Star Trek: Tales Of the Wanderer - Episode 1: Double Cross

[Callum MacLeod]

I've been inspired recently to look at Star Trek from a different poit of view. Tales Of The Wanderer is inspired by both Joss Wedon's Firefly and TheLoneRedshirt's Tales of the USS Bluefin and is intended to be a Star Trek version of Firefly. For the ship picture the Antares Class (Federation) ship from Memory Beta but more worn looking

Without further ado I would like to introduce the rag tag crew of the Federation Antares class Freighter Wanderer.

G'roth Cortez: A half Klingon boomer who grew up on the Wanderer (and inherited it from his father Miguel Cortez)

Lerah: The Wanderer's fiery Andorian pilot who is involved in a passionate relationship with G'roth

Torvin: The Wanderer's engineer. A Chelon man with a dry wit and a knack for keeping the old freighter running. Torvin has served on the Wanderer for MANY years under both the command of G'roth's father and grandfather.

K'tara: The ship's Caitian medic and unofficial morale officer.

Kaal Edon: A Bajoran vedek who signed on to escape the bureaucracy of his order, see the galaxy and spread the word of the prophets to 'thems that nee it told.'

In the words of the Wanderer's Captain:

“I’m G’roth Cortez, Captain of the Wanderer. She’s a transport ship, a Federation Antares Class freighter. Got a good crew; fighters, a medic and pretty good mechanic too. Somehow we even picked up a bonafide Vedek. You got a job? We can do it, don’t much care what it is.” ​

 

[Callum MacLeod]

January 15, 2376
FCS Wanderer
In orbit of Molari IV, Molari Sector

The cargo hold of the FCS Wanderer smelled of ozone, old engine grease, and the faint, lingering scent of spiced plomeek soup. Its Captain, G'roth Cortez, was a man built like a brick outhouse his forehead ridges showed he was only half Klingon. G'roth surveyed the crates with a critical eye. In a holster on his hip was a Klingon disruptor pistol, in a boot sheath on his other side was a painstick, and a mek'leth was in its sheath on his back.

"Well, what do we got this time?" Lerah, the Andorian, leaned against a bulkhead, her baby blue skin gleaming under the flickering cargo bay lights.

"Sealed containers, unmarked. Pays well, no questions asked. That's all I need to know," G'roth grunted, adjusting the harness of his tactical vest, more habit than necessity. He preferred practical attire, even onboard his freighter, just in case.

"Such faith, I’m impressed." rumbled Vedek Kaal, the Bajoran monk, his voice a deep was a resonant counterpoint to Lerah's playful lilt. He’d joined the crew of the wanderer party to escape the bureaucratic tedium of his Order and to, as he put it, ‘spread the word of the Prophets to thems that need it told.’.

"Faith has nothing to do with it." G'roth replied, “Gromm’s not paying for us to know what’s in them. Plus I ‘ve been doing business with him for years. He pays well and watches out for his people.”

A metallic clang resonated from the engine room, followed by a series of frustrated hisses.

"I'm having a slight disagreement with the warp drive's plasma conduits, G’roth." came the muffled voice of Torvin, the chelon engineer.

Torvin, a Chelon somewhat resembled a terrestrial turtle, was a master of mechanical innovation, but also prone to fits of pique when confronted with technological obstinacy. His thick shell often clanged against the ship's bulkheads while moving around.

"Torvin, try not to dismantle the entire warp core this time." G'roth called back to the old Chelon who had been serving on the ship since G'roth's grandfather captained the ship..

He then turned to the final member of his crew. "Hey Doc, you good to go?"

K'tara, a Caitian woman with golden fur and a no-nonsense demeanor, emerged from the small infirmary, a data pad clutched in her pawed hand.

"The medical supplies are restocked. Just a reminder that performing surgery on someone who received phaser burns in a bar fight is not what I consider fun." She gave G'roth a pointed look.

G'roth chuckled, the sound rumbling through the cargo bay. "Noted. But, you know, that's what happens when you mix Lerah and a couple of Saurian brandy shots."

“Hey!” Lerah complained good naturedly, “You know its only Romulan ale that does that to me’”

The G'roth's wrist communicator chirped, and the face of their latest employer, a Tellarite merchant named Gromm, appeared on the small display.

"Cortez, you've got the goods?"

G'roth nodded. "They're on board, Gromm. Just waiting to take off."

