Since my muse is sticking around I'm trying to get back into my bigger projects, but I've also been thinking up a few random crews and ships, so have decided to dabble with a few of them and see what comes out.
This is a TOS-Era story, looking at the crew of the freighter Wayfarer, which is out in Cytharan space, a politically neutral race who are going through an economic boom so have eagerly snapped up every cargo and transport ship they can, to help bulster their position as a powerhouse in their quiet corner of the quadrant.
Wayfarer would be a far more low-key affair, looking at characters and the ordinary lives of people who choose to venture out into space but have nothing to do with Starfleet, always a concept that peaks my curiosity.
* * * * *
Star Trek: Wayfarer
The Early Bird
Brydon J. Sinclair
“You’re early!” The look of shock on the Cytharan’s orange face was priceless.
Cade Morgan, Captain of the cargo hauler Wayfarer, shrugged nonchalantly, hiding his amused smile. “Your shipping agent at Teska Station said you needed these parts urgently. We can always take a lap around the system and come back if you’d like.”
The dock master scowled. “There is no need to be so flippant, Captain. I never expected a vessel such as yours to make such good time.”
It was Cade’s turn to scowl. People could, and did, say whatever they wanted about him, but making remarks about his ship or his crew was a sure fired way to sour any relationship—even ones with government contractors. Unfortunately, they hadn’t been paid for this run and replenishing their fuel tanks and food stocks wasn’t free. He bit the inside of his cheeks, to keep from firing back a retort that would swiftly end any future business he might have with the Cytharan Trade Ministry.
“I hope our prompt service this run will change your perspective of ‘vessels such as mine’,” he replied calmly through clenched teeth.
“Indeed it might. You are fortunate; we have a berth free for you to dock at. Proceed to port seven.”
“Understood. Wayfarer out.”
The channel closed and the dock masters face was replaced by the Trade Ministry seal, before reverting to the image of the station they were approaching. Cade turned from the auxiliary console tucked away at the back of the bridge and looked at Ronax, who sat with Teyna right in front of the viewport.
“Did you hear that guy?”
The dark-skinned Denobulan shook his head. “He obviously doesn’t appreciate a workhorse when he sees one. Kudos on not laying into him, by the way, Cade.”
Sighing, he flopped into the chair in the middle of the small bridge. “It took a bit of doing,” he admitted, tasting blood. “But we can’t be hacking off the Ministry, they have the best work and a goof recommendation from them will really open some doors out here.”
Ronax’s console chirped. “We’ve received nav-points for approach to the station and berth seven.”
“Lock them in,” Cade ordered unnecessarily. “Teyna,” he paused as he looked at his helmswoman, a smile spreading across his face. “One-eighth impulse, if you please.”
The young woman didn’t even look back at him, just shook her blonde head and input the new commands into her console. The Wayfarer slowed and altered course, heading to the ring of extended docking ports located between the two large spheres of the stations hull. He was always impressed with how Teyna Song made the Wayfarer move, as though the old ship were dancing the most intricate of tango and graceful waltz at the same time. He had know pilots twice her age who didn’t have the same flare or grace at the stick.
“Ron, once we’re hooked up, I’ll let you deal with the dock master, I’ll help with getting her offloaded.”
His first mate looked back at him. “Don’t trust yourself to play nice?”
“I feel I may wind up putting my foot in it if I have to spend too much time with the man.”
Ronax chuckled. “I’ll play good will ambassador then.”
“Thank you muchly. How long until we dock?”
“At one-eighth we’ll be secure in eighteen minutes,” said Teyna, glancing over her shoulder.
“I’ll go and give Kiva a hand,” he told his bridge crew, spinning his chair back towards the exit and pushing off. But Ronax stopped him before he got to the doors.
“Cade, are we going to use our time in port to do a little recruiting?”
He stopped and turned back to the viewport. Ronax had been raising the suggestion of hiring of deckhands ever since they reached Cytharan space, almost three months ago. Though the crew had handled all the work they’d gotten so far without a hitch, they were starting to build up a good reputation, which meant more work coming their way and less down time between jobs, especially if they wanted to remain competitive. Taking on a few extra pairs of hands would help lighten the load all round; people able to cover on the bridge, work with cargo, carry out quick repair jobs, even a day in the galley.
Though not adverse to hiring new crew, they could afford a couple given their current income and the Wayfarer had space for a crew of twelve, he had taken his time and pulled together who he felt were the right people. Ronax, Kiva and Teyna he had worked with before and knew they would be good together, he had gotten a good feeling about Syrol the minute he met him, which only gotten stronger after seeing him in action, whilst D’Val...well she was a special case, but had ultimately proven that she was an asset. He didn’t want to be pressured into taking someone on, only to have it not work out and then be forced to fire them.
Ronax could see all of that going through his head, just by looking at him, so threw him a lifeline. “It can’t hurt to put out a recruitment bulletin; it doesn’t mean we have to take someone on right now. We could see what interest we get back and weed through applicants.”
Cade nodded. “You’re right. Put out an advert, it can’t hurt to test the waters.”
“Consider it done.”
Turning back to the exit, he left the bridge and headed aft. The Wayfarer was a simple and straight forward design; long and narrow, five decks high, deflector dish and main sensor arrays at the front, nacelles at the back, with the main cargo modules nestled between them, whilst inside was pretty utilitarian, metal grating on the deck, pipes and conduits running along the ceiling, with every available nook and cranny used for storage lockers or system components. She wasn’t a glamorous ship, but she had spirit—the kind of ship that kept going when newer ones failed to pass muster.
A door ahead on his left opened and D’Val stepped out, the sound of the heavy-duty work boot on the metal grating reverberated down the corridor. As always he had to take in what she was wearing with a sigh and a chuckle. Though the crew didn’t have uniforms as such, they all chose to wear coveralls (with a motif for the Wayfarer stitched onto the left shoulder) when working, to protect their own clothing from dust, grime or damage; D’Val had taken a set and cut off the sleeves, showing off her toned arms, and legs, so she sported a pair of hot pants, whilst the front zip was pulled halfway down her ample chest, all to expose as much of her jade skin as she could.
