Chakotay sighed, casting a glance around at the worried faces in the crews mess that stared back at him. “Are you sure you weren’t just working too hard?”
That earned him a glare. A week ago the ship had been refit on Bajor, making much-needed repairs and an overhaul that was two months too long in the waiting. And since that time, something had not been…right…about the Liberty, good ship that she was, for a half-procured cobbled together collection of parts with a rebuilt engine.
His crew remarked about hearing noises in the crawlspaces, the intricate network of tubes that ran throughout the ship, maintenance conduits really. Chakotay could barely squeeze into one. Scuffling, scrabbling, sometimes even low voices were known to happen, in the dark of dim illumination for nighttime members remarked on seeing a strange shadow bolt in and out of dim lights. Conduits that were left broken while the repair crew went to find tools were fully functional when they came back, even if they left for no more than 5 minutes. Hatches that were sworn to be closed were found open. The most recent development was that one or two ration bars had been taken from the shuttlecraft.
And now tools were floating around the engineering section.
Some thought the ship was haunted. Chakotay had always suspected as much from the very first time he sat at the controls, but his superstitions weren’t going to change the fact that for an old ship, it was a good ship, and had gotten them out of more scrapes than one. The suspicions of noises and voices weren’t unheard of, he’d heard them himself, even faint footsteps coming from the tubes, but he’d put it down to someone doing repairs. It wasn’t until his console repaired itself seemingly in front of his eyes (although not literally, he’d left the bridge for a bathroom break himself) that Chakotay considered there might just be some truth to the rumors.
“Do you think there’s an intruder on board?” B’Elanna leaned forward.
“If there is, it’s a mighty small one, to get past the sensors.” One of the others told her.
“They’ve been acting fluky the last few days…since the refit. We put it down to power overloads, but…” B’Elanna’s dark eyes and Chakotay’s darker ones met.
He stood. “That’s it. I’m putting an end to this here and now. Organize search parties, lock down your spaces, and batten down the hatches. We’re searching this ship from stem to stern and not stopping until whatever the cause of this is found. Issue phasers and compression-phase rifles. I’m not meeting whoever it is up there without any weapons. But don’t fire unless you have to; I don’t want unnecessary casualties.”
Everyone swung into action. Stations were secured and locked out with encryption codes. Weapons, such as they had, were dispersed, checked, rechecked and armed. The ship was in standard orbit in the region known as the Badlands, safe for the moment unless either Federation or Cardassians got daring and decided to come after them. Things had been quiet lately, no reason to suspect it to change. Chakotay locked the bridge out with a security clearance almost too high for even himself and set the external sensors to notify him if anything bigger than a centimeter got within 500 km’s. It was possible this was an elaborate ruse, and he didn’t intend to get caught with his pants down.
Chakotay, B’Elanna and Seska, along with roughly 20 other people, spent two hours crawling around on their hands and knees through the conduits. Several others during the same length of time searched every space of the ship proper, sealing the doors after them. If they couldn’t find whatever or whoever was responsible – and Chakotay was starting to think it really was a who – then as a last resort he could take the ship back to Bajor and do another refit. It wasn’t something he wanted to do, but he would if he had to.
A startled yelp from further towards midship startled him, and all three hustled to the spot where three others were crouched in bewilderment, with another 10 meters in front of them.
“I saw it!” one panted. “It’s not that big…it was definitely something…”
“I chased it down there,” another pointed to a ladder that ran almost the length of the ship. “It fell. I heard something cry out, but when I got to the top it was gone. Whatever it is, it’s sure strong – it fell almost 4 decks.”
Remarkable, considering that there were only 5 on the entire ship. “All right.” Chakotay breathed. “Call it off, for now.”
“But…” Seska protested.
Chakotay was in no mood. “We’re tired, we’re sore, and we aren’t going to be any good if we’re not thinking clearly. Besides, it’s hurt. I’m not approaching a wounded animal or whatever it could be without a clear head.”
Reluctantly, everyone agreed. They dispersed to their now-unsealed quarters, Chakotay to his and the crew to theirs, scattered throughout the ship – B’Elanna and Seska shared a space, much to the others’ consternation, B’Elanna because she needed privacy and Seska because she wanted to share Chakotay’s. He brushed her off and headed for bed, after reinstating the crew rotation and unlocking the bridge.
It wasn’t until he was in bed that he heard it.
Breathing.
Slow, shallow breathing, coming in whiffs from underneath his bed. Whatever was on his ship, was under his bed.
