Part 1: 2283 – Star dock 1, earth orbit.
He had been sitting cross-legged, cleaning his combat boots when the call came in, the physical motion of applying the polish and buffing the boots was one that held memory and significance, meaning. His hands went backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards – there was no conscious thought, his fingers performed a dance they knew well.
The task was something that could be performed by a servobot, but it provided a reminder of what had been, where he’d come from and he’d be damned if he’s give up one of the final pieces of his past.
He rose from the floor and moved across his quarters - they covered an area twice as large as standard quarters and this was because they were two quarters that had been converted into one. This was uncommon but this sector of the Habitat ring was one that sat directly above a series of power converters and therefore had a constant background hum – something that eventually drove everyone on this level to request a move, as space was not a issue, due to the close presence of earth – people who could put up with the hum therefore did what they want with the quarters.
Why, Smith required the space was a mystery that puzzled his seldom, infrequent visitors, since he didn’t own anything or indeed, seem intent on owning anything. Not even, as had been suggested on a number of occasions, a nice pot plant to sit in the window and give him something to water. His room just contained the basic furniture – mirrored from one half of the converted space to the other. Happy with the shine on his boots, he turned to place them back in his storage locker.
“Incoming message from Starfleet Recreational Services – Pools, Parks and Gardens Division, please provide authentication” said the computer. Although this message would use the most complex and strongest encryption known, as was standard procedure, no name was given for the incoming caller, and no names would be used in the conversation - except for his - and that didn't matter as he didn't exist anyway.
“Authenticate – Smith, J. Specialist, Service number 023345345, alpha alpha one”.
“Voice print authenticated”, chimed the computer and with that, the holoprojectors discreetly hidden in two corners of the far wall sprung into life – instantly two figures appeared, a tall thin Vulcan and a squat broad tellarite.
Without preamble, the Vulcan spoke “There is a situation that requires immediate attention; a runabout has been pre-loaded with equipment and a mission briefing, it is awaiting you in docking bay B17. It will provide details of your legend for this mission.”
Smith twisted his head to one side and squinted his eyes “Come on, you've worked with me since I got here, you know by now, I like a bit of personal detail about my assignments, the computer briefings always miss something that can be key.”
In almost a mimicking gesture, the Vulcan tilted his head to the right – “if we must, you are to report to Kronos’s third moon immediately. There is a situation occurring, that, without swift action could blow up into a major diplomatic incident.”
“The situation being...?” prompted Smith.
The Vulcan looked almost pained, like he was about to recall a horrible childhood memory “I was coming to that Smith – a team of federation diplomats were asked to attend the annual tarq hunt”
“Those are those big klingons dogs things right?” prompted Smith.
“More similar to a giant earth boar but yes, those are targs anyway, one of the diplomats has been accused of..”, he hesitated “..Interfering with the imperial hunt and is currently being held pending execution. A federation citizen being executed by the Klingon Empire is something that we would rather avoid.”
Smith placed a hand on one of his cheeks, “interfering with the royal hunt? He’s an animal rights guy, something like that? You still have them? I can see how that might be a problem, but surely klingon security services could just kick him off the planet?” he made a brushing motion with his hands.
With a slight sideward glance at his associate, the tellarite took up the tale, “no, my colleague has been imprecise with his language, which is odd considering the form he’s currently taking, please observe this security camera footage”. With a gesture, an image appeared besides the Vulcan.
The backdrop was unclear and dark, but under a dim light sat a targ, the animal appeared to be sleeping... no not sleeping, it was drugged. In the distance a door could be heard opening, then, from the side of the image, a human male entered the frame, his features were obscured but he was clearly fit and active, he moved towards the targ and with a swift motion unbuttoned the front of his one piece jumpsuit...
Smith blinked and then blinked again as the footage rolled on, he moved to his left to a wall-mounted replicator “JD and coke, no make that a double... no a triple”, a drink appeared on the replicator pad, in one smooth motion; he lifted and drained the glass. “That’s a thing I’d rather not see again, when you say interfering, you really mean interfering.”
