Topic: #11: White Rabbits  (Read 20080 times)

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Offline Scottish Andy

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #20 on: August 16, 2007, 02:19:41 pm »
Good story Guv. Not much to comment on really, right now. A few speeling mistooks... "creek" (river area) instead of "creak" (squeaky noise) for example. Some good, steady relationship and character development happening at the speed of life instead of the speed of plot (massive amounts of gold stars for that, my friend).
I feel sad for Davenport/Tolin, and for Chevy/Andrea.
One possible fluff: You have the narration and ANya call the world "New Plymouth" (possibly another car reference), but Chevy calls it "New Prov", which seems to me to be short for "New Providence". Care to clarify?

A couple of really great lines that made me smile:
Quote
“I don’t really like coffee.” He admitted. “I just drink it for caffeine and the crap I pour into it.”
and:
Quote
“Hey,” the helmsman held up a semi-threatening finger, then lowered it. “I don’t have a good come-back. But when I do, I’m gonna let you have it.”
;D ;D ;D

Also like the shadow on Ford's horizon - possibly being watched from the sailboat. Nice edge of hinted-at-but-not-actually-present danger in the otherwise-idyllic scene.
On a final point, I like that you actually explain while not explaining all the wacky decisions being made on 23. ChSFOps Sharp still there running things to make sure "his" boys get what they need. "His" boys wanting Endeavour back and the entirely uneconomical and inefficient wish getting the go-ahead, stuff like that. There's no explanation, but it's mentioned and so we realise you're including these points in your consideration and not just unaware of them. Good job.

Looking forward to more.
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #21 on: August 16, 2007, 08:57:16 pm »

One possible fluff: You have the narration and ANya call the world "New Plymouth" (possibly another car reference), but Chevy calls it "New Prov", which seems to me to be short for "New Providence". Care to clarify?

Sorry...thought I'd fixed all those... I'll have to go back through it and JUST look for those mistakes... I think they even make it into other stories... The intended name was New Providence, as a mention of the Colony wiped out in TNG's 'Best of Both Worlds'. Though, honestly, the Encyclopedia says that said colony possessed only 900 inhabitants... Mine's a lot bigger...


On a final point, I like that you actually explain while not explaining all the wacky decisions being made on 23. ChSFOps Sharp still there running things to make sure "his" boys get what they need. "His" boys wanting Endeavour back and the entirely uneconomical and inefficient wish getting the go-ahead, stuff like that. There's no explanation, but it's mentioned and so we realise you're including these points in your consideration and not just unaware of them. Good job.

Looking forward to more.

I thiank you very much sir. My misspellings, I must admit, come from writing so fast that I'm not looking at the screen, but at the keyboard to avoid hitting totally unintended keys. Thus, if the spell checker doesn't realize it's misspelled, and I don't catch it while editting and Andy-proofing, than it remains. Oh well. I've seen worse make it into print.

For a man who says 'not much to comment on yet', you do a fair job. Thanks for the comments. Like I said, you're among the foremost I wait for.

And now, without further a-do... ;D


CH. 4





The rain had been a short one. Ford sat in a booth facing the window in the small Tydurian restaurant in the center of Treasure City. The streets were still moist from the tropical downpour and hover vehicles were sloshing water up onto the sidewalks. Some carried umbrellas as they walked to and fro amid the picturesque township and its antique stone buildings.

The colonists of New Providence had known they were sitting on a gold mine when they’d opened their world up to the tourist trade. This sector and those bordering it weren’t the most heavily populated among the Federation, but this world sat alongside three major trade routes. That meant transport vessels came through at regular intervals servicing the forty or so colonies and Starfleet installations in the surrounding area. It also meant patrol and exploration ships coming in for leave. There was a great deal of money to be made.

Even in an economy that didn’t operate on traditional ‘money’, the profits in owning and running a tourist based business in any city or township on this planet meant loads of usable revenue. Federation credits meant that your business took care of its expenses and then some. And the influx of other, less traceable means of payment; latinum, platinum, gold; meant a person could become inordinately wealthy in a short amount of time. Good business owners spread the wealth far and wide, breeding more and more opportunities.

Ford pondered the idea of someday settling here, maybe opening some little shop or something to keep busy in his retirement days. What would he sell? Starfleet memorabilia? Charge ten credits or a slip of latinum to pet the former Starfleet commodore? Replicas of his ship…

There were opportunities. He could make a good living on this world in addition to his Fleet pension. Add to that his enormous savings. And then there was Anya. He wasn’t so deluded or dream-struck to think that a real, long lasting relationship was likely with a woman like her. She was just enamoured with his life as a Starfleet officer. He tickled some kind of fancy she sported for men in the uniform. For the time being, he was happy to take advantage of her wonder-lust. Nothing real would come of it. But she could still be a good friend.

Ford looked down at the hisparu-kel he was enjoying on his plate. Tydurian food often tasted like Mexican. This was no exception. Without the lively spice that commonly exploded in Mexican cuisine, this tasted much like a fried beef chimichanga slathered in cheese. He missed the refried beans and rice, though. And the pico de galo. Perhaps a Mexican restaurant would do well here… He hadn’t seen one on this planet yet.

That feeling of being watched was coming back to Chevy as he sat there in the small diner. He couldn’t shake that feeling of paranoia. He knew it was only a lingering after-effect of the week of interrogation at the hands of the Ya’wenn. He still bore the white scar on his belly where his own knife had been rammed into his intestines. His wrists hurt from the days of hanging from those manacles.

Ford could not remember anything of the rescue. He’d faded into unconsciousness, believing he’d never awaken again. Then he’d blinked back to life in the tiny infirmary section aboard the USS Tenseiga, Commander Thomas’s ship. After much decidedly unmanly weeping, he’d finally convinced himself it might actually all be over. He might really be going home. Ben Thomas had been there for him. He’d guarded the Commodore’s bedside till he was able to leave sickbay, and then he’d shacked Ford up in his own cabin till they reached Starbase.

