AU: Just Another Day

Posted on Sat Sep 22nd, 2018 @ 8:58am by
Edited on on Sun Sep 23rd, 2018 @ 3:54am

Mission: Mission 8 - Shattered
Location: Deacon's Cabin
Timeline: MD -02 0400
1540 words - 3.1 OF Standard Post Measure

OOC Steve: It's great to be back, looking forward to writing with everyone

__________________________________________________________________________________

The chime sounded in the dim light of the small cabin and continued uninterrupted for a minute or two before the silhouetted figure silenced it. He’d been awake for at least an hour or so, as was his habit. Vapor rose from the rack, filling the room with a heady, almost citrus smell. It smelled like her hair. Deacon thought as he struggled to remember what she called this flavor. With a sad irony he smiled as the answer flashed through his brain ‘Clarity’ It was good quality bidi, meticulously hand rolled, organic, last one in the last pack. Absently his hand went to the cold empty side of the small rack. It had been what, six months? More?

Getting up, he dressed in his duty uniform, thumbing the warrant officer pips in the semidarkness. A badge of accomplishment he had taken pride in once. No matter he thought numbly, staring beyond the bulkhead buttoning up the blouse. Lifting the armored chest guard over his head his fingers past over the metals embossed onto the syn-leather surface. He knew them just by the feel; Crest of the Voluntarii surrounded by the Laurus Libertatis for fighting for those that enslaved him and distinguishing himself enough for his ‘Freedom’, the gold Occisor with clusters for the enemies that he killed and the red Vulnus Mortale with silver clusters, for the number of times the Empire’s enemies almost killed him. After securing the spaulder to his upper arm he slipped his agonizer onto the sash along with the sheathed kukri blade. Turning to look at himself in the mirror his eyes settled on the small bronze insignia of the Empire and for the briefest of moments he let his control slip.

Balling his hands into a fist he sneered and punched at the steel mirror hitting the reflected image of sword and terra again and again. He hated them and wanted to hurt them, make each one of those mother-fuckers pay. Control yourself he heard her say, Calm you mind. Let them see a placid surface, nothing more. Only seven more years she had reminded him. Seven more years, and his oaths and service to the Empire would be satisfied. He could muster out with all his property. Glancing back at his empty rack, he breathed in and out to reclaim his calm. You were supposed to be here to enjoy it. he thought accusingly, strapping an old Orion phaser to his leg.

As he walked out of the cabin he stopped short, looking down at the diminutive figure that stood there waiting for him. “Good morning Mr. Kane, Sir.” She said in highly accented imperial standard. It was a little girl had auburn hair and green eyes, wearing the dull gray shift of a slave.

“Good morning Mátéma.” He replied taking the clipboard and padd from her, “After you square the cabin away I need you to polish my boots. I’ll meet you in the galley at 14:00, so we can go over these.” He added nodding at the clipboard. “Oh, there’s a protein bar in the drawer of my desk and a flask of henket next to my foot locker. Make sure you dispose of them for me.” He ordered knowing the girl had probably not eaten anything beyond TKL’s in several days.

A smile bloomed on the young girl’s face, and for a moment the poorly healed scars that marred its left side seemed to disappear, but as she limped pasted him to clean his cabin the spell broke. Deacon noted how painfully thin she was. Because of her age and injuries, he knew she was being given the worst rations. By all rights, she should have been ‘put down’ as a mercy, but he had promise Ambika to look after the girl. After what they did on Azzia on that last ‘shoreleave’ it was the least he could do. He was being stupid, he knew. In the world he lived paranoia and aggression were adaptive. Idealism and kindness were only a stupid liability. But that is why I loved you. he could hear her chiding him. Glancing back at the rack as that hatch closed he told the ghost to shut-up, fearing that one day soon she would. Anyway, he had to finish clearing some accounts today.