“Master,” she purred when she saw him, leaning seductively on the doorframe.
Though she was no longer a slave, the Orion always addressed him with the title, no matter how many times over the last eleven months he told her he disliked it and that she was now a free woman. She had come back with how he was the Wayfarer’s master and commander, so the title was more than appropriate.
“Captain,” he reminded her once again, to which she shrugged her bare shoulders. “We’ll be in dock soon, are you going to be lending a hand to offload?”
“Of course, that is why you keep me around...unless you’re open to other things I can do for you.”
Cade had to chuckle. He’d lost count of the number of times she’d propositioned him or tried to seduce him, since he’d ‘won’ her on that trading station just outside Orion space, and like all the other times he shook his head and politely refused—something he (correctly) suspected she’d never experienced before.
“The cargo will be more than enough. Come on.”
He carried on towards the modules, D’Val falling into step beside him. They had almost reached them when he spotted Syrol descending the stairs and pausing by the entrance, hands clasped behind his back. The trim, tall Vulcan gave him the slightest of nods as acknowledgement, then noticed a flicker of annoyance in his eyes when he glanced at the Orion—who was no doubt making some kind of crude gesture or look at him. No one was safe from her advances, no one.
“Did the dock master make an unwarranted remark about our early arrival?” he asked, his smooth, deep voice seemed to fill the passage.
“What makes you say that?”
“We’re at one-eighth impulse; you have a habit of slowing down before docking whenever someone comments on our early arrivals.”
Cade flashed him a grin. “Well few make that mistake again.”
“Indeed. All systems are ready to be locked down as soon as we’re in dock, the control of which I have passed onto Mr Ronax, so that I could assist with offloading of our cargo.”
“Very considerate of you, Syrol,” he told the engineer, not for the first time admiring his grey-blue eyes and chiselled cheekbones.
He pushed his child-like crush to the side and tapped the panel to open the hatch into the first module, then led the others inside. Unsurprisingly, Nakivathari zh’Khesh (Kiva to everyone else but her zhaney) was already there going through the stacks of crates and barrels, tagging the order for each to be removed—either by transporter or workbee.
“Kiva, the cavalry has arrived,” he announced before climbing down the ladder to join her.
She peeked over the top of her large datapad. “What, no horses?” she quipped with a smile.
“We’ll pick them up on our next run,” he replied with a chuckle. Clapping his hands together he rubbed them together briskly and looked around at the full load the module held. “So where do you want us?” Though Cade was the captain, he knew when to let his people take the lead, so when it came to freight management there was no one better suited than Kiva.
“Captain, you and I will be in the bees, which means that most of the cargo in modules two and three will be our responsibility. Syrol, you’re on transporter duty and D’Val can give you a hand loading up onto the pad,” she paused and looked at the exit, then at Cade. “Will the other be joining us?”
“Ron will deal with the transfer on the station. Teyna will be down after she gets the ship locked down and the proper paperwork filed.”
“She can lend these two a hand then. You know, Captain, it’s at times like these that a couple of extra bodies would be handy.”
“Extra bodies are always handy,” D’Val commented with a smile.
They all glanced at her; Syrol with a raised eyebrow, Kiva a knowing smile, and Cade couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head, before getting back on topic.
“Ron has already made a case for recruiting some help, so he’ll be posting a bulletin. Then we’ll see what comes back.”
“Glad to hear it.” She looked at the datapad again then around the hold one last time, before nodding. “Right I think that’s us. I’ve powered up the transporter, but you’ll still need to run a disgnostic,” she said to Syrol, who nodded his understanding. “Captain, we’d better get pre-flight seen to before we reach the bay.”
“Sounds like a plan. Once we’re done,” he said looking at each of them, “then drinks are on me.”
* * * * *
Cytharan Rum was not for the faint hearted, whilst the beer chasers were just an act of madness.
Cade’s head was pounding as he dragged himself out of his bunk and stumbled to the communal washroom. He stepped into a shower cubicle and turned on the water, squealing like a little girl at the initial blast of cold before it started to warm up. The jolt to his system definitely woke him up, which only made him realise just how bad his headache really was.
He took the luxury of long shower, leaning against the wall for a little added support, which made him feel a little more human by the time he emerged. With a towel around his waist he returned to his quarters, where he pulled on some comfy clothing then headed for the mess.
From halfway down the corridor he could smell bacon frying and knew who he’d find at the stove. True enough, as soon as the doors opened he could hear Teyna humming to herself as she fried up her own idea of a hangover cure.
Oh, to have the constitution and stamina of a twenty-six year old, the thirty-three year old captain mused as he headed into the galley.
“Morning Cade. Bacon?” she asked, far too cheerfully.
“Made for lunch,” he told her heading first to the coffee pot and pouring himself a mug of freshly made, strong coffee, then to the refrigerator where he pulled out the mixed melon salad he’d had the good sense to prepare before leaving the ship for the bars stationside. He sat down at the table and smiled seeing the jug of iced water with wedges of a local citrus fruit already set out, next to six glasses.
“Teyna, have I ever told you how much I appreciate you at times like these?”
“Only every time you’re hungover, not that I ever tire of hearing it,” she said turning off the heat and plating up her bacon, eggs, tomatoes and fried bread.
He poured two glasses of water and after she’d joined him at the table they tapped them together and he relished the crisp, refreshing hit of rehydration. They tucked into their respective breakfasts, during which time the others filed into the mess, each in various stages of suffering. Syrol was first, his Vulcan constitution being more than a match for the few drinks he’d partaken of; Ronax looked as bad as Cade felt, which was pretty damn rough (he could only hope that he at least didn’t look it); Kiva dragged herself in next, though they all knew not to poke the bear, she was a hoot on a night out but the following day she was typically crabbed.
