In the Brig

Month 11 Day 3

0938 Hours

Jane Burke

 

When Jane and Tall Bear approached the brig, 2 guards stood outside the doorway. The woman wasn’t in uniform, but it was clear she belonged there just as much as the man. It was the woman-- Zhang, if Jane remembered correctly--who stopped them before they entered. “Sir,” she addressed Tall Bear, “I’m not sure you should enter. The sight of a male seems to agitate the prisoner. When Ensign Ellis here accompanied Nurse Temple in, MacDowell jumped to her feet and got in a fighting position.”

 

“Sounds like she’s still spooked,” Jane stated.

 

“Can’t blame her,” Tall Bear returned. “Winthrop was seemingly unstoppable. We had 4 men trying to hold him back, and he was still trying to tear her clothes off.”

 

“That sounds like an assumption, Lieutenant.”

 

“Captain, I observed that every time he got a hand on her, her uniform tore. Every time he missed getting a hold on her, he threw something out of his way; computer, desk, chair, whatever came to hand. Her quarters—at least the living room portion of it—is a complete shambles.”

 

“Have you put it off limits until you can check for evidence?” Jane asked.

 

“Of course,” he responded. “I’m going there as soon as I’m done here.”

 

“But being here won’t do you any good if she’s too upset to talk. Ensign Ellis, which holding cell is MacDowell in?”

 

“Number one.”

 

“If you stay just inside the doorway, you should be able to hear what she says without her seeing you. That is, if you trust me with the initial interview.”

 

“I don’t think we can do much of an interview until we get her calmed down,” Tall Bear returned. “Maybe I should call in Dr Fong.”

 

“Unfortunately, Dr Fong is a man,” Jane reminded him. “Let me go in. MacDowell is on friendly terms with Nurse Temple. Perhaps the nurse has started the calming process.” Tall Bear nodded his agreement, and they stepped through the doorway. Bear stopped there; Jane walked over to join Hernandez and Temple. MacDowell, she noticed, was on the bed in holding cell 1, her legs bent and her head on her knees, a blanket draped around everything below her head.

 

“How is she?” Jane asked Temple.

 

“Lots of bruises and scrapes. There may be a cracked rib. I don’t think there’s any internal bleeding, but I can’t get her to lay down for a proper reading.”

 

“Can you give me any clues about her mental state?”

 

“Well, there’s lots of adrenaline in her system, which is rather unusual, as it doesn’t tend to stick around very long. However, any time she sees a man, she’s immediately ready to fight. If there’s no man present, she’s almost... catatonic. As you can see, she’s nearly in a fetal position. If there is a cracked rib, that may be as close as she can get. She’s slow to respond to a female voice, but she does, eventually. Underneath that blanket, she’s quivering. I’d say she’s in an extended period of the ‘fight or flight syndrome’, and right now, she can’t do either one. Give her a chance, a reason, and she might calm down.”

 

“Does she need Dr Fong?”

 

“I think that would be a mistake at this time. His gender would most likely prolong the adrenaline rush she’s in. A sympathetic listener who could gently guide her towards logic while accepting her emotional state would probably be more helpful at this point. Later, maybe...”

 

“You sound like a voice of experience.”

 

“I did a stint as an ER nurse, and that did include dealing with rape victims.”

 

“Has she been--“

 

“No. But in her head, that’s what she was fighting to prevent.”

 

And if Duck’s right, she probably was. “Thank you, nurse.” She turned to the young guard manning the controls. “What’s she listening to?”

 

“Rain,” Hernandez answered. “I assume they have rain on Gaelund.”

 

“Have that fade away and try bird songs. Birds often lift a mood. And open the mike so she can hear me.”

 

Jane walked over and stood just outside the force field that kept the lieutenant contained. “Lt MacDowell.” The rain sounds coming from inside the cell were fading, as if the rain was ending.

 

At first, there was no response from the redhead to the captain’s voice, but after a long moment, MacDowell’s head turned, and then rose from her knees. “Oh. Captain.” She lowered a leg to the floor, preparatory to standing.

 

“No, don’t get up,” Jane told her. “Nurse Temple says you might have internal injuries, and if so, we don’t want to aggravate anything.”

