Go Slayd! 
Who else wants him to burn that planet down right now, rather then later?
Who else wants him to burn that planet down right now, rather then later?
Tales of the Border Service: "Dragon's Slayd"
- Thread starter TheLoneRedshirt
- Start date
Yep, I'll go for the burn it all down and try again option as well.
I do wonder what West found in that hospital though. I'm gonna say a lot of misery. And probably quite the opposite of the loving and dedicated care he encountered on Lancaster. If I didn't know any better, TLR, I would think you are trying to slam city life and hype country folks in this little tale.
Whatever your motives, I'm totally sold.
I do wonder what West found in that hospital though. I'm gonna say a lot of misery. And probably quite the opposite of the loving and dedicated care he encountered on Lancaster. If I didn't know any better, TLR, I would think you are trying to slam city life and hype country folks in this little tale.
Whatever your motives, I'm totally sold.
Chapter Fourteen
Stardate 54365.7 (21 May 2377)
TowuundCity, Vagabond VI
West looked around, shocked by the pitiful sight that greeted him . The modest-sized ward was jammed with sick and dying children – mostly human, though he noticed a few other humanoid races present. In the dim light, he could make out about a dozen beds, each holding two or more small patients. Most of the sick were lying on dirty makeshift pallets on the floor. By the rasping noises it was obvious that nearly all were in respiratory distress. The smell of disease and death was nearly overwhelming.
Lt. Commander Banton’s voice broke through his fugue. “What’s wrong with them, Doctor?”
“Nibo flu, I’m almost certain,” West responded bleakly. “Commander, I’m going to need some help here. Could you contact the ship and have all of our corpsmen beamed down?”
Banton winced. “Can’t. Most of this town is built over a vein of Magnesite. It screws up the transporter's targeting scanners. That’s why we beamed down so far away.”
West recalled the long trek through the filthy, crowded streets and shook his head. “That will take too long. A few of these kids are already dead and by the looks of it, more are just about done for,” he said, quietly.
Banton nodded. “Don’t worry, Doc. I’ll get your corpsmen here soonest. You do what you can in the meantime.”
As West opened his med-kit, the Jamaican officer tapped his combadge. “Banton to Dragonfire.”
“Dragonfire, Xevok here.”
“Lieutenant, I need you to round up all of our corpsmen and get them to the hangar deck . . .”
* * *
Ten minutes later, one of the Dragonfire’s Stallions was screaming through the upper atmosphere of Vagabond VI, buffeted by the strong winds of the storm. Flashes of lightning illuminated the Stallion like some celestial strobe.
“Two minutes,” announced the pilot, Lt. (j.g.) Kowalski. “Check your harnesses and attach your smart lines."
Feeling queasy from the constant buffeting, Chief Tork forced down the gorge in his throat and moved unsteadily to the aft hatch of the Stallion.
“You heard the Lieutenant, form up!” growled Tork to the assembled medical team. A young human corpsman suddenly pitched forward and vomited on the deck, earning a scowl from Tork, who nonetheless helped the pale medic to his feet.
“Hang in there, Marcieu, we’re almost there.” Tork attached the smart line to Corpsman 3rd Class Emille Marcieu’s harness, setting it for a 15 meter descent.
“One minute to drop,” shouted Kowalski over the din of the storm. Heavy drops of water pounded the hull of the ship, creating a cacophony of noise over which it was difficult to communicate. The Stallion dropped suddenly, then steadied as Kowalski wrestled with the controls.
Chief Tork looked around at the five other corpsmen. Three, including the miserable Marcieu were still novices. This would be their first drop from a Stallion. He figured if they survived it would certainly build their confidence.
“Just relax and let the smart-line do the work. You’ll drop like a rock but the line will stop you in time. Just be careful when you get on the roof – we’ve got gale force winds and a lot of water. I’ll be very pissed if one of you gets blown off and killed – got it?”
Corpsman First Class Kristen Blake merely grinned. This was fun for her. The others nodded nervously and tried to appear brave.
“Thirty seconds!” called Kowalski.
“If I needed a frakking stop-watch, I would have brought my own,” muttered Tork, irritably. “Hang on everyone, I’m opening the hatch.”
As the aft hatch opened, wind and rain swirled inside the compartment, drenching the corpsmen. The low cloud cover made it difficult to see the city below. Tork frowned in consternation and turned to shout toward the flight deck.
“I can’t see a damned thing, Lieutenant. What’s our altitude?”
“Two hundred meters and descending. When we get to 50 meters, I’ll level out so you can drop.”
Drop into what? wondered Tork as a flash of lightning lit up the stormy night sky.
* * *
Lt. Commander Banton and Ayel crouched near the roof access hatch. Water poured through the opening like a waterfall. Banton peered up through the rain, trying to catch a glimpse of the Stallion. His combadge suddenly came to life.
Stallion One to Commander Banton.
“Banton, go ahead.”
“Sir, we are on station, about 50 meters overhead. I’m having a hard time keeping the Stallion steady in this storm, so keep a sharp eye out for the crew coming down on the smart –lines. You may need to grab them as they hit the roof.”
Banton looked out and could just make out the strobing navigational lights of the Stallion. “Acknowledged, Stallion One - I have you on visual. Standing by to receive the medical team.”
* * *
West began to move among the children with his bio-scanner open and activated – beginning the process of triage to determine the most critical patients. All the children displayed the classic symptoms of Nibo flu – high fever, swelling of the throat and trachea, a blotchy rash and delirium.
He paused by a small human girl that could not have been more than five or six years old. She peered at him with glassy eyes, her breathing coming in shallow gasps. West placed his hand on her head, grimacing at the intense heat radiating from her fevered brow.
“Just hang on sweetheart,” he said softly as he pulled a hypo-spray from his kit. “We’re going to help you feel better soon.”
The little girl didn’t answer, but neither did she draw back as he placed the hypo-spray against her neck and administered an anti-viral compound and analgesic. West hoped it would be enough to save her.