‘I’m alive, I’m free. We even got my ship back…’ He admonished himself. ‘I’m just looking for something to be wrong. Why?’

Chevy’s heart plunged. A glimpse of a humanoid figure bearing all grey skin caught his eye. He slowly drew his eye that way and looked upon the individual that had drawn his fright. The male alien was an Ifeedrian. They had grey flesh…but there ended the similarities. Their cranial features were more akin to the elongated mug of a bat than the more human looking Ya’wenn.
The grey furred fellow took note of the commodore and made the chin up gesture of challenge, one of the many nonverbal forms of communication the Ifeedrian possessed. Ford closed his eyes slowly and bowed his head, turning it left as he did so. It was the gesture of acquiescence, meaning he had made a mistake. The tall humanoid nodded back when Ford’s eyes had opened and he went on his way.

With that brutal beating averted, Ford went back to his meal. He was just plying into another rolled hisparu-kel and shoveled it mouth-ward when he noticed the hovercar standing out in front of the restaurant. How long it had been there was anyone’s guess, but as he looked up and focussed on it, its driver floored the accelerator and screamed away. The glass had been tinted. He couldn’t see the occupants.

Ford was up in an instant, dashing for the small, manual door. He shouldered through it, all the while ignoring the small man at the register who shouted for him to pay up. Once onto the sidewalk, he looked down the way, panting. The street bore only a four-wheeled vehicle and pedestrians. Damn that guy was fast! He must have nearly bowled half the street down to get through… Most of the people were now looking his way. ‘Wondering what I’d done to nearly get them all ran down…’ Ford thought as he returned to the diner’s interior.

The owner or manager of the place was now very close to Ford, but not so animated as he’d been when he’d believed the human was about to stiff him on the bill. His questioning gaze poured over the commodore. Ford handed him his credit card and shrugged. “Thought I saw someone who knew me.”

Now he knew he was being watched…
***





Commanders Davenport and Tolin skidded to a halt just outside the sickbay’s treatment area. Sharp stood among unarmed security men, who were making a cordon before the way into the operating rooms, holding concerned lookers-on at bay. Ronald made a beeline through people till he was directly before his commanding officer and stood stiffly erect.

“How are they, Admiral?”

“Not sure.” The tall, well-worn flag officer admitted. “The dry dock commander beamed them in as soon as his people could manage. But the pilot of work pod one-seven was killed by flying debris and Bronstien had already lost his legs. Smith’s faceplate had been crushed, but his suit maintained most of its integrity and he wasn’t severely injured. He suffered mostly exposure and asphyxiation. Your former helmsman is the main concern.”

Tolin blinked.

“John lost his legs?”

“That’s what they tell me.” Sharp replied, his voice calm but his eyes ablaze.

A voice arose among the din behind the concerned Endeavour personnel behind them. Coming from the main entrance, someone was pushing her way to the forefront and cursing like a sailor as she did so. The person who emerged from the pressing throng stunned Davenport as he lay eyes on her.

Doctor Andrea Keller stood straight as she pulled a long white lab coat off and tossed it aside. She looked to the commander then to Jon Sharp as she began to pull her flaming red hair back into a bun. “Let me in there, Admiral!”

“You requested to be relieved of duty—“

“They’re my people, Admiral. I have no time to banter semantics! Let me in there where I can do some good!”

Sharp pushed back into the security line to allow her to pass. She didn’t so much as look back as she made for the surgery prep area. Ron looked at her in slack-jawed silence as she receded from view. Sharp was now making his way close to the Endeavour crewers.

“There’s nothing any of you can do right now. Go back to your quarters and get yourselves some rest. There’ll be plenty to do tomorrow!”

Ron remained near the admiral’s side as the bunch dispersed. The Endeavour crew was very tightly knit after their journeys. It had shown when Ford returned from his imprisonment. It showed when they worked on the ship and even more so now that one of their own was injured. They weren’t behaving professionally, but they were acting like a family. Ronald noticed one face that wasn’t leaving.

Lieutenant Daniel Nechayev entered as the last of the transients left and headed right for them. His solemn expression told of his concern for their injured comrade. He handed a data PADD over to the admiral.

“It vas a pocket of escaped deuterium, leaked from the tankage on Deck Twelve.”

“But they were working on Deck Seventeen!” Tolin interjected. Her widened eyes and rail straight antennae told of her surprise. The gunnery officer looked back at her and nodded.
“’De leak started not long ago,” he said, more of his Russian accent showing than normal. “And has saturated the inner hull matrix all ‘de vay to the keel line of ‘de ship.”

The admiral looked between Davenport and the chief engineer.

“Weren’t the matter tanks bled before work began?”

“Aye,” Tolin answered, “But that doesn’t mean trace gas doesn’t remain behind. And if something jarred a hole through one of the tanks and let it free, then it gets everywhere. They probably didn’t even pick it up on their preliminary scans.”

“And what was your comm officer doing out on the hull with an extraction team?”

Nechayev had the answer for that one.

“’De surviving pod pilot say ‘dat ‘de Lieutenant vas out there to assist vhile further computer repair vas carried out on his systems.”

Sharp knew that sounded like more of a cover story than the truth. More likely the boy had been out there to chat up his former classmate while he wasn’t busy. Whether this had led to the accident in any way would be up to an investigation…should he order one. He pondered the possibility and the use of such a venture. He might find out if negligence was involved, but it wouldn’t bring back the dead pilot or the helmsman’s legs. And the Andorian was correct. The repair team wouldn’t have detected the deuterium leak through irradiated hull panels with the small sensor packages a work bee had at its disposal. It was unlikely a tricorder would have picked it up till the user was right on top of it.

