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writesandramblings · 6 years

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The Captain’s Secret - p.88

“I Grope About the Embers”

A/N: We remain in episode 13, "What's Past Is Prologue."

Full Chapter List Part 1 - Objects in Motion << 87 - Captain Lorca 89 - The Man Who Sold the World >>

"How do I look?" asked Lorca, leaning down to give Lalana a closer look. They stood in the hallway. She inspected his face carefully. Larsson watched them with half his attention, the other half alert for trouble because they were still in territory that could only be described as hostile. This whole universe was hostile.

Lalana half-tapped, half-spun her fingers, as if she was having trouble deciding whether she liked or hated his current appearance. "There is still blood on your face, as you desired. Are you sure I cannot clean it more?"

As it was, she had restricted herself to removing any imminently harmful bacteria that were already threatening infection and reduced any lingering redness around his eyes. To her, the former action was more important. To him, the latter.

Lorca harrumphed smugly and straightened. "Maybe I like it," he said.

Larsson snorted. "It's a good look for you. Evens the playing field for the rest of us."

"Some women like a rougher look," retorted Lorca. "Adds character." He had seen his reflection in Lalana's eyes and found it not entirely unappealing, blood and all. It was easy to feel like an action hero when you looked it.

Larsson rolled his eyes. As if Lorca, of all people, needed more character. Lorca was, in Larsson's estimation, entirely too vain. Larsson was five years younger and turning thoroughly silver—exactly who did Lorca think he was fooling? Himself, Larsson decided, because it surely wasn't anyone over the age of thirty-five. That Larsson could think of at least three women who had recently fallen for it did not help, and he highly suspected the Landry in this universe had been as receptively pliable to her Lorca as the Landry on Discovery because the way the two of them moved in sync as they rolled out on a tactical deployment was entirely too telling.

Lorca was oblivious to Larsson's internal monologue. "You have your orders. Stay out of sight," he told them and headed off down the hall towards Landry and the others. After everything that had happened in the communications station, he felt relieved, more awake, his mind lighter. There was even a spring in his step.

"Well," said Larsson once he and Lalana were alone, "let's go cause some havoc." Lorca had given them a new objective: disable power systems connected to some of the Charon's batteries so Sarek and Voq would have a safe zone upon arrival. Not all the batteries—Lorca might still need them himself—but some.

As they moved through halls mostly emptied of threats thanks to Stamets' biological weapon, Larsson realized Lalana seemed to have a second sense for approaching danger, almost as if she could see around corners. "I can see around corners," she said when he mentioned it. "Not entirely, but enough to know if something is there." Her multitude of pupils gave her a limited ability to differentiate between the reflection of light in the penumbra of a corner, where images of what lay around those corners hid.

"How did any of your people ever get hunted?" asked Larsson. Being on an operation with Lalana was entirely shifting his perceptions of her. None of this had ever come up the many times they had gone swimming or fishing together over the years. He completely understood now why Starfleet Intelligence had recruited her back in 2250.

"Partly luck, partly because if none of us showed up at all, they would burn parts of the forest. A few lului is an acceptable trade to preserve the forest."

Larsson already knew this fact and kicked himself for asking a rhetorical question. Lalana always answered them.

The shipwide comms suddenly activated. It was Lorca. Larsson heard the familiar tone of a speech. Though Larsson had not been aboard the USS Buran at its launch, he had heard about the launch speech from his former crewmates, and they had supplied him with a recording for a laugh.

This speech was very, very different.

"Hello, Philippa. I've watched for years as you let alien races spill over the borders and flourish in our backyard, then have the gall to incite rebellion. The Terrans need a leader who will preserve our way of life, our race. Try as you might, it's clearly not you. Even Michael knew that. It was her great shame. Well, it's indecorous of me to share pillow talk. To the rest, many of you know me, some of you served with me. To all, I make this offer: renounce Georgiou. The Empire is dying in her hands, but you don't have to. Not today. Michael Burnham is not to be touched. She is integral to our future plans. A future where we, together, will make the empire glorious again."

It was more than a speech, it was a directed taunt at Emperor Georgiou.

"What the hell," said Larsson as the audio terminated. "It sounds like he's gone native."

