Fox Smokey

Smokey just tried to concentrate on moving as little as possible, glad that flying the yatch did not require much movement. The dried blood made his cheek itch, but it was necessary . His pod companion could not help but feel a little remorseful that for her plan to succeed , Fox’s face had to be mangled that badly. As she been on a well equipped starship , she could have modified his physical appearance easily, saving him the pain and probable humiliation Fox noticed her expression and leaned over to respond in the cramped escape pod, the yatch had not been designed to accomodate two passenger. "I've taken worse. Granted, it wasn't by a Klingon...female...before, but it helps me get a little credibility with Mench." Xandra nodded , mentally noting Fox’s need for approval from the Commander. “Almost sweet ..” she thought. Observing Xandra through his swollen and half obstructed by dried blood eyes, Smokey was thinking that, frankly, he would have taken a beating from half a dozen Klingon women to be in a close-quartered pod with her. Somehow, in Xandra’s presence, Smokey wounds didn't seem to hurt as bad, and not because she was a medic. Fox was fully aware however of how dangerous women like Xandra could be on missions. They were a fantastic distraction, and he needed to be careful not to get caught up in it himself. Thinking about K’malta punching Smokey, made Xandra very aware of the throbbing pain in her own temple. “ She really shouldn’t have done that… “The doctor thought before focusing on more pressing matters. – “ I sure hope you know what you got yourself into Fox.” She said in a tone that was meant to be light but sounded somewhat anxious. “ I sure hope indeed. Because once we’re in there , as much as I ‘d hate to admit it out loud, I become pretty much useless. Mench was right , afterall I am only a doctor.” Xandra added in her mind. Smokey, on the other hand, was very glad to be chosen for this part of the mission. He could do two things very well: Pilot, and break things - it wasn't very often on Mench's ship that he had the opportunity to do the latter; Sargh took care of most of the 'breaking'. He preferred not to think about the consequences of being recognized on the Base. Failure was simply not an option. His mind drifted to the upcoming minutes. He had visualized everything as best he could to prepare; the docking, the stumbling onto the base and being taken to Sickbay. There he would attempt to sneak out. If that didn't work, he might have to 'incapacitate' a nurse or two. Smokey certainly did not enjoy killing people, but would if absolutely necessary. Long ago he had learned how weak hesitation can make one. A sneeze from Xandra snapped him back to reality. He began to explain his plan to her. "I think I'll need you to help 'distract' an engineer or two after we're on board, if you think you're up to the challenge," he said, smirking at the last couple words. Xandra’s eyes lit up with amusement “ I ‘think’ I can manage that …..”

Smokey was writing his log of the events from the past day or so. He glanced around his cramped quarters, his mind drifting to wondering what the rest of the crew was up to. The Klingons were probably drunk and singing terribly out of tune. Mench was probably planning every meticulous detail of the next several hours. What Xandra was doing Smokey didn’t even want to guess. He sighed out loud. The last couple hours had been adventure-filled, to say the least. Frankly, Smokey felt lucky to be alive. Though, on the other hand, he had run into his fair share of trouble before his ‘stint’ at the orphanage. Street life was way worse than this gig was. At least here, he was guaranteed a shower (though the temperature fluctuated slightly) and food (if one wanted to call it that). The objective never changed though: survival. He fought then as he did now. Ferengi pimps, Federation security officers, even a few Klingon traders across the border; it didn’t matter. They were all the same to him: a means to survive. He’d hated the orphanage. Rules. Protocol. Manners. He didn’t follow the orders of someone he didn’t respect. That’s where Ducheuci differed. Ducheuci was the father figure Smokey had never had. Others would argue the validity of a Smuggler as a father figure. Of course, Ducheuci had called himself an ‘opportunist’. At any rate, it was a way to get out of the hell-hole that was the orphanage. At first, Ducheuci was probably just taking him on board his 1-manned freighter as a scapegoat, perhaps even a phaser shield. Over the three year period, something changed within Ducheuci; He started to care for this orphaned kid. Started to teach him everything he knew. Ducheuci had excellent piloting skills as a blockade runner, and certainly had been in his fair share of hand to hand combat situations. He also taught Smokey how to refine the skills the kid was fluent in for survival. Trust (no one). Mercy (is for the weak and the dead). Women (are trouble). Instincts (are everything). Smokey became more than simply an apprentice, more than a wingman. He became the son Ducheuci never had. When Ducheuci’s past caught up with him, and the Feds were breathing down his neck, he sacrificed himself to ensure Smokey’s escape. It was perhaps the only selfless thing Ducheuci had ever done. Smokey would never forget it. The escape pod had floated for days before he was picked up by the Qob. Mench reminded Smokey of Ducheuci, a leader without question. Some people just commanded respect, and the Commander was one of these people. Xandra reminded Smokey of trouble, simply because he was attracted to her. Pike just scared the hell out of him, but he would never let the Lieutenant see it. Sargh was a Klingon. No other descriptions were needed. As much as this made Fox laugh, the Qob became something of a Family. A backstabbing, selfish, murderous family, but a family none the less. Smokey couldn’t have felt more at home.