The Doctor stood and moved to the next child. A young Orion boy stared up lifelessly, eyes fixed on some distant point, his swollen tongue black and protruding between cracked and bloody lips. West checked for a pulse and found none. The bio-scanner indicated the boy had been dead for about an hour.
He was overcome by a sense of profound sorrow tinged with anger. What a waste! If these kids had been vaccinated, they would be fine. Now, I don’t know if any of them will survive. Part of him wondered why these children had not been inoculated. Unfortunately, there was no time to address that question now. With a sigh, Dr. West stood and moved to the next child.
* * *
With the rest of the corpsmen away, Tork breathed a quick prayer to the few deities he perhaps hadn’t offended and stepped out of the Stallion into the storm. Instantly, a strong blast of wind caught him, swinging him in a crazy arc over the city below. The nano-fibers in the smart line tightened against the gale, drawing the Chief Corspman down toward the landing spot on the roof below.
Tork could just make out the dark, rain slick buildings approaching him at a frightening rate before the smart-line pulled up sharply at the last moment, breaking his fall and lowering him the last meter to the roof-top.
Corpsman Blake and Lt. Commander Banton grabbed Tork just as a sudden gust began to push him down the slope of the roof. They managed to halt his slide and tug him toward the open hatch where all three tumbled inside, soaked and gasping for breath.
“I hate doing that,” groused Tork as his heart rate slowly returned to normal.
“Get going, Chief,” ordered Banton. “Dr. West has his hands full downstairs.”
* * *
Two hours later, West sagged against the wall of the crowded ward and closed his eyes. He was exhausted – physically and emotionally – from the labors of the evening. The medical team had managed to stabilize 38 of the children, but 20 had perished – either dead by the time West arrived, or succumbing to their illness shortly thereafter.
West sensed another presence nearby and opened his eyes. Marcus Banton had taken a seat next to him. The Jamaican officer leaned his head against the wall and sighed.
“That was good work, Doctor.”
The CMO shook his head. “Too little, too late, Commander. We lost a third of those poor kids. They died from an illness that is easily prevented. Why didn’t these children receive the vaccine?”
Banton frowned. “They should have. About four months ago, we delivered enough for every child under 12 standard years in this town.”
West turned to Banton. “You did?”
The Second Officer nodded. “Damn right, we did. Your predecessor got killed when we procured the stuff.”
“Are you sure it was really the proper vaccine?”
“Oh yeah. Guaraldi checked it planetside before he got killed, then Dr. Zimmerman ran another check when we got it on the ship. It was the right vaccine alright.” Banton noticed Ayel across the room and stood. “Wait here – I’m going to get some answers.”
West didn’t argue. He was drained and the rough floor and moldering wall felt very comfortable at the moment. He watched as Banton and Ayel carried on an animated conversation for several minutes before the Second Officer returned, shaking his head in disgust.
“You’re not going to believe this,” said Banton, obviously angry.
“Believe what?”
“You remember when we arrived here I asked Ayel about Goertz?”
West nodded. “He said he was dead, right?”
“Right. Goertz ran this place for years – he had some medical training, not an M.D. but he could handle most problems that came in the door. Anyway, he decided to set up some stations to inoculate these children in their neighborhoods.”
West interrupted. “What of these kids? Are they children of the locals?”
Banton’s expression darkened. “You could say that. Most are abandoned, though - cast-offs from parents who got killed or simply didn’t care enough to look after them.” He noticed the shocked expression on West’s face. “Yeah, I know – stuff like that doesn’t happen in the Federation. Welcome to the frontier, Doctor.”
“My God, that’s horrible!”
“No arguments there. Anyway, like I was saying, Goertz decided to set up a vaccination outreach program – he really had a heart for these kids – and apparently someone else got wind of it and decided they could make a profit off the stock of medicine.”
“But . . . the vaccine is free,” protested West.
“Sure it is. When there’s an ample supply. Out here . . .” Banton gestured around, “the basics are in short supply. Not enough replicators, not enough doctors, not enough of anyone who gives a damn. Goertz was one of the good guys, trying to make a difference. Someone shoved a blade in his gut for his troubles and stole all the vaccine.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
Banton shrugged. “Maybe the better question is, who wouldn’t? This is a rough world, Doc. Ethics, like everything else, is in short supply. My guess? Either a gang tied to the Syndicate or maybe a Ferengi consortium. Hell, it could have been a local thug looking for a fix, who knows?”
West looked past Banton and saw Captain Slayd enter the ward, accompanied by the rest of the away team. By the look on Slayd’s face, West had the distinct impression that whoever had stolen the vaccine best look over his shoulder the remainder of his days.
* * *
Stardate 54365.7 (21 May 2377)
TowuundCity, Vagabond VI
West looked around, shocked by the pitiful sight that greeted him . The modest-sized ward was jammed with sick and dying children – mostly human, though he noticed a few other humanoid races present. In the dim light, he could make out about a dozen beds, each holding two or more small patients. Most of the sick were lying on dirty makeshift pallets on the floor. By the rasping noises it was obvious that nearly all were in respiratory distress. The smell of disease and death was nearly overwhelming.
Lt. Commander Banton’s voice broke through his fugue. “What’s wrong with them, Doctor?”
“Nibo flu, I’m almost certain,” West responded bleakly. “Commander, I’m going to need some help here. Could you contact the ship and have all of our corpsmen beamed down?”
Banton winced. “Can’t. Most of this town is built over a vein of Magnesite. It screws up the transporter's targeting scanners. That’s why we beamed down so far away.”
West recalled the long trek through the filthy, crowded streets and shook his head. “That will take too long. A few of these kids are already dead and by the looks of it, more are just about done for,” he said, quietly.
Banton nodded. “Don’t worry, Doc. I’ll get your corpsmen here soonest. You do what you can in the meantime.”
As West opened his med-kit, the Jamaican officer tapped his combadge. “Banton to Dragonfire.”
“Dragonfire, Xevok here.”
“Lieutenant, I need you to round up all of our corpsmen and get them to the hangar deck . . .”