Lalana's tongue clicked. Larsson had no idea how right he was.

They were not the only ones that heard this speech and found a crucial flaw in it. Someone else considered Lorca's words, weighed them against the full breadth of the situation, and initiated a transport.

The light of the transporter was obvious enough even Larsson could see someone had just beamed around the next corner. He and Lalana immediately tucked behind the nearest bulkhead defensively.

Whoever was coming took no steps to disguise their approach. A single set of flat footsteps, no hesitation, an almost casual gait with a faint shuffle to it. The footsteps came closer and closer. Larsson readied his rifle. When the footsteps were almost upon them, he spun out from his hiding place with weapon drawn.

It was Petrellovitz. She stopped when Larsson jumped out but seemed unsurprised by his emergence. She was holding Groves' pineapple in her hands. It was a relief to see a familiar face, even when it was unfamiliar, because at least she was not one of the emperor's people.

"You disappeared," said Larsson accusingly. "Captain was displeased. You went to get that?" He jerked his rifle at the pineapple.

Petrellovitz did not answer his question. Instead, she went, "Lieutenant Larsson. I need you to take me to your ship." She turned her head, looking for telltale signs of visual anomaly along the niche where Larsson had been standing. "Where's that thing?"

"What thing?" said Larsson.

Petrellovitz glared fiercely. She had no time for games. "The thing that's with you. The... alien."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I am quite certain Emellia means me, Einar." Lalana dropped down from the ceiling, startling Petrellovitz. She was wearing a pattern of colors replicating the texture of the ceiling panels. Despite this camouflage, in such a low-ceilinged corridor with almost-adequate lighting, the thing that had made her hard to spot had not been the color and texture of her filaments but her location. Most humanoids rarely looked up unless there was something abundantly obvious above them.

Petrellovitz recovered her composure quickly. "You're coming with us."

Lalana tilted her head to the left, wondering about the state of this universe's version of Mischkelovitz—her matted, stringy hair, her multitude of scars. "Did Gabriel send you?"

It took Petrellovitz a moment too long to answer. "Yes."

The lie was obvious. Lalana pressed her fingers together and said, "We are already on a mission. You are welcome to join us, but we must adhere to Gabriel's plan."

"New mission, take me to your ship," said Petrellovitz with a petulance in her tone and posture that was entirely like Mischkelovitz.

Petrellovitz had no weapon, only the pineapple. "Come, Einar, let us continue," said Lalana, and they turned to do so.

"Wait!" went Petrellovitz. She held out the pineapple. "Can you hold this?"

"My hands are full," said Larsson, indicating his rifle.

"My arms hurt," said Petrellovitz, almost breathlessly. There was something distant in her intonation. "They hurt so much. Everything hurts." Her eyes seemed to be fixed on Larsson without seeing him.

Larsson and Lalana exchanged a glance.

Petrellovitz's gaze shifted to Lalana as she realized, unbelievably, that Larsson took direction from an alien. "I'll go with you. I can handle a weapon. Let me carry the rifle," she said forcefully.

Larsson only shook his head. "No way."

"I will carry the pineapple," offered Lalana, stretching her arms out. This seemed to suit Petrellovitz. She handed the misshapen blob of components over, careful to position it so the parts that stuck out were not under any stress that might bend or break them.

Then Petrellovitz rolled up one of her sleeves and ran her fingers across the wounds on her forearm. The pineapple really had been painful to carry around. Larsson repressed a shudder at the sight. He suspected this universe's O'Malley was the source of those marks. Petrellovitz shuffled half a step back from Lalana, seemingly engrossed in the mess of bloodied, torn flesh.

What happened next happened very quickly. Petrellovitz appeared to be rolling her sleeve further up or trying to scratch an itch above her elbow. Her fingers closed around something hidden in the upper part of her sleeve the size of a pen cap. She pulled it out and simultaneously lunged towards Larsson, stabbing it through the fabric of Larsson's sleeve. Larsson gave a surprised "Gah!" at the sharp and sudden pain as Petrellovitz launched herself backwards, intentionally sprawling onto the floor with the intent of rolling or springing away, but Lalana's tail whipped around and hooked Petrellovitz's ankle, making escape impossible.