Glasses of water all round, whilst the coffee pot needed to be refilled in order for Cade, Ronax and Kiva to start to recover. An hour after Kiva had entered, as they were all starting to feel a little better about themselves, D’Val staked into the mess, wearing what she’d had on the previous night. As revealing as her jumpsuit was, her personal wardrobe left next to nothing to the imagination—her scarlet ensemble was little more than two handkerchiefs and a loincloth, though just how they covered her modesty was something that would baffle science.
“Hello all,” she purred.
“Morning,” they replied, except Kiva who murmured some kind of greeting.
“Master, there was someone waiting at the docking port when I came aboard. They said they were here for an interview.”
Cade’s brow furrowed. “Interview? What interview?”
D’Val shrugged her shoulders and went into the kitchen. He looked at Ronax. “Did I offer someone a job last night?”
“No,” the Denobulan replied, the haze clearing from his eyes, “but I think I might’ve. I was telling someone, when I was getting a round in, that we were hiring and that they should come along and speak to you.”
He groaned. “Great,” he dragged out. “Who was it?”
“Damned if I can remember.”
“D’Val, who was it?” he asked as she sat at the table.
“An Edosian Sa. She’s in the rec room.”
“What? Why?”
“Well it seemed rude to leave her outside the ship, especially when no one was answering the comm.”
He pushed his chair back and stood up, grabbing his full mug before heading for the exit. Though normally he wouldn’t have doubted Ronax’s judgement, when plied with excessive amounts of the local intoxicants they were all guilty of not being anywhere near their best. The rec room was a few meters further down the corridor. Typically it was where the crew hung out when not working, kitted out with comfy old couches, a dom-jot table, a large viewscreen, the most greenery than anywhere else onboard, and the largest viewports.
The doors parted and he found the single occupant standing in front of one of the windows, looking out at the station, which buzzed with activity at every time of day. The Edosian turned on three spindly legs to face him, a crooked smile growing. The mustard-yellow colouring showed the individual to be a Sa, the female of the Edosian’s three sexes, as Na’s (males) tended to be more orange in colour and Va’s (a neutral gender, the role of which was never quite clear) were more pinkish.
“Hello,” he began, realising just how hoarse his voice sounded. “Cade Morgan, Captain of the Wayfarer.”
“Ataxi Sa Vehn.”
He gestured to a small table by the viewport and they sat down. “It’s nice to meet you Ataxi, though I must apologise for Ronax last night. It was our first night in port after a hard run and a busy day, so I’m not sure what he may have said to you.”
“That is quite alright, Captain. I understand that some local drinks can be quite difficult on the system of species not familiar with them. Though you should rest assure, he didn’t offer me a job, just that I should speak with you if I was seriously considering it. I am, so here we are.”
“We’re a small ship, so I just want to make sure I find the right people—this is after all my home.”
“Understandable,” she said with a respectful bow of her angular head. “So what would you like to know about me?”
His brain still not fully functional, he asked the first (appropriate) question that popped into his head. “Do you have much experience on freighters?”
“Freighters, no. Though I have served on a destroyer, two scouts and a medium cruiser.”
“Oh?”
“I spent twenty-two years as a non-commissioned officer in Starfleet, attained the rank of Senior Chief Petty Officer before I retired.”
“Starfleet? Why did you retire?”
“I was pregnant and did not like the prospect of raising offspring on stations, so I returned to Edos.”
“You’re a mother. May I ask how many children you have?”
“Reix was my fourteenth.”
“Fourteen? Must be quite a handful.”
“Not particularly, I had my second youngest forty-one years before Reix.”
“How old are you?” he blurted out before he blushed and waved his hand, dismissing the question. “Sorry, you may find that a little too personal.”
“Not at all. I am two hundred and fifty-six Earth year old.”
“Ok, so you’ve been around a while then,” he said with a smile, to which she cackled. “What did you specialise in when you were in Starfleet?”
“I was a navigator and helmsman, as well as a holding a few other certifications and qualifications.” She pulled a diskette from her pocket and handed it to him. “My gradings and recertifications are listed there.”
He nodded taking the red square from her. “Any other qualifications I should be aware of?”
“I hold doctorates in astrophysics and stellar cartography, as well as ecology and exobotany. My last employment was as an agricultural consultant to a Cytharan colony that was having difficulty in the Tenna System.”
He sat back, eyes wide, questioning whether what he was hearing was real or if his hangover was worse than he originally believed it to be. “I don’t mean to be rude, but don’t you think you’re a little overqualified to be a deckhand on a cargo hauler?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Perhaps, but I like to try new things. Besides, this region intrigues me and with my contract in the Tenna System now complete I have no legitimate reason to remain here. A billet onboard your ship would afford me that, for as long as it was mutually beneficial to both of us.
“Also,” she continued, leaning forward slightly and lowering her voice, “I have a few contacts in the Agricultural Ministry who are always looking for reliable freighters, and their rates are far more reasonable than the Trade ones.”
“I thought all Cytharan government contracts went through the Trade Ministry?”
“Most do, but not all. Some of their departments have the authority to do their own, such as Agriculture, Defence and Health. It’s one of the loopholes Trade doesn’t like outsiders to know about.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “You learn something new every day.” He paused for a moment and scrutinised her. “Let me guess, you’ll only give me those contacts if I hire you?”
She shook her head. “If you were looking for the work I would recommend you, even if you didn’t offer me the job. I took the liberty of doing a check into the Wayfarer; she is well-regarded in quite a few systems, including Cythar. You should be very proud. My contacts are always looking for those that are reliable and punctual.”
That took him aback. “Thank you for that, Ataxi. We try to make sure our customers are satisfied, as such we work hard to keep the Wayfarer running smooth and on schedule.”
“It shows, which is also another reason I sought you out.”
He gave her a grin. “Well I think I’ve got enough for now. I’ll need to run through this,” he told her, tapping the diskette on the table, “and discuss a few things with my crew, then I’ll be in touch.”
She bowed her head again. “I appreciate that, Captain, thank you for your time.”
