Aut Venator Aut Venatus: Chapter 01: A Captain’s Burden
(WARNING: CONTAINS A GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF A DEATH SCENE)
Meg Wind-People practically hopped to her ninety day probation meeting with the captain. She was excited to say the least. All this new sublime experience of being ‘fresh meat’ on board a merchant carrier was so much more than she had ever hoped for. The ninety days of probation was up and today she would either be hired as full time crew or dropped off at her home port. Either way it was yet another sublime experience.
Meg had chosen a skeleton that made her 1.67 meters (5’6”) tall. She formed herself into a suitably proportioned female human, albeit with pointed ears like the Collective’s Vulcan caretaker, Jarkael. She chose grayish-blue focusing lens eyeballs and dirty blond hair for a wig implant to top off her look. She was, as is with all Wind People fungal colonies, green.
Ever since Ansha Wind-People and Evoch Khaiell Rhadai, two of the “Three Walkers Who First Rode the Star Winds” had come back to the Wind People Collective on Risa and shared tales of far off lands, new people, exotic smells, strange events, and adventures abounding, she had dreamed of one day becoming a walker herself and riding the Star Winds.
Their last visit had brought an ominous reminder of the dangers lurking and the caution that must be taken when deciding where to go and who to go off with. The example given was the walker that chose the name Dhalar, one of the seven walkers who went with representatives of the Romulan Star Empire, only to be used as a suicide commando without her knowledge or consent. Evoch had no choice but to kill her without being able to save Dhalar’s spores. Reaching the final sublime experience was not something Meg wanted.
The Collective’s Vulcan caretaker, Jarkael, had made arrangements for Wind People colonies to venture forth under the guidance of trustworthy individuals. Merchant Captain Peter Bulloch was one such individual. He was an honest and fair captain, once a Starfleet officer, but now an independent merchant who treated his crew as though they were family. Now Meg was to meet with the kindly Captain, and find out where the wind will take her next.
The SS Ontagwa Sun plied its route between mining colonies and space stations. The routes were the same unless the area in question was in the midst of conflict. Captain Bulloch was not a coward by any means having served valiantly in battle. His crew however were not warriors and his ship was not a warship. He knew this and it would be better to keep their trips boring and uneventful than to risk the lives of his merchant marine crew.
Meg arrived to find the door to the captain’s office open. Inside, the Captain sat at his desk and the First Officer, a Tellerite named Gibick, stood behind and to the side.
“Wind-People,” he said upon seeing her at the door. “You’re early.”
“Kinda of refreshing change,” Gibick said. “Most fresh meat take their sweet time coming.”
“Oh,” Meg replied. “I’m sorry, is it too soon? I can wait or come back if you are not ready, Captain Bulloch.”
“Nah, Wind-People, come on in,” he said with a slight smile. “We can just start early and get this over with.” He motioned to a chair in front of his desk and said “Have a seat.”
She plopped into the chair obviously excited for this meeting, a meeting that most newcomers dread, to begin. Gibick chuckled at this, eliciting a look from the Captain.
“You seem to be excited to be here, Wind-People,” the Captain said.
“Oh, yes captain. I am,” she replied.
“Why?” asked Gibick
“Because I get to find out if… if I can stay here and do all these things I do!” she replied with an eager head nod.
“Gibick,” Captain Bulloch replied, turning to look at the Tellerite, “Can’t fault her for having enthusiasm.”
“Yes sir, but you haven’t even told her if we are taking her on,” Gibick replied. He then focused his attention on Meg. “So, Wind-People, you still gonna be so happy if we let ya go?”
“Yes,” she replied, brightly, “because, I get to experience… rejection, then it’s on to the next adventure.”
“Well, alright then,” Gibick replied. “Gotta love an optimist.”
“Well, Wind-People, let’s cut to the chase,” Captain Bulloch said with a chuckle, “that is unless you are enjoying the anticipation?”
“Oh, I am, Captain, but I know you are busy, so don’t hold up for my benefit.” She smiled.
“Well, in that case, your work is exemplary. You have really done an amazing job keeping this ship spotless. The floors are swept. The birthing doesn’t smell like his feet,” the Captain said pointing to Gibick over his shoulder with a snicker.
“What? I have bromhidrosis,” the Tellerite replied.
“…and I can’t remember ever having cleaner toilets. I mean seriously. Chili night is usually a plumbing disaster for the next couple of days and next thing you know, there you are like a whirlwind. I am truly impressed with your zest for… cleaning.”
She beamed. “Thank you Captain, and thank you for allowing me to experience that joy of cleaning. This has truly been a sublime experience.”
“Well, a… sublime experience,” the Captain replied. “Then, I think maybe we oughta let you continue experiencing that sublime experience. Welcome to the crew of the SS Ontagwa Sun, Wind-People.” With that the Captain reached his hand out to Meg.
