Posted by Civilian Jason Reilly (Assistant Director - Colonial Intelligence) in Arrival of the shady sort

Posted by Civilian Logan Mills (Smuggler) in Arrival of the shady sort

Posted by Civilian Jason Reilly (Assistant Director - Colonial Intelligence) in Arrival of the shady sort
Posted by… suppressed (16) by the Post Ghost! 👻
Logan grimaced as he maneuvered his ship towards the Spaceport. His shoulder was throbbing and he was fairly certain he’d bled through the makeshift bandage he’d wrapped around it after getting the ship launched. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be allowed on this colony, but currently the Klingons were not his friends, and so he had to risk Federation contact. At least until he got his shoulder patched up, he’d have to stick close by. Thankfully, the ship was empty, so as long as he could convince people he wasn’t following the family name, he should be able to remain at least out of jail.

As he approached the spaceport, he reduced his speed, opening a channel. “OED V Spaceport, this is the cargo vessel SS Corydon requesting permission to dock.”

“I’m sorry, there was channel interference, did you say the Corydon?” Came the shaky voice of a young adult, couldn’t be much older than Logan himself.

“Affirmative. Cargo Vessel.”

“I don’t see your registration in the database. Standby for cargo scan.” Logan rolled his eyes, these scans always took ages. Finally the shaky voice came back “alright, cargo looks clear, you’re cleared to dock in bay 4.”

About time! Logan thought, closing the channel and proceeding to dock in bay 4. As he slowly disembarked from the ship, he took a look around.

Logan Mills

After not being stopped by anyone, Logan began wandering from the docking bay into the Spaceport proper. He needed medical attention, and quickly, he could tell that his shoulder was screwed up heavily, but without supplies or training, or an extendable neck, he couldn’t fix it himself.

He pressed his right elbow tighter against the messenger bag slung over his body, what few items he actually owned were in there and he wasn’t fond of getting robbed. As he entered the main area of the Spaceport, his vision swam, from a combination of the pain and blood loss, and he dropped to his knees, panting.

Logan Mills

It was like they materialized out of nowhere. Figures in blue uniforms had hands on him and were laying him on the deck. “Get a medical here asap.” one voice said. “Scanning for ID. Anyone know what ship he came off of?” said another. “Hasn’t cleared customs and checked in yet.” said one more. After that, it was a cacophony of sound until he’s scooped up and lifted off the floor on a stretcher. A face came into view, a Klingon of all things. “Easy. Don’t move. We are here to help.” The face looked away and someone said something. He looked back down and said “You aren’t in trouble, but the CCDA is going to question you after you are treated. Please… don’t try to sneak off. It would not go well for you.” and suddenly the face was gone and he was in a turbolift.

CCDA

Had he been in any state to fight, Logan would’ve freaked at the sight of the Klingon, but he was too weak and tired to fight. He immediately began trying, between the blood-loss haze and the activity around him, to formulate some sort of plan he could enact without anyone catching on. As soon as his family’s history was discovered, he was fairly certain he’d be detained. He figured that maybe he could use the fact that his ship was empty as leverage that he’s associated with them in name only, and had given up his smuggler ways, whether true or not.

Logan Mills

Over the next few hours, the young man was tended to medically. In addition to the wound he had received, it had gotten infected. The medical staff, a mix of Star Fleet and civilian personnel, healed the wound and flooded him with antibiotics that neutralized the infection. They were courteous, professional… and kept their interactions with him to a minimum. It was also not lost on him that there was always some figure in a blue uniform present.

Once the wound was repaired, a pair of the blue-clad figures- whom he would now be able to identify as agents of the Colonial Customs and Defense Agency- came in handed him clean clothes in a shade of red that indicated one thing: prisoner. “Get dressed.” was the only thing they said, and then they waited, watching.

CCDA

Logan sighed. Of course this would happen. He got dressed quickly, not wanting to draw the ire of the CCDA. “I thought I was going to get a chance to talk about this. Don’t I have, like, some right to defend myself?!” Logan had no idea what he was going to do to convince anyone he wasn’t a criminal, but apparently he couldn’t cross that bridge now.