Gromm's snout twitched with impatience. "Good, I've got a buyer waiting on the other side of the asteroid belt. Don't disappoint." The communication cut off, leaving only the echo of his gruff voice in the bay.

Lena pushed off the bulkhead, her booted feet hitting the metal floor with a thud. "Let's not keep the customer waiting, shall we?"

She sauntered towards the bridge, her hips swaying in a way that was both alluring and slightly mocking of the gravity. G'roth couldn't help but appreciate the view before he turned his attention back to the containers.

Kaal paused in his chalice polishing. "The Prophets do not favor haste, Captain."

G'roth shot him a look. "And I don't favor getting shot out of the sky by impatient buyers. Priorities, Vedek."

Torvin emerged from the engine room, his shell gleaming with a fresh coat of oil. "Warp drive is stable, Captain. For now."

"Thank you, Torvin. Now, let's get these beauties secured," G'roth said, gesturing to the containers. The chelon worked methodically, his clawed hands moving with surprising grace as he latched the containers to the anti-grav pallet. The air was thick with the anticipation of a lucrative job and the ever-present undercurrent of danger that came with it.

Once the cargo was secured, G'roth led the group to the bridge. The space was tight, designed for efficiency rather than comfort, with the pilot's chair nestled between a bank of screens and the captain's chair elevated slightly to allow for an unobstructed view. Lerah was already strapped in, her hands moving confidently over the controls, the ship's systems coming to life with a series of reassuring beeps.

"Everyone, take your stations," G'roth ordered, his voice echoing through the corridor.

"Torvin, keep an eye on the engines." G'roth said, his eyes never leaving the asteroid field that lay ahead, a minefield of jagged rock and metal waiting to tear them apart.

Torvin grunted an affirmative, his thick shell squeezing into the small space at the Operations station, his clawed hands poised over the emergency systems.

Lerah's eyes danced across the console, her fingers flying with a grace that defied her tough exterior.

"We've got a starship bearing down on us, G'roth." Lerah reported from the helm.

"Who is it?" G'roth asked.

"Looks to be the Border Dogs." Torvin replied.

“Ignore them. Loose 'em Lerah. The last thing we need is border dogs onboard when we're carrying unmarked cargo." G'roth said.

"I'll do my best." The buxom Andorian replied

Suddenly, an alarm blared, piercing the cockpit's concentration before the Wanderer’s engines could come up to full power.

"What's that?" G'roth barked, his eyes darting to the console.

"The Border Dogs locked a tractor beam on us!" Lerah's voice was tight with tension.

The ship jolted, and G'roth's heart skipped a beat as the tractor beam tightened, "Torvin, can we break free?"

Torvin's eyes darted from screen to screen, his clawed hands dancing over the controls.

"It's a strong lock with military grade emitters," he reported, his voice tight with concentration, "If we keep trying we're likely to pull our hull plating off."

“Cut the engines, Lerah.” G’roth ordered., “Put ‘em on screen, Torvin.”

The face of a stern-looking Starfleet captain filled the viewscreen, his uniform crisp and unblemished compared to the disheveled crew of the Wanderer.

"This is Captain Akinola of the Bluefin. Prepare to be boarded," the Starfleet captain on the viewscreen said sternly.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

"This is Captain Cortez of the Wanderer." G'roth's voice was calm, but the grip on his chair's armrests belied his tension. "We're just a humble freighter on a routine run. Sorry 'bout trying to run from you, we're experiencing intermittent sensor issues. You registered as a syndicate raider."

The captain on the screen scrutinized them for a moment, his gaze shifting between the faces of G'roth and his crew.

"Humorous, but not convincing," he replied, his expression unwavering. "Stand down and prepare to receive an inspection team. Have all crew step away from their stations and keep their hands where they can be seen."

G'roth shared a look with his crew. "You heard the man," he said, his voice low. "Let's not make this any more complicated than it needs to be."

Lerah grunted but released her grip on the controls, her hands moving to the chair's rests as she pushed herself up out of the seat. Kaal rose from his station, the chalice forgotten. K'tara took a step back from the Environment control station. As Torvin stepped away from the operations station.

With a shimmer of light, the inspection team from the Bluefin appeared on the Wanderer's bridge. A large red-skinned Orion Chief Petty Officer took the lead. His uniform fit tightly across his bulging muscles, a stark contrast to the looser fitting garb of the freighter crew.

"Chief Solly Brin," he introduced himself with a nod to G'roth, “You’re kinda well armed for a freighter captain.”

