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This was not how Rutherford had seen this landing party going.
He didn't really like landing parties, but he was trying to be more adventurous and Chief Billups had specifically requested him for this one. There was no way he was turning down the best engineer in Starfleet. There was also no way he was going to pass up the chance to spend more time with the chief engineer. After all they'd been through he still didn't have the courage to try to spend time with Billups during their off-hours, but there was always an excuse to see him at work.
But now they were trapped in a derelict freighter from a long-gone civilization and the rest of the landing party was somewhere outside and an alloy in the hull of the ship was blocking comms. And he couldn't shake the feeling that it was his fault. He should have just stayed on the Ritos.
Chief Billups was walking the perimeter of the room for the fourth time, inspecting every centimeter of the walls. Rutherford poked at the seams of the hatch that had slammed shut when one of them had tripped a fail safe. They still hadn't figured out what the fail safe was, or how they had tripped it. One milisecond the hatch had been open, and the next it hadn't. When it closed all of their technology had powered down. Their tricorders were dead, their communicators only made the no-signal chirp when they were tapped, and each tool in Billups's toolkit sputtered out when they tried to turn it on.
There was a rubbery tube sticking out of the wall to the hatch's left and Rutherford turned his attention to it. It looked like there was something stuck on the inside. “Sir?”
“Yes, ensign?” Billups walked over to where Rutherford was crouched in front of the tubing.
“I think this might be a locking mechanism for the hatch.”
“Why?” If Billups sounded exasperated Rutherford told himself that it was only at the situation, not at Rutherford himself.
“It's worn here,” Rutherford pointed at a section of the tube that appeared creased, near where it entered the wall, “like maybe it's been bent up and down a lot of times? And it looks like there's biomatter inside. Maybe it was some sort of identity scan?”
“That's a lot of suppositions, ensign. But it isn't like we have much else to go on.”
Billups reached over and grabbed the tube, bending it up. It squeaked. “Huh, it's warm.”
Rutherford poked the tip of his index finger inside the tube and a voice crackled in the room. “Incorrect sample.” It was coming from a speaker in the ceiling.
Billups flinched and Rutherford jumped to his feet.
“What?” Billups furrowed his brow.
“Who's there?” Rutherford yelped.
“Sample of mutual pleasure required,” the tinny voice said again.
“I'm sorry, what?” Billups was truly scowling now.
“Let us out!” Rutherford shouted.
“Access to the ship is restricted until amenable relations are confirmed.”
“I don't...” Rutherford looked around the room, and back at the tube. “What?” He turned to stare at Billups, who stared right back.
“Standard health and safety precautions have been enacted. You must settle your conflict before rejoining the crew so you will not be a destabilizing force to crew morale and function.”
“There's no conflict,” Rutherford said.
“There's no crew!” Billups added.
The voice didn't respond.
Rutherford walked over to the circular console in the center of the room. It was shaped like toadstool and its interfaces were dark. The only sign the ship had any energy reserves was the dim emergency lighting—which hummed irritatingly—the fact that the hatch had slammed shut, and now the computerized announcements. He tapped the touch screens in a random pattern, hoping to wake up any other part of the computer core. Nothing responded.
He crouched down under the lip of the console and ran his fingers along its stem, trying to find some sort of panel he could dislodge or pry open. Except for the hatch and that mysterious tube, the interior of this room was seamless. Scuffed, scorched, scratched, but seamless.
Rutherford heard footsteps and looked over his shoulder. Under the lip of the console he could see Billups's legs from the knees down.
“What are you doing?” Billups asked.
“I don't know. Looking for an alternative power source? Something's giving the computer enough juice to speak.”
“Juice will suffice,” the computer said.
“What is it talking about?” Rutherford climbed out from under the console and accepted Billups's offered hand to help himself to his feet.
The computer's tone changed abruptly. “I know how you crew like to use your little euphemisms.”
“Euphemisms for what?” Rutherford asked.
“We're not your crew,” Billups said.