They stood up and headed for the exit. He led her back down to the docking port and tapped in the entry code. Just as she was about to leave she paused in the entry way and looked back at him.
“If you are suffering the ill-effects of the alcohol, I would suggest taffa root tea. It is filled with necessary electrolytes and oxidants to help overcome pretty much any hangover.”
He gave her a smile and nod. “I’ll look into it. Thank you Ataxi.”
After securing the airlock, he headed back up to the mess hall, knowing the others would still be there, waiting to hear back from him. His pace was slow, almost meandering, as he thought about Ataxi Sa Vehn. He would need to read through her details closely, but from what he’s heard so far he was in two minds about how suitable she’d be. On one hand she was overqualified, having spent more time studying than he’d served on ships, with little to no chance to put her doctorates to use onboard the Wayfarer, not to mention her Starfleet credentials, which would mean she might not appreciate how free and loose they played it on his ship at times. On the other however, he had taking a liking to her, whilst her list of skills would only add to the whole, not to mention that Edosians were a hardy and robust species.
His crew already had an impressive list of accomplishment and accolades: Ronax had masters in mathematics and computer science, as well as degrees in astrogation and data analysis; Syrol was a graduate of the Vulcan Science Academy’s Engineering Institute, he even held some prize that had only been given out three times in the last century; Teyna had aced the Starfleet Academy entrance exam before she’d signed onto a merchant ship, since then she’d become one of the highest scoring pilots in the quadrant; Kiva had spent eighteen years in ten different jobs, mastering each of them and remained recertified in each one to this day, her list of training accomplishments was longer than his leg. Of course D’Val was a law unto herself, but she had proven herself highly adept and quick to learn, not to mention one of the best marksmen he’s seen. Compared to all that, there were times when Cade felt he was woefully under-qualified to be their Captain.
Without realising it, he found himself stepping into the mess, where five pairs of eyes locked onto him.
“So?” asked Kiva, who seemed to have perked up since he’d left.
“Her list of accomplishments might put you to shame, Kiva, but she seems genuine and keen. She also gave me a tip on how to get some more work, without asking for anything in return. A promising start, you did good, Ron.”
“I’m not just a pretty face you know.”
“That’s debatable,” Teyna snuck in, which raised a few chuckles and a friendly scowl from Ronax.
“I’ll need to read over her details. Ronax and Kiva, I’d appreciate it if you two would look her over as well, see what you think.”
“Sure thing, Cade,” replied Ronax whilst Kiva nodded.
“Right, I’m heading to the market, see about getting some tea that can cure hangovers, apparently.” He rubbed his temple, feeling the headache starting to creep up on him. “If it works, I may have to fill a hold with the stuff.”
* * * * *
“If you can get to Cythar Prime in fifty-three hours, then the contract is yours, Captain Morgan,” stated Junior Minister Vellen, of the Agricultural Ministry.
Cade nodded confidently. Cythar Prime was fifty hours away at their maximum warp, barring any complications. “We will be there, Minister.”
She smiled. “From what I’ve heard, I am confident you will be. I shall speak with you soon.”
The channel closed, the Agricultural Ministry emblem remained for a moment longer before the screen returned to the local news service report he’d been reading before the call had come through. Ataxi’s contacts had been solid, which saw them in for a chance of getting a very lucrative string of cargo runs. It looked like her tip would work out just as well as she would—she’d only been onboard for two days, but so far the fit looked to be a good one, so he was hopeful.
He tapped the companel on his desk. “Cade to Syrol.”
“Syrol here. Go ahead, Captain,” was the as-always prompt reply.
“We’re expected at Cythar Prime in under fifty-three hours, any problems with that?”
“Our coolant tanks have been fully replenished, so I can increase the flow to keep the warp coils at optimum temperature. I have also adjusted the intermix ratio to correct for the previous imbalance. Prolonged warp travel will not be a problem, Captain.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Syrol. I can always depend on you to tell me what I want to hear.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Anytime. Cade out.”
He turned off his screen and headed out his quarters and down the short distance to the bridge. Inside, Ronax and Teyna were at their customary positions, whilst Ataxi was at the auxiliary console on the starboard side.
“Settling in alright?” he asked.
She nodded, a genuine but awkward smile tugging at her lips. “Yes, thank you, Captain.”
“It’s Cade, there’s not a lot of formality here.”
“Glad to hear it.”
He gave her a grin then stepped around his chair and leaned on the back of Ronax’s. “Ron, get us clearance for immediate departure. Once we’re free from the station, lay in a course for Cythar Prime. Teyna, don’t spare the horses.”
“Maximum warp it is,” she confirmed as Ronax slipped his earpiece in place and contacted the dock master.
By the time Cade had taken his seat, his first mate looked back at him. “We have clearance to depart after the Tedakan liner.”
Behind him the doors opened and two people entered, laughing. He glanced back to see Kiva and D’Val, thick as thieves, a sight that always worried him—luckily they weren’t in a bar as typically a brawl would quickly ensue.
“Ataxi,” Kiva said to the Edosian, “come on, I’ll run through the emergency procedures with you.”
“Of course,” she said rising up on her three legs and heading out the exit.
“Kiva,” he said, making the Andorian pause. “Go easy on the newbie.”
Her smile only grew. “We’ll see.”
He laughed as they left and D’Val sauntered up to stand beside him, draping herself on the back of his chair. Even with her pheromone gland removed (something her first “master” had done to keep her from using her inherent abilities on him), her natural scent was truly enticing—if he was so inclined, he suspected that he would be a slave to it and her.
“The liner is clear,” stated Ronax.
“Ensure the hatch is secure, then separate all connectors and clear all moorings.”
“Hatch secured. We are free of the station. Nav-points for exit trajectory have come through and locked in.”
“Half thrusters until we are clear of the station, then full impulse until we are out of the traffic zone.”
“Firing thrusters.”
Cade Morgan settled into his chair and watched the forward viewport as the Wayfarer pulled off to starboard and the station fell away, ready to get back to work.