A lancet hung from Larsson's arm. He pointed his rifle down at Petrellovitz and lifted his arm to inspect the lancet. There was something resembling an insect wing attached to the back of it—a membranous ampule attachment which had collapsed into a vacuum as it emptied during injection.

"Explain yourself or I will crush your ankle and remove your foot," said Lalana sharply, her tail tightening and her filaments wriggling into Petrellovitz's skin.

Though Petrellovitz had been intending to dash to a safe distance to deliver this information, the fact that Larsson and Lalana were not killing her outright rendered this action unnecessary. She smiled unpleasantly up at them from the floor. "It's a biological agent. If you don't get the antidote, you'll be dead. I'll make the antidote on your ship. The one with the spore displacement drive. You have... two hours. I hope your ship is nearby."

Larsson pulled the lancet/ampule combo out of his arm and held it between two fingers. To him it seemed like an overly large mosquito.

"Let me see," said Lalana, releasing Petrellovitz's leg so she could pluck the offending object from Larssons fingers with some of the filaments of her tail. Her filaments circled around the collapsed ampule and snaked towards the injection point. She trilled in alarm and the lancet fell to the ground, a few epithelial filaments still attached and fading from blue-grey to brown. "What is that!" went Lalana, head turning between the lancet and Petrellovitz.

"What?" said Larsson, alarmed.

"It was so toxic, my cells immediately sealed and detached themselves to protect the main matrix from contamination."

Larsson hastily pulled up his sleeve, never mind that this meant taking his gun off Petrellovitz. There was an ugly patch of browning skin the size of a penny.

"I suggest we get a move on," said Petrellovitz, standing and rolling her sleeve down. "The sooner you get me to your ship, the less permanent damage."

"We should contact Gabriel," said Lalana, but they could not access the communications system. Even Larsson's communicator was not working. Larsson noticed the control indicator on the pineapple was red instead of green. He attempted to reactivate it. Nothing happened.

"You're wasting time," said Petrellovitz. "I've biolocked the pineapple to my signature and commands. So long as you are within range of it, all systems will react only to me. You can leave me and the pineapple and reach Gabriel, but how long will it take you? And I'll disappear and you'll never have your antidote."

Larsson pointed his rifle at the pineapple. "Then no more pineapple," he said.

Petrellovitz stepped between Larsson and Lalana. "No," she said. "That won't undo the lock. It will just remove the key. You'll seal the systems permanently." She slid back half a step, turning to address Lalana and Larsson both. "Listen up. I know you have great scientists in your universe, the same as we do. I'm like Einstein, Hawking, and Curie combined. You think you can outsmart me? You can't. But if you take me to your ship right now, and if we reach it in time, then Lieutenant Larsson can live."

There were a few details to this comparison which were lost on Larsson and Lalana. Curie, for example, was renowned in this universe for tricking people into being her research subjects as she unraveled the mysteries of radiation. Hawking, though physically debilitated, had provided the foundational work for many of the Empire's most devastating weapons, planet-busters particularly. Einstein's scientific crimes were too numerous to list and dwarfed only by the magnitude of his scientific achievements. The three of them were Petrellovitz's personal idols.

"Take Einar to the ship then," said Lalana. "I will complete Gabriel's objective on my own."

"No," said Petrellovitz. "Either you come with me or he dies. I'm not here for Einar." If she could have, she would have injected Lalana with the toxin directly. The only reason she chose Larsson was that she had no idea how the chemical agent would interact with Lalana's biology or even if it would have had any effect. Her attempts to remote scan Lalana had resulted in null data.

Larsson pressed his hand against the mark on his arm. It ached faintly, but he felt otherwise fine. "Never mind this. Let's get those power relays. Captain's counting on us."

"You must go to Discovery and get help," insisted Lalana.

"You're not listening," said Petrellovitz. "They'll never synthesize the antidote in time. You need me, and again, my help is conditional."

Lalana's hands twitched. She was still holding the pineapple. Her fingers stretched towards one another, only the fingertips able to touch across the circumference of the pineapple, tapping lightly but rapidly.

At her distress, Larsson smiled thinly. "It's fine. I'm not as old as you, but I had a good run. I don't care if I die."

