Thanks for the kind comments - on with the tale . . .
Chapter Thirteen
Stardate 54365.7 (21 May 2377)
USS Dragonfire
In Standard Orbit – Vagabond VI
Bridge
Commander Nor Huren sat brooding in the command seat, a mug of spiced Gwynt-ja tea from her native Rigel VII forgotten in her hand. She was growing increasingly annoyed by the imbeciles piloting ships that could not maintain a proper distance from the Dragonfire while in a standard orbital pattern. Nor Huren had considered ordering the cutter to a higher orbit and away from the congestion, but she was loathe to do so with the away team on the surface and possibly move beyond safe range of the transporters.
What a cluster-frak, she mused, darkly.
At one point, they had been forced to use the tractor beams to prevent a Kintarean shuttle from ramming their port warp nacelle. Nor Huren hoped that the occupants of the craft had their teeth violently rattled in the process. More likely, they were so drunk they didn’t even notice.
I hate this planet, she thought, sourly. At times like these, she missed her rural home on Rigel VII – an un-crowded, agrarian region of the planet. Sure, she had been to Rigel IV countless times – the most populous and crowded planet in the Federation - but at least they had a semblance of order. There was probably ten times the number of ships in orbit around Rigel IV as were circling Vagabond VI at the moment, without ships running into one another on a regular basis.
“Commander?” Nor Huren’s sour reverie was broken by Ensign Kwan who was seated at Ops.
“Yes Ensign?”
“It’s been over an hour since we heard from the away team . . . do you think they’re alright?”
The First Officer smiled. “Don’t worry, Cyndi. I’m sure Dr. West is fine.”
Kwan blushed but smiled in return. “I didn’t mean to be so obvious.”
“If you hoped your ‘friendship’ with the CMO was a secret, I’m afraid I must disappoint you.”
“No – not at all – but it is surprising how fast news travels.”
“Dragonfire isn’t that big, Ensign - word gets around quickly. And like I said, I’m sure Dr. West is fine.”
* * *
Stardate 54365.7 (21 May 2377)
Towuund City, Vagabond VI
Dr. West was cold, wet and miserable.
The light rain they had encountered when first beaming down had turned into a hard down-pour. Unlike most civilized Federation worlds, Vagabond VI lacked even a rudimentary weather control system. At least on Earth, if you got caught in the rain it was your own fault for not checking the weather schedule.
His jumpsuit was soaked through and his hair was plastered to his head. Even his feet were wet, the standing water in the streets finally working their way inside his boots. He tried not to allow any of the foul-tasting water in his mouth ( it had a nasty, chemical taste) as he doggedly trudged after Lt. Commander Banton. Even worse, Senior Chief Burke seemed to be having a wonderful time. She wore a maniacal grin as she followed closely behind the CMO, keeping an eye out for malefactors as she carried her ARC at the ready.
“Isn’t this fun, Doc?” she crowed. “Always great to get dirt-side and experience life without all of the sterile filters of civilization. And the weather? It’s a great equalizer.”
“If you say so,” muttered West without enthusiasm. He supposed (correctly) that Burke had spent some time with Special Ops and enjoyed eating bugs, climbing trees and jumping off cliffs. As for West, he was a city boy. His idea of roughing it involved taking the stairs instead of the turbo-lift.
“Cheer up, Doc! Our destination is just ahead,” encouraged Banton. He turned back and grinned at the CMO. “At least we’ll be out of the rain.”
As good as his word, Banton led them down a short side street and paused before a non-descript, heavy door set in a wall of corrugated metal. The Second Officer banged on the door with his fist.
Momentarily, a voice crackled over a speaker concealed above the door. “Who is it?”
“Marcus Banton from the Dragonfire. I’ve brought along our medical officer.”
“Hang on a minute.” The speaker cut off with a snap of static, leaving the trio standing under a dim circle of light as the rain continued to pour. West idly wondered what it would be like to be dry again.
It took almost five minutes before they heard the sound of heavy locking bolts retracting. The door swung open with a squall of protest from its hinges.
A humanoid of indeterminate race peered at the Border Dogs. He had long black hair that hung lankly over his shoulders. His skin was greenish-gray and faint ridges accentuated his brow. Yellow eyes gave off a faint glow in the dim light. Those eyes tracked toward West.
“You the doctor?” he spoke in accented but passable Standard.
West nodded. “Yes – I’m Brian West.”
“You bring supplies?”
“Of course.”
Their host cautiously opened the door wider, casting a furtive look in both directions down the dark street before motioning them to quickly enter.