* * * * *
END
This is a TOS-Era story, looking at the crew of the freighter Wayfarer, which is out in Cytharan space, a politically neutral race who are going through an economic boom so have eagerly snapped up every cargo and transport ship they can, to help bulster their position as a powerhouse in their quiet corner of the quadrant.
Wayfarer would be a far more low-key affair, looking at characters and the ordinary lives of people who choose to venture out into space but have nothing to do with Starfleet, always a concept that peaks my curiosity.
* * * * *
Star Trek: Wayfarer
The Early Bird
Brydon J. Sinclair
“You’re early!” The look of shock on the Cytharan’s orange face was priceless.
Cade Morgan, Captain of the cargo hauler Wayfarer, shrugged nonchalantly, hiding his amused smile. “Your shipping agent at Teska Station said you needed these parts urgently. We can always take a lap around the system and come back if you’d like.”
The dock master scowled. “There is no need to be so flippant, Captain. I never expected a vessel such as yours to make such good time.”
It was Cade’s turn to scowl. People could, and did, say whatever they wanted about him, but making remarks about his ship or his crew was a sure fired way to sour any relationship—even ones with government contractors. Unfortunately, they hadn’t been paid for this run and replenishing their fuel tanks and food stocks wasn’t free. He bit the inside of his cheeks, to keep from firing back a retort that would swiftly end any future business he might have with the Cytharan Trade Ministry.
“I hope our prompt service this run will change your perspective of ‘vessels such as mine’,” he replied calmly through clenched teeth.
“Indeed it might. You are fortunate; we have a berth free for you to dock at. Proceed to port seven.”
“Understood. Wayfarer out.”
The channel closed and the dock masters face was replaced by the Trade Ministry seal, before reverting to the image of the station they were approaching. Cade turned from the auxiliary console tucked away at the back of the bridge and looked at Ronax, who sat with Teyna right in front of the viewport.
“Did you hear that guy?”
The dark-skinned Denobulan shook his head. “He obviously doesn’t appreciate a workhorse when he sees one. Kudos on not laying into him, by the way, Cade.”
Sighing, he flopped into the chair in the middle of the small bridge. “It took a bit of doing,” he admitted, tasting blood. “But we can’t be hacking off the Ministry, they have the best work and a goof recommendation from them will really open some doors out here.”
Ronax’s console chirped. “We’ve received nav-points for approach to the station and berth seven.”
“Lock them in,” Cade ordered unnecessarily. “Teyna,” he paused as he looked at his helmswoman, a smile spreading across his face. “One-eighth impulse, if you please.”
The young woman didn’t even look back at him, just shook her blonde head and input the new commands into her console. The Wayfarer slowed and altered course, heading to the ring of extended docking ports located between the two large spheres of the stations hull. He was always impressed with how Teyna Song made the Wayfarer move, as though the old ship were dancing the most intricate of tango and graceful waltz at the same time. He had know pilots twice her age who didn’t have the same flare or grace at the stick.
“Ron, once we’re hooked up, I’ll let you deal with the dock master, I’ll help with getting her offloaded.”
His first mate looked back at him. “Don’t trust yourself to play nice?”
“I feel I may wind up putting my foot in it if I have to spend too much time with the man.”
Ronax chuckled. “I’ll play good will ambassador then.”
“Thank you muchly. How long until we dock?”
“At one-eighth we’ll be secure in eighteen minutes,” said Teyna, glancing over her shoulder.
“I’ll go and give Kiva a hand,” he told his bridge crew, spinning his chair back towards the exit and pushing off. But Ronax stopped him before he got to the doors.
“Cade, are we going to use our time in port to do a little recruiting?”
He stopped and turned back to the viewport. Ronax had been raising the suggestion of hiring of deckhands ever since they reached Cytharan space, almost three months ago. Though the crew had handled all the work they’d gotten so far without a hitch, they were starting to build up a good reputation, which meant more work coming their way and less down time between jobs, especially if they wanted to remain competitive. Taking on a few extra pairs of hands would help lighten the load all round; people able to cover on the bridge, work with cargo, carry out quick repair jobs, even a day in the galley.
Though not adverse to hiring new crew, they could afford a couple given their current income and the Wayfarer had space for a crew of twelve, he had taken his time and pulled together who he felt were the right people. Ronax, Kiva and Teyna he had worked with before and knew they would be good together, he had gotten a good feeling about Syrol the minute he met him, which only gotten stronger after seeing him in action, whilst D’Val...well she was a special case, but had ultimately proven that she was an asset. He didn’t want to be pressured into taking someone on, only to have it not work out and then be forced to fire them.
Ronax could see all of that going through his head, just by looking at him, so threw him a lifeline. “It can’t hurt to put out a recruitment bulletin; it doesn’t mean we have to take someone on right now. We could see what interest we get back and weed through applicants.”
Cade nodded. “You’re right. Put out an advert, it can’t hurt to test the waters.”
“Consider it done.”
Turning back to the exit, he left the bridge and headed aft. The Wayfarer was a simple and straight forward design; long and narrow, five decks high, deflector dish and main sensor arrays at the front, nacelles at the back, with the main cargo modules nestled between them, whilst inside was pretty utilitarian, metal grating on the deck, pipes and conduits running along the ceiling, with every available nook and cranny used for storage lockers or system components. She wasn’t a glamorous ship, but she had spirit—the kind of ship that kept going when newer ones failed to pass muster.
A door ahead on his left opened and D’Val stepped out, the sound of the heavy-duty work boot on the metal grating reverberated down the corridor. As always he had to take in what she was wearing with a sigh and a chuckle. Though the crew didn’t have uniforms as such, they all chose to wear coveralls (with a motif for the Wayfarer stitched onto the left shoulder) when working, to protect their own clothing from dust, grime or damage; D’Val had taken a set and cut off the sleeves, showing off her toned arms, and legs, so she sported a pair of hot pants, whilst the front zip was pulled halfway down her ample chest, all to expose as much of her jade skin as she could.