He met up with both Chief Fussan and Midshipman Pike in the corridor outside the engineering space. Deacon raised an eyebrow to the Vulcan Chief who nodded imperceptivity as she turned down the corridor. Looking at the Terran Junior Officer Deacon smiled paternally, “Are you ready for this, Sir?” Pike was pale as a sheet, beads of sweat dripped from his forehead. The boy was a wreck, but at least the lad hadn’t puked on the deck. After several minutes Deacon cleared his throat. “The Chief will be in position by now, Mr. Pike.” he said reassuringly to the youngster, “Just follow me and be quiet. It will be over before you know it, Sir.”

With a silent nod from the boy Deacon popped the hatch and crawled through the tight mechanical space, exiting moments later into the service corridor for the auxiliary batteries. Deacon wrinkled his nose, almost gagging on the stench of some leaking waste reclamation line. It disgusted Deacon, Fenir was the fleets state of the art vessel, but the Terrans, preoccupied with fighting each-other, pissed even beauties like this away. Knowing he needed to dwell on the shortcomings on the ‘master’ race another time, Deacon drew his blade and crouched low as he raced down the corridor. Rounding the bend, he spotted his quarry a mere thirty feet away.

The engineer’s back way to them, Fussan having him distracted with her obvious charms. Deacon raced up behind him and swung his blade, cutting into the low-pressure steam line just short of his target. Grabbing the figure by the scruff of the neck with his free hand Deacon lifted him from the deck and slammed him face first into the newly ruptured pipe. Deacon felt the humans nose crush against the line and smelled the aroma of steak filling the space as the jet of gas flash cooked the bastard’s ferretlike features. Before the man could even scream Deacon drew him back slammed him into the pipe two more times before tossing him across the corridor like a broken doll.

Ducking low, to avoid the steam jet, Deacon went over to the crumpled figure and relieved him of his blade and sidearm. “Lt. Caloda,” he whispered, leaning close to the semiconscious figure “Ambika Marwah says hello.” Caloda didn’t show any reaction, not that Deacon expected any. Even if the Terran’s face wasn’t medium-well, the Rigellian doubted the engineer would recognize the name, to them slaves didn’t have names.

Standing up, Deacon walked over to the Midshipman, whose face wore an evolving expression of amazement, relief and unbridled joy. “He’s all yours, Mr. Pike.”

Pike for his part walked over to the crumpled form and toed Caloda’s side tentatively. The boy kicked him once, then twice, and then stomped the still form over and over before finally falling on the engineer with his blade. As Pike went to work on Caloda, Deacon and Fessan glanced at each other. The now former engineer’s sadism among the non-terrans was as infamous as the incompetence of his work. Judging by the primal screams and tears coming from Pike, the bastard’s cruel proclivity extended to the cadet officers as well.

After a while Pike’s rage was spent and the boy simply sobbed on the floor. Both Fessan and Deacon discretely looked away until the boy picked himself up and came over to them. He was covered in blood and swayed side to side in a dreamlike fashion. Handing the boy Caloda’s blade and sidearm Deacon said, “Take these up to Zeti so you can make your claim.” The boy sheathed his blade as he took the objects from Deacon’s hands but otherwise didn’t seem aware of his surroundings. “Sir, Chief Fussan will escort you up to Engineering now.” Deacon added, “Congratulations on your promotion Lt. Pike.”

The mention of his new rank seemed to pull the boy from his stupor. With a nod and a ghost of smile that could be mistaken for gratitude, the boy followed Fussan away from view, leaving Deacon and Caloda alone in the corridor. Deacon glance down at the man that killed his lover. It made no difference, a rapidly cooling corpse was a poor substitute for Amika’s warmth, and crazy ideas. Still, now he had a junior officer in engineering that owed him. Deacon sighed and slowly moved away from the lifeless corpse that used to be Lieutenant Caloda, native of Aquarilous VIII, and vanished through another bulkhead. He still had time for some breakfast before his duty shift began.

OFF::

Warrant Officer Deacon Kane
Quartermaster
ISS Fenrir