* * *
Ten minutes later, one of the Dragonfire’s Stallions was screaming through the upper atmosphere of Vagabond VI, buffeted by the strong winds of the storm. Flashes of lightning illuminated the Stallion like some celestial strobe.
“Two minutes,” announced the pilot, Lt. (j.g.) Kowalski. “Check your harnesses and attach your smart lines."
Feeling queasy from the constant buffeting, Chief Tork forced down the gorge in his throat and moved unsteadily to the aft hatch of the Stallion.
“You heard the Lieutenant, form up!” growled Tork to the assembled medical team. A young human corpsman suddenly pitched forward and vomited on the deck, earning a scowl from Tork, who nonetheless helped the pale medic to his feet.
“Hang in there, Marcieu, we’re almost there.” Tork attached the smart line to Corpsman 3rd Class Emille Marcieu’s harness, setting it for a 15 meter descent.
“One minute to drop,” shouted Kowalski over the din of the storm. Heavy drops of water pounded the hull of the ship, creating a cacophony of noise over which it was difficult to communicate. The Stallion dropped suddenly, then steadied as Kowalski wrestled with the controls.
Chief Tork looked around at the five other corpsmen. Three, including the miserable Marcieu were still novices. This would be their first drop from a Stallion. He figured if they survived it would certainly build their confidence.
“Just relax and let the smart-line do the work. You’ll drop like a rock but the line will stop you in time. Just be careful when you get on the roof – we’ve got gale force winds and a lot of water. I’ll be very pissed if one of you gets blown off and killed – got it?”
Corpsman First Class Kristen Blake merely grinned. This was fun for her. The others nodded nervously and tried to appear brave.
“Thirty seconds!” called Kowalski.
“If I needed a frakking stop-watch, I would have brought my own,” muttered Tork, irritably. “Hang on everyone, I’m opening the hatch.”
As the aft hatch opened, wind and rain swirled inside the compartment, drenching the corpsmen. The low cloud cover made it difficult to see the city below. Tork frowned in consternation and turned to shout toward the flight deck.
“I can’t see a damned thing, Lieutenant. What’s our altitude?”
“Two hundred meters and descending. When we get to 50 meters, I’ll level out so you can drop.”
Drop into what? wondered Tork as a flash of lightning lit up the stormy night sky.
* * *
Lt. Commander Banton and Ayel crouched near the roof access hatch. Water poured through the opening like a waterfall. Banton peered up through the rain, trying to catch a glimpse of the Stallion. His combadge suddenly came to life.
Stallion One to Commander Banton.
“Banton, go ahead.”
“Sir, we are on station, about 50 meters overhead. I’m having a hard time keeping the Stallion steady in this storm, so keep a sharp eye out for the crew coming down on the smart –lines. You may need to grab them as they hit the roof.”
Banton looked out and could just make out the strobing navigational lights of the Stallion. “Acknowledged, Stallion One - I have you on visual. Standing by to receive the medical team.”
* * *
West began to move among the children with his bio-scanner open and activated – beginning the process of triage to determine the most critical patients. All the children displayed the classic symptoms of Nibo flu – high fever, swelling of the throat and trachea, a blotchy rash and delirium.
He paused by a small human girl that could not have been more than five or six years old. She peered at him with glassy eyes, her breathing coming in shallow gasps. West placed his hand on her head, grimacing at the intense heat radiating from her fevered brow.
“Just hang on sweetheart,” he said softly as he pulled a hypo-spray from his kit. “We’re going to help you feel better soon.”
The little girl didn’t answer, but neither did she draw back as he placed the hypo-spray against her neck and administered an anti-viral compound and analgesic. West hoped it would be enough to save her.
The Doctor stood and moved to the next child. A young Orion boy stared up lifelessly, eyes fixed on some distant point, his swollen tongue black and protruding between cracked and bloody lips. West checked for a pulse and found none. The bio-scanner indicated the boy had been dead for about an hour.
He was overcome by a sense of profound sorrow tinged with anger. What a waste! If these kids had been vaccinated, they would be fine. Now, I don’t know if any of them will survive. Part of him wondered why these children had not been inoculated. Unfortunately, there was no time to address that question now. With a sigh, Dr. West stood and moved to the next child.
* * *
With the rest of the corpsmen away, Tork breathed a quick prayer to the few deities he perhaps hadn’t offended and stepped out of the Stallion into the storm. Instantly, a strong blast of wind caught him, swinging him in a crazy arc over the city below. The nano-fibers in the smart line tightened against the gale, drawing the Chief Corspman down toward the landing spot on the roof below.
Tork could just make out the dark, rain slick buildings approaching him at a frightening rate before the smart-line pulled up sharply at the last moment, breaking his fall and lowering him the last meter to the roof-top.
Corpsman Blake and Lt. Commander Banton grabbed Tork just as a sudden gust began to push him down the slope of the roof. They managed to halt his slide and tug him toward the open hatch where all three tumbled inside, soaked and gasping for breath.
“I hate doing that,” groused Tork as his heart rate slowly returned to normal.
“Get going, Chief,” ordered Banton. “Dr. West has his hands full downstairs.”
* * *
Two hours later, West sagged against the wall of the crowded ward and closed his eyes. He was exhausted – physically and emotionally – from the labors of the evening. The medical team had managed to stabilize 38 of the children, but 20 had perished – either dead by the time West arrived, or succumbing to their illness shortly thereafter.
West sensed another presence nearby and opened his eyes. Marcus Banton had taken a seat next to him. The Jamaican officer leaned his head against the wall and sighed.
“That was good work, Doctor.”
The CMO shook his head. “Too little, too late, Commander. We lost a third of those poor kids. They died from an illness that is easily prevented. Why didn’t these children receive the vaccine?”
Banton frowned. “They should have. About four months ago, we delivered enough for every child under 12 standard years in this town.”
West turned to Banton. “You did?”
The Second Officer nodded. “Damn right, we did. Your predecessor got killed when we procured the stuff.”
“Are you sure it was really the proper vaccine?”