“Master,” she purred when she saw him, leaning seductively on the doorframe.
Though she was no longer a slave, the Orion always addressed him with the title, no matter how many times over the last eleven months he told her he disliked it and that she was now a free woman. She had come back with how he was the Wayfarer’s master and commander, so the title was more than appropriate.
“Captain,” he reminded her once again, to which she shrugged her bare shoulders. “We’ll be in dock soon, are you going to be lending a hand to offload?”
“Of course, that is why you keep me around...unless you’re open to other things I can do for you.”
Cade had to chuckle. He’d lost count of the number of times she’d propositioned him or tried to seduce him, since he’d ‘won’ her on that trading station just outside Orion space, and like all the other times he shook his head and politely refused—something he (correctly) suspected she’d never experienced before.
“The cargo will be more than enough. Come on.”
He carried on towards the modules, D’Val falling into step beside him. They had almost reached them when he spotted Syrol descending the stairs and pausing by the entrance, hands clasped behind his back. The trim, tall Vulcan gave him the slightest of nods as acknowledgement, then noticed a flicker of annoyance in his eyes when he glanced at the Orion—who was no doubt making some kind of crude gesture or look at him. No one was safe from her advances, no one.
“Did the dock master make an unwarranted remark about our early arrival?” he asked, his smooth, deep voice seemed to fill the passage.
“What makes you say that?”
“We’re at one-eighth impulse; you have a habit of slowing down before docking whenever someone comments on our early arrivals.”
Cade flashed him a grin. “Well few make that mistake again.”
“Indeed. All systems are ready to be locked down as soon as we’re in dock, the control of which I have passed onto Mr Ronax, so that I could assist with offloading of our cargo.”
“Very considerate of you, Syrol,” he told the engineer, not for the first time admiring his grey-blue eyes and chiselled cheekbones.
He pushed his child-like crush to the side and tapped the panel to open the hatch into the first module, then led the others inside. Unsurprisingly, Nakivathari zh’Khesh (Kiva to everyone else but her zhaney) was already there going through the stacks of crates and barrels, tagging the order for each to be removed—either by transporter or workbee.
“Kiva, the cavalry has arrived,” he announced before climbing down the ladder to join her.
She peeked over the top of her large datapad. “What, no horses?” she quipped with a smile.
“We’ll pick them up on our next run,” he replied with a chuckle. Clapping his hands together he rubbed them together briskly and looked around at the full load the module held. “So where do you want us?” Though Cade was the captain, he knew when to let his people take the lead, so when it came to freight management there was no one better suited than Kiva.
“Captain, you and I will be in the bees, which means that most of the cargo in modules two and three will be our responsibility. Syrol, you’re on transporter duty and D’Val can give you a hand loading up onto the pad,” she paused and looked at the exit, then at Cade. “Will the other be joining us?”
“Ron will deal with the transfer on the station. Teyna will be down after she gets the ship locked down and the proper paperwork filed.”
“She can lend these two a hand then. You know, Captain, it’s at times like these that a couple of extra bodies would be handy.”
“Extra bodies are always handy,” D’Val commented with a smile.
They all glanced at her; Syrol with a raised eyebrow, Kiva a knowing smile, and Cade couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head, before getting back on topic.
“Ron has already made a case for recruiting some help, so he’ll be posting a bulletin. Then we’ll see what comes back.”
“Glad to hear it.” She looked at the datapad again then around the hold one last time, before nodding. “Right I think that’s us. I’ve powered up the transporter, but you’ll still need to run a disgnostic,” she said to Syrol, who nodded his understanding. “Captain, we’d better get pre-flight seen to before we reach the bay.”
“Sounds like a plan. Once we’re done,” he said looking at each of them, “then drinks are on me.”
* * * * *
Cytharan Rum was not for the faint hearted, whilst the beer chasers were just an act of madness.
Cade’s head was pounding as he dragged himself out of his bunk and stumbled to the communal washroom. He stepped into a shower cubicle and turned on the water, squealing like a little girl at the initial blast of cold before it started to warm up. The jolt to his system definitely woke him up, which only made him realise just how bad his headache really was.
He took the luxury of long shower, leaning against the wall for a little added support, which made him feel a little more human by the time he emerged. With a towel around his waist he returned to his quarters, where he pulled on some comfy clothing then headed for the mess.
From halfway down the corridor he could smell bacon frying and knew who he’d find at the stove. True enough, as soon as the doors opened he could hear Teyna humming to herself as she fried up her own idea of a hangover cure.
Oh, to have the constitution and stamina of a twenty-six year old, the thirty-three year old captain mused as he headed into the galley.
“Morning Cade. Bacon?” she asked, far too cheerfully.
“Made for lunch,” he told her heading first to the coffee pot and pouring himself a mug of freshly made, strong coffee, then to the refrigerator where he pulled out the mixed melon salad he’d had the good sense to prepare before leaving the ship for the bars stationside. He sat down at the table and smiled seeing the jug of iced water with wedges of a local citrus fruit already set out, next to six glasses.
“Teyna, have I ever told you how much I appreciate you at times like these?”
“Only every time you’re hungover, not that I ever tire of hearing it,” she said turning off the heat and plating up her bacon, eggs, tomatoes and fried bread.
He poured two glasses of water and after she’d joined him at the table they tapped them together and he relished the crisp, refreshing hit of rehydration. They tucked into their respective breakfasts, during which time the others filed into the mess, each in various stages of suffering. Syrol was first, his Vulcan constitution being more than a match for the few drinks he’d partaken of; Ronax looked as bad as Cade felt, which was pretty damn rough (he could only hope that he at least didn’t look it); Kiva dragged herself in next, though they all knew not to poke the bear, she was a hoot on a night out but the following day she was typically crabbed.