“A sample of mutual pleasure is required to exit the control center.” The computer's voice was suddenly flippant. “Call it whatever you want.”
“Call what whatever we—”
“Ensign,” Billups interrupted Rutherford wearily, “I know what it's talking about.”
“You do?”
Billups sighed. “It's saying that to exit the room we have to provide a semen sample.”
Rutherford blanched. “You're sure?” His stomach, which had been getting increasingly agitated since he beamed down to the planet, twisted itself into a knot so tight he could feel it in his chest.
“Hysperions live on euphemism and double entendre. It's practically a high art. And this isn't exactly a refined one.”
“A sample will not suffice,” the computer said. “It must be obtained through shared pleasure.”
“Why?” Rutherford's voice cracked.
“Your conflict must be resolved so it will not spread to the rest of the crew.”
“But he can't, though!” Rutherford waved a hand at Billups, whose shoulders were drooping. “He'll become king if he does and then he won't get to be an engineer any more. And the Cerritos wouldn't be the same without him! Besides, we're not even fighting. Just let us go.”
“I don't make the rules,” the computer said.
“It kind of seems like you do,” Billups said.
“No. I just explain them. The crew programmed them. The ship will not respond until you've bonded.”
"We're bonded," Billups said. "Intellectually. There's no one else on the Ritos who understands the warp coils like I do."
"Really?" Rutherford couldn't help the question, even though he knew it was far from the appropriate time for it.
“Of course.”
“Aw, shucks, thanks.” Rutherford blushed.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
“I mean,” Rutherford rubbed the back of his neck, “it's just the two of us in here? Does anyone else have to know? Couldn't you just, I don't know, not tell your mother?”
“I'll know,” Billups said. “And as ridiculous as Hysperion culture is, it's still my culture. I couldn't live with the lie.”
“But I don't want to—I don't want the Ritos to lose you.”
“Well, we'll just have to figure a way out of this, then.”
“Why do you resist giving each other pleasure?” The computer asked.
“I told you! Because then he'll have to become king.”
“That doesn't make any sense.”
“You don't make any sense! He doesn't want to and that’s more than enough reason. Haven't you ever heard of consent? All the crews with high morale have it these days. You should try it some time!” Rutherford stalked back over to the hatch and the tube. He shuddered looking at it now. His hands felt scummy. He pulled his communicator off and tried to jam one of its points between the tubing and the wall.
Rutherford heard Billups's footsteps approaching but he didn't turn around. “If we can peel back some of this paneling maybe there's something useful on the other side. We just need to get at the locking mechanism.”
Billups crouched down next to him. Rutherford hadn't made any progress. Every time Rutherford scratched at the wall it made an ear-piercing shriek that echoed in the room.
“Ensign,” Billups laid a hand on Rutherford's wrist, “Ensign, stop that.”
The screeching noise continued.
“Rutherford!”
Rutherford dropped his combadge and turned to look at Billups. “I'm not going to let you do this, sir. We're going to figure out a way out of here.”
“I know we are. We've got one of the best engineering minds on the Cerritos on our side.”
Rutherford glanced down at the floor, and then back up at Billups, “And the best one, too.”
They stood up together and looked around the room. “Okay,” Billups said. “Let's start at the top.”
“It will take longer that way,” the computer said.
“Shut up!” Billups yelled.
"I will make this experience more desirable for you," the computer said. "This should not be a distressing event. In fact, it must be pleasurable."
There was a hissing sound. Billups and Rutherford's gazes darted around the room. Something was coming through the vents.
"It would be plenty pleasurable!” Rutherford pulled his uniform up to cover his nose and mouth. “If it happened, I mean. But that's not the point. It's not going to happen. Just leave it alone.”
Billups covered the lower half of his face with his uniform, too. They stood staring at each other once again. Eyes locked, their gazes went steely. They would engineer a way out of this.
Then Rutherford felt yet another sensation bloom in his core. A warm pressure was building in his abdomen. His skin was getting hot. He groaned and dropped the neck of his uniform, leaving his face bare. “I think it's releasing an aphrodisiac into the room, sir.”