Lalana's fur began to writhe. Her pupils were widening and she was beginning to shake. She felt like balling up onto the floor. "Einar! You're my best friend! And there is no other copy of your face for me to find!" The other him was already dead.

Larsson's face twisted with helplessness. "But we came here for you. I can't let you give up on this for me."

Watching them, Petrellovitz felt revulsion. The Larsson she had known would never have had an alien as a best friend. He loved killing and cooking them. The whole premise of the other universe was abhorrent to her. Its denizens were just as abhorrent, human and alien both, with their endless declarations of goodwill and friendship and love as if any of these were real things you could experience with anyone, human or alien.

Lalana twisted towards Petrellovitz, stilling the tapping of her fingertips by pressing them tightly together. "I will go with you, Emellia. But you must tell Gabriel we are unable to complete our objective."

Petrellovitz smiled, this time with sinister delight. "You have a deal. But please, call me Petra. And I'll take that pineapple back now." Maybe it did hurt to carry it in her torn-up arms, but Emellia Petrellovitz was no stranger to pain.

Lorca was leading his forces towards a fight against an approaching group of Imperial soldiers when the comms beeped. Targeted systems were supposed to be disrupted right now to prevent Georgiou from finding them and launching any remote countermeasures, but when Lorca realized who it was, it made perfect sense.

"Petra," he spat. "You ran off. Didn't take you for a coward. Michael'd be disappointed."

"Are you alone, Gabriel?" she intoned lowly in reply.

Lorca glanced at Landry and Stamets. "No time for your games. Now get down here and make yourself useful."

Petrellovitz's voice immediately triggered Stamets' ire. "Captain!" he practically squeaked. "As I have told you time and time again, there is absolutely nothing Lieutenant Commander Petrellovitz can do that I can't—"

"Shut up, Stamets!" said both Lorca and Petrellovitz.

"Eggheads," said Landry disapprovingly.

Petrellovitz followed this up with, "Captain, I met a friend of yours who regrets to inform you that the power relays for the starboard batteries aren't going to be disabled."

Lorca froze and looked at Landry. He signaled for her to lead everyone ahead. As his people moved past him, the tromp-tromp-tromp of their footsteps echoing down the hall, Lorca said, "Petra, if you've done anything to Larsson and—" He couldn't say Lalana's name in front of the soldiers streaming past him. Even if the name meant nothing to them, it was clearly not human. Suddenly the solution struck him. "—Eleanor, there's no rock, no stone will hide you. You understand me?"

The footsteps echoed away down the hall.

"I'm not hiding from you. I heard your speech. It was a good speech, but it did confirm something I've always suspected. You're different. You always have been, but since returning from the other world, I can see it more clearly. I know your secret, Gabriel."

The frowning grimace on Lorca's face was both true and a cover for the gnawing worry in his stomach. This was exactly the reason he had wanted Lalana off the Charon in the first place. "Petra. Where's Lalana?"

"Your pet is safe. I won't harm it. It's proof, after all, that you aren't who you claim to be. I've always known. Ever since that night. You're the one Michael would be disappointed in. So I'm keeping your pet as insurance."

Lorca inhaled deeply. "Lalana is no one's pet," he growled, each word sharply hissing through clenched teeth.

"So then, she's a useful toy? Would you believe she's also expendable? There's a recording of you in a room talking with some rebels. Makes for very interesting viewing."

It was Cornwell all over again. He was naked and exposed and being stabbed by something too close to his heart. He stared in shock at the emptiness around him, his hands tightening on his phaser rifle.

"The thing is, I really like your plan. You helped set the rebels up, didn't you? To destabilize Georgiou. You really are something else. So, I've decided to delete the recording from the Charon and let you finish what you started. Georgiou is a failure who needs to be removed. When you've taken care of her, then we'll talk about your pet. I think it's time the Empire had some intelligent leadership."

Lorca's shock faded into a determined glower. "You think you can make a power play against me? No one's gonna follow you."