Glasses of water all round, whilst the coffee pot needed to be refilled in order for Cade, Ronax and Kiva to start to recover. An hour after Kiva had entered, as they were all starting to feel a little better about themselves, D’Val staked into the mess, wearing what she’d had on the previous night. As revealing as her jumpsuit was, her personal wardrobe left next to nothing to the imagination—her scarlet ensemble was little more than two handkerchiefs and a loincloth, though just how they covered her modesty was something that would baffle science.
“Hello all,” she purred.
“Morning,” they replied, except Kiva who murmured some kind of greeting.
“Master, there was someone waiting at the docking port when I came aboard. They said they were here for an interview.”
Cade’s brow furrowed. “Interview? What interview?”
D’Val shrugged her shoulders and went into the kitchen. He looked at Ronax. “Did I offer someone a job last night?”
“No,” the Denobulan replied, the haze clearing from his eyes, “but I think I might’ve. I was telling someone, when I was getting a round in, that we were hiring and that they should come along and speak to you.”
He groaned. “Great,” he dragged out. “Who was it?”
“Damned if I can remember.”
“D’Val, who was it?” he asked as she sat at the table.
“An Edosian Sa. She’s in the rec room.”
“What? Why?”
“Well it seemed rude to leave her outside the ship, especially when no one was answering the comm.”
He pushed his chair back and stood up, grabbing his full mug before heading for the exit. Though normally he wouldn’t have doubted Ronax’s judgement, when plied with excessive amounts of the local intoxicants they were all guilty of not being anywhere near their best. The rec room was a few meters further down the corridor. Typically it was where the crew hung out when not working, kitted out with comfy old couches, a dom-jot table, a large viewscreen, the most greenery than anywhere else onboard, and the largest viewports.
The doors parted and he found the single occupant standing in front of one of the windows, looking out at the station, which buzzed with activity at every time of day. The Edosian turned on three spindly legs to face him, a crooked smile growing. The mustard-yellow colouring showed the individual to be a Sa, the female of the Edosian’s three sexes, as Na’s (males) tended to be more orange in colour and Va’s (a neutral gender, the role of which was never quite clear) were more pinkish.
“Hello,” he began, realising just how hoarse his voice sounded. “Cade Morgan, Captain of the Wayfarer.”
“Ataxi Sa Vehn.”
He gestured to a small table by the viewport and they sat down. “It’s nice to meet you Ataxi, though I must apologise for Ronax last night. It was our first night in port after a hard run and a busy day, so I’m not sure what he may have said to you.”
“That is quite alright, Captain. I understand that some local drinks can be quite difficult on the system of species not familiar with them. Though you should rest assure, he didn’t offer me a job, just that I should speak with you if I was seriously considering it. I am, so here we are.”
“We’re a small ship, so I just want to make sure I find the right people—this is after all my home.”
“Understandable,” she said with a respectful bow of her angular head. “So what would you like to know about me?”
His brain still not fully functional, he asked the first (appropriate) question that popped into his head. “Do you have much experience on freighters?”
“Freighters, no. Though I have served on a destroyer, two scouts and a medium cruiser.”
“Oh?”
“I spent twenty-two years as a non-commissioned officer in Starfleet, attained the rank of Senior Chief Petty Officer before I retired.”
“Starfleet? Why did you retire?”
“I was pregnant and did not like the prospect of raising offspring on stations, so I returned to Edos.”
“You’re a mother. May I ask how many children you have?”
“Reix was my fourteenth.”
“Fourteen? Must be quite a handful.”
“Not particularly, I had my second youngest forty-one years before Reix.”
“How old are you?” he blurted out before he blushed and waved his hand, dismissing the question. “Sorry, you may find that a little too personal.”
“Not at all. I am two hundred and fifty-six Earth year old.”
“Ok, so you’ve been around a while then,” he said with a smile, to which she cackled. “What did you specialise in when you were in Starfleet?”
“I was a navigator and helmsman, as well as a holding a few other certifications and qualifications.” She pulled a diskette from her pocket and handed it to him. “My gradings and recertifications are listed there.”
He nodded taking the red square from her. “Any other qualifications I should be aware of?”
“I hold doctorates in astrophysics and stellar cartography, as well as ecology and exobotany. My last employment was as an agricultural consultant to a Cytharan colony that was having difficulty in the Tenna System.”
He sat back, eyes wide, questioning whether what he was hearing was real or if his hangover was worse than he originally believed it to be. “I don’t mean to be rude, but don’t you think you’re a little overqualified to be a deckhand on a cargo hauler?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Perhaps, but I like to try new things. Besides, this region intrigues me and with my contract in the Tenna System now complete I have no legitimate reason to remain here. A billet onboard your ship would afford me that, for as long as it was mutually beneficial to both of us.
“Also,” she continued, leaning forward slightly and lowering her voice, “I have a few contacts in the Agricultural Ministry who are always looking for reliable freighters, and their rates are far more reasonable than the Trade ones.”
“I thought all Cytharan government contracts went through the Trade Ministry?”
“Most do, but not all. Some of their departments have the authority to do their own, such as Agriculture, Defence and Health. It’s one of the loopholes Trade doesn’t like outsiders to know about.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “You learn something new every day.” He paused for a moment and scrutinised her. “Let me guess, you’ll only give me those contacts if I hire you?”
She shook her head. “If you were looking for the work I would recommend you, even if you didn’t offer me the job. I took the liberty of doing a check into the Wayfarer; she is well-regarded in quite a few systems, including Cythar. You should be very proud. My contacts are always looking for those that are reliable and punctual.”
That took him aback. “Thank you for that, Ataxi. We try to make sure our customers are satisfied, as such we work hard to keep the Wayfarer running smooth and on schedule.”
“It shows, which is also another reason I sought you out.”
He gave her a grin. “Well I think I’ve got enough for now. I’ll need to run through this,” he told her, tapping the diskette on the table, “and discuss a few things with my crew, then I’ll be in touch.”
She bowed her head again. “I appreciate that, Captain, thank you for your time.”
