Re: Open Hailing Frequencies (OOCs)
Something to read, (mis)adventures in coming into experience and talents.
In her fourth year at the Academy, Jillian was studying with the famous microbiologist, Dr. Ellie Vagas. Vagas wasn’t merely a professor to Jillian, she was a mentor and a friend. Frequently they would go for a drink after class discussing everything from medicine to affairs of the heart. Although Vagas was nearly four times Jillian’s age, the two got along like grandmother and granddaughter.
Near winter break, an interesting emergency presented itself to the infectious diseases department. A lethal strain of Anarpolean Fever was afflicting a mining colony in the Kelvani Belt. The Federation asked Star Fleet Medical to become involved, including the Academy’s brain trust of professors and students.
Raktajino became the drink and meal of choice as professors and senior students worked long hours to save lives, finally devising a fragile antigen for the virus. Unstable, it could not be replicated and needed to be transported via shuttle to a waiting hospital ship, the USS Banting. Vagas decided to go along, and took Jillian with her.
The mission was going swimmingly, as they neared the Kelvani Belt, the Banting received a request from a ship in distress. Time being of the essence, Dr. Vagas and Jillian boarded a shuttle and departed the Banting while the starship moved off to make a rescue.
The pair proceeded at maximum warp for the mining colony, making plans and going over procedures as the stars streaked past them. A rumble accompanied by a quake, shook them from their deliberations. Ambushed, the little shuttle tumbled from warp. Before either of the women could tell the computer to raise shields, they vanished from the cozy interior of the tiny ship and reappeared in the dank, shadowy confines of an Orion pirate brig.
A green brute loomed out of the shadows. “Thank you for the shuttle, the antigen and yourselves.” The pirate captain and his crew guffawed. He gave a command and four equally towering members of his crew emerged from behind him to seize hold of the terrified pair, jabbing neurolytic restraints into the sides of their necks.
The pain was excruciating, setting Jillian’s teeth on edge as she winced. The effect was too much for the elderly professor. She screamed in pain, turned grey and began to convulse. The pain had induced a heart attack. Jillian dropped to her friend’s side in attempt to care for her. Immediately she felt the pain of the restraint as it was applied, sending painful muscles spasms throughout her being. As she shook on the floor, she heard the command to beam ‘it’ into space and in a second her friend and mentor was gone and she was facing a future of slavery. The effect was overwhelming. Trembling and barely containing her grief, she was unceremoniously yanked to her feet, her communicator removed, and tossed into a cage.
She overheard the captain tell his crew to get the cages ready, they planned to hold the antigen over the heads of the mining colony, anyone who wished to be cured would become a slave and the mine’s onsite owner, a wealthy Ferengi named Troc would be extorated for his latinum, his mine and his labour. Unable to break out of her cell, Jillian had little time to tearfully reflect upon the murder of her mentor or anxiously imagine what was going to happen to her.
Her fellow prisoners were in worse shape than she was. All of them had traumatic tales to tell, without equipment, not even a tricorder to make an assessment; Jillian busied herself doing what little she could, which mostly amounted to listening and offering reassurances.
Within hours, they started to arrive, bedraggled, sickly miners of many species, mostly deferi miners, but interspersed with them were spouses and children and better dressed Ferengi managers. The ferengi could be heard before they were seen, howling in protest and pain from their neurolytic restraints.
Crowded seven to a cage that was cozy with three, the hushing and whispering of reassurances by parents to frightened children was drowned out by the complaints and howls of the ferengi. Fortunately it only lasted a few hours.
The ship began to rumble and quake like the shuttle had and instinctively knew they had dropped out of warp. The ship shook, forcing them to grasp the bars to avoid falling into each other. Sparks flew, acrid smoke filled the air and anxious red emergency flicked on as the hold’s lightning went from dim to non-existent. The ship was under attack!
It seemed Troc had high priced and opportunistic mercenaries ready to come to the rescue-for a fee. A D'Kora-class Marauder overawed the Orion corvette. Ferengi could be particularly vicious when there was profit in it, some of the species could be as ferocious as Klingons-for a price. She was freed and a guest of the Ferengi captain, Loc for several hours and Troc when they arrived back at the mining colony.
She learned many things during her misadventure: the value of friends and taking time to express affection and appreciation without hesitation because life was so very fragile, the need to learn improvised medicine and not to rely upon the availability of technology, and the diplomacy, having to undergo the hospitality of slimy gree worms and nose curling eelwasser while struggling to diplomatically fend off the attentions of her ferengi rescuers and hosts.