“Oh yeah. Guaraldi checked it planetside before he got killed, then Dr. Zimmerman ran another check when we got it on the ship. It was the right vaccine alright.” Banton noticed Ayel across the room and stood. “Wait here – I’m going to get some answers.”
West didn’t argue. He was drained and the rough floor and moldering wall felt very comfortable at the moment. He watched as Banton and Ayel carried on an animated conversation for several minutes before the Second Officer returned, shaking his head in disgust.
“You’re not going to believe this,” said Banton, obviously angry.
“Believe what?”
“You remember when we arrived here I asked Ayel about Goertz?”
West nodded. “He said he was dead, right?”
“Right. Goertz ran this place for years – he had some medical training, not an M.D. but he could handle most problems that came in the door. Anyway, he decided to set up some stations to inoculate these children in their neighborhoods.”
West interrupted. “What of these kids? Are they children of the locals?”
Banton’s expression darkened. “You could say that. Most are abandoned, though - cast-offs from parents who got killed or simply didn’t care enough to look after them.” He noticed the shocked expression on West’s face. “Yeah, I know – stuff like that doesn’t happen in the Federation. Welcome to the frontier, Doctor.”
“My God, that’s horrible!”
“No arguments there. Anyway, like I was saying, Goertz decided to set up a vaccination outreach program – he really had a heart for these kids – and apparently someone else got wind of it and decided they could make a profit off the stock of medicine.”
“But . . . the vaccine is free,” protested West.
“Sure it is. When there’s an ample supply. Out here . . .” Banton gestured around, “the basics are in short supply. Not enough replicators, not enough doctors, not enough of anyone who gives a damn. Goertz was one of the good guys, trying to make a difference. Someone shoved a blade in his gut for his troubles and stole all the vaccine.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
Banton shrugged. “Maybe the better question is, who wouldn’t? This is a rough world, Doc. Ethics, like everything else, is in short supply. My guess? Either a gang tied to the Syndicate or maybe a Ferengi consortium. Hell, it could have been a local thug looking for a fix, who knows?”
West looked past Banton and saw Captain Slayd enter the ward, accompanied by the rest of the away team. By the look on Slayd’s face, West had the distinct impression that whoever had stolen the vaccine best look over his shoulder the remainder of his days.
* * *
Getting caught up here and what a humdinger of a tale you're weaving. I like the contrast between Lancaster and Vagabond--two such diametrically opposed worlds existing within the same frontier. This story very much contains a Wild West element to it. All that it's missing is the Man with No Name! 
Another excellent instalment. I particularly enjoyed the account of how the medical team arrived. It's that sort of detail that can really bring a story to life.
Which are sure to be numbered in single figures.
No. It just shows I have a limited repertoire of last names.
I need to get back to Jesse Yeager and the Endurance- they've been left hanging in the Andromeda galaxy too long. 
Wow, another great chapter. The drop off the corpsmen was fantastically realised - I could hear the rain on the front of the shuttle.
It sounds like whoever stole that medicine is going to be in for a rough time!
It sounds like whoever stole that medicine is going to be in for a rough time!
Dr. West did all that he could, he's got nothing to be ashamed of. That isn't going to help him sleep tonight, though... or in many nights to come. Dark, troubling, and compelling as hell. 
And if Slayd needs help with whoever stole that vaccine... Solly's got leave coming up, right?
Keep it coming.
And if Slayd needs help with whoever stole that vaccine... Solly's got leave coming up, right?
Keep it coming.
I need to get back to Jesse Yeager and the Endurance- they've been left hanging in the Andromeda galaxy too long.
Oh yes, I agree.
But first finish up this story, please. I'm really curious as to where it's going.
Fantastic stuff. From the hell raising Stallion scenes and a landing experience I'd sooner not experience to the heart wrenching scenes faced by West - such harrowing experiences to encounter so fresh to the job. And of course, Slayd is not going to take this lightly - he is going to raise hell over it. And damned rightly so.
I believe somebody was looking for gritty fan fiction the other day.
Well you can't get any more gritty than this, right here. A whole bunch of kids dead because some gangsters decided to make a profit from a freely available vaccine. That's a new low.
For West it is yet another painful learning experience of what it means to be a part of the Border Service. That naivete he possessed coming into this will wear off soon, me thinks.
What an all around aweful situation but so well told.
Well you can't get any more gritty than this, right here. A whole bunch of kids dead because some gangsters decided to make a profit from a freely available vaccine. That's a new low.
For West it is yet another painful learning experience of what it means to be a part of the Border Service. That naivete he possessed coming into this will wear off soon, me thinks.
What an all around aweful situation but so well told.
Chapter Fifteen
Stardate 54365.9 (21 May 2377)
TowuundCity, Vagabond VI
Slayd stood in stunned silence, torn between anguish and anger over the pitiful sight before him. He had anticipated perhaps a few patients with minor ailments in the ward – not this scene of abject misery. His thoughts of a friendly game of dominoes with Herr Goertz over a bottle of Janx Spirits evaporated as he looked upon the children ravaged by a deadly illness.
He noted the presence of Lt. Commander Banton who stood quietly by. Without shifting his gaze to the Second Officer, Slayd rasped, “Marcus – what happened?”
“Dr. West says it’s Nibo flu,” Banton replied quietly. “He managed to stabilize most of them, but . . .” He did not need to finish. The twenty small body bags gave testimony to the deadly nature of the virus.
“What about the vaccine we delivered? Where’s Goertz?” queried the Captain, his voice tight.
“Goertz is dead, Skipper. According to Ayel, he was killed while taking the vaccine out to the areas that needed it most. Apparently, someone decided to take it from him.”
Slayd’s face was stony, save for a slight tic along his jawline. “Who?”
Banton shook his head. “Ayel doesn’t know.”
Slayd nodded tersely. “Very well. Thank you, Marcus – carry on.” The Captain stepped past the Second Officer and moved into the ward to take in the grim scene. He noticed Dr. West sitting on the floor against one wall, his head lowered and his face drawn and haggard. Slayd approached the CMO and knelt down before him.
“Beastly business, Doctor. Are you alright?”