She popped up out of the chair, hopping with excitement a few times, then, remembering her manners, took his hand and shook it.
“OH! THANK YOU SIR! Thank you so much,” she said excitedly. “This is great, according to what I’ve been told. I was actually told that rejection is not good though at some point I do want to experience it, but this is good! This is better.”
“Yes, Wind-People, this is good,” Captain Bulloch retrieved his hand from the excited fungus who was almost shaking it off his arm. “Now, if you’d like, we can start training you for other more important jobs onboard the ship. We do have an opening for a loader, if you are interested in doing something less menial that doesn’t include grease, grime, and people who miss the bowl.”
“Well, I am up for trying it. It would be a new experience, but… who’s going to clean? Cleaning is important. I will continue doing that if you need me to. I don’t mind.”
“Uhm…” The Captain stared at Meg not sure what to say. He looked to Gibick who could only offer a shrug. He turned back to Meg. “Well, if uhm… if you would prefer to clean, then by all means. We have certainly enjoyed having a clean ship for once, just that most new crew like to move up in their positions. Janitors… while important, aren’t seen as high station, upwardly mobile, career boosting, jobs.”
“Oh,” she replied, looking somewhat despondent. “Is it not normal behavior to enjoy cleaning?”
“Well… yeah…sorta… kinda… it’s unusual,” he stammered. “… but, Meg, you do what you do best. If that’s the job you want, then that’s the job you’ll do. Somebody’s gotta do it, and quite frankly we’ve never had anyone as good at it as you are at cleaning. No job on a ship like this should be considered lowly, anyway.”
“Okay,” she said. “In my Introduction to Galactic Citizenship class, I was warned not to be too weird, so, if I am too weird please let me know.”
“You’re fine, Meg,” Captain Bulloch said, stifling a chuckle. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a cap and jacket with the ship’s insignia on it, then handed them to Meg. Her eyes opened wide and a smile developed on her face. The name “Wind-People” was emblazoned on both the back of the cap and on the jacket’s chest pocket.
“There you are, Wind-People. Now it’s official,” the Captain said, smiling at the childlike innocence he was witnessing.
She put on the cap and checked the fit with her hands.
“Oh, it fits.” she exclaimed. “I was worried that if I received one of these hats I might have to get a new skull if it didn’t fit.”
“A new what?” Gibick asked to clarify he heard what he heard.
“A new skull,” she replied matter of factly.
Captain Bulloch leaned back to Gibick and said, “they don’t have skeletons, so they have one made for them and they sort of wrap around it. Didn’t you read that briefing, Gibick?”
“No,” Gibick replied, “I had to balance the cargo hold. Damn near took me 46 hours.”
The Captain then turned to Meg and said, “Well, on that, I guess that is all I have. Do you have any questions, Wind-People?”
“No, sir. I really should get going. Chief Engineer Anderson asked me to flush and clean Starboard Tank Five.”
“Uh, that’s a nasty job,” Gibick commented. “I remember that trauma when I was a fresh fish.”
“Yeah, and it can be dangerous too with all those chemicals. Please be careful doing that,” the Captain replied.
“Oh, I will, Captain. I always wear an EVA suit just in case. Chief Anderson’s orders. I’ve done it twice already, and I haven’t had a problem yet.”
“Alright, well, we won’t keep you,” Captain Bulloch said. “Go on, get back to work, Wind-People.”
She gave a slight bow then practically skipped out of the room. Captain Peter Bulloch turned to his first officer and said, “I wish everyone had her enthusiasm. Hell’s bells, I wish I had her enthusiasm.”
“That would really get annoying, Peter,” Gibick replied.
“I suppose it would, still, I think we should look into recruiting some more crew from the Wind-People Collective on Risa. I mean if they are all like that. Can you imagine? A crew so excited to scrub floors, clean up waste spills, or do inventory?”
“Or resolve monthly invoices with the manifests,” Gibick added. The smile left Captain Bulloch’s face.
“You would have to ruin the moment, Gibick.”
“It’s what I do best, Peter,” Gibick said. “It’s almost the end of the month and you’ve been putting it off again.”
“I know, I know,” Peter replied, rolling his eyes.
“I will leave you to it and I will go check on the pri-nav repairs.”
Captain Bulloch sighed. “Fine. Leave me to my misery,” he thought for a moment, “Hmm I wonder if Meg would be as enthusiastic doing this shit?”
“She’d probably look at it as a truly sublime experience. Unfortunately, Peter, it requires the captain’s oversight.”
“Wet blanket,” Peter muttered. “It was kinda your idea just now, you know.”
Gibick smiled then marched out the door. Peter closed it behind him and turned to his console to finish up the paperwork.