At length, Sharp decided to address the matter on his own when the time was right.

The flag officer’s eyes played about the sterile white and silver wall panels of the infirmary and he went to sit in one of the waiting chairs. Since coming here to this installation, he’d met with one disaster after another. His Sixth Sense was whispering at him, warning of woe. He’d never felt this feeling for such a long time before. Were things only going to get worse?

Jon Sharp looked up to the on-looking officers. He couldn’t smile. Not even to reassure them. He’d just about run out of assurances. He felt tired…old. “Tolin, purge the deuterium tanks with high pressure air to empty them totally. Then flush the inner hull the same way. Don’t let anyone operate on that ship till it’s done. Remove all combustible materials from the interior of the ship. Make her safe to work inside.”

Tolin snapped to attention and nodded. This was the same as a salute among Starfleet officers and crew. “Aye, sir!” She replied and hurried off. Ron looked like he wanted to chase after her as well, but he was drawn to look down the wide hall to the surgery ward. Dim voices could now be heard flowing from within curtained doorways. He looked back to Sharp, hiding raw anguish on his face.

Jon knew why. It was all sinking in on him.

“You think this has something to do with you pushing to keep the Endeavour in commission?”

Ron just looked back at the admiral. He couldn’t summon a response.

“Well, it doesn’t. I’ve read your reports and I’ve read those of your men. She’s f*cked up, but she can be rebuilt. And the truth is, we need that ship out here. We’re not going to get another Excelsior out here till the Enterprise is finished. That won’t be for a year. We have other ships to divert here, but they’re all smaller and less capable. To pull enough of them here to make the same difference would leave three sectors under defended. So you were right to push! But something had to happen. An accident…and now one man is dead and two more injured. It could have been prevented, but then again it might have happened anyway. We won’t ever know for sure.”

“You’re not issuing an investigation?”

“Why should I? To check if someone missed something? We already know someone did. To find out who? I can look at the duty roster and decide that. To see if a dumb kid went out onto the hull to talk to a friend who should have been more mindful? There’s nothing to be gained there. I can throw rulebooks at people all day. But more likely Bronstien wouldn’t have detected that matter leak even if he’d been standing on it, aiming down with his tricorder.”

Nechayev turned fully toward Sharp and crossed his arms.

“Actually, he did, Admiral. The surviving pilot says he owes his life to the fact that Bronstien waved him and his partner off. But the explosion took out the other pod anyvay. The lieutenant did detect the deuterium.”

Sharp leaned back into the small chair and sighed. He suddenly felt a little better for not wanting the investigation. “There. If Bronstien hadn’t been paying the utmost attention, he wouldn’t have been able to see it at all. They’d have all been dead. Maybe Smith shouldn’t have been out there, or maybe he was out there to help. I’ll talk to him in person to find out which and make further decision then. But I’m not bothering with anything official. Ronald…” Sharp looked the tall, broad shouldered man over. The curly haired chief of ops looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “I know you’ve been on the clock ever since Chevy left. I want you to get eight hours of shuteye. You’re off-duty till eleven hundred tomorrow. Understood?”

Ron nodded back. He began to wring his weary eyes as though noticing his weary nature for the first time. He murmured a thanks as he made for the door. Nechayev remained for a time longer, looking back down into the surgery section. The man was a born stoic, and he seldom let show any amount of feeling for his shipmates. But his rushing here with the information before it had been requested and showing concern told volumes about his loyalty.

“He’ll be alright, Lieutenant.” Sharp told the young officer. The security man looked back with light inquiry on his expression. He wanted to know how Sharp knew…

Sharp just knew these things. That damned, niggling Sixth Sense had been there since childhood. It told him things that his mind could not fathom how it should know. It had saved him tons of heartache, and warned him of very bad things. He couldn’t always discern the meaning, but he always had that ‘heads-up’. Sometimes that all it took.

Today it wasn’t telling him about the doom of Lieutenant Bronstien. This meant he’d be okay and alive for some time to come. But it was telling him something else loomed on the horizon.

What? He could not tell…
***
'It's a lot of hard work being a mean bastard...' --Captain Eric Finlander, CO USS Bedford (The Bedford Incident)

'Jaken...are you pretending to be dead?' --Lord Sesshomaru, Inuyasha.

Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #22 on: August 16, 2007, 09:36:26 pm »

He tickled some kind of fancy she sported for men in the uniform.

Thats not all he's tickled, I'd imagine.

"Wonder-lust" is a new one to me. Internet says its a band. Thought at first it really was wanderlust, but separating the two words, I think I understand better.

Had to read twice, didn't see mention of the lost pilot's name, assuming I'm not blind, good job on holding us all in suspense. If the name is there, then please let me know so I can have my eyes checked again.

All in all, I'd think that they would have kept Endy with or without pushing or political stuff or whatnots. Too good a ship to let go of.

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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #23 on: August 16, 2007, 09:53:21 pm »
Like so many characters who die in Trek, that poor, poor pilot didn't have a name. In the credits, he'd simply be know as Pilot #2 or 3, and you wouldn't even know which...

And yeah, they can't get rid of Endeavour. It would have been like scrapping the NX-01 after she made it back from Xindi space. Which they probably COULD have, given all the really big holes in her. *wonders if that was the reason they decommissioned NX-01 when she was only 10 years old in the final episode, or whether it was just another example of sh*tty writing...*

Am wondering 'why' about your wonder lust comment. Wasn't that big a deal.

--thu guv!
'It's a lot of hard work being a mean bastard...' --Captain Eric Finlander, CO USS Bedford (The Bedford Incident)

'Jaken...are you pretending to be dead?' --Lord Sesshomaru, Inuyasha.

