Shore leave

Posted on Wed Jul 16th, 2014 @ 7:33pm by Walter Jones & Jan Valentine & Langar Tarn & Charlotte Ashcroft & Bruce Air (PNPC)

969 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Session 7: Changes
Location: Trade Station Omicron 9 in the Kafal sector

[Trade Station Omicron 9]

The station, looking as though it had recently been whitewashed hung motionless in space. Twinkling lights here and there the only thing betraying that there was life located on it.

Cargo containers hung in orbit around it and occasionally a small robot loaders would pull up to one and move it to another area of the space port.

One of the crates was marked 'Hazardous Biological Contaminant'. The Droid in charge of it separated it from the rest of the collection and moved it to the Quarantine station. There a second robot scanned the contents ledger and compared it to the readings it got from the casing itself. Indeed there did seem to be signs of a mild viral agent on the boxes seals.

If it had been a person it may have questioned why anyone would mark Idotroxine, a mild cough inducing virus that only affects juvenile Tarellians, under such serious restrictions. It was, however, and automaton. The case met the conditions for quarantine and so it was parked till a Quarantine officer came to deal with it.

When that finally happened, some weeks later, the officer in charge was surprised to find the seal had been breached, and that the viral agent was restricted to a thin film around the seal. Inside was a serviceable, if not comfortable, space where a person may have lived for a short space of time. There was no sign of this person now.

That is because, some weeks earlier, only a few moments after being placed in storage and forgotten about, Morgan Pass had opened the crate from the inside and stepped out. He had to hand it to the Romulans. They were a cunning bunch, and had been true to their word about smuggling him to the edge of Federation space for his rendezvous. It wouldn't do to have the Federation know he was here.




The Warden flashed out of warp. Mostly intact from its journey across the space lanes. Walt stood on the bridge next to Bruce.

"Ahhh new home for a few days till we get loaded. What do you think Bruce?"

Bruce shrugged, "I've been to worse places. There was a watering hole out back'a Burke that'd lay you bare faster 'n a Roo on heat. I don't suppose there is much point asking for an advance on our pay to make our stay more comfortable?"

"Yeah I could probably forward you a few credits to get your bearings over there." Walt turned to Bruce. "Though we haven't gotten much yet in the way of payment so I'll see what I can do."

Bruce had figured as much, "Well if we need to cut costs, I'll let Lottie bunk with me."

He winked at the security officer and then ducked quickly. Not quite quickly enough though.

Lottie's arm had shot out, though Bruce ducked she still managed to clout him across the head for his cheekiness. Truth be told she didn't mind the harmful banter, being the only woman on board she was use to it but didn't mean she'll stand for it.

Langar stood at the back of the bridge, the Trade Station looked like his kind of place, independent of Federation control and where people didn't ask too many questions.

"All systems in the green for once, ready for docking anytime." Jan said from the engineering station, monitoring the boards.

Bruce regained his chair and flicked some switches, "The Auto dock isn't synced. I am going to do her manually. It will probably be smoother for you all anyway."

For all Bruce's bravado he was an exceptional pilot and the Warden came to a rest against the docking umbilical with the gentleness of a chaste kiss.

"Docking clamps are latch. Seal is secure. All ashore!"

Langar checked a control panel "Looks like we're lined up with their bays on cargo hatches two, four, eight and twelve. We can load through those" He reported

Jan flicked several switches and relays, "Switching to standby mode, engines and thrusters secure. Grav plating in cargo module 8 giving me some sensor trouble. Langar, want to assist me?"

"Sure, probably the sub-floor generator over heating" Langar agreed

Walt stopped the two before they left. "Alright, so here is the plan, we are supposed to pick up the cargo tomorrow at fourteen hundred you have free reign until then. You're allowed to be armed here so I suggest you take something with you." Walt looked around. "Just try and keep low for a bit, most people don't care but the ones that do could cause some sass. I'll also forward all of you some credits to spend, on me as a welcome back."

Bruce frowned at the Captain as he walked away. He looked at Lottie and said quietly, "The Captain is always at his most generous when he is least sure of himself. That being said I intend to find a rough bar and make a night of it. I haven't had a decent brawl since May'bel mistook the Andraxian delegate for a female. What about you?"

"I'm not sure yet," she shrugged. "It depends on just how many credits Jones has given me, otherwise it might a trip to some booze outlet and an early night." She lent back against the console beside her; "Though a bar bawl does sound like fun."

Now Bruce grinned, "I have been keen to try out a trick May'bel taught me. He is madder 'n a cut snake."

A pocket full of credits and a drink or two would be welcome Langar figured, although he'd pass on the brawl if possible. "Give us a couple of hours to fix the grav plating and we'll meet you guys at the hatch. C'mon Jan, lets go tear up the floor" 

 

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