Need to Know Straight-Up Scrounger

[Crash Calestorm 0]

Somewhere during the course of the duty shift, Captain Calestorm had picked up a personal guard.

 

Cale had no idea if Commander Wesley had assigned the guard, the acting-CSEC*, or Major Ishiiu. Regardless, someone somewhere had coordinated with someone else and she now had a MARDET* shadow standing a post out in the corridor. Personally, she was not one for personal protection detail; after all, the Comanche Creek was not a futuristic pirate ship where the flag officers culled guards from the crew.

 

However, her mama had raised no fool. With the vampire issue and crew members apparently slitting their own neck versus having a guard from the MARDET in tow? A guard was acceptable, but just this once. And maybe, just maybe, the captain was mellowing. Possibly. Sort of. A teensy bit?

 

Crash was taking an hour to herself in the main pilots lounge. One hour: her, a cup of coffee, and decompression before jumping back into the fray. She wasn’t so much hiding as ‘strategically redeploying’, or so she kept telling herself. Audraya was aware of the location and the Captains iComanche was set on PPS* tracking mode.

 

With the ship at all stop, a standard CAP* patrol had been deployed. Two Hornet starfighters and one Tomcat passed by the lounge window at fifteen minute intervals. Cale enjoyed tracking the CAP passes as the sight evoked simpler times for her while she waited.

 

She needed some information from off the grid, and the best place to go for that kind of Intel was a champion scrounger: ACAG Lieutenant JG Jagrissa ‘Jumper’ Honor-Scar entered the lounge quietly and Cale turned her head at the whooshing sound of the entry doors.

 

When Jumper had reported for duty on board the ‘Creek, she’d been a young(er), tough furball with the over confidence of a hot shot pilot. Jay H. Christmas, it’d been like lookin’ in a mirror for Calestorm, minus the fur. And the whole different species thing, but that was besides the point. The last year or so on board had tempered her and the young Caitian woman had come a long way.

 

She was wearing a flight suit as she’d just come off the last CAP just come off the last patrol run. “Captain. Are you checking up on our CAP patrol?” The ginger furred felinoid offered and smile indicated the large view port with a wave of her paw.

 

“Yes ah am, Lieutenant. They look pretty good. These’re the newbs we took on?”

 

“Yes Sir.”

 

The captain nodded with satisfaction as she took a sip of her coffee. “Thanks for coming Lieutenant, and apologies for the short notice. I had a moment and wanted to touch base with you.”

 

“Understood.” The younger woman purred a little.

 

“Have a seat.”

 

Calestorm waited until the Cait had settled in the chair opposite her before she began to speak again. There weren’t that many occupants using the pilots lounge at this hour, but she pitched her voice low from habit. “Jumper, this conversation is off the record.”

 

The ginger furred felinoid smiled, showing fangs. “Record? What record Sir? On this ship, I don’t think so.”

 

The older woman’s smile was rueful, and then her expression went serious again. “I’ve recently come into information regarding the Outer Rim. Specifically, the ah…free labor trade...”

 

Honor-Scars ears flattened at the euphemism, any humor gone. “You mean the slave trade. That’s bad business, Ma’am.”

 

“Ah know it is. Still happens though, and I need you to find out what you can from alternate channels than what I’ve already got access to. This is confidential, no questions asked.”

 

“One of the first things I was taught growing up on my family’s ship. No worries, Captain”

 

Crash took a swig of her coffee and then continued, her gaze wandering from the window to the young officer. “I know you survived Vulcan.” The statement was direct without being hurtful.

 

“…aye Sir.”

 

“You know it took days for rescue crews to mobilize, even with the allied help, months before most of the scrap metal had been cleared out and bodies identified.”

 

The felinoid just nodded. She had that ‘look’ that a lot of the survivors got when the subject was brought up.

 

“There may be Starfleet officers thought dead who’ve survived. Survived in an escape pod, drifted, ended up out in the Rim territories*. Got caught by pirates, unable to escape, sold as labor…”

 

“…do you trust your initial sources* on this, Ma’am?”

 

“To a point, yeah. With that said, I want you to confirm where and if you can with the mercs and traders that you know.”

 

“…Captain? Permission to speak freely.”

 

Crash silently nodded for the young former mercenary turned Starfleet pilot to continue.

 

“My contacts are good people. They work as mercenaries, sure, but they’ve always done right by my family on jobs…and most mercenaries are just like the Honor-Scars. They just want to find a job, find a crew, and keep flying.” The Caitian hesitated, uncomfortable with the subject matter.

 

“I know they work their tails off to make ends meet.” The captain raised a brow in expectation of further explanation.

 

“…my contacts have families to feed, fuel to buy for the ships, equipment to maintain...”