Offline Commander Maxillius

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #24 on: August 17, 2007, 10:58:36 am »
I don't remember there being a second work bee in the dialog, just the noncom in the first bee.  Since the other pilot hadn't said anything I doubt Bronstein or Smith even knew there was another bee close.
I was never here, you were never here, this conversation never took place, and you most certainly did not see me.

Offline James Smith

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #25 on: August 17, 2007, 03:28:08 pm »
Sharp just knew these things. That damned, niggling Sixth Sense had been there since childhood. It told him things that his mind could not fathom how it should know. It had saved him tons of heartache, and warned him of very bad things. He couldn’t always discern the meaning, but he always had that ‘heads-up’. Sometimes that all it took.

Today it wasn’t telling him about the doom of Lieutenant Bronstien. This meant he’d be okay and alive for some time to come. But it was telling him something else loomed on the horizon.

What? He could not tell…
***


Oo....foreboding. Excellent  ;D

Reckon at least one of my characters probably knows just how Sharp feels with the old 'sixth sense' rattling away in the back of the brain.....
RIMMER: Step up to Red Alert.
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #26 on: August 17, 2007, 06:55:30 pm »
I don't remember there being a second work bee in the dialog, just the noncom in the first bee.  Since the other pilot hadn't said anything I doubt Bronstein or Smith even knew there was another bee close.

Alright, now. Read before commenting... :whip:

As quoted from narration:

The helmsman turned at the waist and looked back ‘up’ at him. He raised a hand in a short wave and turned back to the trio of work pods that were uncoupling a seven-meter long length of duranium hull paneling from the skeleton of metal beneath it.
And:

“That’s affirmative, LT. I’ll be seein’ ya’.”

The enlisted man gave another wave and began to rotate his pod about above them. The work pod towed the hull panel away with it, leaving the other two to continue.


And no, those two guys din't have names, as they were only there for a few seconds anyway. :skeptic:

Thanks for the read and the comments all. More to come.

--thu guv!
'It's a lot of hard work being a mean bastard...' --Captain Eric Finlander, CO USS Bedford (The Bedford Incident)

'Jaken...are you pretending to be dead?' --Lord Sesshomaru, Inuyasha.

Offline Commander Maxillius

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #27 on: August 17, 2007, 11:37:41 pm »
I don't remember there being a second work bee in the dialog, just the noncom in the first bee.  Since the other pilot hadn't said anything I doubt Bronstein or Smith even knew there was another bee close.

Alright, now. Read before commenting... :whip:

As quoted from narration:

The helmsman turned at the waist and looked back ‘up’ at him. He raised a hand in a short wave and turned back to the trio of work pods that were uncoupling a seven-meter long length of duranium hull paneling from the skeleton of metal beneath it.
And:

“That’s affirmative, LT. I’ll be seein’ ya’.”

The enlisted man gave another wave and began to rotate his pod about above them. The work pod towed the hull panel away with it, leaving the other two to continue.


And no, those two guys din't have names, as they were only there for a few seconds anyway. :skeptic:

Thanks for the read and the comments all. More to come.

--thu guv!

Sorry bud, but I did read it.  Just didn't go back through to see if I was right :P  My bad.  I must've missed the "trio" part. 
I was never here, you were never here, this conversation never took place, and you most certainly did not see me.

Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #28 on: August 19, 2007, 08:13:54 pm »
No prob, man. I was just rattlin' yer cage anyway.

I always miss something in a story, then make a comment of such and feel like a fool when it was right there before me.

Any ways, I am glad you are still reading and hope you're enjoying.

Rog!
'It's a lot of hard work being a mean bastard...' --Captain Eric Finlander, CO USS Bedford (The Bedford Incident)

'Jaken...are you pretending to be dead?' --Lord Sesshomaru, Inuyasha.

Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #29 on: August 20, 2007, 03:29:24 pm »
Great part...Chevy's confirmation of espionage...the aftermath of the accident...Sharp again showing he knows what the hell he's doing...Keller's reappearance...all good.  Middle of the story though, and you know what that means for me. ;D

That said, I loved this line.

Quote
Charge ten credits or a slip of latinum to pet the former Starfleet commodore?

Hehehe.  Rub his head for luck.
"Dialogue from a play, Hamlet to Horatio: 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' Dialogue from a play written long before men took to the sky. There are more things in heaven and earth, and in the sky, than perhaps can be dreamt of. And somewhere in between heaven, the sky, the earth, lies the Twilight Zone."
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #30 on: August 20, 2007, 10:17:09 pm »
Yes, La'ra...you always mention me being 'half-way' when it's more like 2/3 or 9/10. This one wasn't very long. Probably why it only took about 8 hours in all to write it.

This chapter contains afor mention sexual content. I'm not including that portion today, to give those who do not wish it included due time to object. Then I'll post the remainder of the chapter.

So...


CH. 5





Chevy patted the Type 1 phaser unit in his pocket and half-slid his hand atop of it as he moved to answer the door chime. The door swung open at his direction to reveal a smiling, dark skinned Anya framed in the doorway. Ford smiled instantly. He was glad to see her.

“I was wondering if I’d see you!” He said as she leaned in for an affectionate hug. She kissed him on the cheek and pulled away. Curiosity touched her face as she turned to close the door.

“I said I’d be over tonight after work.” She replied. “You didn’t believe me?”

“I’m still having problems seeing why a beautiful young woman like you is making time for an old fart like me.” He told her. He was heading for the kitchen. He’d been fixing a fried steak and real mashed potatoes when he’d heard the hovercar. His paranoia over who it might have been arriving was forgotten. Chevy turned aside to the ‘fridge to grab a jug of homemade wine that PO1 Goodwin had made sure to pack off with him.

“I’m after your money and fame.” She replied gamely. She slid onto a stool at the kitchen’s bar and watched as he poured her a flute full of the pink, candy-looking drink. “What’s this?”

