Back by popular demand.
... well, maybe just because I referenced it in another forum and the original thread got pruned.
Anyway, here's the first chapter...
The cloaked figure made her way up the dirty street. The dust and grime that hung heavy in the air wasn’t the only cause for the filth. The establishments that lined the street provided for the basest of desires for every species in the Alpha Quadrant and any one who made the trip through the wormhole.
The cloaked figure, however, wasn’t in the area to quench any of those desires. She was hiding.
It wouldn’t be long before those looking for her would be swarming the streets of this God-Forsaken colony. But, she would be gone then. She had survived these last couple months by staying one step ahead of them.
When she debarked the dingy, old freighter earlier this evening, she knew what she had to do to put an end to this nonsense. The problem was, she’d rather cut off her right arm, than beg for help from the man she’s hated since childhood.
She scanned the crowd looking for a target. And there wasn’t a shortage of those. Most patrons of these establishments weren’t the most astute nor alert group of ‘intelligent’ beings she had ever been in the company of.
However, there were maybe one or two people in each establishment alert enough to be watching out for members of their crew. Those were the ones she worried about. Obtaining her prize would be easy enough from nearly every one of the hundreds of characters roaming the streets and in and out of the shops looking for their next fix. It was the guy sitting casually just inside every bar on the street looking for all the world like he was enjoying a quiet drink while waiting for his ship’s load to clear, find another job and take off. But, he wasn’t as distant as he appeared. He knew exactly where each crew person was and he knew who the possible pickpockets were on the street (including our cloaked figure), and where they were in proximity to his fellow crewmembers.
She needed to find some one local, but not so local that they didn’t have enough latinum pay for her communiqué and subsequent transportation out of here.
Fortune was smiling on her that evening as she discreetly scanned left and right from under her hood. A drunken brawl suddenly erupted from a bar and into the street directly in her hurried path. Not one observer could have accused her of that distraction, nor of taking advantage when a big, burly guy stumbled backward into her and they both landed in the street with a coccyx-crushing thud. For a brief second she considered sitting there in her misery when she realized her quarry was safely in her palm and she needed to get out of the vicinity quickly, because her hood had fallen ever so slightly in the scuffle. She couldn’t afford to be seen on any security surveillance systems - not yet, anyway.
Her sudden eruption of Klingon cursing caused the brute to jump faster than she would have given him credit for. The crowd must not have noticed her facial features, because they all moved just as quickly. She got to her feet and walked as fast as she could to the next intersection and took a left.
An implant behind her left eye allowed her to scan behind her to see if she had been followed or if any one was otherwise tracking her movements. She didn’t detect anything or anyone. If she were lucky, she just might make it off this rock alive.
At the end of the street she took a right, then another left after that, trying to put as much distance between herself and the drunk Cardassian whose pocket she’d picked.
The third street over she found a public subspace communications system. She dropped the credit slip into the slot and punched in the code she’d known for more than 30 years. She already knew what she was going to say, had in fact thought it out and memorized it during the journey on the freighter. And yet, when the familiar, though aged, face appeared on the screen, her stomach lurched. She braced herself and began to speak.
“I need your help.
She wasn’t sure if he would recognize the sound of her voice, but she did know he couldn’t refuse those four words regardless of who spoke them.
“Who are you and how did you get this code?”
His tone told her that he hadn’t changed in fifteen years. He was still the same arrogant bastard he’d always been. She pulled back her hood just enough to allow the light from the console to reveal her face.
The look of shock on the man’s face told her all she needed to know. She allowed the hood to fall back over her face. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.
“I know who your contacts are and I know just how much power you have. I also know, that you know from our entire relationship leading up to our last conversation that I wouldn’t have contacted you if I had any another options. If you were ever a friend to my father, you will meet me in four days at Project 6-7-2.”
Without waiting for a reply, she terminated the communication. She, then, took a step backward, pulled out a phaser and blew up the unit.
... well, maybe just because I referenced it in another forum and the original thread got pruned.
Anyway, here's the first chapter...