To be continued...
He had been sitting cross-legged, cleaning his combat boots when the call came in, the physical motion of applying the polish and buffing the boots was one that held memory and significance, meaning. His hands went backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards – there was no conscious thought, his fingers performed a dance they knew well.
The task was something that could be performed by a servobot, but it provided a reminder of what had been, where he’d come from and he’d be damned if he’s give up one of the final pieces of his past.
He rose from the floor and moved across his quarters - they covered an area twice as large as standard quarters and this was because they were two quarters that had been converted into one. This was uncommon but this sector of the Habitat ring was one that sat directly above a series of power converters and therefore had a constant background hum – something that eventually drove everyone on this level to request a move, as space was not a issue, due to the close presence of earth – people who could put up with the hum therefore did what they want with the quarters.
Why, Smith required the space was a mystery that puzzled his seldom, infrequent visitors, since he didn’t own anything or indeed, seem intent on owning anything. Not even, as had been suggested on a number of occasions, a nice pot plant to sit in the window and give him something to water. His room just contained the basic furniture – mirrored from one half of the converted space to the other. Happy with the shine on his boots, he turned to place them back in his storage locker.
“Incoming message from Starfleet Recreational Services – Pools, Parks and Gardens Division, please provide authentication” said the computer. Although this message would use the most complex and strongest encryption known, as was standard procedure, no name was given for the incoming caller, and no names would be used in the conversation - except for his - and that didn't matter as he didn't exist anyway.
“Authenticate – Smith, J. Specialist, Service number 023345345, alpha alpha one”.
“Voice print authenticated”, chimed the computer and with that, the holoprojectors discreetly hidden in two corners of the far wall sprung into life – instantly two figures appeared, a tall thin Vulcan and a squat broad tellarite.
Without preamble, the Vulcan spoke “There is a situation that requires immediate attention; a runabout has been pre-loaded with equipment and a mission briefing, it is awaiting you in docking bay B17. It will provide details of your legend for this mission.”
Smith twisted his head to one side and squinted his eyes “Come on, you've worked with me since I got here, you know by now, I like a bit of personal detail about my assignments, the computer briefings always miss something that can be key.”
In almost a mimicking gesture, the Vulcan tilted his head to the right – “if we must, you are to report to Kronos’s third moon immediately. There is a situation occurring, that, without swift action could blow up into a major diplomatic incident.”
“The situation being...?” prompted Smith.
The Vulcan looked almost pained, like he was about to recall a horrible childhood memory “I was coming to that Smith – a team of federation diplomats were asked to attend the annual tarq hunt”
“Those are those big klingons dogs things right?” prompted Smith.
“More similar to a giant earth boar but yes, those are targs anyway, one of the diplomats has been accused of..”, he hesitated “..Interfering with the imperial hunt and is currently being held pending execution. A federation citizen being executed by the Klingon Empire is something that we would rather avoid.”
Smith placed a hand on one of his cheeks, “interfering with the royal hunt? He’s an animal rights guy, something like that? You still have them? I can see how that might be a problem, but surely klingon security services could just kick him off the planet?” he made a brushing motion with his hands.
With a slight sideward glance at his associate, the tellarite took up the tale, “no, my colleague has been imprecise with his language, which is odd considering the form he’s currently taking, please observe this security camera footage”. With a gesture, an image appeared besides the Vulcan.
The backdrop was unclear and dark, but under a dim light sat a targ, the animal appeared to be sleeping... no not sleeping, it was drugged. In the distance a door could be heard opening, then, from the side of the image, a human male entered the frame, his features were obscured but he was clearly fit and active, he moved towards the targ and with a swift motion unbuttoned the front of his one piece jumpsuit...
Smith blinked and then blinked again as the footage rolled on, he moved to his left to a wall-mounted replicator “JD and coke, no make that a double... no a triple”, a drink appeared on the replicator pad, in one smooth motion; he lifted and drained the glass. “That’s a thing I’d rather not see again, when you say interfering, you really mean interfering.”
To be continued...
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