West nodded absently. “Yes sir. We did what we could, but for twenty of those kids, it just wasn’t enough.”
Slayd patted West’s shoulder. “Not your fault, Lad. Not your fault.”
West merely nodded, too spent to say more. Slayd stood and gestured for Senior Chief Burke to approach. He led her to the far corner of the room.
“Senior Chief, I want you to assemble your sweeper team. I want the person or persons that killed Goertz and stole the flu vaccine. You have 48 hours to search before we leave orbit.”
Burke nodded. “Aye, sir. Parameters?”
“By the book, Senior. If you find a suspect, bring them on the ship for questioning. This is not a seek and destroy mission, understood?”
“Understood,” she replied, though her expression indicated her disappointment. Burke had hoped to personally inflict a great deal of pain and suffering on the perpetrators.
Slayd did not miss the look on Burke’s face. “I want the bloody bastards responsible for this as badly as you, Paula, but let’s get it right. Bring them back alive and intact. Off with you.”
* * *
Stardate 54366.4 (22 May 2377)
USS Dragonfire
In Standard Orbit – Vagabond VI
Holodeck
Brian West and Cyndi Kwan held hands as they silently strolled along the sandy beach as breakers rolled in and washed around their bare feet. The sun was low in the western sky, casting reflections of orange and pink across the clouds.
A fiddler crab scuttled out of their way as tiny seabirds scurried to avoid the frothy waves. The steady breeze brought the tang of salt air to their nostrils. In short, it was a beautiful evening on a lonely stretch of Pacific Ocean beach. One could not wish for a more romantic setting, yet West’s thoughts remained on a fetid, crowded medical ward on the planet below.
Kwan peered at West with concern. “You’re awfully quiet, Brian.”
“Yeah. Sorry I’m not much company.”
“The children that contracted the flu. Is that what’s bothering you?”
West stopped and stared out over the ocean. A pair of seagulls flew by, screeching raucously as they whirled and circled in the sea breeze.
“I never imagined coming across anything like that, Cyndi,” he said. “I suppose I had prepared myself for injured crewmembers, casualties from battle – that sort of thing. But not children – not like what I saw.”
Cyndi came around and faced him. “Brian – don’t forget the children you and your staff saved. If you hadn’t been there, all of those children would have died, not just twenty.”
“I know. I keep telling myself that.” He sighed. “I’m just wondering if I’m really cut out for this.”
She took his face in her hands and forced him to look in her eyes. “Look – I’m new at this too. And some days, most days, I feel pretty overwhelmed. But you’re needed out here, Brian, as much or more than anyone on this ship. Sure, what happened to those poor kids was a terrible tragedy, and I know you must feel awful about it. But you helped, Brian – you were the difference for those surviving children. Without you there, they might have all died!”
He forced a smile. “You’d make a great counselor, Ensign Kwan.”
She slid her arms around him in an embrace, laying her head against his chest. “Well, you’d better get your head straight, Doctor, or I’m going to kick your butt!”
“Maybe not that great of a counselor,” he amended, earning a playful slap on his back.
* * *
Stardate 54367.2 (23 May 2377)
USS Dragonfire
In Standard Orbit – Vagabond VI
Brig
Slayd entered the Brig accompanied by Commander Nor Huren. He turned to the crewman manning the forcefield controls for the individual cells.
“Which one?” he asked.
“Cell three. I’ll lower the field for you, sir” replied the crewman.
Slayd and Nor Huren approached cell three and entered. Inside stood Senior Chief Burke and another crewman, both wearing black battle armor. Slayd noticed a sizeable gray burn mark on Burke’s chest plate, indicating she had taken a hit from an energy weapon. She looked none the worse for wear, save for dark circles under her eyes and an angry scowl on her face.
The Captain followed her gaze to the source of her ire. A lone figure sat in an upright chair, hands manacled to the seat and a dark hood covering the prisoner’s head.
“Is this our culprit?” asked Slayd. His calm tone belied the emotions he felt.
“He’s not the one who killed Goertz,” replied Burke, “but he damn sure knows who did. He just needs some ‘persuading.’” Her voice was tired but angry. Obviously, she did not take kindly to having someone shoot at her.
“You okay, Senior?” asked Nor Huren.
Burke looked momentarily puzzled, then glanced down at her scarred armor. “This? Oh, it’s nothing, Commander. Our big-eared friend's gadget got off a lucky shot, didn’t it ass-hole?”
The hooded prisoner turned slightly in the chair and strained against his restraints, mumbling incoherently.
“Take off the hood,” ordered Slayd.
The second trooper jerked off the hood none too gently, revealing a young Ferengi male who was rather tall for his race. There was a sizeable bruise on his left cheek. The Ferengi blinked painfully against the sudden exposure to light before fixing his gaze on Burke and growling against his gag.
“The gag too,” directed the Captain. The trooper complied and the Ferengi opened and closed his mouth several times, attempting to restore circulation to his face before speaking.
“Who are you?” asked Slayd.
“This is an outrage!” cried the Ferengi. “I have diplomatic immunity. You’ve no right . . .”
“Replace the gag,” said Slayd, with obvious impatience. He turned to Burke as the Ferengi was again reduced to guttural noises. “Report, Senior Chief.”
“It wasn’t too hard to chase down this sack of shit, Skipper. Mr. Goertz had a bunch of friends in that town, even among the scum-bags. It’s amazing what information you can get with a few strips of latinum and a coupla bottles of Orion fire water.”
“No doubt,” replied Slayd, dryly, suppressing a smile.