“I guessed as much,” Billups said.
Rutherford's mouth was dry and it was taking every microgram of his willpower not to run over to Billups and press their bodies together. He couldn't stop imagining how good it would feel. He shoved his hands pockets and bit the inside of his cheek. “Are you, are you feeling it?”
Billups shook his head. “I don't think there's anything for it to,” he paused ever so briefly, “stimulate, in my case.”
“Okay. That's okay. That's good.” Rutherford crossed his legs. He could smell Billups: the machine oil caught in his hair, the spice that clung to him from the soup he'd had for lunch, a sort of brininess that Rutherford couldn't account for.
“I'm, um, I'm going to stand over there.” Rutherford pointed at the farthest corner of the room. “I'm just going to go over there and think.” He looked over his shoulder at Billups as he walked away. Billups's face was totally placid, except for a slight tightening around his eyes. Rutherford rubbed his hands against his uniform briskly. His palms itched. He wanted to touch everything. Even halfway across the room he could feel the heat emanating from Billups.
Rutherford stared down at the recessed emergency lighting that ran along the wall's base. He kicked it a few times just for something to do. It thudded dully.
“Maybe we should just wait for the Ritos?” Rutherford suggested. He wasn't sure he could think any more. “They're sure to figure out we got stuck and come get us out soon. Commander Ransom probably noticed we were missing forty minutes ago.”
“That might be our best option at this point,” Billups agreed. He coughed. The aphrodisiac was still hissing through the vents.
“Are you alright?”
“It's getting hard to breathe.”
Rutherford tried to take in a lungful of air and ended up coughing as well.
“Hey,” Billups said, “hey, evil computer!”
“I'm not evil. I'm simply following my programming. I'm trying to help.”
Billups snorted. “Sure. What's going on with the atmosphere?”
“Oxygen levels have been depleted by the introduction of the sexual stimulant chemical.”
“Well, get us some more air.”
Rutherford was facing the wall, pressing his face against the blissfully cool metal. The emergency lighting's buzzing echoed in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think of the least sexy thing he could. The gruff tone of Billups's voice as he argued with the computer was not helping.
“The life support systems cannot function at current power levels.”
“So you're poisoning us?”
The hissing stopped. “You can leave any time you want.”
“How long do we have?”
“Based on my understanding of your biology I would estimate you have twenty-seven minutes before you fall unconscious and are unable to complete the necessary task to secure your access to the rest of the ship.”
Billups let out a long sigh and then straightened his back. He walked over to where Rutherford was standing. He was still pressing as much of his body against the wall as he could, trying to squeeze all the sensation out of his body.
Billups touched him gently on the back. “Rutherford?”
Rutherford moaned and pressed harder against the wall. If only that light would stop buzzing maybe he could pretend the entire rest of the world didn't exist, pretend that he didn't have a body at all. And definitely not a body that tingled all over, and felt the heat of Billups's hand spreading through it even after Billups had taken it away.
“Alright, Rutherford.” Billups placed his hands on Rutherford's shoulders and turned him around. “We've got to do this. I'm not letting you die in here.”
The feeling of Billups's fingers gripping him burned through Rutherford and he lunged forward to kiss Billups. Just before their mouths made contact though he froze.
“Sir! The lights!”
“What about them?”
Billups's mustache tickled Rutherford's lips when he spoke—their faces still less than a centimeter apart—and Rutherford dropped to the floor to keep his body from doing anything else.
“Let's open one up. I think they might be running on an anodyne circuit.”
Billups ran over to one of the embedded lights and began prying at it the same useless way Rutherford had been going at the tubing earlier. “If it is, and we can generate a repeating pattern between two of them, that might create just enough of a matrix for a rudimentary transporter.”
“It won't be sophisticated enough to get either of us out of here, but we might be able to beam some sort of message out that the Cerritos can read.”
There was a crack and Billups shouted, “I got it open!”
