Vito Turhi floated in a point of consciousness between wakefulness and sleep. As he attained this state, his heart rate had slowed down to a point where it was almost undetectable. His breathing was incredibly shallow. He could've stayed that way indefinitely.
The darkness in the storage container was complete. But it didn't bother him. He wasn't even aware of it.
In his semiconscious state, images floated in front of him. Images of his father, mother, uncles, floated past him. All dead or missing, and even in his dreamlike haze, he didn't care overmuch. He'd never liked most of them, had never gotten on with any of them. For they had tended to think of the Centauri people as far beneath them, not only their social status, but in their rights as sentient creatures. It was a philosophy that Turhi had never shared, and as a result he'd gotten into any number of angry disputes over it. Although to the public they presented a united front, behind closed doors it was a very different story. Turhi had worked behind the scenes to get every consideration for the outlying regions of the Centauri Republic.
And slowly, word had spread throughout the channels that such things always did. If there was a grievance to be filed, if there was a request to be made, it gradually became known that Lord Vito Turhi was the one to make it through. For a time this had a beneficial effect, but soon word of Turhi's growing reputation reached the wrong ears in the palace. As a result, Turhi found every suggestion of his meeting with greater resistance than ever.
In the floating darkness that was his semiconsciousness, Turhi saw himself arguing, warning, threatening. The fall of the Centauri Republic was coming, any fool could see that. Why wouldn't they open their eyes. Why wouldn't they listen? But he could see the answer to that question on their faces. See the arrogance, the overwhelming self-confidence which would cost them dearly in the long run.
And there she was. There was Ovidia. Her arms outstretched, her face pleading, and in his mind's eyes she was mouthing the words Help me. Damn him for being off-planet when the trouble started. He, who'd seen it coming, was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course, some would say that when a republic is collapsing, not being in the thick of it was the best position for someone at risk. But Turhi had precisely the opposite sentiment. If he'd been there, he might've saved those closest to him. Or, worst came to worst, he would have died with them.
Instead he now felt as if he were in limbo, floating....floating....floating......
And suddenly, brutally, Turhi was pulled back to reality.
He was jolted out of his meditative haze, light flooding him from everywhere. Caught completely off-guard, he had no time to mount a defense and was lifted bodily out of his hiding place.
"His "hiding place," in this instance, considered of a shining silver crate which was situated in one of the secondary cargo bays of the Starship Universe. It was relatively small, the ostensible contents being "Foodstuffs." Because of its limited space, Turhhi was practically forced to fold himself in half in order to fit.
Under ordinary circumstances, it should have been many minutes, if not hours, before Turhi could possibly offer any kind of physical protest. He had brought minimal food and water into the container with him, since space had been at a premium and he wasn't exactly able to pack bathroom facilities with him; furthermore, he'd been emotionally judicious in its use since he'd not been entirely sure when he was going to be getting out of his hiding place. He'd spent most of the time carefully regulating his bodily requirements, and as a result all the muscles in his body should've been totally slack. Furthermore, his heartbeat had been slowed to almost nonexistence, and so getting adrenaline pumping so that he could attack should have been flatly impossible.
But circumstances, when it came to Turhi, were ever ordinary.
As Turhi was being hauled of the container, he barely had time to register the nature of his assailant. Whatever it was, it was a race unlike any that Turhi had ever seen before. His skin looked like thick, dark leather, and he was clutching Turhi with a massive three-fingered hand. He didn't know what this creature was capable of, and he didn't want to take the time to find out. Furthermore, despite the fact that he had stashed himself away in a very humble manner, he still possessed enough of his dignity to take umbrage at such treatement.
"U.S.S Universe security chief Jakar Thul am I. Under arrest are......" Thul said began to say. And then Jakar Thul's legs, which by all rights should've been immobile, lashed out. He drove both heels squarely into Thul's face, staggering him by a grand total of an inch and a half. Thul shook it off so quickly and easily that the blow might as well not have landed at all. ".....you," he finished. There were several crewbeings standing nearby, but all of them were general-maintenance crew. None of them were Security. Apparently Thul considered himself all that was needed to handle the present situation.
"Put me down," snarled Turhi, his feet dangling a meter above the ground.
"No position are you in to give orders," Thul replied evenly. He seemed like someone who never lost his temper. It was entirely possible that he never needed to.
Turhi, however, wasn't of similar temperament.....particularly so considering the present situation. His body should have been unable to respond to the orders his brain was conveying, but through sheer force of will, Turhi struck back much faster than Thul would have thought possible.
