Posted by Jonathon DeLaney (Engineer) in Contracts and Contacts

Posted by Jonathon DeLaney (Engineer) in Contracts and Contacts
John turned on his heel, grumbling to himself as he left the bridge. “They need me, and I need them… for now,” he muttered under his breath. “But right now, we all need this ship in peak condition.” He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “My ship, not that I’d tell them that.”

As he made his way down the corridor, his thoughts drifted to the contact he planned on seeing. The last time they had parted ways, it hadn’t been on the best of terms. There had been a disagreement, words exchanged that couldn’t be taken back. John hoped enough time had passed to calm those waters. He knew he had to tread carefully, but the parts were essential. Without them, keeping the ship running smoothly would be nearly impossible.

He reached the engineering bay and ran his fingers over the familiar controls, his mind already shifting gears to the task at hand. They needed him to make sure everything worked, and right now, that meant swallowing his pride and reaching out to an old contact. “Here we go,” he muttered, steeling himself for the meeting. “Let’s hope old grudges have faded.”

To be continued…

John
The Chief
USS Ark Angel

John was last to leave the ship behind the rest of the crew, his usual grease-stained yellow jumpsuit snug against his frame, a well-worn satchel slung over his shoulder. The bag was heavy with odds and ends he’d collected from their last mission—components, tools, and trinkets that might fetch a decent price or be useful for bartering. Among the items, John had carefully packed a small stash of Romulan ale, an illegal but highly sought-after alcoholic drink in the galaxy. He knew that getting his hands on a steady supply of the stuff could open doors or smooth over rough negotiations when it came to acquiring the parts he needed to keep the Albatross and himself in working order.

Stepping onto the transporter pad, he gave the command and within seconds, the familiar tingling sensation washed over him, and the world around him dissolved into a cascade of shimmering light.

When the light faded, he found himself standing in a narrow, dimly lit alleyway that could only be described as a backstreet. The kind of place where refuse bins were haphazardly lined against the walls, and the air carried a damp, musty smell that clung to your clothes. This was the part of the settlement where no one really wanted to go—a forgotten corner where deals were struck in the shadows, and where questions were best left unasked.

John’s boots echoed softly on the wet pavement as he took in his surroundings. The alley was deserted for now, but that wouldn’t last. He knew his contact wouldn’t be too far away—these types always had a way of knowing when someone new showed up on their turf.

He adjusted the satchel once more, feeling the weight of the Romulan ale inside. It was a small comfort in an otherwise unsettling situation, but John was used to walking into places like this. He had business to take care of, and the quicker he got what he needed, the quicker he could get back to his real work—keeping the Albatross running like the patchwork miracle it was.

With a final glance around the alley, John stepped forward, his thoughts focused on the deal ahead, his ears tuned for the first sound of approaching footsteps.

John
The Chief
USS Ark Angel

It was quiet for several foot steps and then the way in front of him was blocked by a lone figure. “I didn’t think you were dumb enough to come back here John. Tsk tsk.” A woman with a very familiar voice said as she stepped into the light. She looked past him, “Bring him. If he resists,” she shrugged, “just don’t kill him… yet.” Two large figures grabbed him by either arm, having appeared quietly behind him. “Come along, John.”

Vashkilu, Infiltrator