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Cdr Wyatt Cayne

Changing Tide

Changing Tide

Cdr Wyatt Cayne and Cptn Chirakis

Whether it was to give her something constructive or, as Terrans so aptly put it, "to get her out of his hair," Commander Coleridge, OIC on Aegean, could not have assigned her to a better position. The science console was a masterpiece of Commander Jorahl's creation: a seamless blend of the best technologies available, and primarily Romulan. From here, despite the interference of the nebula, crisp images formed on the planet’s surface, especially the image of Commander Cayne as he approached the alien freighter.

 

* * * * *

Time to pull out the flask, he thought. His reputation as a drinker spanned several sectors now. He took a swig, then another, poured enough from the flask to fill his hand, then splashed equal amounts on his face and jacket. He started to lumber and twitch as he got closer to the freighter, but this was not an ordinary ship.

For one, the alien freighter was massive compared to most Federation vessels capable of landing. Second, well, there was no real description of the strangeness in its configuration. Perhaps an engineer could explain, but not him. Wyatt approached a long ramp to a tall loading hatch, sealed. As he looked up from the corner of his eye he spotted two figures walking parallel to the freighter. Two women in work attire. Time to act.

Wyatt stumbled, then faltered from side to side. His clothes smelled of cheap durian-derived wine, and he smelled to high Stovokor. The women approached, but began to slow down in caution.

"Can I," he started with a hic,"interest you ladies in a pi-" But before he could get another word out he heard a loud crack. A second after he felt a stinging pain as something between a slap and punch connected with his nose. His fake drunkenness left him vulnerable and he plummeted to the ground.

"Viruminen!" the woman with the duranium fists exclaimed as she spat on the drunken man, now flat on the ground. She and her companion turned and continued on, hastening their pace. He could see them fade into the distance as he clutched his bleeding nose. Great.

Someone new approached. Other than towering in height their garb concealed any useful features. Behind this figure followed an antigravity cart piled with containers of various sizes, and behind that was another figure looking exactly the same as the first, likely the one driving. They turned and went up the ramp about half way, then stopped. The lead figure waved a hand, the hatch hissed open, and he walked into the freighter, followed by the cart driven by the companion.

Through the pain of his nose, Cayne watched all of this and saw an opportunity. The cart was halfway through the door when Wyatt started his own walk up the ramp, making sure his footfalls were near silent. The tall figures carried on with their work which allowed Wyatt to creep behind them. He slipped through the hatch and took to the nearest wall, pressing against it. As they continued on without notice and rounded the corner, Wyatt exhaled the breath he held in.

Then the door sealed shut.

Wyatt jumped, though he shouldn't have. So he was in the freighter, he needed to investigate, but now he was sealed in. Time for another drink.

He pressed the open end to his lips, tilted his head back, then pressed his thumb to the corner. The curved flask’s back lit up, revealing a label with moving text. Having finished swallowing the wine in his flask, he spat out a tiny acorn-sized piece of metal onto his hand and pressed it against the face of the display. Both glowed blue for a moment.

Like many species and many starships, console displays lined the wall at eye level. Their eye level. Fortunately one was next to the loading hatch door. None of the alien text was readable of course, but he was not here to peruse their database on his own time. The walls were largely a metallic dark gray with dulled-gold squares in no discernable pattern. Ideal for concealment.

Wyatt placed the bit of metal on the side of the console. It cooed softly as it changed shape and color to match the surface it was placed on. Often this piece of technology did such a good job agents were unable to find it again. A minute passed. His flask vibrated indicating the bug was in place. He pulled the flask out of his pocket to look at the back. The tiny device started its work.

A minute went by. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Each passing minute meant it was more likely he'd get caught or the freighter would take off with him still onboard. Time to escape. Key presses on the pad next to the hatch did nothing. When the figure waved his hand to open it before, there was no indication of how to open the door. He cursed at his inability, but perhaps he should've saved that for later as he heard footfalls approached from around that corner. What to do?

Three figures, dressed like the ones before walked towards the hatch. They had no cart with them, but rifles of a design he had never seen. All three pointed them at him, but kept their measured approach to the hatch.

"Sta radis ovde?" The lead figure called out with a force that need not translation.

"Oh gosh *hic* I am glaad yoo guys are here. I needed to take one galactic number one and I thought this was the restroom. Then after *hic* dooing my business I found the exit closed up on me." As he spoke the other pressed the tip of the gun into his chest.

"Sta radis ovde?!" the figure asked again.

"Hey, I'm just trying to get out. Come on. My wife left me. Took the kids, and all my credits. Time are to- aah!" His body shook in pain as some kind of electric field overtook his bodily functions. He plopped unconscious onto the deck, resting against the hatch door.

"Glupi pijan ljudsko prljavstina," the lead figure triumphantly called out as he opened the hatch and kicked the human down the ramp.

 

* * * * *

Tongue in cheek and suppressing a grin, Chirakis kept watch on the freighter hatch for nearly twenty minutes. The live video feed had taken on the look of a picture frozen in time — until the body of an all-too-familiar figure rolled down the ramp and planted, face first, on the concrete. Apparently he had succeeded in his mission, and would have the minor injuries to flaunt at the closest female — who just happened to be watching from a distance.

Tarisa had been the wiser of the two, the captain decided, and though Aegean’s science sensors were excellent, they were still not good enough to give Chirakis the angle or the resolution she wanted to see the expression on the young lieutenant’s face as her superior officer rolled unceremoniously down the ramp. But before she could gloat further, the priority one alert secured to her belt vibrated, and she raised her forearm to view the unencrypted message via wrist monitor.

From: Rendezvous October

To: Cdr Wyatt Cayne, Cptn Chirakis Kirel

RE: Mission Reassignment

Make best speed to Aegis for situational evaluation.

J. t’Aldani

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