His long legs scissored upward, and Turhi snagged Thul's head firmly between his knees. Thul staggered slightly, apparently more from confusion than actual pain or even discomfort. And then, in an astounding display of physical control, Turhi twisted at the hip while in midair achieving sufficient leverage to send Jakar Thul tumbling to the floor. At the final second Turhi leaped clear and Jakar hit the ground with a sound and vibration akin to an avalanche.
"I demand to see your captain!" Turhi announced as he scrambled to his feet.
Thul didn't seem to be in the mood for bargaining. "Inside of the brig is all you will see," he shot back as he clambered to his feet.
Turhi opted for discretion being the obviously better part of valor. For all he knew, the process of "due trial" on the Universe might be nothing more involved than this monstrous security guard unilaterally stashing him in a cell until he rotted. He had to find the captain. Certainly a man who had lived his life in a position of command would be able to understand Turhi's predicament and accord him the courtesy to which his station in life entitled him.
It would have been impossible for any observer to guess that Turhi had been nearly paralyzed mere seconds before. He spun on his left heel, his right leg lashing out, and it squarely connected with the lower part of Thul's face. A shuddering impact ran the length of his leg. It didn't manage to hurt Thul any more than had the first blow, but it at least served to knock him off balance and send him down to the floor again. Turhi came to the quick and dismaying realization that, at least with matters the way they currently wore, there was absolutely no way he was going to be able to defeat Thul for any length of time. Thul could afford to hit the floor. He could be knocked down twelve times, maybe more; it didn't matter. Because he would keep getting back up, as strong as ever and probably angrier each time.
Turhi bolted.
Two of the crewbeings who had been watching the altercation tried to get in the way. Turhi leaped high, slammed out with both feet, and knocked them both flat. He landed slightly and was about to get out the door when it slid open moments before he got there. Someone was about to enter.
Turhi didn't slow down, driving a fist forward so quickly that---to any onlooker---it would have been a blur.
And that was to be the last thing that Turhi remembered. That and a shouted word which sounded like, "Later!"
"Captain, one moment of your time, please," Johansen said as she spotted Rush exiting his quarters and heading toward the turbolift.658Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkTKqTOU9vR
"Come along, Commander," he said briskly as he stepped into the lift. She followed him in, fully expecting that he was going to tell the lift to take them to the bridge. Instead he said, "Deck 12."
"Deck 12?" she said in mild shock.
"Luggage problem," he replied. Her blank expression made clear that she had no idea what he was talking about, but before she could pursue it, he continued, "You now have a moment of my time, Commander. What is it?"
"It's about your speech, sir. The 'welcome aboard' launch speech."
He nodded. "Brilliant oration, I thought."
"Yes, absolutely, there's just...."
"Just?" He eyed her skeptically. "Is there a problem?"
"It was the part about the crew's first loyalty being to the ship and the ship's name and to each other."
"You got a problem with that?"
"I don't dispute that those are vital elements. But don't you agree that, first and foremost, loyalty should be to Fleet and the ideals it teaches."
He studied her levelly. "Of course," he said in a neutral manner. "Well put. I agree, of course. Excuse me." The turbolift door slid open and Rush stepped out, leaving Johansen behind. She was about to let the door slide shut when, with a frown, she ordered it to stay open and followed Rush out. He was walking with a brisk pace down the corridor and Johansen was hard-pressed to keep up, but she'd be damned if she asked him to slow down.
"With all due respect, Captain, I believe I recognize that tone of voice."
"Do you?"
"Yes, I do. That's your I-don't-agree-but-I'll-say-anything-to-avoid-an-argument-I'll-probably-lose tone."
He didn't slow his stride, but a little smile did flicker across his lips. "I don't know that I'd agree with the 'probably lose' part, but the sentiment's got merit."
"Captain, we're not going to be able to function if you don't tell me your state of mind at any given moment."
"That's not my style, Commander."
"I'm sorry---what? Your style?!"
Rush had stopped walking directly in front of the entrance to a cargo bay. He seemed to be listening carefully for something.
"Your style?" Johansen said again.
"Commander, later."
"Captain, I believe this indicates a larger issue that should be...."
The door suddenly slid open and a tall, peacock-haired and apparently very angry Centauri intruder was barreling through it."
"I said later!" shouted Rush.
Rush seemed to register on the Centauri's personal radar as nothing more than obstruction, something to be cleared out the way as fast and expeditiously as possible. Johansen, reacting in the proper procedure for such an emergency, slapped her comm unite and managed to get out "Johansen to Secur----!" just as the Centauri charged.
