The best days of Space Port Theta were behind it. Once a Starfleet starbase used as a launching platform into the unknown, as the decades passed it was downgraded, before being sold to the Federation Merchant Navy, which used it as a waystation and refuelling port for freighters and transports. The years showed, from the design to the patchwork of repairs and upgrades the base had undergone. Once home to around six hundred, with thousands passing through each year, there were barely two hundred permanent residents.
Marcus had wanted to get as far from Earth as he could, finding himself on Space Port Theta when he’d run out of funds. He had taken on a number of small jobs; from waiting tables at one of the few cafes open in the commerce section to offloading cargo, and anything else he could find. He couldn’t help but snort scathingly at his reflection in the viewport, wondering just what his family would think if they saw him—he really was a failure. The muscles in his jaw tensed as he balled his fists, his chest swelling with a potent mix of anger, sadness and disappointment. He blinked back tears as he ground his teeth together.
“Are you alright?” a soft voice asked from behind him.
He started and spun around, fists still clenched. He stopped when he saw who had asked the question. She looked human (not that that was a certainty), with mousy hair that was cut at the same length of her soft jawline. Her blue-grey eyes were kind whilst she watched him like a hawk. Despite his worked up state and aggressive body language, she stood there with her hands clasped loosely in front of her, in no way threatened or intimidated by his manner.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, trying to ease his posture. “Thanks.”
He turned back towards the viewport, wanting to be left alone. After a moment he realised he didn’t hear the woman leave, the bare grating made a noise no matter how quiet someone tried to be. Looking at the surface of the transparent aluminium, he saw that she stood in the same spot, hands clasped, eyes watching him.
“What?”
“Are you sure you’re alright?” she enquired, her tone polite and gentle.
“I just said I was.”
She tilted her head to the side and a smile curled her lips. “Even you don’t believe that.”
Frowning he turned back to her. “Aren’t there rules about reading peoples’ minds without consent?”
“I’m sure some species have such rules.”
“Not yours?”
“I’m human.”
“A telepathic human.”
“No. I’m just perceptive.”
He scoffed. “Well go perceive somewhere else.”
With that he turned back to the viewport, still not looking out into the void that stretched out before him. He wasn’t even looking at his reflection. He was focused inward, replaying all the mistakes he’d made in his short life and feeling each one hurt like an open wound. All of it brought tears to his eyes again as he focused on his failures.
“What’s wrong?” the woman, now standing beside him, whispered in his ear.
Marcus, unable to hide his tears turned his head towards her. “What do you want from me?” he uttered.
“You look like you’re having a rough time; I just thought you might like someone to talk to.”
“And you thought I’d spill my guts to some stranger in some grungy corridor on this god forsaken outpost on the edge of nowhere?”
“If not me, then who?”
He opened his mouth and stopped. Since arriving on Theta he hadn’t gone out of his way to make friends, sticking to his quarters when not working, what colleagues he spent any time with were just that, people he saw but barely interacted with. He’d left home, ashamed, gone as far as he could to get away from everything and be alone, and now found that he was just that; alone. All he did was brood over what had happened, what had led him to that moment and where he was, overanalysing it and torturing himself with everything he’d gotten wrong.
“Who are you?” he asked, wiping the wetness from his cheeks.
“Camille Grey. You?”
“Marcus.”
“Marcus what?”
“Just Marcus is fine.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, before softening once more. “So what brings you out here Just Marcus?”
“I wanted to see the galaxy.”
“So you came to Space Port Theta?”
“Why are you here?”
“Just a stop off before heading out.”
“Where you heading?”
“Out,” she smirked.
“You on one of the ships in dock?”
“You’ve been ignoring her all this time,” she quipped, nodding out the viewport.
He finally looked out and saw, nestled safely in a docking berth, a Corellia-Class freighter. Though hardly an unfamiliar sight, given that the class had been commissioned at the same time Theta had been brought online, what was surprising was seeing one of the Denobulan medium endurance freighters in such good condition. Her hull was almost gleaming white, with dark lavender accents on her fuselage, from the cockpit at the front, down the narrow spine of the ship, across the wider midsection (which housed crew facilities above the cargo holds) and ending at the trio of engines. The ship looked as though she was fresh off the assembly line though none had been built for over twenty years.
“Lucky for some.”
“Thank you, I’ve taken great pains to get her just right.”
Marcus looked back at Grey. “She’s your ship?”
“The Twilight.”
“You must be doing something right, she looks immaculate.”
“I have a good crew who love her almost as much as I do.”
He let out a single humourless laugh. “You hiring.”
“Looking for a job?”
He shot her a look, not sure if she was toying with him or not. “You wouldn’t want me,” he muttered, looking back out at the ship.
“Why not?”
“You wouldn’t.”
She turned to face him, her eyes burrowing into him as she folded her arms across her chest. “Try me.”
Marcus let out a heavy breath and rested his forehead on the cool viewport. “I’m a screw up. I flunked the Academy entrance exam and ran away from home, rather than face the disappointment from my family.”
“Starfleet’s standards are high.”
“The fleet has taken heavy losses thanks to the Dominion, they’re desperate for bodies, and yet I failed at the first hurdle.”