Logan Mills

Once he was dressed, the restraints were placed on his wrists and ankles. He was duck-walked out of the room, down the hall, and into a lift. The guards didn’t say a word, didn’t look at him… but the grip they kept on him was inflexible.

The doors opened and they were in a garage. Ground cars and sliders were parked all around. At some point, he had apparently been moved planet-side. In front of them was a transport slider; obviously modified to transport prisoners. As they walked to the back of the van, everything went black… a hood had been placed on his head.

There was the sound of a door opening, he was raises off the ground and more hands grabbed him and then he was sat on something. The door closed… but they didn’t move.

“Hello!” a male voice said. “Nice to meet you. So… you have yourself in a bit of a pickle, then. Thats unfortunate. But! Maybe there is a way to… let’s say ‘improve your station’, shall we? Would you be interested in that? Or want to take your chances with the court?”

Unknown Voice

Logan sighed again, “well taking my chances with the court I already know won’t end well. So I’m interested. What is it you’re offering?” He still had no idea what was going on, but at this point he’d work as a personal accountant to a Ferengi if it meant avoiding the Federation courts.

Logan Mills

The voice said “Are you sure you wanna know? Because I will be honest… you are for all intents and purposes still a kid. They would probably go easy on you. Say… ten years penal time, three to five hard labor, then a prohibition against working on, owning, operating, or being party to any interest in a star ship. Any star ship. So you’d be stuck on one planet for, oh… the rest of your life. And a convicted felon, of course. But… if I tell you about this here offer? Well, that changes things quite a bit. Because if I tell you, and you decide to say no… or you agree and then try to run, well… then that ship of yours will be found to have thirty kilograms of uncut Spice on board. And a few crates of Type Three Disruptor pistols- very very illegal, by the way- stashed in a secret compartment. And then-” and there was a low whistle, “- well… that’s mandatory life hard labor… probably on a penal colony somewhere near the Klingon border. So are you sure you wanna know?”

Unknown Voice

Logan bit back a growl. They were going to mess with his ship. “I definitely want to know now. You are really challenging a smuggler by threatening to plant stuff on their ship. Either you’re very daring, or you’ve done this before.” Logan had heard the tactic before, but those times he wasn’t restrained and in an unknown location.

Logan Mills

“Oh no… not your ship.”the voice said “My ship. You see, thats part of the offer. You will work for me. I will tell you what jobs to take, what extras you are allowed, where to go and when to be back. You will do exactly what I say. Without question. Without hesitation. When I say ‘Jump.’, you just keep going up till I say stop. You will have no friends other than the ones I give you. You will live where I say live. You will eat where I say eat. You will wear what I give you to wear and you will do it all with a smile and a heart filled with gratitude. Do it right, the leash gets longer. Do it wrong, and I use the leash to hang you. Pretty simple. And the more you do for me, the more I will let you do for yourself… as long as that agenda does not interfere with mine.” There was a pause and then a snap of fingers. “Oh, right… one other condition. Sorry, but I’m gonna have to kill you today.”

Unknown Voice

Ah there was the catch, and what was this about killing him? “I hope you mean that last part figuratively.” As he thought, this person wasn’t afraid, which actually made him afraid of them. “And when do I start?” While the offer sounded a bit like slavery, it was still better than the alternatives, so it was his best shot for now.

And if it made it easier to ignore his family’s reputation, that might just be a bonus in his favor, since this sounded, too, like it might be much more lucrative than a normal smuggler contract.

Logan Mills

“You just did.” and there was a sharp stabbing pain in his neck and chest. The last sensation he felt was his heart pounding in his chest… and then slowing… slowing… and then black became much, much deeper.

Sunlight. Bright and warm. Really bright and warm. Logan came to in a chaise lounge on a balcony. The view was pretty impressive. A large park and the city beyond it. He was no longer dressed in prisoner red, but rather tailored slacks and a tasteful button-down shirt in pale blue. Expensive Risean leather shoes were on his feet. On the table by his left hand was a PaDD, and the message icon was flashing.