The captain moved so fast that it seems as if he weren't even hurrying. A quick step took him to the side of the Centauri's path, and then Rush's right arm was a blur. His fist slammed into the side of the Centauri's temple, striking a pressure point with such accuracy that the Centauri was unconscious before he even fully realized it. His eyes disfocused and his hands clutched spasmodically at thin air. And then the Centauri pitched forward and hit the floor. It seemed as if Rush were in a position to catch him, but the captain's arms remained securely at his sides as the Centauri thudded to the floor.
The whole thing---the attack, the defense, and the dispatching of the opponent---had all occurred so rapidly that Johansen had barely finished the word "--itty...." before the Centauri was laid out in front of her.
Rush was staring down at the Centauri with cool dispassion, and then Jakar Thul emerged from the cargo hold. "Called me did you, Commander?" he rumbled.
"Quick response, Lieutenant," Rush said without missing a beat. "Well done."
"Very honored I be, sir."
"If I'm not mistaken," Rush continued, staring down at the prostrate form, "we're graced with the presence of Lord Vito Turhi, of the former Centauri Republic," and he gestured in Turhi's general direction.
Thul reached down with one hand and picked the insensate Turhi off the ground. "Brig or life station this one for, sir?"
"If we put him in life station, under the careful ministrations of Dr. Selar, he'll likely wake up with no headache. In the brig, he'll wake up feeling like his head's going to fall off." After one moment's thought he said, "Brig."
Thul seemed to smile almost imperceptibly. "Brig good idea." And he proceeded to cart Turhi off down the corridor.
As he did so, Turhi turned to face Johansen and smiled. "Now---you were saying?"
She looked at Thul's departing form and then back to Rush. "You knew he was down here. You weren't coming here by chance. You knew perfectly well that that man, Vito Turhi, was in the cargo hold."
"Yes."
Rush could see rage beginning to build within Johansen, her body trembling in barely restrained fury. The door was just closing to the cargo bay when Johansen stormed through it. Rush followed her in, more out of curiosity than anything else.
The workers looked up as Johansen entered, but before any of them could say anything, Johansen snarled with barely contained fury, "All of you, out! Now!" Even under ordinary conditions they would not have been inclined to question an order, but considering Johansen's demeanor they were practically tripping over each other to evacuate the area. Johansen turned on her heel, smoldering, as Rush entered the cargo bay, the doors hissing shut behind him. Before he could get a word out, she turned and said with unbridled ire, "How dare you? How dare you!"
"You don't speak to the captain that way without asking for permission to do so!" he bellowed.
"To Hell with that and to Hell with you, Nick! How dare you not inform me that you were aware that we had an intruder on board! I'm your second-in-command! If I learn anything of importance then I inform you immediately, and I expect the same courtesy from you!"
"Well on my ship, it's different. There'll be times, Tamara," he replied in a formal tone, "when information will be on a need-to-know basis. And if, in my judgment, you don't need to know, then I can and will exercise discretion to keep that to myself."
Her flat hands swept the air in an impatient gesture. "Understood, of course, understood. But there's a line, Nick, between keeping things to yourself on the basis of Fleet security, and keeping things to yourself out of some kind of misplaced need to make a name for yourself."
"I have no such need, Tamara, I assure you."
"Oh, bullshit," she snapped. He raised an eye at the profanity, but she steamrolled on. "You are trying to make a name for yourself. You walked out on Fleet, carrying guilt with you for years, and now you're back with more responsibility than you've ever known and you're out to prove that you can do it all. Captain Nicholas Rush, the one-man band of the starship Universe. Well, it doesn't work that way, Captain. Not on any ship that I've ever served on. You think you're Atlas, carrying the whole universe on your shoulders, and if anything on this ship goes wrong, it's your fault. It wasn't true on the Destiny, and it's not true here."
His face clouded. "Leave the Destiny out of this, Tamara. If you've got something to say, say it and get it over with."
She looked down, the initial force of her fury spent, and then, still studying the floor, she told him, "All I'm saying is that part of being a team means that everybody's got responsibility, even if you have the ultimate responsibility, your priority still has to be functioning as part of that team. That's where your priority has to lie. That's where your first allegiance has to be. To the Universe and the people on----her...."
Her voice trailed off. He stared at her, a carefully maintained deadpan firmly in place, as he said, "Funny, I was saying that earlier and you were arguing with me about it. I'm glad you've come around to my way of thinking. If you'd care to join me at the brig...?" And as he hauled out of the cargo bay, the doors slid open to reveal the assorted crewmen who had vacated the bay moments earlier. They were trying to look nonchalant or otherwise occupied; in short, like anything except people who were eavesdropping. They quickly dispersed, leaving Johansen alone.
"I hate that man," she sighed.658Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡreyTqo67Tt