“One of my enlisted men brews wine aboard my ship. He recovered this from the wreck of his quarters.” He capped off his own glass and put the jar aside. He raised it and took a smell. “It’s sweet as my morning coffee and packs a hell of a kick. We call it Cotton Candy.”

Anya had took a cautious sip and held it aloft to look at it. She swished the concoction around and then swallowed. “It’s sweet. Kinda tastes like bubble gum and alcohol.”

“Yup…” Ford examined his glass once again with a mock serious face. “It might also be radioactive… After all, he did get his stash back after the ship pulled in to space dock…”

Anya held up her flute and clinked it t his.

“Here’s to radioactive wine.”

“Cotton Candy.”

They both had a short drink. Ford turned away to flip the two battered steaks he was preparing and checked on his potatoes. Anya leaned up to get a better look at his wares and his butt while she was at it. “I thought you weren’t expecting me… You’re frying two big ol’ steaks there.”

“Didn’t say I was hoping you wouldn’t… Just didn’t want to be overly disappointed if you’d decided not to show.”

She smiled toyingly back at him.

“And would you have been?”

Chevis turned back toward her, a greasy steak held at the end of his giant fork. “More than you would have guessed.”

Pleased, Anya made her way around the bar to his end and wrapped her thin arms around him. She looked up into his eyes and a playful light danced there in hers. “After supper, I have something for us to do.”

His hands left his cooking and traveled over the slim little jacket she was wearing.

“What’s that?”

Reaching into her short jacket, Anya produced two or three bits of cloth held together with lengths of red string. Ford’s eyes grew round and his lips drew into a dirty-minded smirk as he looked at the tiny bikini. “Damn!”

She smiled devilishly.

“We’re going down to the beach!”

Chevy looked out into the dark that now ruled over the land. He could see the twinkle of the moon dancing over the waves through the great, bay windows at the back of the condo. He harrumphed a bit.

“I ain’t swimmin’ in the dark.”

“Who said anything about swimming?”
***





Lieutenant Johnathan Bronstien awoke, feeling drugged and heavy. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton and has been wallowed out with a roll of ancient copper pennies. His scratchy feeling eyes blinked into the all too bright light that shone at his from across the room.

Where the hell was he?

‘This is a sickbay’, he suddenly realized. ‘The Starbase sickbay!’

“What happened…”

A head popped into existence, followed by broad, grey-clad shoulders. Noah Smith had been sitting next to his bed, he saw as the tall youth bounded to his feet and bent over him. The jostling of the narrow bed sent waves of pain through the pilot as he lay there. He flexed his toes, feeling them pop as he moved them. Odd, he couldn’t feel the blanket over them. Maybe Noah uncovered them…

“You’re awake!” Smith was sputtering. His thumb mashed the old-style pickle call-button for assistance. Johnathan really didn’t want any doctors right now. He just wanted to talk to Noah. What the hell was going on? How’d he get in here?

The image of the explosion flooded into the helmsman’s mind as he lay there and he jerked erect. He tried to sit up but couldn’t seem to get the leverage. He felt top-heavy. The drugs?

“Lay down, man. Doc Keller will be here in a sec!” Noah was blathering. John wanted his to just shut the hell up for a minute. He pushed Noah away from the call button.
“Damn it, Noah! I don’t want Keller… Thought she left!”

“She came back for your surgery.”

“What surgery!” John tried again to sit up, to just rise in place without his hands as he rubbed his temples. Something moved, upsetting his blanket. But he didn’t rise. He looked down at his knees sticking up into the air. He didn’t recall bending his knees. Fear began to build, driven by some unseen master. Dread followed close on its heels.
He extended his knee.

Nothing rose. Nothing moved. Nothing.

Grabbing the rails at the edge of the bed, Johnathan frantically jerked up into a sitting position and ripped away the Starfleet issue blue cover away to reveal two bandaged, soar stubs where his long legs used to be. Bronstien grabbed each stump and looked about in fright and agony. He looked about, the malaise of the drugs gone.

“Where are my legs!!”

“You were hurt in the explosion!”

“My legs!”

“Johnathan!”

“Why’d you let ‘em take my f*ckin’ legs!”

“I was unconscious! The shrapnel took out my helmet!”

Bronstien was hearing none of it. He had eyes and ears only for the anguish and torment flooding his mind. Irrationally, he looked about for his legs. If he could find them! He lurched forward, batting away Smith’s staying hands as he groped his way to the bed’s edge. He swung legs that were no longer there out over open space and tried to stand. He crashed to the floor, carrying Smith with him.

Shouts and then alarms sounded in the infirmary as staff rushed in to help. They sedated their charge and wrestled him into bed. Smith could only look on with swollen, bruised eyes as they ministered to his friend. He could do nothing.
***
'It's a lot of hard work being a mean bastard...' --Captain Eric Finlander, CO USS Bedford (The Bedford Incident)

'Jaken...are you pretending to be dead?' --Lord Sesshomaru, Inuyasha.

Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #31 on: August 21, 2007, 01:25:15 am »
Its so amazing that, with all the technology available to kill, destroy, build, renew, explore, and everything else, they still can't fix a man's legs. At the very least, he'll have the chance to walk again, no?

All in all a great continuance. There's something about 'going to the beach' that doesn't feel right; perhaps its just my imagination, though.

If what I think is going to happen happens, I'll comment then, such that plots aren't spoiled (not just the beach scene, either).

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Offline Scottish Andy

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #32 on: August 21, 2007, 08:08:11 am »
Oh man, that Johnny Bronstein scene was harsh. I totally felt for the guy.