The space they entered was cramped, dimly lit and smelled of mildew. A set of stairs led upward from the cramped foyer.
“Where’s Goertz?” asked Banton.
“Dead. I’m Ayel – I’m the caretaker now. Follow me.”
Ayel produced a small torch and began moving up the stairs. Banton turned to West and Burke and made a “come along” gesture with his head before following.
Dr. West, still dripping profusely, adjusted the shoulder strap of the med kit and obediently followed Banton, trailed closely by a now silent Burke.
The stairs creaked ominously as they ascended to the second level. West noticed a different smell here – a mixture of antiseptics, body odor and the ominous stench of infection. Ayel drew a curtain aside that served as a door and stepped through into a long room.
Banton, West and Burke stepped into the makeshift hospital ward and the CMO came to an abrupt halt.
“Oh my God,” West whispered.
* * *
“Chief Anaak, why don’t you wait outside while I parley with Thu-Churr.”
The Capellan frowned in disapproval. “Captain? I’m not sure that is wise.”
“Listen to your Chuft-Captain, Capellan – he’s in no danger from me,” said the Tzenkethi. His green eyes glittered in amusement.
Anaak’s eyes narrowed. Slayd noticed the Chief's hands tighten on the grips of the disruptors.
“It’s alright, Chief,” said Slayd in a quiet voice. “Thu-Churr knows what you would do to him if any harm were to befall me.”
The Tzenkethi emitted a snuffling sound of amusement as Anaak reluctantly holstered his disruptors and stepped out of the room.
“Do sit down, Slayd. Have a drink. You like Bourbon as I recall.”
“Thank you, no,” replied the Captain. “I only drink with people I like.” He tossed the bag of latinum on the table. “I need information, Thu-Churr.”
The felinoid regarded his massive right paw and began to lick fragments of meat from between the digits. “You want to know what my kinsmen are up to along the border, am I right?”
Slayd nodded. “You are.”
Thu-Churr expanded the digits of his paw, revealing his razor-sharp claws. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I have no information that would be of use.”
The Captain’s face darkened. “Really? Forgive me, Thu-Churr, but I find that difficult to believe. You’ve built the more savory side of your reputation by selling reliable intel. Don’t tell me you’ve been reduced to providing diseased whores to your drug-addled clients.”
A warning rumble came from deep in the Tzenkethi’s throat. “Don’t push too hard, Slayd. I like you, but one day I might decide to rip you open and feast on your steaming guts. And don’t rely too much on your Capellan underling to protect you. He’s not nearly as fast as I am.”
“So you say.” Slayd walked to the table and retrieved the strips of latinum, bouncing the bag in his hand.
Thu-Churr spread his paws in a human-like gesture of apology. “Let’s not part angry, Slayd. I would like to help you, but as you know – I’m not exactly admired on the home-world. What I do manage to hear is mostly third-hand information that is usually suspect.”
“Then let me ask your opinion, Thu-Churr. Why the increase in Tzenkethi raids against the Caitians? Does the government want to incite a war with the Federation?”
The felinoid was quiet for a moment as he considered the question. “It’s no secret that the Tzenkethi ruling house wants Cait returned to the fold of our ancestors. Of course, our last attempt at ‘reacquiring’ our former territory did not end well – one of the reasons I now languish in this garbage pit. But considering your Federation’s current weakened state, the Lord Sire may see an opportunity. He’s a wily and patient old churt, even if he is mad. If he can drive a wedge between Cait and the rest of the Federation, he will ultimately achieve his goal.”
Slayd grunted. Thu-Churr’s assessment was identical to his own. Unfortunately, no one at Starfleet Command seemed to agree with him.
“Enjoy your dinner, Thu-Churr,” said Slayd as he moved toward the door. “Oh – one last thing.”
“What?” asked the Tzenkethi.
“If I should discover that you withheld information that could have saved lives, I will personally burn this hell-hole to the ground," Slayd smiled darkly, "with you in it. Have a pleasant evening.”
* * *
Sorry. I'll butt out now.
Love the interaction between Slayd and the Tzenkethi, the chief and the doctor, and particularly the thoughts of the poor Commander left to sit in the awful traffic jam and try not to crash. And Kwan's missing West was cute, too. Really, there wasn't anything not to like here, and I can't wait to find out what West is seeing in that nasty "hospital." (Even if I'm pretty sure it's going to make me sick to my stomach to read about.)
Diplomacy out here on the frontier has a whole different flavor to it.