They stood up and headed for the exit. He led her back down to the docking port and tapped in the entry code. Just as she was about to leave she paused in the entry way and looked back at him.
“If you are suffering the ill-effects of the alcohol, I would suggest taffa root tea. It is filled with necessary electrolytes and oxidants to help overcome pretty much any hangover.”
He gave her a smile and nod. “I’ll look into it. Thank you Ataxi.”
After securing the airlock, he headed back up to the mess hall, knowing the others would still be there, waiting to hear back from him. His pace was slow, almost meandering, as he thought about Ataxi Sa Vehn. He would need to read through her details closely, but from what he’s heard so far he was in two minds about how suitable she’d be. On one hand she was overqualified, having spent more time studying than he’d served on ships, with little to no chance to put her doctorates to use onboard the Wayfarer, not to mention her Starfleet credentials, which would mean she might not appreciate how free and loose they played it on his ship at times. On the other however, he had taking a liking to her, whilst her list of skills would only add to the whole, not to mention that Edosians were a hardy and robust species.
His crew already had an impressive list of accomplishment and accolades: Ronax had masters in mathematics and computer science, as well as degrees in astrogation and data analysis; Syrol was a graduate of the Vulcan Science Academy’s Engineering Institute, he even held some prize that had only been given out three times in the last century; Teyna had aced the Starfleet Academy entrance exam before she’d signed onto a merchant ship, since then she’d become one of the highest scoring pilots in the quadrant; Kiva had spent eighteen years in ten different jobs, mastering each of them and remained recertified in each one to this day, her list of training accomplishments was longer than his leg. Of course D’Val was a law unto herself, but she had proven herself highly adept and quick to learn, not to mention one of the best marksmen he’s seen. Compared to all that, there were times when Cade felt he was woefully under-qualified to be their Captain.
Without realising it, he found himself stepping into the mess, where five pairs of eyes locked onto him.
“So?” asked Kiva, who seemed to have perked up since he’d left.
“Her list of accomplishments might put you to shame, Kiva, but she seems genuine and keen. She also gave me a tip on how to get some more work, without asking for anything in return. A promising start, you did good, Ron.”
“I’m not just a pretty face you know.”
“That’s debatable,” Teyna snuck in, which raised a few chuckles and a friendly scowl from Ronax.
“I’ll need to read over her details. Ronax and Kiva, I’d appreciate it if you two would look her over as well, see what you think.”
“Sure thing, Cade,” replied Ronax whilst Kiva nodded.
“Right, I’m heading to the market, see about getting some tea that can cure hangovers, apparently.” He rubbed his temple, feeling the headache starting to creep up on him. “If it works, I may have to fill a hold with the stuff.”
* * * * *
“If you can get to Cythar Prime in fifty-three hours, then the contract is yours, Captain Morgan,” stated Junior Minister Vellen, of the Agricultural Ministry.
Cade nodded confidently. Cythar Prime was fifty hours away at their maximum warp, barring any complications. “We will be there, Minister.”
She smiled. “From what I’ve heard, I am confident you will be. I shall speak with you soon.”
The channel closed, the Agricultural Ministry emblem remained for a moment longer before the screen returned to the local news service report he’d been reading before the call had come through. Ataxi’s contacts had been solid, which saw them in for a chance of getting a very lucrative string of cargo runs. It looked like her tip would work out just as well as she would—she’d only been onboard for two days, but so far the fit looked to be a good one, so he was hopeful.
He tapped the companel on his desk. “Cade to Syrol.”
“Syrol here. Go ahead, Captain,” was the as-always prompt reply.
“We’re expected at Cythar Prime in under fifty-three hours, any problems with that?”
“Our coolant tanks have been fully replenished, so I can increase the flow to keep the warp coils at optimum temperature. I have also adjusted the intermix ratio to correct for the previous imbalance. Prolonged warp travel will not be a problem, Captain.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Syrol. I can always depend on you to tell me what I want to hear.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Anytime. Cade out.”
He turned off his screen and headed out his quarters and down the short distance to the bridge. Inside, Ronax and Teyna were at their customary positions, whilst Ataxi was at the auxiliary console on the starboard side.
“Settling in alright?” he asked.
She nodded, a genuine but awkward smile tugging at her lips. “Yes, thank you, Captain.”
“It’s Cade, there’s not a lot of formality here.”
“Glad to hear it.”
He gave her a grin then stepped around his chair and leaned on the back of Ronax’s. “Ron, get us clearance for immediate departure. Once we’re free from the station, lay in a course for Cythar Prime. Teyna, don’t spare the horses.”
“Maximum warp it is,” she confirmed as Ronax slipped his earpiece in place and contacted the dock master.
By the time Cade had taken his seat, his first mate looked back at him. “We have clearance to depart after the Tedakan liner.”
Behind him the doors opened and two people entered, laughing. He glanced back to see Kiva and D’Val, thick as thieves, a sight that always worried him—luckily they weren’t in a bar as typically a brawl would quickly ensue.
“Ataxi,” Kiva said to the Edosian, “come on, I’ll run through the emergency procedures with you.”
“Of course,” she said rising up on her three legs and heading out the exit.
“Kiva,” he said, making the Andorian pause. “Go easy on the newbie.”
Her smile only grew. “We’ll see.”
He laughed as they left and D’Val sauntered up to stand beside him, draping herself on the back of his chair. Even with her pheromone gland removed (something her first “master” had done to keep her from using her inherent abilities on him), her natural scent was truly enticing—if he was so inclined, he suspected that he would be a slave to it and her.
“The liner is clear,” stated Ronax.
“Ensure the hatch is secure, then separate all connectors and clear all moorings.”
“Hatch secured. We are free of the station. Nav-points for exit trajectory have come through and locked in.”
“Half thrusters until we are clear of the station, then full impulse until we are out of the traffic zone.”
“Firing thrusters.”
Cade Morgan settled into his chair and watched the forward viewport as the Wayfarer pulled off to starboard and the station fell away, ready to get back to work.
* * * * *
END
