by Jariel Camen
80614.2300
After If the Captain Ain’t Happy. . .
Soundtrack: These Hard Times by Matchbox 20
-=Aboard the Sylph vessel=-
80614.2300
After If the Captain Ain’t Happy. . .
Soundtrack: These Hard Times by Matchbox 20
-=Aboard the Sylph vessel=-
"This is the perfect subject for our work. Why not start with a challenge? What do you make of these?"
"Resequenced memory engrams. Crude. We've prepared for this. I can reestablish the memories easily enough. But is it necessary? There is so much pain already." The young healer questioned.
"That's exactly the problem. He's been coping with this pain his entire life. He's not over it, but he's prepared for it. If he's ever going to be healed the only way is for him to truly face the depth of his suffering by revealing these long lost memories to him."
"The Luminary's wisdom continues to astound us all."
"Begin."
-=Late 2377, 11 years prior to present events=-
"Just override the damn safeties Josh. The passengers are starting to ask questions about all the vibrations. We need to get where we're going before they demand answers."
It was not a good time or place to be a transport captain. Two years had passed since the defeat of the Dominion. A long painful two years, as celebration turned to mourning for the fallen, and from there to recovery. Patrols were stretched thin, as the Federation, Klingons and Romulans scrambled to reassemble their shattered fleets.
In many ways the constant perimeter alerts of Dominion ships in the vicinity were preferable to Captain Wells, compared to the current state he and his operation existed in. The Dominion cared little for civilian transports. They had no military value, posed no threat, and were literally more trouble to attack than they were worth. The antimatter expended to even intercept such a ship was more valuable than the civilian prisoners the attack would yield.
Wells had had to hold his breath many times, been boarded on a few occasions when the Dominion was looking for smugglers, but never attacked. He ran an honest operation shuttling people from sector to sector for a price.
These days, however, it was more and more difficult to scare up a fare. The end of the Dominion brought rise to a new breed of criminal, who, unlike the Dominion not only would attack civilian transports, but in fact made it a point to do so.
Pirates.
As the Federation withdrew its forces to rebuild, pirate groups began popping up throughout the sector. Wells did not have the stomach to tell his passengers that the reason the deck plates were vibrating was because his engines were running 20% above their rated limit, in an attempt to make their journey as quick as possible.
Josh did as he was told, overriding the thermal lockout of the plasma manifold, allowing the engines to continue running. The whole system threatened to blow out completely at any moment, which would bring a swift and unpleasant end to their journey, as well as their existence.
Wells only had three passengers, but they had paid dearly, triple the normal fair. To get them to accept the price he had to accept payment after they arrived. Pirates or not, if he didn't get them their in one piece, Wells and his operation were finished. He barely had enough cash on hand to even fuel his ship for this trip. Everything depended on these three fares.
Wells left Josh in engineering, and made his way back to the bridge.
"Evening Graham."
"Skipper." Graham waved from the helm.
"Anything?"
"Nope."
"Thank God." Wells flopped down into what passed as his command chair. He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, dropping his hand into his hands. He ran his fingers, first through his scraggy beard, then up through his dark greasy hair. He hadn't had a shower in two days. He just couldn't spare the energy.
"Hear from the wife today?"
"Yeah, she and the kids are fine."
Graham had four children back home to feed. Wells wasn't sure as of yet how he was going to break it to him that he was only getting half a check after this trip. Wells was probably going to end up giving his share to Josh and Graham, so they wouldn't know just how bad things really were going.
Wells felt his eyelids flutter as he held his head in his hands, sleep threatening to overcome him. He needed to stay on top of things, but right now he really didn't care. Just a few minutes. What would it matter in the grand scheme of time and the universe?
Just as his mind slipped away to dream, he was awakened by the dreaded klaxon of a perimeter alert form the computer.
"Damn." He said silently. "What you got Graham? Tell me it’s just a Federation starship?"
"It is not a Federation starship." Graham said with a lump in his throat.
Wells left his command chair and ran to the communications station. He pressed the button to bring the transmitters on line, and recorded a message to play on a loop. "This is the transport vessel Swift. We are under attack by pirates. Request immediate assistance from any ship nearby. Coordinates 398 mark 445."
He knew calling for help was futile, but it was better than nothing.
"They are hailing us."
"All right, let's get this over with." Wells sighed. A Dopterian man appeared on the screen.
[Prepare for death.] The screen went blank before Wells could even answer to offer surrender. Pirates did not care about surrender. People were easy to search when they were dead.
"What was point of that?" Graham asked.
Before Wells could answer, the raider delivered a direct hit to the already overtaxed engine, which immediately gave out.
The Swift fell back out of warp and drifted helplessly in space.
"What iz the meaning of zis? Why have we stopped?"
"Ma'am, I really need you off the bridge."
Wells would have had his security guard take the French woman off the bridge, if he hadn't laid him off before this trip.
"Oh my goodness! Who are zey?" Fleur Le Marc saw the raider on the viewscreen, just as a bolt of weapons fire left the pirate ship and rocked their own.
“Lady, don’t take this the wrong way, but get the hell out.”
“Shields down to 40%.” Graham announced helplessly.
“How dare you speak to me in zis manner! I have paid you triple to get me to the cooking contest on Draygo and I expect you to deliver!”
“Maybe you’d like to take tactical and explain it to them?” Wells said, pointing helplessly at the tiny viewscreen.
“Take it where?” Fleur asked, sincere and confused.
The point was moot, since the Swift neither had weapons nor a tactical station.
Again the ship was rocked violently. Wells heard an explosion from the aft of the ship and the horrific moaning of metal tearing away from metal.
The doors to the bridge opened again, and Josh staggered in, cradling his badly burned right arm in his left hand.
“Port nacelle is gone.” He said. Fleur retrieved a med kit, and searched for the dermal regenerator.
“Don’t bother, it’s keeping the antigrav system running.” Josh said.
Fleur set the medkit down, as the reality of the situation began to sink in.
“They do not intend to take prisoners, do they?”
“I’m afraid not.” Wells said.
So this was how it was all going to end for Trenton Wells. Sitting helplessly on the bridge of his musty, rickety ship with his navigator, engineer and a French baker.
“Skip.” Graham said, a touch of hopefulness in his voice. “There’s a Federation starship approaching.”
The pirates were plenty tough enough against unarmed transports, but it only took one shot from the phaser array of the USS Savior to send them running.
Wells let out a gasp of air he had been holding for an indeterminate amount of time. They were alive.
“We’re being hailed.” Graham said, sounding only slightly relieved. Yes he was alive, but his place of employment was now dead in space.
“By all means.” Wells said.
[This is Captain Demitriev of the Savior. Do you have wounded?]
“Yes! My engineer is hurt.”
[I’m reading six life forms on your ship. We’ll beam you aboard.]
“That’s all of us, but I’d like the chance to salvage my ship.” Wells protested.
[Not possible. I can bring you to Bajor, that’s the closest system, but my orders are to capture that pirate ship and they’ve already got a head start on me. I can’t afford to be taking civilians into a possible battle zone. The sooner I get rid of you, the better. No offense.]
Wells nodded, disappointed, but understanding.
“Why do all Starfleet captains think the universe revolves around them?” Fleur rolled her eyes. “Give me a simple man any day, none of zis macho crap.”
Wells just shook his head at the irreverent young French woman, and waited for transport.
Vedek Jariel Camen
Ship's Chaplain
USS Serendipity NCC-2012
Ship's Chaplain
USS Serendipity NCC-2012