How had it fit under there?
Chakotay shifted slightly, allowing whatever it was to think he was falling asleep. His crew had been right – whatever it was was small enough that he couldn’t feel it when he rolled over. A muffled grunt from him, and he punctuated light, even breathing with fortified snores, a trick that he’d learned somewhere along the line.
It was moving.
Slowly, gently, easing out from under the bed…at the foot. A dangerous move, but calculated nonetheless. As his eyes focused in the dim light Chakotay could make out the front half of it emerging.
In a surprise move, one flowing motion, he sat up and flung himself on the creature, prepared to wrestle it within an inch of its life if he had to. His fingers contracted around small bones as he deftly flipped it onto its back and pinned both arms above its head.
Arms?
Head?
Bright blue eyes pierced the darkness, through the dim light, backlit somehow in their own way, staring at him with surprise, tinged with a bit of fear. Chaktoay realized he was pinning a child to the ground.
Don’t hurt me.
Chakotay yelped. The voice was clearly in his head and yet no lips had moved. Instantly he scrambled off of it – her, he realized – and crouched dumbfounded on the deck, breathing heavily.
“Computer, full illumination.”
She winced as the lights came up, and scootched away from him, backing up until her back rested against the wall. Chakotay’s mouth dropped.
She was a scrap of a thing. She looked no more than 9 or 10, if that, small bones and small body, dressed in a dark gray tunic-shirt and black pants, thick boots on her feet and a small pack on her back. Her hearbeat had been going wildly. Long brown hair that straggled down her back almost to her waist; pale, translucent face almost transparent under layers of dirt, veins standing out in her face and neck.
And her eyes – deep-set azure-cobalt-blue, staring at him steadily, flecked with what could only be silver, though Chakotay didn’t know how or ever think that possible. They were surrounded by shadows, filled with emotions he couldn’t recognize.
Haunted eyes.
Of all the things that he could have found, nothing would have prepared him for this. The question was, what was he to do with her now?
“What’s your name?” he asked her quietly.
“Sara,” she said to him. Her voice sounded hoarse, tired. One hand rubbed at her eyes with small knuckles like that of a sleepy child. Her fingertips were dirty.
“You’re the reason behind the noises,” he mused. She looked at him numbly. He shook his head. That could wait. For the first time he noticed how she cradled one arm against her body protectively, and kept her weight carefully on the foot of the same side.
“You’re hurt,” Chakotay said. Sara didn’t move as he edged his way forward, pulling her arm out from concealment and noting the bruised, swollen mis-shape of her wrist. Deftly he reached down and removed her boot, gingerly testing the bones of the ankle over her sock, finding the same there. She flinched but didn’t cry out.
That being done, he stood and looked her over again, before bending down to remove the other boot, leaving her shoeless, something she minded but didn’t say to him. She glanced up at him, then back down. It was obvious that she was dirty, grimy almost, she smelled of fumes and oily residue, her nails dirty where they weren’t chewed to the quick.
“Can you stand up?” Chakotay asked, reaching her elbows and pulling her to her feet. She was small – barely above his waist. He noticed only the toes of one foot touched the ground. “Leave this here,” he ordered, pulling the pack from her, unfastening the straps in a single move, and tossing it to the floor.
He gathered her in his arms as loosely as if she was a rag doll. He almost threw her to the ceiling; he hadn’t realized just how light she was. With quick, long strides took her to the compartment that was reserved for medical attention. It wasn’t much, simply a small room where they kept the kits stored, with a bathroom off of it, but it was enough for what he needed. A medical tricorder confirmed what he had thought all along – malnourished, one step away from dehydration, with a broken wrist and ankle, plus two cracked ribs.
He loaded a strong hypospray and pressed it to her small neck, his large, massive hands feeling the tenderness of the thin skin, merely a covering stretched over bones, or so he thought. That being done he gave her a glass of water, watching as she drank it all in one go practically, her adam’s apple bobbing as she swallowed, and retrieved a stimulator to heal her broken bones.
Chakotay gave her a pillow to rest her head on, adjusting it gently but brusquely, his massive hands on her slim shoulders, pushing her back until she reclined flat on the hard surface, before switching on his tool.
Minutes passed between them with only the affiable hum of the stimulator sounding, Chakotay pulling up her shirt carefully last to regenerate the cracks in her ribs. He wasn’t a doctor, he wasn’t even a field medic, but when push came to shove…and there was something about her, this girl, and it wasn’t just that she spoke without moving her lips.