The cloaked figure made her way up the dirty street. The dust and grime that hung heavy in the air wasn’t the only cause for the filth. The establishments that lined the street provided for the basest of desires for every species in the Alpha Quadrant and any one who made the trip through the wormhole.
The cloaked figure, however, wasn’t in the area to quench any of those desires. She was hiding.
It wouldn’t be long before those looking for her would be swarming the streets of this God-Forsaken colony. But, she would be gone then. She had survived these last couple months by staying one step ahead of them.
When she debarked the dingy, old freighter earlier this evening, she knew what she had to do to put an end to this nonsense. The problem was, she’d rather cut off her right arm, than beg for help from the man she’s hated since childhood.
She scanned the crowd looking for a target. And there wasn’t a shortage of those. Most patrons of these establishments weren’t the most astute nor alert group of ‘intelligent’ beings she had ever been in the company of.
However, there were maybe one or two people in each establishment alert enough to be watching out for members of their crew. Those were the ones she worried about. Obtaining her prize would be easy enough from nearly every one of the hundreds of characters roaming the streets and in and out of the shops looking for their next fix. It was the guy sitting casually just inside every bar on the street looking for all the world like he was enjoying a quiet drink while waiting for his ship’s load to clear, find another job and take off. But, he wasn’t as distant as he appeared. He knew exactly where each crew person was and he knew who the possible pickpockets were on the street (including our cloaked figure), and where they were in proximity to his fellow crewmembers.
She needed to find some one local, but not so local that they didn’t have enough latinum pay for her communiqué and subsequent transportation out of here.
Fortune was smiling on her that evening as she discreetly scanned left and right from under her hood. A drunken brawl suddenly erupted from a bar and into the street directly in her hurried path. Not one observer could have accused her of that distraction, nor of taking advantage when a big, burly guy stumbled backward into her and they both landed in the street with a coccyx-crushing thud. For a brief second she considered sitting there in her misery when she realized her quarry was safely in her palm and she needed to get out of the vicinity quickly, because her hood had fallen ever so slightly in the scuffle. She couldn’t afford to be seen on any security surveillance systems - not yet, anyway.
Her sudden eruption of Klingon cursing caused the brute to jump faster than she would have given him credit for. The crowd must not have noticed her facial features, because they all moved just as quickly. She got to her feet and walked as fast as she could to the next intersection and took a left.
An implant behind her left eye allowed her to scan behind her to see if she had been followed or if any one was otherwise tracking her movements. She didn’t detect anything or anyone. If she were lucky, she just might make it off this rock alive.
At the end of the street she took a right, then another left after that, trying to put as much distance between herself and the drunk Cardassian whose pocket she’d picked.
The third street over she found a public subspace communications system. She dropped the credit slip into the slot and punched in the code she’d known for more than 30 years. She already knew what she was going to say, had in fact thought it out and memorized it during the journey on the freighter. And yet, when the familiar, though aged, face appeared on the screen, her stomach lurched. She braced herself and began to speak.
“I need your help.
She wasn’t sure if he would recognize the sound of her voice, but she did know he couldn’t refuse those four words regardless of who spoke them.
“Who are you and how did you get this code?”
His tone told her that he hadn’t changed in fifteen years. He was still the same arrogant bastard he’d always been. She pulled back her hood just enough to allow the light from the console to reveal her face.
The look of shock on the man’s face told her all she needed to know. She allowed the hood to fall back over her face. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.
“I know who your contacts are and I know just how much power you have. I also know, that you know from our entire relationship leading up to our last conversation that I wouldn’t have contacted you if I had any another options. If you were ever a friend to my father, you will meet me in four days at Project 6-7-2.”
Without waiting for a reply, she terminated the communication. She, then, took a step backward, pulled out a phaser and blew up the unit.
Now I know how the writers of Lost feel. There's nothing 'mysterious' about it. It's just a place where she wants to meet without saying exactly - just in case - someone else is listening. It's a code. For somewhere they both know, someplace he would be able to figure out, but probably not anyone else.