 

“Temple?” the redhead asked, and flicked a glance behind the captain. “Oh. Beth.”

 

“I understand you’ve been through a lot of turmoil this morning. Beth would really like to conduct a more thorough exam.”

 

“Just Beth?”

 

“I think she’s capable. Don’t you?”

 

“Yes, but... usually it’s a doctor, isn’t it?”

 

“MacGregor is busy right now. I thought Beth could do a basic exam. If she finds anything she can’t handle, we can wake up Dr Davis.”

 

“Peg,” MacDowell said, as if translating the last name into the name she used for the person mentioned. “Yes, that’s okay.”

 

“So you don’t mind if Beth comes in and does a more thorough exam?”

 

“Are there any men around?”

 

“They’ve all been sent away,” Jane lied.

 

The redhead took a deep shuddering breath. “Okay. Send her in.”

 

“Hernandez, let Nurse Temple into the cell,” Jane instructed.

 

The force field visibly crackled and then was gone. Temple stepped inside and started her exam as the force field crackled back into place. With some assistance, MacDowell managed to lay down, although she grimaced a time or two as she did it. Even though there were only women present, Temple was careful to keep the blanket draped over MacDowell.

 

After several slow and steady waves of the medical recorder over MacDowell’s body, Temple breathed a sigh of relief. “No cracked bones, no major internal bleeding. Just a lot of bruises and scrapes.”

 

“Document all of them,” Jane instructed. “The shape, pattern, intensity, all could help us reconstruct what happened.”

 

“I can tell you what happened,” MacDowell stated. “I went home to go to bed. Winthrop was waiting for me. I don’t know how he got in. He wanted sex. I told him no. We fought. Then security came in, tried to make me stop. I thought they were helping him. Somebody said he was down, and they stopped fighting, so I did, too.”

 

“That’s a very... dry recitation,” Jane commented.

 

“It’s what I remember. Not individual blows; I was too busy. All my effort was aimed at Winthrop, I just tried to push the others out of my way.” She paused as a tear flowed down her face. “I’m sorry, captain, if I say any more, I’m liable to get hysterical. Beth, my heart’s racing, is that normal?”

 

“Considering what you’ve been through, yes,” Temple answered. “Just lay there and take deep breaths. You’ve still got a lot of adrenalin in your system. It’s time to let go of that. Deep breaths. Calming thoughts.”

 

“Any chance I could get something to wear?”

 

“I’ll see that something gets brought shortly,” Jane promised. “Would you like a D uniform?” D uniforms were worn by technicians, but lieutenants were allowed to wear them when circumstances called for it. Jane thought long pants and a turtle-neck tunic might be more comforting than shorts and cleavage.

 

MacDowell hesitated. “I don’t have any D uniforms.”

 

“I’ll send for something. You will need to make a statement, a formal declaration of what happened. And it may become necessary to consult with the ship’s attorney.”

 

“I understand that,” MacDowell said with a short nod. “Meaning I’ll have to deal with men.”

 

“The crew is roughly 2/3 male,” Jane reminded her.

 

MacDowell cleared her throat. “And most of them are okay,” she stated, repeated it, as if trying to convince herself.

 

Jane turned her attention to Temple, who had taken a seat on the bed near MacDowell’s head. “Nurse, are you ready to come out?”

 

“I’d prefer to stay here for now, captain,” was the answer. “I know some calming exercises I can guide Mac through. And she’ll probably need help getting dressed; her body is already beginning to stiffen.”

 

“Very well.” Jane turned to leave the brig.

 

“Captain,” MacDowell called, and Jane turned back. “I want to file charges against Lt Cmdr Winthrop for attempted rape.” Her voice was like stone. If she had been determined to protect herself against Winthrop’s advances, she was equally determined now.

 

“Noted,” Jane said. “All the more reason to gather all the evidence and make a thorough statement.”

 

MacDowell’s hand reached up and took hold of Temple’s hand. “I’m right here,” Temple said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Jane walked out, taking Tall Bear with her.

Gifts Among Friends

Month 10 Day 25

1721 Hours

Bugalu

Bugalu and Mac each took a tray of dirty dishes to the receptacle while their friends discussed in what order the presents should be opened. “I was surprised to see you prepared with gifts,” Bugalu told his adopted sister. “Knowing how strict your father was, even at Christmas...”