She hadn’t said a word since telling him her name. Now, though, she spoke again. “Who are you?” she asked.
“Chakotay,” his dark eyes shifted toward her, the azure irises meeting his calmly. At that moment he realized what was wrong – she wasn’t scared. Normally anyone else, given their size and age difference, would be scared to death. But she wasn’t. It was as though she didn’t care what he did to her.
That disturbed him, if only slightly. They had more pressing matters to attend to – such as the fact her ribs were visible, right down to her sternum. He could even see her heart beat, small and fast, pulsing and throbbing.
It shocked him more than the fact she wasn’t scared of him.
Sara sat up and gingerly moved her wrist around, rotated it, and did the same with her ankle. “Thank you,” she said simply, though there was genuine honesty behind the words, her haunted blue eyes meeting Chakotay’s.
“You’re welcome,” he responded, putting the stimulator down on the table and resting both hands on the edge, looking at her intently. Sara stared back, unflinching.
“How did you get on board?” he finally asked her.
“The shuttle.” Sara told him, as if that explained everything. One dirty hand came up and scratched her nose, leaving more dirt there than there was to begin with.
Chakotay nodded, confirming to himself. They’d shuttled back from Bajor after the refit, when the ship was in orbit. He’d had to make some last-minute confirmations, and it was the swiftest way to do it – the transporters had been offline at the time.
“Are they working now?” Sara asked.
Chakotay was startled. “What?”
“The transporters.”
“Oh – yes. They are.” She was a telepath, he thought. Good grief – a human telepath.
A small smile flickered over her lips, like candlelight, an errant flame that had to be smothered quickly before vanishing. It never quite reached her eyes.
“You know what I’m thinking.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes.” Sara answered bluntly, with the forthright honesty that he admired and hated all at the same time.
“Are you a telepath?”
Sara nodded.
That answered one of the million questions that spun through his mind at that time, looking staunchly into her blue eyes that were rather beautiful if he allowed himself to think about it that way. Unfortunately, the rest of her was a walking skeleton. He knew he was no doctor, but anyone could see the signs of malnutrition and deprivation.
First things first. “Are you hungry?” he asked her flatly.
“I have food.”
“You do?” he was surprised. Where was she hiding it, and why wasn’t she eating it? “What kind of food?”
“Chocolate bars.”
Chakotay looked dismayed. Children should not need to survive on chocolate bars, he thought.
“We can do better than that. Come with me.” He instructed, then was uncertain about how to get her to the crew’s mess, or back to his quarters. She could walk now, her ankle was healed and her socks were dirty and stuck to her feet, but that didn’t change the fact that he didn’t want her running around without shoes.
The troubles must have shown on his mind, while he gazed at her sock-feet.
I don’t run. And I won’t step on anything.
Damn, he hated it when people did that. Telepaths unnerved him, always had, always would. The irritation shone in his eyes only for an instant, but went away quickly enough.
“All right. Be careful.”
Sara walked behind him carefully to his quarters, where she slid and laced her boots with unheard-of speed for a child so small; she managed the laces and the knots without any trouble whatsoever. Again she fastened her backpack to her body before following the large man that towered above her to the crews’ mess.
Chakotay fed her silently, a replicated meal that he hoped she would eat, simple meat and potatoes, the staples for most people other than him, as he was a vegetarian and preferred to keep the habit whenever possible. Sara didn’t gobble her food. She sat with careful poise on the chair pulled from the table. She took care to spread the napkin he gave her on her lap before cutting her meat neatly, taking small forkfuls of the potatoes, clearing her plate right down to the crumbs. More dabs of the napkin at her mouth, and then, unbidden, took her plate and utensils to the recycler.
“Better?” he asked her quietly.
“Thank you,” she said again, not answering yes or no, the quiet appreciation showing itself a bit more. “You didn’t have to feed me.”
“You’re malnourished, Sara.” Chakotay was serious. “If you do have food in that pack of yours, you’d better start eating more of it.”
Before Sara could stop it, a yawn escaped her lips, which she covered with her hand but Chakotay noticed. He peered somewhat closer. The hollows under her eyes were deep; how long had it been since she slept?
“I suppose you should get some rest,” he said uneasily, wondering where she could sleep. Crew quarters wouldn’t work, they were already overloaded, and adding another person to B’Elanna and Seska’s space wouldn’t help matters there either. He wasn’t about to put her in his room. Then again there was that extra cot in the storage room…it would work. For now. After all, it was only for one night. They could figure out what to do with her in the morning.