 

Calestorm placed her mug down on the tabletop and slipped her dominant hand into a trouser pocket; she removed and placed a credit chit on the surface and slid it towards the Caitian. “That’s an unmarked account, credits are untraceable. Use what you need. My thumbprint’s already been authorized so you shouldn’t have any issues. If you do have any issues, let me know. That gonna help?”

 

“Yes, thank you, Sir.” She purred. “What else do you need?”

 

The captain gave her a slight smile, and then it faded. “All you need to know is I’m interested in any information on the Outer Rim’s slave and smuggling business. Not talkin’ bout the big Cartels like the Black Kris or professional mercenary companies like the Blue Suns. I want info on the independent mercenary or pirate crews that operate in the ‘Rim.”

 

Jumper flipped an ear back. “That’s a pretty large population. From the flea bitten, hard luck crews on up to the few pirate kings and queens that hit it big on both legit and dirty jobs.”

 

Crash grunted. “Honestly? I don’t care, Lieutenant. I want cargo routes - main line and switchback trails - that are used. What watering hole is the best place to grab a crew, a job, keep flyin’, the outposts or bases where smugglers or slavers can offload contraband quick and easy. Also lookin’ for updated mapping info on Rura Penthe* to supplement what Intel* we’ve already got…”

 

The Caitian looked out the observation port for a moment and then turned back to Cale. “The Aliens Graveyard. ‘Rura Penthe is really bad medicine. It can be years before anyone finds a body in that place…”

 

“Yeah...” The non-committal answer from the captain spoke volumes; Cale sipped at her coffee and watched the stars, not willing to make any further comments.

 

Jumper continued, since Calestorm obviously wasn’t going to elaborate. “Mercs and pirates have always traded with the prison – food, water, supplies, trinkets, pleasure whores. It’s just a matter of finding the right independent ship or ships that make regular runs to that ice ball of a planet who have mapping programs and made some recordings of the area. The last ten years or so is when the Penthe guards started taking slave labor from the pirates and slave runners that stop by and sell…um, the goods? Cheap labor for the mines?...the guards can make a fortune…”

 

Honor-Scar paused, her purring tone was quiet. “…I lost a cousin to the prison. Never saw him again. At least that’s what my parents tell me...happened before I was born.”

 

“I know it’s a bad place El Tee. But, we got brothers and sisters that may be stuck there, and we gotta go get ‘em. Can’t do that ‘til we got supplemental Intel, and that’s where you come in.” The captain smirked good naturedly. “No pressure or anything.”

 

The felinoid gave an answering smirk. “Understood.” Honor-Scar then gave a quick nod of confirmation. “I’ll check into the independent ships master channels; see what I can find out.”

 

“Thank you, Jumper. Dismissed. I know things are crazy right now, but stay on those newbie’s.”

 

The felinoid excused herself and got up from the chair. Before exiting the area, she turned to look back towards Calestorm. “Captain?”

 

“Yes Lieutenant?”

 

“It’s been a while since you went out with us. We can always use a third Hornet for CAPs, or an extra for training maneuvers. Hornet 20 is looking a little forlorn down there in the hanger.”

 

Crash cocked her head to one side, her willingness to fly in any event or circumstance evident. “That sounds like a plan Lieutenant.”

 

“Just remember to leave the whiskey behind; I wouldn’t want you to fly tanked up in the wrong way.”

 

She knew Jumper was teasing her, could tell by the twinkle in the Caitians eyes, the underlying banter in the tone. And, the only reason she could smell the whiskey was that kitty sniffer of hers; Cale certainly didn’t have that much in the mug, not while on duty. She knew the junior pilot was cautioning her, pilot to pilot. It’d been a long time since someone had been straight up with her, pilot to pilot. It felt good. Really good.

 

She stared at Honor-Scar a moment and then Calestorm’s brilliant smile was all teeth, all cocky, and all understanding as she lifted her mug in salute. “I’ve done a lot of things in my life Lieutenant. I can say for certain I’ve never gone on a run boozed up.”

 

With a jaunty wave of a paw, Honor-Scar left the lounge.

 

Crash continued to smile, some of the tension leaving her body. Yeah. That furball firebrand has come a long way…

 

---

- CSEC: Chief of Security

- MARDET: Marine Detachment

- PPS: Personal Positioning System, an internal tracking program in use on the USS Comanche Creek

- ACAG: Acting Commander of the Aero Group

- CAP: Combat Air Patrol

- See MIA and MIA: Confirmed Calestorm logs for further details

- Rim Territories: the ‘Outer Rim’, comprised of the frontier territories, sectors and colony planets out of the jurisdictions of any of the known galactic powers

- Rura Penthe: Klingon held prison and mining facility (Memory Alpha article)

- Official Intel: the information on record for the mining/prison facility comes from Captain Archer, circa 2152 (Enterprise: Judgment episode summary)