“Well, I knew from the Academy that what he had expected wasn’t ‘normal’. And my years on tugs showed me I didn’t want to sit on the sidelines. So I asked Tall Bear for some guidance.”

“You asked Bear? And you haven’t even adopted him. Yet.”

She shrugged. “He’s a nice guy. I don’t think he’d steer me wrong. And I find I like his company.”

“Careful, Mac, that’s beginning to sound like he might be dating material,” he teased.

Her face flushed. She moved a step closer and whispered, “He told me a date doesn’t always include sex.”

“True,” he agreed in surprise. “For me, as well.”

“Yes, but you’re already off the table,” she answered and led the way back.

“We decided to open the presents by their size,” Della greeted them. “The biggest gets opened first, and that would be this thing for Capac.” She moved the large lump of wrapping paper to a position in front of the navigator.

“Who is it from?” Capac asked, turning over the label. “It’s from Mac!” He looked up in surprise. “Thank you, Mac. I don’t know what it is yet, but I already like it.”

She gave him a smile that held just a hint of hardness to her chin. “You were not easy to find something for, Capac. I’m afraid it’s fairly generic.”

He tore open the paper, to reveal what looked like a chunk of crudely carved rock. “What... is it?” he mumbled.

“It looks like a prehistoric carving,” Abdulla stated. “Aren’t those usually of gods and goddesses?”

“It’s a replica of one,” Mac agreed. “I had fabrication make it. The original is in a museum in Peru. It’s from a people before the Incas.”

“I thought it was awfully light to be real rock,” Temple stated. “But it looks real.”

“Something from Peru,” Capac muttered, running his hands over the fake carving.

“Well, Mac gave that present, so now it’s time for her largest gift to be opened. And that looks like... this one.” Temple handed her a present to open.

And so it went, back and forth among the friends, with quite a lot of laughter and thank yous. The presents ran the gamut of ‘the usual’ for the most part; perfume or after-shave lotion, books, music chips, and so on. Except for the gifts given by Mac. She gave Beth a medical medallion; not suitable for wearing with her uniform, but perfect for partywear. Della got a hair comb with the engineering logo, and Abdulla got a large piece of intricate lace that she could use as a scarf or a shawl. She gave Bugalu a small plastic pot with a strange looking plastic plant, which he recognized immediately as a Venus Flytrap. “Fabrication had a lot of trouble making that look right, so don’t let it die!” she admonished her adopted brother.

He laughed at her nonsense. “I promise to somehow keep this not-alive plant from dying!”

Mac gave Yellow Dog a bracelet of polished stones, and presented Tall Bear with an arrow head.

“I appreciate the thought, Mac,” Bear told her. “Did you get the pattern for this from some museum back on Earth?”

“No, I got it from Dog’s arrows,” she answered.

“You have a bow with those arrows?” he asked the NAmerInd woman.

YD nodded slowly and said, “Art.”

“She keeps them on the wall over her bed,” Mac added.

“Maybe we should take our artwork and practice together sometime,” he suggested.

“Good,” Dog agreed, and handed Mac a present to open. Inside was a length of reddish-brown cloth.

“Umm, what is it?”

“Headband,” Dog answered.

“Hey!” Bear protested. “Trying to push her into my tribe?” Dog grinned, and Bear settled down. “Well, we could do worse,” he decided. “If you want to try wearing it, Red, I’ll teach you how to tie it. Don’t go tying a bow into it. And if nobody objects, I’d like to give her my present now. It kind of goes with what Dog gave her.”

“Kiss,” YD stated.

“What?” TB responded.

“Well, if you think Mac will let you, she is under the mistletoe,” Abdulla stated calmly.

Mac looked straight up and her face went absolutely white. By the time she lowered her face, she had developed red flags on her cheeks, and a determined look in her eyes. “Give me your hands,” She told Bear. He offered his hands, palms up, and she took a firm grip on them with her own, then looked him straight in the eyes. “Keep it simple,” she instructed softly.

“Brief,” Bugalu added.

