Basic Survival

[Cassie Granger 0]

Musker Ridge

Bertaria Colony

Stardate 2244.16

 

Coals faded to embers just warm enough to take the chill off the desert night air. One smoky tendril rose in the stillness, curled, and faded a few feet above the ground. Any higher and it would draw predators, especially the Krakra, named by the colonists after its rutting call. One of the planet’s nastiest reptiles, it’d just as soon tear you apart and leave your carcass for scavengers than eat it. Marine SSgt Frank Granger, Cassie’s dad, said it was the closest thing he’d seen to some would-be humans he’d come across in the filthiest recesses of the galaxy.

 

“Dad. Got a question.” At fourteen, Cass was tall and wiry, her skin had the perpetual ruddiness of frequenting the desert wilderness, and her attitude pretty much matched that of her dad - hard, rugged, no nonsense, bull-by-the-horns.

 

“Ask away.” Frank paused in cleaning his weapon and leaned against a rock, all ears.

 

From her perch near the dying fire, Cass put her KA-BAR aside and held up a partially-cleaned hide. Thick wiry hair covered the animal’s back, tapering in length as it merged with heavy claws at the end of each paw. The thick skull, still covered in hide, bore the pointed snout of a burrower. Teeth tapered to needle points. Upper canines curved like tusks.

 

“Burghrats are vicious, right?” She eyed the creature’s hide a moment before tilting her head towards Frank, the beginning of what could be a long conversation.

 

“Damn straight they are. Bite your finger clean off if you’re not careful. Those canines...” he waved a hand toward the meter-long hide, “....not only defend the lair but hold a victim while the claws tear it apart. ‘Course,” he continued in a more casual tone, “...they come in handy when challenging a rival, too. One swipe’ll gut just about anything.”

 

Cass gave a grunt, flopping the hide in the air between them. Her tone turned almost accusatory. “So why did this one posture, then turn and run?”

 

Clasping his hands behind his neck, Frank regarded his daughter a long minute, then jutted his chin in her direction. “Why do you think?”

 

Eyebrows bobbed as she shrugged and regarded the skull. “No lair to defend. Not rutting season. Stomach was full. Teeth say it wasn’t old - probably prime of life. Seen enough action, though, so it’s not like he didn’t ever fight.” She lifted one paw to reveal a long scar. “Bone was broken. Healed crooked.”

 

Frank nodded. “Saw that when we skinned it. What else?”

 

Cass dropped the hide, hair side up, on a rock and began to wash her hands in the sand.

 

“Come on...” Frank waved a beckoning hand, “what else? Why else would it run?” After a few minutes, Frank prompted, “Did we have it cornered?”

 

“No.” Cass looked up to his end-of-story face. “So, it’ll run if it’s not cornered.”

 

“I wouldn’t go that far, Cass. But it stands to reason if an animal has a way of getting out of danger it’ll take it if there’s nothing else at stake. Only animal that’s really contrary is humans; they have a nasty thing called... pride.” The word spat out like rancid meat. “Not that pride, in itself, is wrong, Buddy. But when it takes first place and gets in the way of reason....” he broke off into a disgusted sigh, grabbed a stick and tapped it on the ground. “Your mom can testify to that one.”

 

Cassie’s stare petered out. In a matter of seconds Marine Recon Specialist GySgt Samantha Ducharme’s team had been whittled from nine to three because of a rivalry between two commanding officers. They came to court martial, of course, but it didn’t mitigate the fact that Charlie team - and the Corps - had lost six of its finest. They could have lost the rest if they’d been in closer quarters. That they were divided into fire teams and approached the target in delta formation meant that Cass still had a mom, and Frank a wife.

 

“Bottom line? It’s all about survival.” Frank picked up the pace, shaking off the memory. “Anything does what it thinks it has to to survive. Posture, fight, or run. Sometimes it’s the right thing, sometimes....” a tick of his head indicated the hide, now drying on the rock. “That’s why we spend so much time out here, Buddy. Learning to survive. Learning when to fight, when to back off, and how to go with the flow when things go south, when there’s no damned thing you can do about it.”

 

 

USS Comanche Creek

Somewhen in Romulan Space

 

December 31, 2259. New Year’s Eve. Or it was supposed to be.

 

Staring at incessant readouts of the SpecOps nav/ops equipment diagnostic program had worked like a drug on Cassie’s brain. She felt numb, her mind wandering from past to present to this maybe-future and back. On top of all that, New Year’s carried its own baggage. Out with the old, in with the new? Hell of a lot of memories, mostly could’avs and should’avs - regrets and lost opportunities. New Year’s Eve, the ship-sucking rift on the main viewscreen and incessant repairs rolled into one retching garbage heap and worked itself into Cassie’s already stressed-out brain. Well, not stressed - mostly blown.

 

Go with the flow when things go south.

 

“Right,” she said under her breath, sneezing to excuse the mist that suddenly clouded her vision. Some 129 years ago her mom and dad had gone MIA after Vulcan. Just before the rift, Col Tigard had given her hope: her dad’s transponder detected by a passing ship. But now they were gone. All gone. Dead for over a hundred years. In another time... another place.

 

A shuddering breath brought Moa to her side. “Hey.”

 

His whispered baritone broke into her thoughts, jerking her up as effectively as a slap upside the head. A sharp head-turn and the deep, sympathetic eyes of the Gunny met hers. “You okay?”

 

Damn. Gunny Momoa’s eyes could melt the heart of a women or stop a tiger in its tracks. This look was somewhere in-between, and Cass cursed herself for almost falling apart in front of him, mostly because he could always see right through her.

 

“I’m good,” was her retort, sharper than she meant it to be. “Just... Damned dust inside those consoles,” she continued, rubbing her eyes to stop the flow. “Need to clean ‘em more often... or somethin’.”

 

“Hey,” he repeated, getting her full attention as his hand, heavy and muscular, closed gently around her forearm. “It will work. We will getback.”

 

Learn how to go with the flow when things go south, when there’s no damned thing you can do about it.

 

Cass straightened up, set her jaw. “Damned right we will,” she said. “Damn right.”