“Anyway, the info we collected helped us triangulate on this ass . . ., I mean, perp. Seems he’s been making a killing in the pharmaceutical trade, if you take my meaning. A few more strips of latinum gave us his location, so me and the boys decided to drop in unannounced.” She brushed at her damaged armor. “Apparently, our friend is the nervous type. He had some impressive security and surveillance gear – I’m pretty sure it’s Romulan – and he picked up on our approach. We get within twenty meters of his place and up pops a cluster of auto-fire phasers. My boys and I have got pretty good reflexes, so we avoid any casualties, but one blast ricocheted close to me and caught me square in the tits – beggin’ your pardon, Skipper. Well, that pissed me off, so I returned fire. That’s when ‘Ears’ here starts squealing, ‘Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!’ – Apparently his balls aren’t as big as his lobes – beggin’ your pardon. Anyway, Duffy here takes the door and puts the perp’s face into the wall. Duff doesn’t like it when I get shot. Inside we find two cases of the vaccine we delivered a few months back – I double-checked the lot numbers. Ears, here, swears he’s just the middle-man, but he wouldn’t give up the name of who killed Mr. Goertz. We decided to bring him back to the ship, like you ordered, and here we are.”
Slayd nodded, bemused by Burke’s rapid-fire report and colorful language. “Thank you, Senior Chief. Well done. Why don’t you go by sickbay and let Dr. West check you out?”
Burke’s face tinged slightly. “Sir? If it’s all the same to you, I’ll pass. I’m not hurt – really. And I’d just as soon not have Doc West feeling up my boobs. Hell, I’m old enough to be the boy’s mother.”
Slayd cleared his throat while Nor Huren smiled at his discomfiture. “Yes, well . . . never mind then. Thank you, Senior Chief. Please pass along a ‘well-done’ to your team.”
Burke nodded. “Yes sir, I will. Let me know if you need any help grilling ‘Ears.’”
“Most assuredly. Dismissed.”
Burke and Duff exited the cell as the Ferengi continued to glare at Slayd and Nor Huren. The Captain reached for the gag, then paused.
“I will remove this from your mouth, but it will go right back in if you start off with that tripe about diplomatic immunity. We both know that doesn’t carry water in these parts. Are we agreed on that point?”
The prisoner continued to glare at Slayd, but he finally gave a curt nod.
“Very good.” Slayd removed the gag, evoking a fit of couging from the Ferengi.
“That crazy hew-mon female tried to kill me!” he complained.
“By the looks of her armor, I’d say she acted in self-defense. And assaulting a member of the Border Service is a class-A felony, even out here on the Outland Expanse. Now,” Slayd drew up another chair and sat down across from the Ferengi. “Let’s begin with your name, shall we?”
For a moment it seemed that the prisoner was merely going to stare daggers at the two officers. Finally, he said, “Prog.”
Slayd nodded. “Well Mr. Prog, you are what we call a ‘person of interest’ in an investigation we are conducting. What can you tell me about the death of a human named Goertz?”
Prog’s eyes shifted from Slayd to Nor Huren then back to Slayd. “Never heard of him.”
“Really? That’s odd, considering you had in your possession two crates of flu vaccine that we had delivered to him recently. Vaccine that might have prevented the deaths of 20 children, I might add.”
The Ferengi appeared unmoved. “What a shame. That doesn’t alter the fact that I never heard of him.”
“At the moment, you are our lone suspect, Mr. Prog. And until we either find the real culprit or you begin to divulge some useful information, you will remain our guest in this cell. The choice is yours.”
Prog sneered, revealing crooked and broken teeth. “I know Federation law, Hew-mon. You can’t hold me more than 24 of your hours unless you charge me.”
“Easy enough,” interjected Nor Huren. “You are in possession of stolen property – that will hold you for a while.”
Prog rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding, right? This is Vagabond VI. Everything on the planet is either stolen, counterfeit or smuggled in from somewhere else.” He grinned toothily and shook his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Rigellian bitch!”
Nor Huren smiled sweetly. “You have no idea.” She looked at Slayd. “Are we done here?”
Slayd stood. “For now.”
Prog maintained his amused scowl as the two officers left the cell and the forcefield reactivated. At the far end of the brig, Slayd folded his arms and sighed.
“Any ideas, Katari?”
The Rigellian smiled. “You remember my sister, Kelesti, don’t you?”
Slayd nodded. “Yes, of course. She’s C.O. of the Pamlico, right?”
“Right. Kelesti told me about an interrogation method that the senior NCO on the Bluefin has used on occasion. It’s supposed to be very effective with Ferengis.”
Slayd lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? And what is involved with this interrogation technique?”
She gave him a wicked grin. “We have some data files of Klingon opera, don’t we?”
* * *
Stardate 54365.9 (21 May 2377)
TowuundCity, Vagabond VI
Slayd stood in stunned silence, torn between anguish and anger over the pitiful sight before him. He had anticipated perhaps a few patients with minor ailments in the ward – not this scene of abject misery. His thoughts of a friendly game of dominoes with Herr Goertz over a bottle of Janx Spirits evaporated as he looked upon the children ravaged by a deadly illness.
He noted the presence of Lt. Commander Banton who stood quietly by. Without shifting his gaze to the Second Officer, Slayd rasped, “Marcus – what happened?”
“Dr. West says it’s Nibo flu,” Banton replied quietly. “He managed to stabilize most of them, but . . .” He did not need to finish. The twenty small body bags gave testimony to the deadly nature of the virus.
“What about the vaccine we delivered? Where’s Goertz?” queried the Captain, his voice tight.
“Goertz is dead, Skipper. According to Ayel, he was killed while taking the vaccine out to the areas that needed it most. Apparently, someone decided to take it from him.”
Slayd’s face was stony, save for a slight tic along his jawline. “Who?”
Banton shook his head. “Ayel doesn’t know.”
Slayd nodded tersely. “Very well. Thank you, Marcus – carry on.” The Captain stepped past the Second Officer and moved into the ward to take in the grim scene. He noticed Dr. West sitting on the floor against one wall, his head lowered and his face drawn and haggard. Slayd approached the CMO and knelt down before him.
“Beastly business, Doctor. Are you alright?”
West nodded absently. “Yes sir. We did what we could, but for twenty of those kids, it just wasn’t enough.”
Slayd patted West’s shoulder. “Not your fault, Lad. Not your fault.”
West merely nodded, too spent to say more. Slayd stood and gestured for Senior Chief Burke to approach. He led her to the far corner of the room.