Bear obligingly bent forward and touched his lips to hers. She didn’t resist, he didn’t try for anything more than that simple contact, and it seemed to go on for a long time. Then she suddenly pushed him away and stood up as so many emotions chased across her face so fast that Bugs couldn’t be sure what emotion was winning the race.

“I have to go,” Mac breathed hoarsely and headed for the exit.

Apparently, she wasn’t watching where she was going, for she ran into Bosiljevac, knocking him to the floor, and landing atop him. Bosiljevac wiped potatoes and gravy from his face. “Mac? What’s going on?”

Freyer, who had arrived with Bosiljevac, shoved her supper tray onto the nearest table and helped the Gaelunder to her feet. “What’s the matter, Mac?”

Mac was nearly in tears, and looked at the food smeared on the floor as Bosiljevac climbed to his feet. “Oh, space, look at this mess! I don’t have time to clean it up! I have to get out of here!”

“Well, then, go,” Bosiljevac urged. “It was my supper; I’ll clean it up.”

With a look of deep gratitude, Mac started for the doorway again. Wow. She’s never abandoned a mess of her own making before! She is really upset. And that was the most gentlemanly kiss anyone could have given her!

Mac’s Challenge (Part 3)

Month 9 Day 11

Shore Leave Day 12

2058 Hours

Bugalu

Previously:

“We need 9 bottles of your cheapest whiskey. Charge each of us for 1 each.” She hesitated, then whirled. “Smit, would you prefer gin?”

Probably he would, but...

Bugsy was relieved when the chief engineer responded with, “We’ll all drink the same stuff. You said that was a rule.”

“Oh!” She went pink. “Yes, it is. Th… thank you for remembering.” She handed her payment card to the server and let MacGregor hold the bag of ice against her probably-growing bruise while Beth concentrated on using the towels to rig a bandage to hold the ice in place.

“It’s too bad you can’t just give me a shot or something to keep me from bleeding internally, Mac,” she stated softly.

“Surprisingly, having a body that is not full of freely-flowing blood causes all sorts of medical problems,” MacGreg replied drily.

“Yeah, but I’ll be ingesting plenty of anti-freeze, so wouldn’t that help keep it flowing?”

That twinkle in her eye means she isn’t really serious. Will MacGreg realize it?

“Don’t even get me started on how well human bodies don’t work when their blood is replaced by alcohol. Although… Gaelunders seem better able to do that than regular humans, I suppose.”

Good save, MacGreg.

“I’m definitely ready for some anti-freeze,” Mac muttered. “Ice packs are always so cold!”

She’s nervous, to be stating the obvious like that. Most of these men wouldn’t do that to her. Almost, he glanced at Smythe, thought better of it. I guess I know what made it so hard for her to pass probation. “Okay,” Bugalu spoke up, taking over as Mac’s official rep. “Everybody drinking in the contest, ante up for first bottles.”

Eight more payment cards were produced. The server collected them and returned to the bar. MacGreg and Beth finished attaching the ice bag to Mac’s torso and let her sit down. Mac pulled a deck of cards from a pocket and started to shuffle.

“Are we playing poker?” Moor asked with a sneer of interest.

He’s probably thinking of Capac’s strip poker games.

“No,” Mac responded without looking at him. “I find these drinking contests slow and boring. So I play solitaire.”

Across the table, Smythe muttered something Bugsy didn’t catch and turned in his seat. “Barkeep!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Have you got a deck of cards you can sell me?”

“What type would you like, sir?”

“I’m not picky,” he responded. “52 cards with 4 suits.”

“I’m sure I can find one,” the bartender responded.

When the engineer turned back to the table, Mac had stopped shuffling, pulled her gaze off Smythe to look at those behind her. “Capac, don’t-”

When she didn’t finish the thought, Capac eventually asked, “Don’t what?”

“Never mind.” She started setting out her cards in her usual ‘Klondike’ formation.

The server returned with 9 identical bottles on his tray, plus the payment cards and 2 decks of cards. After placing the tray on the table before Bugsy, he quietly asked, “Which gentleman wanted a deck of cards? We found 2 that fill his needs.”

