The Wheels Keep Turning

Posted on 13 Nov 2020 @ 10:51am by Lieutenant Commander Lance Quinn (*)

Mission: M1 - Emergence
Location: SS Appalacian
Timeline: MD05 - 2030hrs
745 words - 1.5 OF Standard Post Measure

The Appalacian had been late. Only by about twenty minutes, but that was time that Lance could have been brewing a fine cup of tea or helping himself to another sandwich. Instead he'd waited with growing frustration at the airlock with a similarly world-weary docking crew waiting for the requisitioned freighter to arrive.

When it did actually dock, the crew seemed bored and less-than-concerned by their delayed arrival. None of them acknowledged the waiting station crew and wandered off from their ship as though getting off the last evening subway train. Irate but too tired himself to bother making a fuss, Lance just led the relief crew inside to locate the cargo bays and get to organising his shipment.

The inside of the Appalacian smelled as one might imagine a freighter to; greasy, with a faintly metallic rust-like scent in the air. If Lance hadn't already needed a shower, he certainly did now. How this old bucket had manage anything above half impulse was a miracle. It was barely held together in some places.

I wonder what would look and smell worse - this, or a Pakled transport? he thought to himself, a faintly resigned expression on his face. He gingerly stepped-over some discarded footstuffs scattered over the floor near the entrance to the vast cargo compartment.

"All right, start unloading the injector coils. I'll check on the couplings." He motioned for the team with him to get to work. The couplings themselves had better be in reasonable condition, he noted, otherwise he'd be playing hell with Calliope for dragging him onto his second spaceborne deathtrap in the space of a week.

According to the manifest, the crates he was after were located in a recessed section of the bay, not far away. Again, it took a little bit of agility to avoid some awful-smelling old-style packing crates blocking his path through. He half expected the manifest to be written in crayon, the state of this place was so run-down.

As he approached the tall Federation-branded shipping container he was looking for, he was distracted by some movement out of the corner of his eye. He stopped in his tracks and turned to look, though he didn't see anything straight away. If this place was infested with space weevils or some other critter, he was definitely going to be holding that over his wife. Maybe she knew all along and had been trying to pull a fast one on him. Either way, he was momentarily unnerved by the situation. He whipped-out a tricorder and poked at it for a few seconds.

"That can't be..." he murmured, spotting familiar patterns mixed in with some unfamiliar ones; the tell-tale ionic radiation of a localised dampening field. A very crude one, too. And most likely not all that legal in these parts.

He took a few paces forwards, scanning a few of the containers before he came across a tall, unmarked shipping crate probably big enough to house a small shuttlecraft. It was the source of the dampening field he was detecting. Although not the bravest soul on the station, Lance's curiosity was getting the better of him. Someone had gone to great lengths to conceal something in this container. Their skill, however, did not match their efforts - the technology was poor. Improvised. Probably cobbled together from other pieces of equipment.

Taking a deep breath, he used his tricorder to trigger the locking mechanism. With a noisy creaking sound, the obsolete mechanisms released and the entry hatch on the side of the container opened. A hiss of air escaping was followed by a low shuffling noise. He tentatively peered inside.

"Hello?" he called into the darkness beyond. As his eyes adjusted, he could see shapes moving. About a dozen of them. Animals? No - humanoids. People. Not just any people, either. Young and old. Families. Huddled together in the cramped space, their clothing worn and covered in dirt. And their faces - he could see the familiar Romulan forehead ridges even in the poor lighting. Fear hung around them almost as noxiously as the nauseating smell of sweat and decay, their eyes watching his every move and reaction.

"Oh...oh dear..." Lance murmured to himself as he realised what this was. He took a couple of steps back, swallowing hard. "Q-Quinn to security..." he stammered, unsure what to say. "I think...I think someone needs to get down here."