"I know that. That's why you can trust me. I need you. I'm not your enemy, Gabriel. I want to stand with you and the other Michael. That will ensure someone still has the Empire's best interests at heart." Petrellovitz did not believe in love, or friendship, or anything based on feelings. The one thing she did believe in was shared goals. "I'm even doing exactly what you asked and taking your pet back to Discovery. Besides, you don't need me here, you have Stamets, like you wanted."

Lorca snorted at that. "I didn't want Stamets. If you hadn't run off..." It was no secret what Lorca did to traitors, and Stamets had betrayed them all. "Come back, stand with me. We'll do this together. It’s what Michael would have wanted."

"I agree, but there's something I need to take care of first. Don't worry, I'll find you when I'm done. Now that we've conquered space, I think we ought to conquer time, don't you?"

The firefight was already in progress when Lorca caught up to Landry and the others. He dropped into the fray as seamlessly as if he had been there from the outset. Since they were using his tactical plan, in a way, he had been.

"Surrender and you don't have to die!" he bellowed over the bursts of phaser fire, the roars of retribution on both sides, and the occasional final screams of life. His forces were making mincemeat of the guards. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. Intentionally so; Lorca's people were fighting on a battlefield he had chosen for this precise reason. Victory was assured as a result.

The Imperial soldiers were dwindling down to a surviving handful. "We surrender!" came the call, and all the soldiers who remained standing threw down their weapons and stood with their hands in the air.

Lorca strode towards them, smirking, Landry at his side. "That's more like it. You must be pretty loyal to your emperor to charge into battle for her this late in the game. Loyalty's important. Good for you. Not so good for me, though, is it? I did say if you surrendered you'd live. Mind you, I didn't say how long, and unfortunately, we just don't have the logistical wherewithal for any prisoners right now."

Lorca raised his rifle. Landry and the others did the same. With a burst of phaser fire, the surrendering forces evaporated into licks of fire in the air save for one: their commander, Joann Owosekun. Lorca pointed his rifle at her. Owosekun's eyes were wide with shock and fear.

"Hope you're still loyal," he said. "I need you to deliver a message."

Landry started laughing, her shoulders shaking with mirth. How much she had missed Lorca's sense of humor. Lorca smirked at her. It was beginning to feel like old times.

The laughter subsided. "That thing Petra mentioned with the power relays, is that a problem? I can send a team."

Lorca shook his head. "No." The loss of that objective was a minor setback if even that. In truth, once they had the throne room, it likely wouldn't make a lick of difference. Mostly the point had been busywork to keep Lalana and Larsson out of the way. In the end, the task seemed to have done just that.

All of Larsson's arm was brown now. The color had spread across his shoulders and onto his neck like the roots and branches of a tree. His head was swimming as he sat at the shuttle controls. "We're coming—we're coming up on—nngh." He rubbed at his face. The shuttle was cold, but he was sweating. He had removed the armor and tunic of his Terran uniform and was in his undershirt.

Lalana wiped the sweat from his brow with her tail. "I'm so sorry, Einar."

"It's all right," he assured her. "I saw Matty, you know. Matty Kerrigan, from... from the Triton."

"I know," she said. He had told her this half a dozen times now in his delirium.

The worst part was, there was nothing Lalana could do about the toxin. Her attempts to negate it had been ineffective. Her cells shut down and detached upon contact. She was therefore protected from the contagion, but not in any way that could help Larsson.

Larsson's hands jerked on the controls, threatening to undo their course. His head shook in an attempt to clear the confusion in his mind to no avail.

"Let me pilot for a bit, Einar," said Lalana, nudging his hands aside with her tail. "We're almost there."

Petrellovitz watched Lalana and Larsson, still disgusted by the display of familiarity. Some aliens she could almost understand the attraction of. Risians, for example, were visually identical to humans, to the point where a few of them sometimes infiltrated the Terrans' ranks or lived as Terrans entirely. Vulcans had strange, pointed eyebrows and ears, but again, otherwise almost human in appearance, though their personalities always gave them away. Not so Lalana. The lului was grossly inhuman and looked like nothing so much as a giant blue kangaroo rat.

Besides, thought Petrellovitz, if Larsson was deteriorating beyond the point of recovery, well, that was Lalana's fault because she was the reason they could not use the transporters to get to the shuttle in the first place.