“That would be Smythe,” Bugsy answered, and started dealing the other payment cards to their owners. “Mr Smythe, you have your choice of card decks. Flowers or, um, semi-nude ladies.”

Most of the men at the table laughed; Smythe waited impatiently for them to settle down. “The 2^nd isn’t appropriate for this situation. Give me the flowers.”

Bugsy slid the chosen deck across the table to him, opened a bottle , placed a shot glass before each contestant and poured whiskey into each shot glass. When he got back to Mac, he noted the time. “Okay, everybody drink.”

9 shot glasses went up. 8 returned to the table. Bosiljevac still grasped his as he fought to control a severe coughing fit. “Wow!” he finally squeaked out, though his voice was so distorted, he could hardly be heard. “That stuff’s good!”

Mac snorted and smacked the cards she held down on the table. “It’s rotgut bad! Confess, Bos, you aren’t a light-weight at drinking. You don’t drink!”

The technician suffered through a couple more coughs and finally managed to put down his shot glass. “It’s that obvious, is it?”

“Only to those who know what you’re going through,” she immediately relented. “Look, I started with stuff this bad when I was 5. Or maybe 6, galactic time; I never stopped to figure it out. But I started with sips, not shots! So why don’t you just call Steph and forget about this stupid drinking contest?”

Bos took a deep breath, but his face still turned green. “Yeah, I don’t feel well.”

“Bugsy,” Mac suggested.

But Bugalu was already connected to Stephanie Freyer on his communicator. “Stephanie? Bugalu. Listen, I’m at the Rose’s Crown with Bosiljevac. Somebody challenged him to a drink, and he took it, but I can see he’s not feeling well. Do you happen to know where he’s staying so that I can see he gets there safely?”

“Drinking? Um, he’s in room 443 at the Daylight Inn. Is he going to be okay?”

“I think so, although I doubt he’ll accept another drinking challenge anytime soon. Temple’s here, so I’ll ask her to check him out before we put him in a taxi.”

“Thanks, Bugalu. I appreciate this. And so will he, I’m sure. I’ll be there when his taxi drops him off.”

Bugalu put his communicator away and started around the table again, filling shot glasses. He didn’t bother to fill Bosiljevak’s because he’d already quit the contest. Besides, Beth was looking him over. The tech made a gurgling sound and Bugs helped the Head Nurse jerk him to his feet and turn him around so that what he threw up landed on the floor and not on anyone.

“Clean up!” the barkeep bellowed, and an employee appeared from the back room. After a liberal sprinkling of AbsorbAll, the stench disappeared. The employee toed a cat-sized droid, which began collecting the slightly damp residue.

Bugalu gave Capac the tech’s temporary address and finished his trip around the table. They still had a couple minutes before it would be time for the next drink.

“Shorty, are all your drinking contests this... eventful?” Bear asked.

“Oh, no,” she answered. “Most men don’t join the contest just so they can say they didn’t win!”

The Contest (Part 2)

Month 9 Day 9

(Shore Leave Day 10)

1349 Hours

Bugalu

Previously:

“We are go,” Bugalu stated.

“We are go,” Captain Burke repeated.

The lighting in the game room became a bit more yellow, and the consoles all came to life.

Bugalu’s main screen lit up with a starfield, a band of faint lights – probably asteroids – running from top left to bottom right. His left earphone told him, “SS Firebrand, you have come to these coordinates in response to an SOS of unknown reason from an unknown source at this approximate location. This area is known for pirate bands and unfriendlies of several species.”

His whole team would have heard that. “Mac, can you find any ships?”

“How many do you want?” she answered at once. “There’s one – er, maybe 2 – ahead at about an AU, 3 at 345/350/-83 at 1.2 AU, another at- oh, here, see for yourself.” Several circles appeared on his main screen to indicate the ships she had located; the number of colored lines in each circle indicated the number of ships in each location, with other notations indicating distance, speed and direction. The group of 3 had been identified as a known pirate band, headed for what they hoped would be easy pickings, like all the rest. Most of the rest. The Captain’s team is out there someplace.

Bugalu rammed the ship forward. “Raise shields. Prepare for battle.”

“Aye,” YD responded as the shields went up.

“Ready,” Beth answered.

