The Meeting of Wills
Posted on November 9th, 2006 by Douglas McKnight and T'Kirr

Douglas McKnight with T’Kirr as Dugahn

He had memorized the layout of the Sovereign class, and Atlantis specifically. The room was deep within the bowels of the ship, and despite the copious soundproofing, he could make out the distant hum of its engines. The room was windowless, of course, and undecorated, except for the plain square table in its center. A strip of blue light bisected the room in half, through the table. He knew it marked the force field that had been erected after he had been placed in the half opposite the door to wait, no doubt, for the Chief Security Officer. Or, perhaps, the Admiral himself.

Dugahn took in a steady breath. He had surely wound everyone up. Plan A had failed, yes, but he knew it wasn’t over. Contingencies were in place. The only thing that had any business occupying his mind now was the fact that he wasn’t the only one on board to know those plans.

T’Kirr had been found before she could die.

He had underestimated the crew of Atlantis when he had been caught. He knew it had been a possibility, but he hadn’t thought it very likely. Now, someone had managed to awaken T’Kirr. Perhaps he hadn’t scrambled her as well as he had intended? No, he had been thorough. From what he knew of the Federation’s medical technology as a whole, it wasn’t advanced enough to undo the damage he had created. Perhaps they had a specialist on board he was unaware of.

_________________________________________

McKnight was not, by his nature, an adventurous man. He’d faced down any number of unpleasant obstacles life had thrown in his way, to be sure, but the marked difference was that a man of adventure set out out to experience new things. On purpose. As far as he was concerned, expanding one’s horizons was for hippies. Hell, even his decision to switch to black coffee back during the war had been motivated not by a desire for change so much as the lack of half and half on the front lines, and the taste of sludge in his mouth was still preferable to getting knifed in the back by some Jem’Hadar bastard because he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Ah, such was war.

At any rate, the role of police interrogator was yet another new thing McKnight would just as soon have skipped, even if he had basically known it could very well become another one of those challenges inherent to running a department. Obviously, however, Dughan didn’t give a rat’s ass what they wanted. Besides, McKnight had at one time watched old detective movies like it was his job. How hard could it be? One way or another, he’d know the answer to that question firsthand before long. Entering the spartan holding room and sliding into his chair with a smile that conveyed no warmth whatsoever, he decided a little small talk never hurt anybody.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. You know how it is with friends who wind up in critical care…or maybe you don’t. You just wanna get those updates when you can. How’s the nose?”

Dugahn flared his nostrils in response and said nothing. Well, if he was going to be all Vulcan about this, McKnight was fine with providing the intensity for both of them. With a chuckle, McKnight leaned forward across the table, the aforementioned force field assuring that he had nothing to fear from closer proximity to even an unfettered Dughan.

“Silent treatment, huh? Seems you’ve been reading the Kir’Shara a little selectively, but I guess that’s your call. I think we both know that’s going to bite you in the ass before long. So, the real question is…do we sit here and have ourselves a little staring contest until someone who HASN’T gotten the desire to make you bleed out of their system shows up to take over, or do we have a chat about your recent after school activities?”

Dugahn, his hands clasped together in front of him on the table, met McKnight’s unflinching glare. Although his eyes showed an intensity to match McKnight’s own, Dugahn’s voice was calm and composed. “What do you want to know?”

“See?” the old soldier began, leaning back into his chair with a grin. “That’s good. It’s ‘logical’. Trying to pull this Spy vs. Spy crap on a Sovereign just for the hell of it, however, is not. And we’ve got some good, over-achieving Academy types down in engineering who assure me that little gadget you stuck down in our torpedo room wasn’t exactly home made. Someone fronted this little field trip of yours. I want names; I don’t care if you want to start with specifics and work your way out, or whatever, but as they say on my planet, it’s time to lay all your cards on the table.”

“I can’t give you any names.” Dugahn stared at him for a pause, then continued, “You must understand, there are rules I must follow. Do with me what you will, but the chain of responsibility ends with me.” The Vulcan pulled his hands off the table and into his lap. “Is there anything else you wish to know?”

And once again, there was that wide and cheerless smile. He was actually unintentionally good at that, or so people had told him over the years. The whole thing where one turned a normally friendly expression on its air, using it as another way to project menace…he really wasn’t sure he liked the implications of such a talent coming naturally, but hell, a predatory grin had its uses, and it was at full power now.

“Yeah, I’m sure in your rarefied circles, getting chatty is a huge faux pas. Problem is, you seem to have a distorted idea of where you are right now. Did you by any chance see a rotating, candy cane colored pole by the door as you came in? No? Maybe that’s because this isn’t the corner barber shop, and I’m not some wide-eyed buddy of yours, listening with undivided attention while you tell me all about how your little girl’s first tooth just came in. You’re in a big ole flying jail cell, looking at multiple counts of assault on Star Fleet personnel, theft of Star Fleet property…and hey, you know how the judges love to hear about attempted murder. You come from a planet of thinkers, Dugahn old buddy. Start thinking about how monumentally screwed you are!”

Dugahn actually swallowed. “I’m well aware of my situation.” His voice had lowered in pitch, more grave. “And, I am prepared to meet whatever punishment the Federation wishes to place upon me.”

