The Long Dark Teatime of the Undead

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Cargomaster's Office

Cold Station 13

 

Audraya had seen it all in her time, and didn't fear death. Growing up as a slave aboard the Audacious, combat on the Klingon-Federation frontier with the Marines on Sherman's Planet and Tanandra Bay, chasing down pirates in a Goshawk in Gamma Hromi, trapped in the dark, airless, Auxiliary Control on the Entente at the ill-fated Battle of Vulcan against the Romulan renegade Nero; and it was with luck that the battered hulk of the Entente had drifted outside the gravity well of what had been Vulcan and into orbit around T'Khut. No, the Orion didn't fear death...at least in the normal way—engaged in combat, exploration, or even being killed for the sport of an owner—but huddling behind a desk, with the ship's senior communications officer, with zombies moaning and scratching at the door? Oh yeah, she didn't want to that way, in no uncertain terms.

 

She glanced at Tifa. The Centauran had huddled closer in to the desk, almost on top of the XO. Audraya could almost see the fear in her eyes...and her own fear reflected back. Making sure her EV suit's mic was off, she looked up at the shadowed ceiling. “Lords,” she began in Kolari, “it's Audraya Westley. I know I haven't been the most...faithful. Or even the most honest. And I know you value one's own cunning and prowess, but we could really use a helping hand here. And to be honest, I'm not asking this for myself, but for my companion...so...any help with the undead outside our door would be appreciated.”

 

She could feel the deck thump as a large flash-bang went off below them...but not knowing if it would be enough, Audraya drew her phaser in her right hand, and wrapped her left arm around Tifa. “I promised I'd watch your back, Tifa. I won't let those undead bastards get you...” she uttered quietly.