“Good work on the display of ships, Mac,” he added. “Can you give me more speed?”

“On it,” she answered, and the speed gauge started inching upwards almost immediately. “Don’t overshoot it.”

“I’m the helmsman, remember?”

“More ships,” she said, and his main screen expanded into a holographic half circle with more circles popping up.

The opposite ends of the holograph would actually be directly behind him, so he was seeing 360 degrees in 180 degrees of space. Some of the new circles, he noticed, were so distant, they barely showed up as a tiny dot. For now, he ignored all but the closest circles, as those would soon be within range.

Bugalu magnified the circle they were headed for until he could make out what looked like2 blips, so close to each other, they might even be touching. “Beth, any life signs ahead on that ship? Or pair of ships?”

“I’m not seeing any, but if they’re shielded, there’s still hope. Or it’s an unknown species.”

“Fleet,” YD stated.

The circle on the screen now identified the double-blip as the Samson, a heavy duty fleet cargo ship.

“Power in sick bay is flickering,” Beth reported.

Something clattered against the deck. Bugalu’s expanded screen grew staticy, the shapes it held uncertain. “Mac, someone’s trying to jam us.”

“On it,” she answered, punching buttons and flipping switches. A few seconds later, she began pulling the front panels off her console, tossing them behind her as she traced wires and fiddled with circuits.

“What in space is going on over there?” came through Bugalu’s right earbud.

“Don’t get distracted, Smythe,” Capt Burke stated. “We have our own problems.”

“Those pirates have beaten us to the Samson,” Bugalu stated. “And a group of four is approaching fast from the west. I’m guessing 1 to 2 minutes to reach range. Any life signs yet, Beth?”

“Not from the Samson, although it still has power and probably automatic defenses. The pirates are mostly human. Ish. A couple Schiss. Possibly a Whooz.”

A Whooz? Prisioner or crew member? Hard to know. Even the pirates probably aren’t sure.

“Range.” YD stated.

“What?” Already?

“You’re welcome,” Mac stated absently, still fiddling with the insides of her console. His screen was clear and sharp again.

“Send a warning shot at the pirates. The next group, too,” Bugalu instructed, and beamed his ship’s ID to Samson. It was unlikely the beam would be read by any ship other than the Samson, but it wouldn’t take any of them long to figure out his ship was not friendly to them.

The pirates didn’t waste any ammunition responding, but piled on more speed. The next closest group sent a shot toward the Firebrand, but it lost power before it hit and wandered off track; they weren’t within their range yet.

“The group that fired at us consists of hotheads,” Beth stated.

Hotheads wasn’t the official name, but the nickname fit. The D’orte were a warrior race, seemingly ready to battle over anything. Their scientists only produced equipment that would aid their warriors in battle. Their home world, reportedly, was barely out of the stone age, but they were known and feared in their section of the galaxy.

Bugalu dumped some of his speed and his chair rolled forward, slamming him into his console. “Ow!” he heard from his own team.

“Mac, check the inertia dampers.”

“No kidding.”

“I won’t have time to warn you of my maneuvers.”

“I’m on it,” she returned.

The pirates had started to brake, but would over-shoot the Samson by a good bit. The hot-heads were getting closer. “Dog, you are free to fire at any unfriendly you can hit. I’m going into an irregular orbit around the Samson.” He started braking, and his chair didn’t roll, but his head was still pushed forward.

“More damp on the inertia,” Mac muttered to herself.

Bugalu could see shots from the Samson, as well as some from the Firebrand. They were soon joined by shots from the pirates and the hotheads, and a few smashed into the Firebrand’s shields. Bugalu caught the Samson in a tractor beam as he slipped past it, which produced a huge jolt in his ship as it attempted to drag a misshapened mass that was more than double his own. “More power to the tractor beam!”

Sparks flew from the engineering area as Mac pulled out 3 circuit boards and quickly rearranged them. “Got it.” She turned to do something else.

The Samson stopped lagging behind and seemed to come willingly. Bugalu added speed and put the Firebrand into a corkscrew orbit around the cargo ship, changing the size of the corkscrew at irregular intervals. Now he could take an occasional moment to aim and fire a gun himself, though he wasn’t sure he actually hit anything.