“Lots of people don’t make it into the Academy; surely your family wouldn’t hold that against you.”
He looked at her, holding her intense stare. “Most families aren’t like mine.”
“What’s so special about yours?”
“They’re Starfleet ‘royalty’.”
“Smith is a very common name, you can’t all be related.”
He scowled as he studied her. On the station, and the transport he’d used to get to Theta, he’d called himself ‘Marcus Smith’, wanting to leave his family name behind. His deception wouldn’t have held up to any intense scrutiny, but he’d been taken at face value and slipped under the radar. Somehow, a woman he’d never knew existed had found him out. He took a step away from her.
“Who are you?”
“I told you, Camille Grey. The more pressing question is who are you?”
“Do you know me?”
She gave him the soft, friendly smile again. “Like I said, I’m perceptive; I notice things—especially when they’re out of place. You most certainly are. I’ve noticed you around since we docked a fortnight ago, working right across the station but always alone and lost inside yourself. I asked a few of your employers and got your name, from there it wasn’t hard to find out who you were.”
“Why?”
“To see if I could help.”
“Help? How?”
“Well, this is your job interview.”
“What?!”
“I’m very selective in who I have onboard my ship. I have a habit of picking up lost people.”
“‘Lost people’? What’s that mean?”
“Those who have been hard done by, who have had a difficult start to life, gone through some life altering event or another and left them without direction or purpose. I’ve been there myself, so I want to try and help out others if I can.”
“So I’m one of your ‘lost people’?”
“From what you’ve said, I’d say you were, wouldn’t you? All your life you were set on one path, right into Starfleet. Now that you’ve turned your back on that you’re directionless—what other nineteen year old would be work odd jobs this far from the core of the Federation?
“I’d like to help, if you’re interested,” she told him.
“You’re nuts!”
She chuckled. “I’ve been called worse. Think it over; I’m in dock for another week. You know where I am, Mr April.”
With that, she gave him one last small smile before heading down the corridor towards her ship. Alone once more, he was left with more questions than ever before. Hearing his real name again struck a chord inside him though. All the weight that came with the lineage, all the expectations and demands that had been put upon him, all the times he’d failed to measure up to his older brothers and seeing the disappointment in the faces of father, aunts, uncles and grandparents, knowing that he would never be like any of them. He was the black sheep of his family.
So what would it hurt if he tried to find a new one where they were all outcasts like him? If nothing else, he could at least get away from such a backwater port and out into space.
Before he even realised what he was doing, Marcus April hurried down the corridor in the direction Grey had gone. He turned down a junction and stopped. Standing there, hands clasped loosely, blue-grey eyes fixed on him, smiling expectantly, was Camille Grey.
“I guess I’m a little nuts too,” he told her.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
* * * * *
END
Marcus had wanted to get as far from Earth as he could, finding himself on Space Port Theta when he’d run out of funds. He had taken on a number of small jobs; from waiting tables at one of the few cafes open in the commerce section to offloading cargo, and anything else he could find. He couldn’t help but snort scathingly at his reflection in the viewport, wondering just what his family would think if they saw him—he really was a failure. The muscles in his jaw tensed as he balled his fists, his chest swelling with a potent mix of anger, sadness and disappointment. He blinked back tears as he ground his teeth together.
“Are you alright?” a soft voice asked from behind him.
He started and spun around, fists still clenched. He stopped when he saw who had asked the question. She looked human (not that that was a certainty), with mousy hair that was cut at the same length of her soft jawline. Her blue-grey eyes were kind whilst she watched him like a hawk. Despite his worked up state and aggressive body language, she stood there with her hands clasped loosely in front of her, in no way threatened or intimidated by his manner.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, trying to ease his posture. “Thanks.”
He turned back towards the viewport, wanting to be left alone. After a moment he realised he didn’t hear the woman leave, the bare grating made a noise no matter how quiet someone tried to be. Looking at the surface of the transparent aluminium, he saw that she stood in the same spot, hands clasped, eyes watching him.
“What?”
“Are you sure you’re alright?” she enquired, her tone polite and gentle.
“I just said I was.”
She tilted her head to the side and a smile curled her lips. “Even you don’t believe that.”
Frowning he turned back to her. “Aren’t there rules about reading peoples’ minds without consent?”
“I’m sure some species have such rules.”
“Not yours?”
“I’m human.”
“A telepathic human.”
“No. I’m just perceptive.”
He scoffed. “Well go perceive somewhere else.”
With that he turned back to the viewport, still not looking out into the void that stretched out before him. He wasn’t even looking at his reflection. He was focused inward, replaying all the mistakes he’d made in his short life and feeling each one hurt like an open wound. All of it brought tears to his eyes again as he focused on his failures.
“What’s wrong?” the woman, now standing beside him, whispered in his ear.
Marcus, unable to hide his tears turned his head towards her. “What do you want from me?” he uttered.
“You look like you’re having a rough time; I just thought you might like someone to talk to.”
“And you thought I’d spill my guts to some stranger in some grungy corridor on this god forsaken outpost on the edge of nowhere?”
“If not me, then who?”