Two messages. The first was a shirt blurb from o e of rhe local screamsheets: Fugitive Fleeing Justice Succumbs To Injuries was the headline. It was a brief story of one Logan Mills who had escaped a smuggling conviction only to be injured by Federation Marshals in his escape. He had somehow made it to Oed space where he was rescued from a crippled freighter; but unfortunately succumbed to his injuries before being able to face the charges.

The second message was an announcement in one of the social media and business channels from two weeks ago. The long-time owner of Devalin Shipping had been killed in a tragic accident at a resort on Risa. His son, nineteen year old Scott Devalin, was named the new Director. It went on to say that Devalun Shipping was a small but highly reputable shipping company with eight vessels in its operating fleet. Scott, a kind of prodigy when it came to star ship operations, had been attending the Horsham Merchant House Academy studying logistics and business when his father had been lost tragically. Scott has now left the Academy and stands ready to take on the role his father had prepared him for since his birth.

As he read, he heard a chime. It was coming from behind him. Behind him being a well furnished and quite spacious apartment.

Not Santa Claus

Logan raised an eyebrow at the chime behind him, before getting up and heading inside. He was still very confused on what, exactly, was going on, but figured that hopefully he’d figure it out. Why was it saying he was dead was his first question. He vaguely remembered the…craziness of, was it last night? How long had he been out for.

The chime rang again. “Yeah, yeah come in come in!” he called out, before placing the PaDD down on the nearest table inside the apartment. He had to take a minute to take the whole place in. He’d never been in a place like this for longer than a few minutes in the past, when dropping off goods. Most of the time he felt out of place, like he did now.

His idea of a good spot was a not-quite-shady motel or unallied Station where he could get something less pre-packaged. So this, this was a major culture shock. And who was that weird voice from before, and why what on Earth…or, well Oed…did he just get himself into.

Logan Mills

The door opened at his command and a middle-aged woman entered. She was Bajoran, and she carried a rather expensive looking briefcase and a large PaDD. “Mr. Devalin, I simply cannot conduct business in this fashion. Two weeks. Two weeks I have called and called and your assistant just keeps blowing me off. I tell you, sir; had your father’s will not expressly stated that you were the new director of the company, I would assume I was the victim of some elaborate ruse. Now please, sir; can we finalize the change in ownership from your father’s estate to you?” and she set down the briefcase and handed him the PaDD. “Initial where indicated, and scan your handprint and iris at the bottom.”

Lawyers, AmIRight?

Logan briefly opened his mouth intending to argue that she had the wrong man. Then it all clicked in his head. Whoever the unknown man was, he was behind this. Somehow. “Yeah, sure.” He said, initialing everywhere it indicated, slowly, because he had to remind himself to not put his old initials, before scanning handprint and iris where it indicated to.

He handed the PaDD back to her. “I do apologize for my assistant. I’ll make sure they relay the message next time. If there is a next time.”

Logan Mills

She smirked-smiled at him and said “Indeed.” She reviewed the documents and then said “Finally. Thank you, Mr. Devalin. As of this moment, you are the owner and operator of Devalin Shipping. I am sorry for your loss.” and she turned and walked right out the door.

And then the comms chirped.

There was a very high-end wrist comm sitting on the glass coffee table in front of the sofa. And it chirped again.

Unknown Caller

Logan groaned, before grabbing the wrist comm and putting it on, and then answering it. “Hello?” He tried not to allow the annoyance at the constant chiming show through his voice but he was pretty sure he was failing at it.

Logan Mills

The voice… it was the same voice from before. “Hello! Welcome back to the land of living. I do hope you try to do more with this incarnation than you did with the last. I see you are now a small business owner. Congrats.”

The Voice Of Dooooooom… Maybe

“Who–or what, I guess–are you?” Logan asked, and paused a moment before continuing, “and I don’t know how you did any of this…but I think I’m impressed. And you mean you are a small business owner. I pretty much belong to you now, as you so graciously explained back in the room of death.”

Logan slowly explored the apartment as he spoke, trying to get a feeling for everything and shake the feeling of being out of place.

Logan Mills