“Senior Chief, I want you to assemble your sweeper team. I want the person or persons that killed Goertz and stole the flu vaccine. You have 48 hours to search before we leave orbit.”
Burke nodded. “Aye, sir. Parameters?”
“By the book, Senior. If you find a suspect, bring them on the ship for questioning. This is not a seek and destroy mission, understood?”
“Understood,” she replied, though her expression indicated her disappointment. Burke had hoped to personally inflict a great deal of pain and suffering on the perpetrators.
Slayd did not miss the look on Burke’s face. “I want the bloody bastards responsible for this as badly as you, Paula, but let’s get it right. Bring them back alive and intact. Off with you.”
* * *
Stardate 54366.4 (22 May 2377)
USS Dragonfire
In Standard Orbit – Vagabond VI
Holodeck
Brian West and Cyndi Kwan held hands as they silently strolled along the sandy beach as breakers rolled in and washed around their bare feet. The sun was low in the western sky, casting reflections of orange and pink across the clouds.
A fiddler crab scuttled out of their way as tiny seabirds scurried to avoid the frothy waves. The steady breeze brought the tang of salt air to their nostrils. In short, it was a beautiful evening on a lonely stretch of Pacific Ocean beach. One could not wish for a more romantic setting, yet West’s thoughts remained on a fetid, crowded medical ward on the planet below.
Kwan peered at West with concern. “You’re awfully quiet, Brian.”
“Yeah. Sorry I’m not much company.”
“The children that contracted the flu. Is that what’s bothering you?”
West stopped and stared out over the ocean. A pair of seagulls flew by, screeching raucously as they whirled and circled in the sea breeze.
“I never imagined coming across anything like that, Cyndi,” he said. “I suppose I had prepared myself for injured crewmembers, casualties from battle – that sort of thing. But not children – not like what I saw.”
Cyndi came around and faced him. “Brian – don’t forget the children you and your staff saved. If you hadn’t been there, all of those children would have died, not just twenty.”
“I know. I keep telling myself that.” He sighed. “I’m just wondering if I’m really cut out for this.”
She took his face in her hands and forced him to look in her eyes. “Look – I’m new at this too. And some days, most days, I feel pretty overwhelmed. But you’re needed out here, Brian, as much or more than anyone on this ship. Sure, what happened to those poor kids was a terrible tragedy, and I know you must feel awful about it. But you helped, Brian – you were the difference for those surviving children. Without you there, they might have all died!”
He forced a smile. “You’d make a great counselor, Ensign Kwan.”
She slid her arms around him in an embrace, laying her head against his chest. “Well, you’d better get your head straight, Doctor, or I’m going to kick your butt!”
“Maybe not that great of a counselor,” he amended, earning a playful slap on his back.
* * *
Stardate 54367.2 (23 May 2377)
USS Dragonfire
In Standard Orbit – Vagabond VI
Brig
Slayd entered the Brig accompanied by Commander Nor Huren. He turned to the crewman manning the forcefield controls for the individual cells.
“Which one?” he asked.
“Cell three. I’ll lower the field for you, sir” replied the crewman.
Slayd and Nor Huren approached cell three and entered. Inside stood Senior Chief Burke and another crewman, both wearing black battle armor. Slayd noticed a sizeable gray burn mark on Burke’s chest plate, indicating she had taken a hit from an energy weapon. She looked none the worse for wear, save for dark circles under her eyes and an angry scowl on her face.
The Captain followed her gaze to the source of her ire. A lone figure sat in an upright chair, hands manacled to the seat and a dark hood covering the prisoner’s head.
“Is this our culprit?” asked Slayd. His calm tone belied the emotions he felt.
“He’s not the one who killed Goertz,” replied Burke, “but he damn sure knows who did. He just needs some ‘persuading.’” Her voice was tired but angry. Obviously, she did not take kindly to having someone shoot at her.
“You okay, Senior?” asked Nor Huren.
Burke looked momentarily puzzled, then glanced down at her scarred armor. “This? Oh, it’s nothing, Commander. Our big-eared friend's gadget got off a lucky shot, didn’t it ass-hole?”
The hooded prisoner turned slightly in the chair and strained against his restraints, mumbling incoherently.
“Take off the hood,” ordered Slayd.
The second trooper jerked off the hood none too gently, revealing a young Ferengi male who was rather tall for his race. There was a sizeable bruise on his left cheek. The Ferengi blinked painfully against the sudden exposure to light before fixing his gaze on Burke and growling against his gag.
“The gag too,” directed the Captain. The trooper complied and the Ferengi opened and closed his mouth several times, attempting to restore circulation to his face before speaking.
“Who are you?” asked Slayd.
“This is an outrage!” cried the Ferengi. “I have diplomatic immunity. You’ve no right . . .”
“Replace the gag,” said Slayd, with obvious impatience. He turned to Burke as the Ferengi was again reduced to guttural noises. “Report, Senior Chief.”
“It wasn’t too hard to chase down this sack of shit, Skipper. Mr. Goertz had a bunch of friends in that town, even among the scum-bags. It’s amazing what information you can get with a few strips of latinum and a coupla bottles of Orion fire water.”
“No doubt,” replied Slayd, dryly, suppressing a smile.
“Anyway, the info we collected helped us triangulate on this ass . . ., I mean, perp. Seems he’s been making a killing in the pharmaceutical trade, if you take my meaning. A few more strips of latinum gave us his location, so me and the boys decided to drop in unannounced.” She brushed at her damaged armor. “Apparently, our friend is the nervous type. He had some impressive security and surveillance gear – I’m pretty sure it’s Romulan – and he picked up on our approach. We get within twenty meters of his place and up pops a cluster of auto-fire phasers. My boys and I have got pretty good reflexes, so we avoid any casualties, but one blast ricocheted close to me and caught me square in the tits – beggin’ your pardon, Skipper. Well, that pissed me off, so I returned fire. That’s when ‘Ears’ here starts squealing, ‘Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!’ – Apparently his balls aren’t as big as his lobes – beggin’ your pardon. Anyway, Duffy here takes the door and puts the perp’s face into the wall. Duff doesn’t like it when I get shot. Inside we find two cases of the vaccine we delivered a few months back – I double-checked the lot numbers. Ears, here, swears he’s just the middle-man, but he wouldn’t give up the name of who killed Mr. Goertz. We decided to bring him back to the ship, like you ordered, and here we are.”