Czar, I kinda think it was along the lines of the explosion mangled his legs beyond 23rd-century ability to repair. He'll get his own fast-grown cloned legs or some wizardry of prosthetics back that gives him full function. Unless the Guv is going to be horrifically mean and say a that radiation or some such from the explosion means they can't reattach legs, without a 50% chance of rejection, or that radiation degraded the Human-prosthetic interface and artificial legs cant be linked to his brain.

The Guv is evil that way.

Oh, and I didn't get that sense of "oh-oh" or foreboding from Anya going to the beach. Maybe I'm just too trusting of the "fairer" sex?  ;D

Looking forward to more.
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Offline James Smith

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #33 on: August 21, 2007, 12:23:58 pm »
Oh man, that Johnny Bronstein scene was harsh. I totally felt for the guy.

Indeed. Powerful stuff.

Czar, I kinda think it was along the lines of the explosion mangled his legs beyond 23rd-century ability to repair. He'll get his own fast-grown cloned legs or some wizardry of prosthetics back that gives him full function. Unless the Guv is going to be horrifically mean and say a that radiation or some such from the explosion means they can't reattach legs, without a 50% chance of rejection, or that radiation degraded the Human-prosthetic interface and artificial legs cant be linked to his brain.

The Guv is evil that way.

During the ongoing saga that is my "Vengeance" story arc, I go into why Smithy's doctor is in a hoverchair. Radiation played a part in that. It's a great catch-all excuse for not fixing medical issues  ;)

Oh, and I didn't get that sense of "oh-oh" or foreboding from Anya going to the beach. Maybe I'm just too trusting of the "fairer" sex?  ;D

Looking forward to more.

Neither did I, to be honest. Unless she's about to go all "praying mantis" on him post-coitally....but that would be a plot twist that rivals the "Evil Alien Nazis!!!111oneone" of that Enterprise season finale for utter insanity  ;D
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #34 on: August 21, 2007, 06:16:21 pm »

Oh, and I didn't get that sense of "oh-oh" or foreboding from Anya going to the beach. Maybe I'm just too trusting of the "fairer" sex?  ;D

Who said anything about Anya? Its prolly just me. No worries.

As to the 20-whatever century medicine, I was only stating it was sad that they have all kinds of tech, but can't save a mangled leg or two. I have full confidence in the author's ability to reattach falsies or permanently cripple the guy. Perhaps a tumble down a flight of stairs while testing his new legs, severing the spinal cord, rendering the new legs useless? Just a thought, Guv...

Czar "Excellent" Mohab

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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #35 on: August 21, 2007, 07:58:48 pm »
The Guv is evil that way.

Hehehehehe...yesssss.....

Much like my RPG victims...er...players...you have all learned well...

You shall of course see how it turns out, medically, for Mr. Bronstien. I don't play from the TNG uber-med science side of things, but I'm not so daft as to believe they can't do better than we today in limb replacement. Were it not for all the goofy-ass laws being passed, we'd probably have cloned replacement parts within the next 10 years. And I could buy a second me to use for target practice... 

I'll post the rest of the Chapter after La'ra has gotten to this half...

--thu guv!
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Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #36 on: August 22, 2007, 08:55:05 am »
Much like my RPG victims...er...players...you have all learned well...

He's not kidding.  Three games with him and any character you create will be viewing a state of utter chaos and ruin as the natural state of the world, no matter how optimistic they started out.

Speaking of that...I know everyone else is feeling that gut-shot punch from the Bronstein scene, and I can understand why after reading it...but God help me, knowing the two people Smith and Bronstein are based on, that sequence comes off as high comedy to me.  I couldn't stop laughing.  Hard.  Mostly because those two really would get into a fistfight in a hospital ward where one of them is recovering from multiple amputations.

I am a twisted [censored!].
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #37 on: August 22, 2007, 11:37:54 pm »
You heartless bastard!

Just kidding. You're right of course. They would.

Now that the Commander has read...

...that which I have warned now comes to pass...

CH. 5 [pt. 2]





Waves lapped up over Ford’s shoulders as he held Anya’s lithe frame to his chest and kissed her. She writhed seductively and playfully in his grasp as the cool waves caressed them. She had indeed coaxed him out into the water for a ‘swim’. But she hadn’t lied about the bikini. It hadn’t been meant for swimming…

It lay in two pieces on the beach beyond.

The two enjoyed themselves as the young might. Ford had again forgotten his age. In this woman’s arms, he felt twenty again. He thought of the uniform he’d worn in those years. Would Anya have liked him in the old, yellow tunic with the big floppy turtleneck? Hell, she hadn’t even seen him in his current uniform. He’d have to remedy that before he left.

The waves rose a bit higher in the next wash, coming up to their mouths as they kissed. Anya’s tongue tasted like the Cotton Candy wine they’d enjoyed. He pulled her back every time the water tried to take her from him. He loved the press of her body to his. Feeling her breasts on his chest, the supple curve of her belly on his. He pressed his manhood close whenever she presented him the opportunity. She responded by bucking against him a little. Each time she used more and more pressure. He wanted her.

Anya’s legs wrapped around him and she slid over him in the jostling waters. Sweet heaven flooded his senses as their lovemaking took shape. He let her have total control and was more than content to just stand and hold her. Her hips worked slowly, smoothly. She looked into his eyes and he could barely see her even as close as she was. The white sands of the beach showed quite well in the clouding night, but visibility of everything else had faded away since their arrival. But the twinkle of the dying light was easy to detect in her wide, luscious eyes.

Anya’s motions became faster and more rhythmic as her energy mounted and built. He held her butt, enjoying the contours of her muscle, her smooth skin. Her arms encircled his shoulders, clinging to him as she became more desperate with her plunges. He bucked his own hips to add to the foray of hot sensation. His lips found hers, soft and swollen feeling as he kissed her.

