctor began, but trailed off at the look Larabee gave him. “All right, I can’t think what it could be either, but someone has to have one for a cover-up like this.”

“Especially this long-term – I think we may actually have stumbled across a conspiracy.” Larabee stared off into the same middle distance Tanner had earlier and then shook it off. “But you didn’t hear me say that and neither did anyone else on this ship. Not yet, anyway.”

Jackson nodded and Larabee left Sickbay, hopefully to meet up with Tanner in the mess. The doctor turned back to the business at hand with an almost inaudible sigh, initiating the spectrum test and balancing his attention between the readings on the monitor and the view through the observation window set into the side of the chamber. He’d double check later, but he was certain there were no deviances from the last time – Ezrastas was who he’d always been, Vulcans didn’t change.

But that thought gave him pause, coming as it did on top of finding out he’d been so off-base about Tanner’s problem. Why was Ezrastas uncomfortable in Sickbay, why would a Vulcan be unwilling to put himself under the care of a ship’s doctor who was an expert when it came to Vulcan physiology? Could there be a reason there that Jackson should be trying to ferret out, maybe by asking the man himself? He considered it…and then pushed the thought aside impatiently. He knew Vulcans, he’d worked under them for two years, enduring their veiled contempt for him as well as their not so veiled condescension; Ezrastas didn’t have a reasonable phobia like poor Vin, he just had all the prejudices of his race and he was expressing them by being blatant in his distrust of a human doctor. Jackson snorted to himself and shook his head. No, Vulcans didn’t change.