“I’m a Klingon… well half…” G’roth said with a shrug keeping his expression neutral despite the knot forming in his stomach, "Welcome aboard the Wanderer, Chief Brin. We're just a simple freight crew."

"I'll be the judge of that." His voice was gruff, the tone leaving no room for argument.

Brin's gaze lingered on the unmarked containers for a beat longer than G'roth was comfortable before he turned back to the captain. "I need to see your manifest, Captain."

G'roth handed over the PADD with the forged documents on it without a flicker of hesitation. "Here you go, Chief. Everything's above board."

Brin took the manifest, his eyes scanning the data on the screen with practiced ease. His team, a mix of species in Starfleet uniforms, spread out around the bridge, their phasers at the ready. G'roth felt their eyes on him, on his crew, and on the cargo that was supposed to be their ticket to a quick and quiet payday. The air was thick with tension, the hum of the ship's systems seemingly louder in the silence.

"Let's go down to your hold and see what's what." Brin said sternly.

Brin's voice was like a serrated blade slicing through the tension in the air. He handed the PADD back to G'roth with a nod. The captain took a deep breath, his gaze flicking to his crew before he gestured for them to follow. As they descended into the belly of the ship, G'roth's mind raced, trying to think of every possible contingency.

The Starfleet team spread out, their eyes scanning the containers with suspicion. Once they were in the last cargo pod a young human, approached G'roth. "You wouldn't happen to know what's in these, would you?"

G'roth shrugged. "Just cargo, like it says on the manifest. Could be anything from antique furniture to dilithium crystals."

Brin raised an eyebrow as he said, "And you don't check what you're smuggling?"

"Smuggling?" G'roth feigned innocence, his eyes wide. "I run a honest ship. Besides, I trust our employers. They pay well and keep us out of trouble."

The young human's expression remained skeptical as he called out to Brin, "Sir, I've got a scanner reading something off from these containers."

Brin's eyes narrowed.

"Open them," he ordered, his hand resting casually on his phaser.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

G'roth nodded to Torvin, who approached the containers with a grumbling sigh. The chelon engineer pulled a tool from his belt and began to work on the seal. The hiss of escaping gas filled the cargo hold, and the lid lifted to reveal a layer of packing foam.

"Looks like your average run-of-the-mill goods, Chief." G'roth said, trying to keep his voice steady.

But Chief Brin wasn't convinced. He stepped closer, scanning the containers with a tricorder. The device beeped insistently, and he frowned.

"You might want to check the bottom crate," he said pointing with his phaser.

G'roth's heart sank. He knew that was where the more... sensitive goods were hidden. With a sigh, he nodded to Torvin, who moved to the specified crate with a resigned look. The chelon sliced through the foam with a laser cutter, revealing a hidden compartment beneath.

The Starfleet team grew tense as they waited for the reveal, their phasers at the ready. Lerah leaned against the bulkhead, a smirk playing on her lips, while Kaal offered a silent prayer to the Prophets.

The moment the hidden compartment was exposed, G'roth's stomach dropped. Inside, nestled among the foam, were a dozen gleaming pieces of very expensive looking technology.

"Those don't look like dilithium crystals," Brin said, his voice a low growl.

G'roth stepped forward, trying to keep his cool. "They're... uh... medical supplies. Advanced prosthetics for a Bajoran hospital. They're pretty sensitive. That's why they're packed so carefully," he improvised, hoping his bluff would hold.

Orion raised an eyebrow, looking from G'roth to the containers. "Advanced prosthetics, huh?" he said skeptically.

Chief Brin's expression didn't change. "You wouldn't happen to have any documentation for these 'medical supplies,' would you?"

G'roth's mind raced, but before he could come up with another lie, Lerah stepped forward, her smirk morphing into a seductive smile.

"Perhaps, Chief, if you'd give me a moment, I could show you the medical manifest," she said sultry, her hand reaching out to gently touch the bulging Orion forearm, "We've been having some issues with our computer systems not pulling all the data. It might take me a second to access it."

The Chief's expression didn't waver, but G'roth could see the flicker of interest in his eyes. "Make it quick."

Lerah winked and sauntered over to the cargo bay's computer terminal, her shapely backside wiggling as she walked. Leaning towards the console seductively she typed a few commands with a dramatic flourish.

"Here we go. I keep telling G’roth we need to fix the sub-processors." she said, turning to face Brin with the PADD in hand.

She strolled back over, and handed the PADD to him with a smile that could melt one of the ubiquitous glaciers of her homeworld.