Slayd nodded, bemused by Burke’s rapid-fire report and colorful language. “Thank you, Senior Chief. Well done. Why don’t you go by sickbay and let Dr. West check you out?”
Burke’s face tinged slightly. “Sir? If it’s all the same to you, I’ll pass. I’m not hurt – really. And I’d just as soon not have Doc West feeling up my boobs. Hell, I’m old enough to be the boy’s mother.”
Slayd cleared his throat while Nor Huren smiled at his discomfiture. “Yes, well . . . never mind then. Thank you, Senior Chief. Please pass along a ‘well-done’ to your team.”
Burke nodded. “Yes sir, I will. Let me know if you need any help grilling ‘Ears.’”
“Most assuredly. Dismissed.”
Burke and Duff exited the cell as the Ferengi continued to glare at Slayd and Nor Huren. The Captain reached for the gag, then paused.
“I will remove this from your mouth, but it will go right back in if you start off with that tripe about diplomatic immunity. We both know that doesn’t carry water in these parts. Are we agreed on that point?”
The prisoner continued to glare at Slayd, but he finally gave a curt nod.
“Very good.” Slayd removed the gag, evoking a fit of couging from the Ferengi.
“That crazy hew-mon female tried to kill me!” he complained.
“By the looks of her armor, I’d say she acted in self-defense. And assaulting a member of the Border Service is a class-A felony, even out here on the Outland Expanse. Now,” Slayd drew up another chair and sat down across from the Ferengi. “Let’s begin with your name, shall we?”
For a moment it seemed that the prisoner was merely going to stare daggers at the two officers. Finally, he said, “Prog.”
Slayd nodded. “Well Mr. Prog, you are what we call a ‘person of interest’ in an investigation we are conducting. What can you tell me about the death of a human named Goertz?”
Prog’s eyes shifted from Slayd to Nor Huren then back to Slayd. “Never heard of him.”
“Really? That’s odd, considering you had in your possession two crates of flu vaccine that we had delivered to him recently. Vaccine that might have prevented the deaths of 20 children, I might add.”
The Ferengi appeared unmoved. “What a shame. That doesn’t alter the fact that I never heard of him.”
“At the moment, you are our lone suspect, Mr. Prog. And until we either find the real culprit or you begin to divulge some useful information, you will remain our guest in this cell. The choice is yours.”
Prog sneered, revealing crooked and broken teeth. “I know Federation law, Hew-mon. You can’t hold me more than 24 of your hours unless you charge me.”
“Easy enough,” interjected Nor Huren. “You are in possession of stolen property – that will hold you for a while.”
Prog rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding, right? This is Vagabond VI. Everything on the planet is either stolen, counterfeit or smuggled in from somewhere else.” He grinned toothily and shook his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Rigellian bitch!”
Nor Huren smiled sweetly. “You have no idea.” She looked at Slayd. “Are we done here?”
Slayd stood. “For now.”
Prog maintained his amused scowl as the two officers left the cell and the forcefield reactivated. At the far end of the brig, Slayd folded his arms and sighed.
“Any ideas, Katari?”
The Rigellian smiled. “You remember my sister, Kelesti, don’t you?”
Slayd nodded. “Yes, of course. She’s C.O. of the Pamlico, right?”
“Right. Kelesti told me about an interrogation method that the senior NCO on the Bluefin has used on occasion. It’s supposed to be very effective with Ferengis.”
Slayd lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? And what is involved with this interrogation technique?”
She gave him a wicked grin. “We have some data files of Klingon opera, don’t we?”
* * *
NOOOOOO! Not the Klingon Opera!!!!! 
Okay, so I have a wild idea/theory about the vaccine theft that I can't wait to see if I'm right about, but apparently, I'm going to have to keep waiting. (I'm actually pretty sure I'm wrong, but it would be really crazy if I guessed it ...)
West and Kwan continue to charm. Poor West, though ... that couldn't have been an easy day. Burke continues to be awesome. Slayd is going to kick someone's ass when he figures out who did this. Also, I laughed at loud at Huren's calm "You have no idea" in response to being called a bitch.
This story is so entertaining. Thanks for writing it!
Okay, so I have a wild idea/theory about the vaccine theft that I can't wait to see if I'm right about, but apparently, I'm going to have to keep waiting. (I'm actually pretty sure I'm wrong, but it would be really crazy if I guessed it ...)
West and Kwan continue to charm. Poor West, though ... that couldn't have been an easy day. Burke continues to be awesome. Slayd is going to kick someone's ass when he figures out who did this. Also, I laughed at loud at Huren's calm "You have no idea" in response to being called a bitch.
This story is so entertaining. Thanks for writing it!
Great chapter. Kwan is helping West to cope with the inhumanity (if you'll excuse the term) he's witnessed thus far on his brief tour in the OE. One wonders how much his heart will harden out of necessity as he grows into his post as CMO.
Senior Chief Burke's more colorful vocabulary is made all the more hilarious by her constant apologies for it. She and her team are obviously not to be trifled with, and Mr. Prog is lucky to still have his lobes intact after their confrontation.
And Solly Brin's Klingon Opera technique has apparently become standard interrogating procedure in the Border Service. How very appropriate.
Kwan is helping West to cope with the inhumanity (if you'll excuse the term) he's witnessed thus far on his brief tour in the OE. One wonders how much his heart will harden out of necessity as he grows into his post as CMO.Senior Chief Burke's more colorful vocabulary is made all the more hilarious by her constant apologies for it. She and her team are obviously not to be trifled with, and Mr. Prog is lucky to still have his lobes intact after their confrontation.
And Solly Brin's Klingon Opera technique has apparently become standard interrogating procedure in the Border Service.
How very appropriate.
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