At last she spent herself. Her nails bit into flesh and tore as she looked heavenward with her last, shuddering gasp of pleasure. Then she sagged in his arms. He wasn’t sure how long he’d lasted. But he’d remained at attention during the entire march.

Anya pulled free of him and let the water take her away. Her hands traced down his arm to his hand and she pulled him with her. Chevy followed, breathing heavily but ready for more. He’d always had a decent amount of sexual stamina. This girl really knew how to use it. She led him back onto the beach and lowered herself onto the long, white blanket they’d put there.

Chevis remained standing. He found himself looking off to the east. What had drawn his attention? He had the amorous desires of a beautiful, young and totally nude woman right here before him and now he found himself looking off at nothing as though he’d expected to see something. A smell came to him. It overrode the scent of the sea and of their bodies. He knew the smell. The stink of oil and hydraulics. The burnt scent of old machinery. Well used chains.
Jarn.
Had that been what had drawn his attention? Had he sensed something? Was there something out there in the dark looking back at him? He strained to focus in the black gloom. He knew that the area dead center in most humans’ vision was weakest when used at night. He tried to look just a bit off from the middle of where he thought he’d seen something. Anya was questioning him. He could not even hear her now. He tried to pull the image of what he sought out of the night.

And there it was!

A tall, muscled silhouette was finally framed amidst the white sands as they stretched off into infinity. A male, bearing something in his right hand. Ford dove for his shorts at the end of the blanket. He had his palm phaser up in a blur of motion and aimed. He couldn’t see…

“What’s wrong, Chevy?” He could finally hear Anya say. Ford didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His mind was fixated on the being that’d caused him all his pain. The man who’d broken his soul… The man who’d come to ruin his few moments of happiness here by taking him back to Kovarn! His phaser aimed for that spot in the blackness. Anya couldn’t see the weapon. She was pressing closer. Her hand found the small of his back, his shoulder.

“You’re shaking!”

Ford squeezed his eyes shut, then forced them open. It worsened his vision. He couldn’t see Jarn. But he heard that gravelly chuckle. Chevis pressed the thumb trigger. The iridescent beam lanced out into the night, banishing the dark in a brilliant pulse of light that shot down the length of the beach. He’d missed Jarn! He’d waited too long!

“You brought a phaser!” Anya was pushing away from him now, frightened and rightfully so. Ford focussed his mind’s eye on what he’d seen while the beam fired. Jarn had been high-tailing it up the slope of the grassy knoll headed toward the condo. Ford surged up from the blanket to follow.

“Where are you going? What’s going on!”

Ford broke the middle toe of his right foot as he charged up the rocky hill in chase of his quarry. He could see the bastard now. Jarn had turned back to taunt him from afar, and was surprised to see his enemy in such close pursuit. This was as close as Ford had been to the villain since the Over Warden ordered him to be placed in the delicate embrace of the Klingon mind-sifter. Chevy could feel the penetration of those needle-points. Feel the electro-stimulators and the clasp of the neural recorder. His flesh would bear the marks till the end of his life. His soul would bear them forever.

The commodore topped the hill, his bare feet crashing down onto the paved blacktop heading away from his condo. Jarn’s gravel-voice taunted back. Why wasn’t the Ya’wenn shooting? He had a weapon. He’d started with all the advantages. Ford raised his palm unit when he believed himself close enough to take the shot. He halted, firing.

That blazing crimson, reflections of the fires of hell, shot out across the landscape of the hill and the crisscrossing bodies of trees. Ford’s surroundings were twisted into a visceral image of the macabre. They flash burned into his retina. His eyes watered. Now he was blinded again.

Jarn laughed.

Where was he now? The phaser hadn’t got him…

“Chevy, what are you shooting at? I can’t see!”

“Get down, Anya!”

“You can’t get me, Captain!”

“f*ck you Jarn!”

“Jarn! Who’s Jarn?”

“Get down, I said!”

The scuff of heavy boots came from the left. Ford turned, phaser fanning but silent. He didn’t have a target. Petty Officer Jonsted always trained Fleet enlisted to fire only when you had a clear target. Anya was near. She hadn’t ate the dirt yet…

“That the best you got, human?”

“I’ll show you what you got comin’, Jarn!”

Ford blazed out another blast. He’d gotten a glimpse of his target. Jarn was trying to circle around behind him now. He had to be close. The beam hit something. He’d gotten the fiery after image of something the general size and shape of a human torso.

Jarn laughed out loud at his shot.

“Wrong target, Captain!”

“Anya, where are you?”

“Dead, Captain!”

“Bullsh*t!”

“I’m right behind you!”

Ford focussed on the very solid, very real silhouette that had indeed been behind him. He leveled his phaser on Jarn, thumb pressing down on the trigger. Jarn’s hands came up in innocent self-defense.

“Yeah, it’s not me, Commodore!”

Chevis hesitated. He bore down on the initiator. The phaser was humming in his hands as the pre-fire chamber heated. Who was this? Jarn? Too short. But his night vision was gone, how could he know! He pressed the palm phaser into the target’s belly, grabbing soft flesh in his right hand. His eyes, could one actually see them, were ablaze in heated anger and fear and hatred!

Whose voice had that been?

“Who are you!”

Anya gasped at the hot touch of the phaser emitter stabbing into her stomach. She recoiled from Chevy’s touch, but managed not to convince him she was about to attack. Her hands touched his, traveled to his naked chest, his face. She felt the tears streaming down his face. “It’s me, Chevy!” She cried back to him.

Was this really Anya? Could he believe his senses now, or had they been lying earlier. What was real now? How much of what he’d seen and remembered was real or phantasm?

What could he do?

“Who’s Jarn?” Anya pleaded with him. Ford’s hand on her shoulder could feel the trembling that consumed her body. She was cold and shaking. He drew her close to him, feeling her press into him. He smelled that sweet cherry blossom scent that came from her hair, even when they finished making love.