Brin took the PADD, his gaze flicking between the screen and Lerah's face, which remained a picture of innocence. He scrolled through the documents, his expression unreadable. The room was so silent that G'roth could hear the faint hiss of the ship's environmental systems. Finally, Brin grunted.

"This checks out," he said, handing the PADD back to Lerah. "But I've got a feeling we're not seeing the whole picture here."

G'roth's heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his face impassive. "I assure you, Chief, there's nothing more to it than what you see. We're just a bunch of merchants trying to make an honest living.

“Yea, sure. And my mother’s a Federation councilor.” Brin said sarcastically.

“Well,” G’roth said saucily, “Give her my best. She raised a fine son.”

Lerah chuckled, but the tension remained thick in the air as Chief Brin's eyes bore into the captain. He grunted and tapped his combadge, calling for the Bluefin to beam his team back. "Alright, we're done here."

"Brin to Bluefin," The burly Orion said after tapping his combadge, "Everything's in order here.We're ready to beam back.

The Starfleet officers nodded curtly before dematerializing into the silver glow of the transporter. The cargo bay was eerily quiet as the light faded.

"Looks like we dodged that photon torpedo," Lerah quipped, her smirk returning.

G'roth's shoulders relaxed slightly, but he knew better than to let his guard down.

"For now," he said, his gaze still on the now empty space where the Starfleet team had been standing moments ago. "But we can't count on luck forever."

Lerah sauntered over to G'roth, her hand sliding down his arm.

"I'd say we've got more than luck on our side," she whispered seductively as her antenaes wriggled.

G'roth couldn't help but smirk. "Maybe so, but let's not push it."

Lerah pouted playfully. "But I can think of something else you'd enjoy pushing," she whispered, her hand sliding down to his hip, her antennae brushing against his shoulder.

G'roth's smirk grew into a full-fledged grin, and he gently pushed her hand away. "Maybe later, when we're not knee-deep in cargo that could get us vaporized if the wrong person gets curious."

Lerah rolled her eyes and leaned against a crate, arms crossed over her bountiful chest. "Always business first with you."

 

[Callum MacLeod]

January 15, 2376
Orion Syndicate Raider Troshmaran
Interstellar Space, Molari Sector

“Are you sure those are the only people onboard the Wanderer. I don’t want there to be any surprises for my raiding party.” Supreme Lortho Elix, the Syndicate's equivalent of a Captain, said in the small monitor in Gromm’s apartment in Molari IV.

“I’m certain.” The double crossing Tellarite snapped back, “Just don’t forget your deal.”

“Watch your tone, Tellarite swine!” Elix barked. Continuing on he said, “Oh I remember. I get rid of the crew of the Wanderer and I get the ship and cargo and you get a ten percent cut of the profit from the cargo and also get paid out by your insurance for your ‘loss’.”

Gromm nodded vigorously, his jowls wobbling. “Yes, yes, exactly. And remember, no one can know we had this little… chat.” He wiped his sweaty palms on his velvet tunic.

“Worry about your own hide, Gromm,” Elix sneered. “My team will handle the Wanderer. Just hope that my people tell me the cargo is EXACTLY as advertised.”

 

[Callum MacLeod]

January 15, 2376
FCS Wanderer
Interstellar Space, Molari Sector

On the Wanderer, G’roth and Torvin were hunched over the life support control panel in the engineering compartment. The air was thick with the stench of something that smelled suspiciously like a swamp, and G’roth’s nostrils flared in annoyance.

“Torvin, what is that smell?” G’roth’s voice was tight with frustration.

“It’s the atmospheric scrubbers.” The chelon engineer said, his tone apologetic. “They’ve got a glitch. It’s making the air smell like… home.”

G’roth’s nostrils flared. “Your home or the dumpster outside the spaceport?” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Torvin’s beady eyes met G’roth’s, and he gave a low chuckle. “It’s not that bad, but I understand your point.”

G’roth grunted, waving a hand in front of his face to clear the noxious air. “I didn’t inherit this ship just to make it smell like the pits of Rura Penthe.”

Torvin’s chuckles grew louder, his shell vibrating with mirth. He set to work with a newfound vigor, his claws dancing over the control panel. The two of them worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sound the occasional beep of the console and the hiss of the malfunctioning scrubbers.

“How’s it going?” G’roth asked, watching the chelon’s progress with a critical eye.