“Oh, I’ll bet! I have little doubt that you are, as of this very moment, stolidly bracing yourself for an indefinite stay in a maximum security hotel, complete with full climate control, sonic showers, and three squares a day. You keep that stiff upper lip, sport! But wait, we’re not the ones you need to be afraid of, now are we? I may not know all you do about the folks you’re working for yet, but I know what any fool knows about the kind of guys willing and able to orchestrate something like this. They don’t reward failure. And let’s face it. In just about every way a job like this can be blown, you blew it.”

The Vulcan’s eyes narrowed, his tone condescending, as if McKnight was seriously misguided. “It would not be logical to maximize my ‘failure’ by betraying confidences. By your words, such an action would bring greater risk to myself, even if such a thing would be worthy of my concern.”

Again, the chuckle. “Oh, your failure is already complete. Interesting historical side note for you. I’ve gone through the mind meld thing more than once myself. Yeah, turns out that when you’re a go to guy for missions that Star Fleet Security prefers to be discreet about, like being a Ranger tends to make you, they train you to resist mental probing. Had this fella by the name of…Dryac, right. They brought in a Vulcan named Dryac to tap dance around my grey matter a few times. Eventually, with his help, I learned how to block the connection if I so chose, but until then…hoo boy, was that trippy. Then again, what would you expect? This WAS the sixties.”

Only now did McKnight lean forward until his face rested mere inches from the force field, the corners of his mouth slowly reaching upward until he quite adequately looked the part of the cat that had just eaten the canary.

“Funny thing though…if memory serves, mind melds work both ways.”

Dugahn’s expression, while having lost all arrogance, managed to mask anything else. “Of course.” He let his flat answer hang in the air while McKnight held his eyes, neither willing to back down. Finally, he continued, “I did what was necessary towards obtaining my objective. I will not offer any information, yet I have no intentions of lying to you.”

McKnight only leaned back minutely, but the expression on his face finally grew serious.

“Then I’ll reciprocate that last courtesy. T’Kirr is going to make a full recovery, and when she does, we, by which I mean this department, this ship, and this fleet will be listening eagerly to everything she has to tell us. We WILL be getting information you’re so insistent on keeping to yourself. Sooner or later, your handlers are going to figure out that you’re hemorrhaging information. They won’t know if it’s intentional, and they won’t care. Their priority will be plugging that leak. Accept all this now, because like it or not, that’s the reality your choices have led you to. But see, past this point, the path forks. Let’s say that T’Kirr didn’t get everything. There’s a lot of information rolling around in that head of yours, and maybe, just MAYBE, you still have a few secrets that are yours to keep, or to bargain with.

“Go with choice B, and I can assure you of a few things. By cooperating, you will have fostered a measure of good will with the Judge Advocate General. Not much, mind you. Everyone will still hate your guts, but at least you’ll have sent a message that here is someone they can work with. Here is an important source of information on factions hostile to the Federation, and that is a resource worth safeguarding by whatever means necessary. Keep silent…and really, what’s the point? They’ll throw you in a cell because you’re a scumbag and you deserve it, but make no mistake. You and your pointy-eared ilk do NOT have the monopoly on objective, unemotional analysis. We call it bureaucracy, and that machine will see nothing in your silence to warrant devoting the time and resources necessary to providing you with the kind of protection you’ll need. Let me rephrase that, just to make sure nothing is lost in translation. You’ve become a liability to the people you work for, and if they get the chance, they WILL kill you. You help us out, or we let them. We can be your bestest best friend in this big, cold universe, or we can be amused bystanders. How do you want it, Dughan? What does LOGIC say about it?”

The fact that Dugahn’s mind was racing was obvious. For a long moment, he merely sat staring at the table. When he looked up, it was at the blank expanse of the wall, but in his eyes, McKnight could see determination, clear as day. Dugahn pulled in a deep breath, then finally turned those hard eyes on the security officer. When he spoke, however, it was surprisingly soft, almost resigned. “While ‘logic’ is simply the most dependable application of reason, it is still not and can never be entirely objective due to the influences of one’s past. From my perspective, despite what you say, I am unable to play the part of your willing informant, eager for a chance at lenience. My life may be forfeit, and if it is, so be it. Whatever T’Kirr tells you is out of my control.” Dugahn slowly sat forward, his eyes locked on McKnight’s. “If you wish to know the full extent of my actions, I will provide it to you. If for some reason you require a statement of my obvious intentions, you may have it. Do not, however, expect me to willingly relinquish information that, from my perspective, is not in my best interest to share.”

With a frown that spoke of a sort of disgusted resignation, McKnight leaned fully back in his chair, and swept his hand outward in what was meant as an encompassing gesture. Not the resolution he had been hoping for, but then he had always known that there were few forces in the universe that could stand against conviction, now matter how badly misplaced it was. At least, with luck, this would be sufficient to prove their good faith to Morris, and given the misgivings he had started this mission out with, that was certainly something. He’d just have to trust, as he always did, that his crewmates could pick up the slack.

“Might as well have something for posterity then. Computer begin recording.”