This was Anya. Had Jarn even been here?

“Jarn was the man who captured me…”

Ford’s feelings reeled in on themselves. He shouldn’t have pursued any kind of relationship with this woman given what he’d gone through. He’d just damn near killed her! How would he have atoned for that? He wouldn’t have been able to live with killing her. He couldn’t have killed her! But he almost had!

“What did he do to you?” She asked.

“He…hurt me! Tortured me for days, asking me questions…” There was no way to hide the pleading for help in his own voice. He needed Anya more than ever right now. Her hands tightened around his waist. She looked up into the tiny twinkles of light reflecting in his eyes. “He hooked me up to a god damned mind-sifter! He tore everything from me! I couldn’t stop him!”

“You need help, Chevy.” She told him, her voice still shaken as she shivered in the wind as the seawater dried on her cool flesh. The phaser unit fell to the ground and he hugged her close. “You need help.”

“I know! The one person I hoped would help me ran away!”

“You need to help yourself then, Commodore.” She told him. Of course, he realized, she would want nothing further to do with him… “You need to settle the score. Provide your own help.”

“What?”

“You’ll know what to do. If you let him beat you, then he wins more than you realize. You have to turn this around or you’ll live with this pain for the rest of your life!”

Ford felt a sudden and curative calm settle on him like an electric blanket. What the hell was she saying? Ford looked down at Anya as a light from above played about over her angelic face. She smiled back at him in sad understanding. She was dripping and naked and beautiful…and so right… Her wide, shining eyes blinked in the growing light as the sound of the hover vehicle descended on them.

Ford could not help but look up at the approaching security force car as it dropped in ten-meter plunges to close in on him. They’d come to investigate the disturbance… He looked back down to Anya…

…to find that in the time it had taken to look skyward, she had evaporated. His thick, hairy arms enclosed around nothing. Ford jerked his head left and right. How had she gotten out of his embrace? He hadn’t felt a thing. His arms felt just as they had…

As though…

…he’d never held anything at all.

“Sir!” Came a machine amplified voice from the security car dangling above him. The spotlight was so close he was beginning to sweat under its downpour. He realized also that he was standing in the middle of a blacktop two-lane totally naked. He covered his eyes as he looked up into the open side door of the car.

“Sir! Are you injured?”

“No…” Ford replied in confusion, breaking his eyes away as he searched about for Anya. He grimaced as his eyes strained to refocus from the bright to the dark. “No, I’m fine!”

“We’re investigating a phaser discharge from this area!” The security guard continued. Ford circled, disoriented. Where had she gone?

“Yeah…” Ford shouted back at him. “I fired my phaser!”

“Why were you shooting?”

The car was coming down now. The light illuminated the entire area, but showed Ford nothing. His mind swirled. The security man unstrapped from his seat and slowly slid out of his car to the ground. He had a pistol held low and at the ready. Ford no longer cared. He looked back and forth in a jerky manner. She was gone.

“Why were you discharging your phaser, sir?” Came the authoritative tone. Ford finally looked back to the man, silhouetted in black by the light at his back. Ford put his hand back up to block out the light. The pain in his head soared.

“I thought I was shooting at someone… I thought I hit her.”

“Her who, sir?” Now there was genuine concern in the officer’s voice.

“Anya! Where’s Anya?”

“Anya who, sir? Was there a woman here with you?” At a waving hand signal, the officer sent more men out with probing tricorders, looking for foul play. They fanned out over the area and closed in on a single point near the south area of the road, near a copse of trees.

“Anya… I don’t think she had a last name!”

Another security man stepped in close and ran a scanner over Ford. He leaned in close to the senior officer to whisper to him. The man shook his helmeted head. He holstered his particle weapon.

“Sir, have you been drinking tonight?”

“I’ve had a few.”

“More than a few, sir. You’re level is one-point-three. You’re wasted.”

“Where’s Anya?”

A shout came from the scanning party on the other side of the hover car.

“Sir! Nothing was hit by the discharge but an oak tree. Burnt it half to the ground! The other two discharges I read show no impact zone.”

This seemed to satisfy the man in charge. One of his subordinates closed in, bending to pick up the dropped palm phaser from the rough pavement. The officers were beginning to chortle and heckle. Ford was beyond any outburst of pride at being made light of. He was still too confused about the disappearance of Anya, beautiful Anya.
Soon he was sedated and ushered into the security car. He took a little trip downtown, to spend the night in a cozy little cell.
***
 :D
'It's a lot of hard work being a mean bastard...' --Captain Eric Finlander, CO USS Bedford (The Bedford Incident)

'Jaken...are you pretending to be dead?' --Lord Sesshomaru, Inuyasha.

Offline Scottish Andy

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #38 on: August 23, 2007, 11:29:31 am »
Oh Guv... that was very well done -

- and totally f*ckin' evil!

That poor deranged Ford! Not even knowing if Anya was real? After thinking that he shagged her? That is just nasty! Pure, undiluted evil!

And you did it so well. Says something about you, I guess.  ;D

Very good job on the "hallucination in the dark" imagery. I was totally seeing it as you described it. Shadowy figures on white sand, at night, lit up by strobes of phaser-fire - I even saw wind whipping the trees slightly as if it was a lightning storm! The arrival of the security team and Anya just fading away were brilliant.

Top notch, mate. Keep it up!

Larry, I know you read this! You pointed it out to me. Why am I the first to comment on it?
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Offline Grim Reaper

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Snickers@DND: If there is one straight answer in that bent little head of yours, you'd better start spillin' it pretty damn quick, or I'm gonna take a large, blunt object, roughly the size of Kallae AND his hat and shove it lengthwise up a crevice of your being so seldomly cleaned that even the denizens of the nine hells would not touch it with a 10-feet rusty pole