“Almost there,” Torvin replied, his voice muffled by the concentration. “It’s a stubborn piece of tech, but I think I’ve got it figured out.”

Finally, with a triumphant clang, Torvin slapped the side of the panel. The offensive odor began to dissipate, replaced by the cool, sterile scent of recycled oxygen.

“There we go.” he said with a smile, revealing his sharp teeth. “No more wonderful swampy smell.”

G’roth nodded his thanks, the tension in his shoulders easing.

“Much better,” he said, inhaling deeply. “Remind me to get you a new set of scrubbers when we hit the next port.”

“Only if you don’t mind letting your old torqua take them off line now and then for an occasional whiff of home.” Torvin teased using the Chelon word for uncle, which G'roth use to call him by as a child.

G’roth watched him go before returning to the captain’s chair on the bridge. He leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the vibrations of the ship’s engines beneath him. It was moments like these, when the Wanderer was quiet and the job ahead was clear, that he missed his father most. The old human had inherited the ship from his father and G’roth had grown up on its decks after his mother had left the two of them to return to Kronos.

He opened his eyes and turned to the viewscreen, the asteroid belt now a distant memory. “Lerah, set a course for the Rigel Exchange. Time to offload this cargo and get our hands on that sweet, sweet Latinum.”

“Aye, Captain,” she said, her eyes lighting up at the mention of the lucrative trading post.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

That evening as G’roth lay in his bed with Lerah the computer monitor on the wall mounted desk beeped, bringing him out of his momentary peace. He sat up with a groan, Lerah’s arms sliding off his shoulders. She moaned in protest but he shushed her.

“What is it?” She asked sleepily.

“Incoming message.” He replied, reaching for the controls.

The screen flickered to life and revealed a backlit figure whose features were indistinguishable due to digital blurring
.
“Captain Cortez, things are not as they seem. Gromm has betrayed you to the Syndicate.” The figure said in a digitized voice that eliminated any hint of gender or species.

G’roth’s blood ran cold, his heart hammering in his chest. “What do you mean?” he demanded, Lerah now fully awake and sitting up in bed.

“He has informed them of your cargo’s true nature and value. They are sending a raiding party to intercept you at the Rigel Exchange,” the figure continued.

Lerah’s antennae shot straight up, and she whispered, “It’s a trap.”

“Who are you? Why should I trust you over Gromm? I’ve been doing business him for years.” G’roth demanded.

“I’m someone who is trying to help you out, Ko’Rach.” The figure said using the Klingon word that roughly translated to ‘little warrior’ and was usually only used as a term of endearment by older klingons when speaking to a younger family member, “Maintain your course and speed. I’ll be in touch again.”

The message ended abruptly, leaving G’roth with more questions than answers. He looked over at Lerah, her eyes wide with alarm.

“Could it be a trap within a trap?” she suggested.

G’roth’s jaw tightened.

“We can’t just sit here,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “We need to be prepared.”

 

[Callum MacLeod]

“We have a problem,” G’roth began, his gaze sweeping over the faces of his crew. “We’ve been set up.”

Torvin’s eyes went wide. “What kind of setup?”

G’roth leaned forward, his hands flat on the table. “We’ve got an anonymous tip that Gromm’s sold us out to the Syndicate. They’re expecting us at the Rigel Exchange with a cargo they think is worth more than we bargained for.”

K’tara’s fur bristled. “What are we carrying that’s so valuable?”

“Damned if I know. But we’re going to tear apart those crates of Gromm’s and find out.” G’roth said with a snarl.

The crew exchanged worried glances.

“We need to be ready for anything,” G’roth continued, his eyes locking onto each member of his crew. “We don’t know what we’re walking into, but I suspect it’s going to be a fight.”

Kaal spoke up, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the tension in the room. “We should prepare ourselves spiritually as well, Captain. The Prophets may guide our path.”

G’roth nodded solemnly. “Your counsel is appreciated, Kaal. But I’m going to need more than prayers to get us out of this one.” He turned to Lerah. “I want you to stay sharp on the sensors. If anything even whispers our way, I want to know about it.”

The Andorian nodded, her antennae flattening in determination. “You can count on me.”

“Torvin,” G’roth said, turning to the chelon. “Make sure our weapons and shields are at full capacity. We might not be a warship, but we’re not going to go down without a fight.”

Torvin nodded, his clawed hands already itching to get to work. “Aye, Captain.”