Another thing disgusted Petrellovitz. She was still holding the pineapple. While there was no denying it was entirely effective, it looked like it had been crafted by a five-year-old child. Not a QORYA child, the regular kind of whelp normal people raised. Lorca thought the person who made this could replace her? That was an insult too far.

She would settle this insult and the question of her expendability once and for all. There could only be one of her.

They were hidden along the back of a long, tall hallway awaiting Georgiou. Tendrils of light snaked up the walls without ever seeming to fully illuminate its vaulted length. This would have been an ideal deployment for Lalana. She could have hidden in the shadows at its peak, dropped down onto Georgiou from above, wrapped her tail around Georgiou's neck, fused herself to Georgiou's shoulders, and neutralized the emperor.

There was a flutter in the golden light at the other end of the hall. Footsteps marching towards them. Lorca had one hand on Owosekun's shoulder. He squeezed her shoulder and said, "Now be a good little birdie and fly on over." He shoved her forward.

A single figure emerged, silhouetted and alone. Georgiou, standing as tantalizing bait, seemingly exposed, which meant she wasn't. Moments later, a cadre of soldiers filtered in behind her and took up offensive positions.

"Don't shoot," said Owosekun, emerging from the shadows and approaching Georgiou with her hands in the air.

Georgiou looked at Owosekun, disappointed. She had thought perhaps Owosekun might take Michael's place in some capacity, but it seemed not. "Where are your troops, commander?"

"We were ambushed."

"How did you survive?"

It was not an easy admission for Owosekun. "Lorca spared me. He said he wanted you to know..."

"Know what?"

"That he was here."

One, clean shot from Landry reduced Owosekun to flickers of fire in the air. The red dots of charged weapons lit the dark end of the hallway, bobbing faintly like dancing fireflies.

Lorca stepped out from behind a column in front of his men. Georgiou had come exactly as he intended. She was on his battlefield now. He grinned. "Hello, Pippa. Did you miss me?"

Lorca's troops fired, their shots hitting the defensive shield Georgiou had erected in the hallway. In response, Georgiou triggered a command from an interface on her wrist and automated turrets popped out from the walls and rained fire back down towards Lorca's troops. Lorca easily ducked back behind the column. The front line of his forces took the brunt of the attack.

Landry was standing behind the column directly across from Lorca. He signaled her. One finger, one second. They both moved out at the same time and struck the pair of turrets, disabling them at once.

It was unfortunate, the bodies of the dead on the floor between them, but they had gone to their deaths willingly to expose the turrets and allow a path to be cleared for the others.

"Light her up," ordered Lorca. The remaining bulk of his forces fired at the shield between them and the emperor. "Mr. Stamets!"

"Containment field at 30%, 25%."

The shield was dropping. Georgiou raised a fist and withdrew back towards cover with her guards.

"Five, four, three, two, it's down!" shouted Stamets.

The firefight erupted from both sides. Lorca crouched down and rolled something down the hallway. A small, silver ball.

"Flash grenade!" shouted Georgiou, but not quickly enough. A brilliant white light filled the corridor. Georgiou and some of her guards managed to shield their eyes, but many were left screaming and blinded in the grenade's wake. Their screams were quickly silenced into wisps of fiery disintegration.

With her guards falling around her, Georgiou stepped out, fired a few shots, and called out, "Emergency transport!"

She was gone. Lorca strode forward into the golden light where Georgiou had been. His quarry had escaped. He turned to Stamets. "You didn't warn me she could do that, Mr. Stamets." Petrellovitz would have figured that out. Damn her for her absence.

"Please tell me we can kill him now," said Landry.

"Well that depends if he can disable an emergency transport system."

"I can," said Stamets, working on the padd in his hands. "I can do that."

"Good," said Lorca. Landry sighed in disappointment.

At least they had advanced their position. "Set up a perimeter around the throne room. Let's tighten the noose."

Part 89

#What's Past Is Prologue #Star Trek Discovery #Discovery #Star Trek #fanfiction #fanfic #Mirror Gabriel Lorca #Mirror Lorca #Mirror Georgiou #Emperor Georgiou #Mirror Stamets #Mirror Landry #Gabriel Lorca

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