He opened his mouth and stopped. Since arriving on Theta he hadn’t gone out of his way to make friends, sticking to his quarters when not working, what colleagues he spent any time with were just that, people he saw but barely interacted with. He’d left home, ashamed, gone as far as he could to get away from everything and be alone, and now found that he was just that; alone. All he did was brood over what had happened, what had led him to that moment and where he was, overanalysing it and torturing himself with everything he’d gotten wrong.
“Who are you?” he asked, wiping the wetness from his cheeks.
“Camille Grey. You?”
“Marcus.”
“Marcus what?”
“Just Marcus is fine.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, before softening once more. “So what brings you out here Just Marcus?”
“I wanted to see the galaxy.”
“So you came to Space Port Theta?”
“Why are you here?”
“Just a stop off before heading out.”
“Where you heading?”
“Out,” she smirked.
“You on one of the ships in dock?”
“You’ve been ignoring her all this time,” she quipped, nodding out the viewport.
He finally looked out and saw, nestled safely in a docking berth, a Corellia-Class freighter. Though hardly an unfamiliar sight, given that the class had been commissioned at the same time Theta had been brought online, what was surprising was seeing one of the Denobulan medium endurance freighters in such good condition. Her hull was almost gleaming white, with dark lavender accents on her fuselage, from the cockpit at the front, down the narrow spine of the ship, across the wider midsection (which housed crew facilities above the cargo holds) and ending at the trio of engines. The ship looked as though she was fresh off the assembly line though none had been built for over twenty years.
“Lucky for some.”
“Thank you, I’ve taken great pains to get her just right.”
Marcus looked back at Grey. “She’s your ship?”
“The Twilight.”
“You must be doing something right, she looks immaculate.”
“I have a good crew who love her almost as much as I do.”
He let out a single humourless laugh. “You hiring.”
“Looking for a job?”
He shot her a look, not sure if she was toying with him or not. “You wouldn’t want me,” he muttered, looking back out at the ship.
“Why not?”
“You wouldn’t.”
She turned to face him, her eyes burrowing into him as she folded her arms across her chest. “Try me.”
Marcus let out a heavy breath and rested his forehead on the cool viewport. “I’m a screw up. I flunked the Academy entrance exam and ran away from home, rather than face the disappointment from my family.”
“Starfleet’s standards are high.”
“The fleet has taken heavy losses thanks to the Dominion, they’re desperate for bodies, and yet I failed at the first hurdle.”
“Lots of people don’t make it into the Academy; surely your family wouldn’t hold that against you.”
He looked at her, holding her intense stare. “Most families aren’t like mine.”
“What’s so special about yours?”
“They’re Starfleet ‘royalty’.”
“Smith is a very common name, you can’t all be related.”
He scowled as he studied her. On the station, and the transport he’d used to get to Theta, he’d called himself ‘Marcus Smith’, wanting to leave his family name behind. His deception wouldn’t have held up to any intense scrutiny, but he’d been taken at face value and slipped under the radar. Somehow, a woman he’d never knew existed had found him out. He took a step away from her.
“Who are you?”
“I told you, Camille Grey. The more pressing question is who are you?”
“Do you know me?”
She gave him the soft, friendly smile again. “Like I said, I’m perceptive; I notice things—especially when they’re out of place. You most certainly are. I’ve noticed you around since we docked a fortnight ago, working right across the station but always alone and lost inside yourself. I asked a few of your employers and got your name, from there it wasn’t hard to find out who you were.”
“Why?”
“To see if I could help.”
“Help? How?”
“Well, this is your job interview.”
“What?!”
“I’m very selective in who I have onboard my ship. I have a habit of picking up lost people.”
“‘Lost people’? What’s that mean?”
“Those who have been hard done by, who have had a difficult start to life, gone through some life altering event or another and left them without direction or purpose. I’ve been there myself, so I want to try and help out others if I can.”
“So I’m one of your ‘lost people’?”
“From what you’ve said, I’d say you were, wouldn’t you? All your life you were set on one path, right into Starfleet. Now that you’ve turned your back on that you’re directionless—what other nineteen year old would be work odd jobs this far from the core of the Federation?
“I’d like to help, if you’re interested,” she told him.
“You’re nuts!”
She chuckled. “I’ve been called worse. Think it over; I’m in dock for another week. You know where I am, Mr April.”
With that, she gave him one last small smile before heading down the corridor towards her ship. Alone once more, he was left with more questions than ever before. Hearing his real name again struck a chord inside him though. All the weight that came with the lineage, all the expectations and demands that had been put upon him, all the times he’d failed to measure up to his older brothers and seeing the disappointment in the faces of father, aunts, uncles and grandparents, knowing that he would never be like any of them. He was the black sheep of his family.
So what would it hurt if he tried to find a new one where they were all outcasts like him? If nothing else, he could at least get away from such a backwater port and out into space.
Before he even realised what he was doing, Marcus April hurried down the corridor in the direction Grey had gone. He turned down a junction and stopped. Standing there, hands clasped loosely, blue-grey eyes fixed on him, smiling expectantly, was Camille Grey.
“I guess I’m a little nuts too,” he told her.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
* * * * *
END
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