As the crew dispersed to their stations, G’roth couldn’t help but feel a twinge of doubt. Gromm had always been a reliable contact, and the thought of his betrayal stung like a Cardassian neural whip. But the cold, digital voice had been insistent, and the urgency in its message was palpable. He had to trust his instincts and the loyalty of his crew.

In the cargo hold, the containers lay open, their contents revealed. Gromm’s ‘medical supplies’ were anything but. The gleaming metal objects, shaped like a cross between a hyperspanner and a transporter test cylinder, were laying on the deck as Torvin struggled to figure out what they made.

After a few moments of silent contemplation, he had it. The pieces assembled into something that looked like it could punch a hole through a starship’s hull.

“Spiral-wave pulse cannon parts!” he exclaimed.

The crew stared at him, stunned. “How do you know that?” K’tara asked, her voice low.

Torvin held up a piece, showing them the intricate circuitry. “It’s not every day a Chelon sees this kind of tech, but I’ve heard whispers of it. They’re rare and incredibly powerful.”

“Gromm didn’t just betray us; he set us up to be pirated and killed for this,” G'roth murmured, his hand resting on the butt of his disruptor as his expression grew darker..

The crew exchanged nervous glances. The Rigel Exchange was the perfect place to unload contraband, but with Starfleet on their tail and the Syndicate waiting for them, their situation had gone from complicated to dire.

“We can’t just leave them here,” Lerah said, her antennae quivering. “We need a plan to get rid of these before we’re caught with them.”

G’roth nodded, his mind racing. “We can’t let the Syndicate get their hands on these.”

The crew gathered around the open containers, their eyes widening as they took in the sophisticated technology. It was clear that the stakes were much higher than they had originally thought.

“We’ll need to space the cargo,” Lerah said. “But not all at once. We’ll spread it out over several jettison points to avoid suspicion. And we’ll need to disguise it.”

“No.” The word hung in the air, heavy and final. G’roth’s hand slammed down on the lid of a crate.

“We’re not going to space the cargo,” he said, his voice tight with determination. “We’re going to keep it. And we’re going to replace our ventral phaser turret with this spiral-wave pulse cannon. We can’t just hand over this kind of firepower to the Syndicate and its not like we can just turn it over to the Border Dogs.”

Lerah raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. “You want to arm the ship with something that could blow us out of the sky if we’re not careful?”

“I want to be prepared,” G’roth countered. “We’re walking into a minefield, and I’d rather not do it unarmed.”

K’tara looked at him, her gaze a mix of admiration and fear. “You’re taking a big risk, G’roth.”

“If we’re going to go out,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. “I’d rather go out fighting and take as many of those filthy PetaQ’s down as I can.”

 

[Callum MacLeod]

The crew exchanged glances, the weight of G’roth’s decision settling on their shoulders like a leaden cloak.

Torvin nodded, his clawed hands already itching to get to work. “It’s risky, but doable,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “But we’ll need to be quick about it. The Rigel Exchange isn’t known for its patience.”

G’roth looked around the room, his gaze meeting the determination in his crew’s eyes. “Then let’s get to it,” he said firmly. “We’re going to keep the dorsal phaser turret the way it is now. But this… this is our ace in the hole for when things go wrong.”

The crew set to work, their movements efficient and silent. They had faced danger before, but the gravity of the situation was not lost on any of them. This was no longer just a smuggling job; it had turned into a potential firefight with one of the most feared organizations in the galaxy.

G'roth watched as the spiral-wave pulse cannon took shape in the open space where the forward ventral phaser turret used to be. The gleaming metal and intricate circuitry were a stark contrast to the ship's worn and patched-up interior. It was a weapon of power, capable of tearing through enemy shields with ease.

"Almost there," Torvin murmured, his claws deftly connecting wires and calibrating the weapon's systems.

G'roth paced the bridge, his gaze flitting between the viewscreen and the chronometer. "We need to be ready before they catch up," he said, his voice tight with tension.

On the viewscreen, the stars stretched out into streaks of light as the Wanderer pushed her engines to their limits, racing through the void. The warning still echoed in his mind, the gravity of their situation sinking in.

"Captain, the spiral-wave cannon is assembled and online," Torvin's voice crackled over the comm-system an hour later as G'roth sat in his seat in the center of the bridge.
G'roth nodded solemnly, his hand resting on the arm of the chair.

"Good work, Torvin," he said, his voice calm despite the storm of emotions brewing inside him. "Make sure it's securely fastened and all safety protocols are in place."

