I Can Haz Problems? Predicament (Rura Penthe)

[Crash Calestorm 0]

Rura Penthe Penal Planet

Klingon Empire Territory

Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here

 

Calestorm was down on her knees, hands bound in front of her. Two male Klingon guards stood on either side of her; they brandished jolt sticks to use if she got out of hand. Another guard held onto the leash of a Klingon hound and the the beast snarled and growled. The third Klingon, a female by the name of K’Marya, stood in front of Cale and held a small multi-thong flail menacingly in one gauntleted hand.

 

Over-coverage, much?

 

She and Vulture team had been ‘undercover’ in the prison for 48 hours, enough time to get some information feelers out among the population regarding the missing Starfleet guys and gals; Calestorm had signed on for one of the mine gangs. She and her team were spreading out as much as they were able to cover what areas they could making discreet inquires. Then, all hell had broken loose on her end.

 

Crash had never really had maternal instincts. But, when two of the guards had started to beat on a Talaxian kid? Her instincts snapped out and she knocked one of the guards clear across the passage. A half-hearted riot attempt had ensued and she’d been zapped by one of those damn jolt sticks that the Klingons wielded.

 

The Talaxian teen had managed to scramble back over to Cale as she lay flat on her back. He acted like he was frisking her for valuables to steal, grubby hands rummaging through pockets. His voice was urgent as he whispered in her ear, “I can help you. My sister knows where the people you’re looking for are. But, we help you, you help us…” before a guard had hauled him off of her.

 

Vulture Team now had a lead and she just had to get her people on it. In the meantime, she had a predicament to handle.

 

The silence in the room was noticeable. Cale spoke in an even tone, even though her nerves jangled. “Can we both get back to what passes for living our lives in this gods forsaken place?”

 

Something sparked in K’Marya’s eyes: frustration. ‘You’d be wise to hold your tongue, my dah-ling Human.”

 

Per the dossiers Starfleet Intelligence had compiled on the Rura Penthe guards, K’Marya was a decorated warrior relegated to the posting after an unsuccessful mission. She was a senior guard yet held limited power. Calestorm would use that information to get out of this situation.

 

“Look, no offense, you ain’t the Chief Guard. If you’re gonna stripe me with that little doohickey of yours, fine. But you can’t keep me here all shift. I signed up for mine duty today and it’s on you if I ain’t there…or able to work…he’ll notice eventually if you keep messing with the prisone-“

 

The female guard snarled and grabbed her by the throat and Crash was half-lifted and thrown to her feet; she stumbled but maintained her balance, coughing.

 

To the guards, K’Marya ordered, “Escort her back to the work detail…”

[Crash Calestorm 0]

(continuation of ‘Predicament’)

 

The guards had escorted her as far as the common area that served as a prison yard and gathering point for the prisoners. There was no need to escort her directly back to the mine gang in Lower Level D-2; if she didn’t show on her own within a certain amount of time, she could expect a good jolting.

 

Partially shielded from unwanted attention within a rocky alcove carved from the underground itself, Crash leaned her back against the hard surface and took a few moments to compose herself. The initial jolt had taken a lot out of her, and the escort guards and K’Marya hadn’t exactly been gentle. Mind, it could have gone a lot worse.

 

A male prisoner sidled up beside her, but her instincts didn’t go off and so she didn’t automatically belt him in the jaw.

 

“My dear Captain Hogan, you do make a first impression, don’t you?”

 

She rubbed at her temples with her fingers, eyes still closed. “Can I help you?”

 

“Here, take this. It will help with any discomfort.” He offered her a flask.

 

Eyes opened, she stared at it. Right.

 

“It isn’t poison, and the flask is disinfected.”

 

She stared at him. Right.

 

“And it isn’t going to knock you out.” He paused. “…wait, I take that back. Technically, it will knock you out if you drink the whole thing at once.”

 

Right. With a wary eye on him, Cale took the offered item and examined the flask. Stainless steel. She unscrewed the cap and took an experimental sniff. Interesting…

 

With one last glance at him that promised retribution should anything remotely hinky go down, she took a swig. As soon as the fire hit her throat and she swallowed, suspicion was confirmed and eyebrows shot to her hairline. “How in the hell did you get Romulan Ale in here?”

 

Already, the ale was working, spreading out from her chest in warmth and loosening bruised and tensed muscles. The Romulan Ale obviously contained something more to fight off the cold that permeated the prison.

 

“There are methods. It is my own special blend, you might say” The rogue smiled, and he sported a gold tooth.

 

He was tall and stocky, outweighing Crash. It wasn’t immediately noticeable with the layer of fur pelts over his faded clothing, but his frame looked like he would normally be about two hundred fifty pounds, maybe more. Time spent at Rura Penthe had preyed on his fat reserves.

 

A born scrounger, the talk around the prison yard was he was the man to go to if you needed something. Both the guards and fellow detainees made use of his talents. And, he’d obviously made it a point to keep tabs on Calestorm and the others after they’d been ‘introduced’ to the Rura Penthe population.

 

“What do you want?” She just wasn’t in the mood to banter.

 

He cocked his head. “When you go, I go.”

 

“Go where?”

 

“Oh come now. You have the look of one who is planning on escaping.”

 

Wonderful. First it was the Talaxian Kid – who had to be located as their lead – and now this one. Vulture Team was gathering an escapee wolf pack. “Look, pal, in case you haven’t noticed? Lots of folks are stuck here who’d like to escape.”

 

“Indeed. But you are the most likely candidate to come into this hell hole in months.”*

 

“…you know me. I don’t know you. I need a name.”

 

He removed his gaudy, ‘Three Musketeers’ style hat with a flourish. “The name is Harcourt Fenton Mudd*, and I am at your service, My Lady.”

 

*Line appropriated from Star Trek 6: The Undiscovered Country…but I *am not* kissing him.

*I don’t own Harry Mudd, I just play in his Universe(s). Has anyone seen Stella yet?