Sara said nothing. Chakotay retreived a sheet, pillow and blanket, and cleared off the bunk for her.
“It’s not much, but it’s the best we have.” Was his only terse comment.
Sara stared at it, then went to work, saying nothing – no objections, no whining, just instant obedience of what he said. Chakotay wondered just how much she did speak, or if her vocal cords were tied to some reserve of energy she kept stored. It didn’t take her long to spread the sheet, tuck it in neatly, spread the blanket, and go through the motions of what was necessary.
You’re a quiet one, he thought. What are you hiding behind those eyes?
Sara fluffed the pillow and sat down on the edge. The cot protested, but held steady…it was one step away from breaking. If she had read his mind, she showed no emotion behind it.
“Get some sleep.” Chakotay told her, a solemn look on his face. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Sara nodded.
“Good night.”
“Good night Chakotay,” she responded, not moving. It was the most he’d heard her say since finding her.
Out in the corridor, he considered locking the door. Then he thought better of it, where was she going to go? A small chuckle escaped him – she’d need a stool to see the transporter controls, much less work them. Besides, if he locked her in he didn’t want to know what she’d use for a bathroom, there wasn’t one inside. Better to just leave her and forget about it until morning. Sleep would help.
But after two hours, tossing and turning, Chakotay couldn’t sleep. He had tried every available position and nothing was working. Herbal tea did no good. Meditation, normally soothing, wasn’t working either. He felt confused, edgy, and tense. His mind kept wandering back to none other than Sara. It wasn’t every day he discovered an intruder aboard his ship that turned out to be nothing more than a child, and a telepathic human child at that.
Chakotay rose from his bed, wearing the light fabric short-sleeve shirt and loose pants that he slept in, put on his boots, and strode down the corridors to the storage room. Palming open the door, he stepped inside.
She was still wearing the same clothes she had when he’d left her. Then again, everyone slept in clothes - if there was an emergency no one wanted to be caught nude or in their skivvies running for their station. Sara was curled in the tightest ball he’d ever seen a human body be able to contort itself into, laying in the middle of the bed with her feet off the side, still on top of the blanket.
At first, she didn’t appear to be breathing, and only by stepping close could Chakotay tell that the child was exhausted; her sleep was deep and should have been dreamless, but her pale face was troubled, emotions shifting across it. Her eyes moved under her lids…she was dreaming, in deep REM sleep, Chakotay realized. Veins pulsed in her forehead, slower with slumber, but still visible. She reminded him of a newborn babe he had once seen, only 2 hours after birth the child slumbered quietly but every vein, artery and form of circulation in its body was visible.
At least that baby had been wrapped warmly in a blanket.
Something stirred in Chakotay’s heart, a kind of longing that tugged at it. His eyes softened as he stared at this…girl, this Sara, that had invaded his ship. She was halfway pretty, he finally allowed himself to admit. How had she gotten here? He knew she’d been able to get on the ship through the shuttle, but what was she doing on Bajor to begin with?
Was her family there? He didn’t think so, not from how she looked and the amount of dirt she wore on both flesh and clothes. Furthermore, how had she come to be a telepath? Were her traits genetically engineered or just an…occurance?
Those were answers that could wait, at least until she’d had a bath, and another hot meal. He couldn’t wait very long, there was no telling when the Cardassians or the Federation would decide to come after them, but another day wouldn’t hurt. The rest of the crew could use the break as well.
Chakotay chewed on his lip a moment, staring gently at her small body and nonexistent chest rising and falling before moving to rearrange her position, at least uncurl her a bit.
No sooner had he touched her arms than she was awake, flinching away from his touch and sitting up, rubbing her eyes. “Is it time to get up?” she asked him, half-coherent for someone just knocked unwillingly from the realm of sleep.
“Hardly,” he answered. How did he explain this one?
“Can I lay down again?” Sara yawned.
“Yes. Only this time, don’t curl into a ball. You’ll fall off.” The cot was narrow, and not exactly soft…Chakotay barely fit on one, he couldn’t stretch out as he liked, but it was a bed, and he wasn’t going to complain. Sara didn’t either. She flopped with her head on the pillow, eyes already closing. Chakotay bent and pulled the blanket over her.
He was halfway out the door before he heard it.
Thank you.
Turning sharply, he gazed at her again. Sara appeared already to be asleep, curled on her side slightly but not as tightly as before. Scratching his head, he shook it ruefully, and went back to bed himself, where this time sleep claimed him easily.