"Already on it, Captain," came the chelon's reply. "We're just finishing up the last checks now."

"We?" G'roth asked questioningly.

"Yeah, we. Me and the voices in my head. 'Cause I must be crazy to be doing this." The turtle-like Chelon engineer replied through the comm.

G'roth couldn't help but chuckle at the Chelon's attempt at humor, despite the tension coiled in his gut.

"Thank you, torqua." he said, his eyes never leaving the viewscreen.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

The Rigel Exchange grew larger in the distance, a gleaming bastion of trade and greed. It was a place where deals were made and lives were bought and sold, and G'roth had no illusions about the kind of reception they would get if the Syndicate knew their true cargo.

Lerah's antennae twitched as she studied the sensors. "We've got incoming. A ship on an intercept course."

"Its a Syndicate raider." Lerah reported.

"They're hailing us." Kaal said from where he was filling in at the operations station.

"Put 'em on screen Kaal." G'roth ordered.

The viewscreen crackled to life, and the face of a sneering Orion filled the screen. His eyes were cold, his smile predatory. "Wanderer, this is the Syndicate cruiser Troshmaran. I am Supreme Lortho Elix. Drop out of warp and prepare to be boarded."

G'roth's jaw clenched, his hand tightening on the armrest of his chair. "This is Captain G'roth Cortez. We're on a peaceful mission and have no intention of surrendering to pirates."

The Elix's smile grew colder. "You're carrying something that belongs to us, Cortez. You don't have a choice."

"We're not your average merchant ship," he said, his voice steady. "We don't take kindly to threats."

The Elix's sneer grew more pronounced. "You're not in a position to negotiate, half-breed. Drop out of warp or face the consequences."

G'roth's knuckles whitened, his jaw set.

"We're not in the habit of taking orders from pirates," he spat.

The Elix's eyes narrowed as he said, "You think I'm bluffing, Cortez? We have the firepower to reduce your ship to scrap metal. Drop out of warp and prepare to be boarded."

G'roth's gaze never left the screen, his voice a low growl. "I don't bluff, Elix. And neither do I take kindly to ultimatums."

The Orion's sneer grew more pronounced. "Your bravado is admirable, but ultimately futile. You are no match for the power of the Syndicate."

G'roth leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving the screen. "We'll see about that," he said, his voice icy.

The comm clicked off, and the crew stared at the space where the Orion's face had been, the silence stretching like a tightening noose.

G'roth turned to Lerah. "Stay on those sensors. I want to know the second they do anything."

Lerah nodded, her hands flying over the console. "I'm on it."

Moments later, the ship lurched violently, sending the crew stumbling. The viewscreen flared with the brilliant light of a photon torpedo as it struck the Wanderer's engines, disabling them with a deafening roar. The stars around them snapped back into sharp focus as the ship dropped out of warp, adrift in space.

"We're hit!" Lerah shouted over the klaxxons, her eyes wide with fear. "Warp drive is offline!"

G'roth's hand flew to his console. "Evasive maneuvers," he barked. "Get us out of here!"

But it was too late. The Troshmaran had them in its sights, and the Wanderer was a sitting duck. The ship shuddered as the first volley of torpedoes streaked towards them.

The next few moments were a blur of chaos. The ship's alarms blared, the lights flickered, and the inertial dampeners groaned under the strain of the ship's erratic movements.

The crew struggled to regain their footing as the Wanderer rocked under the impact of the Troshmaran's weapons.

G'roth's eyes narrowed, his jaw set. "Lerah, Get us into into position to use the cannon. Kaal, standby on the cannon we're only going to get one shot."

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Just as the situation looked grim, a miracle occurred. The Troshmaran was rocked by a sudden barrage of phaser fire from behind, the unexpected assault catching the Syndicate ship off guard.

"What the...?" Lerah exclaimed, her hands freezing on the console.

G'roth's eyes snapped to the viewscreen, where the USS Bluefin had appeared, guns blazing, "Its the border dogs!"

"They're hailing us." Kaal reported from the operations station as Torvin struggled valiantly in engineering to keep the Wanderer in one piece.

G'roth's eyes flicked to the screen. "Put 'em through," he barked.

The face of Captain Akinola filled the screen, her expression a mix of anger and relief. "Wanderer, this is Captain Akinola of the USS Bluefin. It looks like you've run into a spot of trouble."

G'roth's heart raced as he responded, "Understatement of the year, Captain. Thanks for the backup."