Rutherford heard Billups digging around inside the light, cataloging its parts. He didn't dare get any closer to Billups though. He just lay on the floor, unable to stop himself from running his palms all over his sensitized skin.
“There won't be any targeting scanners,” Billups said. “We'll be beaming out blind.”
“We'll just have to make sure it's something the Ritos won't be able to miss.”
That's when the computer added yet another helpful comment to their situation. “There aren't any known forms of energy that can penetrate this room when it is sealed. This transporter you're hoping to make will be useless.”
“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” Billups said.
The room fell silent.
Then, suddenly, Rutherford burst out laughing.
“Ensign? What is it?”
“What if, um, sir, what if we, well, what if we beamed a sample of what we needed? Out of, um, us, and into the collection device.”
“That,” Billups trailed off, “that might work.” He rapped twice against the side of the light he was disassembling. “You're right. These do run on an anodyne circuit.”
“Okay, okay.” Rutherford got to his feet and walked toward a floor light two away from Billups, far enough that he couldn't feel his heat or smell his musk. “Let's do this, then.”
“We've got twenty minutes to get this done,” Billups said.
“Eighteen,” the computer corrected.
With his hands on a physical puzzle and his mind fixed on a hypothetically achievable solution, Rutherford could mostly concentrate, though the way Billups breathed and grunted as he disassembled and reassembled his own light fixture was still somewhat distracting. They worked as quickly as they could and before long there was a tell-tale hum vibrating in the space between the two lights.
They both looked at the spot. There was the faintest shimmer in the air there, too.
“That looks like a stable sympathetic wave pattern all right,” Billups said.
“Can't be sure without a tricorder, but, well, I guess we're going to have to believe our eyes on this one.”
The two engineers grinned at each other, feeling something besides dread (and arousal) for the first time since they'd gotten locked in this place.
“Well, uh, I guess I'll go first since it was my idea.” Rutherford stood up and walked over to the shimmering, humming spot. He stepped into it tentatively.
“I'll be gentle.” Billups winked and Rutherford's stomach dropped, his mouth went dry, and his entire body burned. He didn't think he could blame all of that sensation on the aphrodisiac.
“Energize?” Rutherford squeaked.
Billups twisted something in the light he'd altered, the humming got louder, and then there was a splat.
They both looked around the room.
“Over there!” Rutherford pointed at a small off-white puddle sitting on top of the console in the center of the room.
“I was aiming for the collection tube,” Billups said.
“It doesn't matter! It worked!”
They were giddy as they switched places. There was nothing more satisfying than solving a dilemma with a clever bit of engineering. That this had actually worked seemed beyond belief, but neither of them said a word about it. There was no reason to jinx it.
There was another surge in the humming and then another splat. This sample landed just next to Rutherford's boot.
“I, uh, I can get that,” Billups said, walking over.
Rutherford scurried over to the console to collect his own sample before Billups got too close and they met at hatch, scraping the warm stickiness from their fingers and into the tube. Their hands brushed.
They stood there expectantly.
Nothing happened.
“Come on!” Billups shouted.
“Incorrect sample,” the computer said.
“That's exactly the right sample,” Billups said.
“We gave you the juice!” Rutherford yelled. “Let us out!”
“It was not obtained through shared pleasure,” the computer said.
Rutherford coughed and rubbed the back of his neck.
After a moment Billups said, “It was, though. We both took pleasure in engineering a solution to your ridiculous rules. Wouldn't you agree, Rutherford?”
“Oh, yes, sir! There's nothing I love more than tinkering with strange machines. Especially with you.”
“See?” Billups said. “This 'juice' was obtained through shared pleasure and is now mingling in your little locking mechanism. So let us out.”
The computer was silent.
Billups and Rutherford looked at each other. Billups mustache twitched in what looked like amusement and Rutherford's eyes crinkled.
“Fine.”
The hatch slid open.
The two engineers walked out of the control center, giving each other a somewhat sticky high five as they crossed the threshold.