The Bluefin's captain, a stern-faced human with a no-nonsense attitude, nodded curtly. "We'll take care of the Troshmaran."

"Thank you, Captain," G'roth said, his voice tight with relief. "We're not out of this yet. We need to get our engines back online."

The Bluefin's captain nodded. "We'll keep them busy. Get those engines running, Cortez."

On the bridge, G'roth's heart hammered in his chest as he watched the Troshmaran's shields flicker under the relentless barrage of the Bluefin's phasers. The warning echoed in his mind, a chilling reminder of the treachery they faced.

He turned to Lerah. "Keep us steady. We're not going anywhere until we can make a clean break."

The ship trembled as the Troshmaran retaliated, its weapons finding their mark. The lights flickered and dimmed as the power fluctuated. Kaal's fingers flew over the console, trying to keep the ship's systems online.

"Torvin, status on the engines!" G'roth shouted over the din, watching as the Bluefin kept the Troshmaran busy on the viewscreen.

"I'm working on them, damn it!" Torvin shouted, "But it'd go quicker if I had some help!"

G'roth nodded at Kaal and K'tara, who left their posts and sprinted off the bridge towards the engineering compartment. The ship groaned and shuddered as another volley of torpedoes struck the Wanderer's shields, sending sparks flying across the bridge.

"Hang in there, Torvin, help's on the way!" G'roth said into the comm. "Get the warp drive on line!"

Moving over to the operations station G'roth said, "Lerah, take us on a strafing run under the Toshmaran. I'm going to scrape a little paint off their hull."

"You gonna use the cannon?"

"Not with the Border Dogs around." G'roth growled, his eyes locked on the Troshmaran.

With a nod, Lerah took over the helm, her fingers dancing across the controls with a grace that belied the urgency of the situation.

The Troshmaran, its shields weakened by the Bluefin's onslaught, broke away and streaked towards the distant planet of Verex Three. G'roth's jaw tightened as he watched the enemy ship vanish into warp.

"Bridge, this is Torvin!" The Chelon's voice crackled over the comm. "Warp drive is back online!"

G'roth let out a sigh of relief, his hand hovering over the console. "Good work, Torvin."

The viewscreen sprang to life, and Captain Akinola's voice filled the bridge. "Wanderer, the Troshmaran is retreating. Do you need assistance with your repairs?"

G'roth's gaze flickered to the viewscreen as he took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the situation begin to lift from his shoulders.

"Thank you, Captain," he said into the comm. "We've got the warp drive back online. We should be fine patching up the rest of the damage."

The face of Akinola remained on the viewscreen, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Understood, Captain Cortez. But next time, don't be shy about using that fancy new weapon of yours. Next time we might not be in the neighborhood."

"Captain," Captain Akinola said, "Our sensors picked up something unusual when we were on approach. You wouldn't happen to have made some... unorthodox modifications to your ship, would you?"

G'roth's eyes snapped to the viewscreen, his heart racing. He had hoped they wouldn't notice. "What are you talking about, Captain?"

Akinola's smile grew, the hint of amusement still present. "The spiral-wave pulse cannon you've installed, Captain. It's not exactly standard issue for a freighter like the Wanderer."

G'roth's eyes narrowed, his surprise quickly turning to wariness. "It's for... personal protection," he said, his tone guarded.

"I understand, Captain," Captain Akinola said, his smile never wavering. "But let's not make a habit of surprising Starfleet like that and keep it under wraps unless you absolutely need it. It's not illegal to have that kind of firepower on board a private vessel. However, I would suggest investing in some better shielding for it. You wouldn't want that particular ace-in-the-hole to be known to every Tom, Dick, and Lortho Elix in the sector, would you?"

"Noted, Captain," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "We'll keep it on the down-low."

Captain Akinola's smile grew, revealing the shrewdness beneath the surface. "See that you do, Cortez," he said. "And remember, the less attention you draw to yourselves, the better. The Elix won't be pleased that you slipped through his grasp."

The channel closed causing the viewscreen to revert to the view of space in front of the Wanderer, leaving G'roth to digest his words. He knew they had been playing with fire, but he had never imagined that the flames would get so close. He turned to Lerah, who was still at the helm.

"Take us out of here," he ordered, his voice tight. "Set a course for the nearest repair station."

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Interesting little story, particularly with the appearance of Akinola and Solly Brin. Solid candidate for the anonymous informant...

Solid first outing for the series.

Thanks!! rbs