–
The ship hummed into the void of space, traveling at warp factor 3 in order to conserve power. All was quiet. Everything was routine. It was the peaceful albeit boring existence that Peter Bulloch desired out of his life now. Watching his crew meet their demise at the hand of an enemy that has since become an ally was not something he desired to relive.
Having finished the documentation approvals, he had enjoyed a celebratory low ball of scotch, made a victory lap around the bridge checking to make sure courses were still true, and to see if the watch officer had any final concerns. Seeing all was good it was off to bed.
The buzzing of an incoming message roused him from his slumber. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, turned on the overhead light, adjusted to the momentary blindness, and then answered the call.
“Bulloch here,” he said, in a very groggy manner. A distressed female voice answered. It was Trish Anderson, Chief Engineer.
“Captain, this Anderson, I need you to come down to Starboard Five, immediately.”
“Huh?” he asked, still trying to adjust to the rude awakening. “What the Hell’s going on, Trish?”
“Just… just come down here, Peter. Please. You need to come down here.”
“This better not be a joke, Trish.”
There was a pause, an audible breath, then an answer. “Captain, this not a joke. Now please, put some pants on and get down here.”
“Alright, Trish. I’m on my way.”
Peter rolled bare legs out of his rack and with a slap of skin on the panel his bare feet met the cold deck. He stood up and stretched then grabbed his jumpsuit.
Having made his way through cargo bay 3 to the Starboard Tank Five, he could see his security officer, a Bolian named Quatta waiting by the open hatch. The Bolian was unusually grim with his greeting to the Captain.
“Quatta,” Peter said, addressing the officer. “What’s this all about?”
“Wind-People,” the Bolian replied. He looked paler than his normal variegated blue shade.
“What?” Peter asked. His concern rose drastically. “Is she sick or did she get stuck or something?”
“Just follow me, Captain.”
Sickening apprehension gripped Peter as he followed. It had been three years since the Ontagwa Sun had experienced a serious crew-related accident, and now from everyone’s disposition so far, it looks like there has been one now. He hoped this was some kind of joke, but this was not something that his security officer, Quatta, whose humor was simple and usually pun related, would joke about. Add to that the new crew-member; someone freshly anointed with the status of crew-member who is of a newly discovered species that, having been unceremoniously vaulted into the warp age in a tragic violation of the Prime Directive spurred on by an act of corporate greed and is being cautiously integrated into the wider galactic society with preferably non-life-threatening jobs, was involved.
When the two finally arrived on the control catwalk above the voluminous holding tank, Quatta stepped aside from his lead position to allow the horror to come into view. First there was Trish Anderson, who had obviously been crying turned facing Peter. Next, there was Dr. O’Tar, a Rigellian medical officer, who was still kneeling, and then there was the remains of a destroyed, armored, EVA suit, and then there was the body, or what was left of the body amongst the remaining parts of the suit.
A stripped, duranium skull topped loosely with a pile of brownish blonde synthetic hair, with two, loose, artificial eyes, and slack jawed, stared up to the ceiling. Most of the remaining green tissue was now brown and gray in color, with a dark green ooze dripping from the catwalk into the unpurged sludge of the tank below. The ribcage-like frame on the chest was fully exposed from the front, with the body’s sides still intact, albeit with wide ventral slashes. All the way down to the feet the armored suit had been violently removed, and the front layer of flesh melted away.
In the armor, the shredded and melted remains of a crew member’s jacket was visible with the name tag partially destroyed. It read “Wind-Pe”
Peter looked at this. He wanted to close his eyes but he couldn’t. He wanted to run but he was frozen. This is a sight he wished never to see again.
“What happened?” he asked, finally forcing himself out of the dissociative state he had fallen into.
“We’re not sure,” O’Tar said.
“Trish?” Peter inquired looking at Chief Anderson.
“I don’t know, Peter.” she said between sobs. “I just don’t know.”
“Explosive decompression?” Peter guessed.
“The suit was… brand new,” Trish sobbed. “Made for… made for her. It passed pre-checks. It was… a new suit. It should’ve… should’ve protected her.”
“Captain, we can’t rule out foul play,” Quatta said.
“Who… who would do this to… her?” Trish asked Quatta in disbelief. “Everyone… EVERYONE loved her! No one would hurt her… she was so sweet… Who would want to… ”
“Armored suits don’t just fall apart, Anderson,” Quatta interrupted, gruffly displaying his frustration with the weeping engineer that was no help, which immediately earned a stern look from the Captain.
“Alright, enough,” Peter said. “Look, I need answers. What was stored in this tank last?”
“This tank held the usual mining sludge, you know what we picked up from that stop at Adjaellia Prime,“ O’Tar replied “Some suspended heavy metals, a pH of 14.6, and some liquids they couldn’t run through their waste salvager, but nothing that would do this to tissue or even an armored suit. Not even radioactive beyond acceptable limits for most species. It’s toxic and mildly corrosive, yes, but not THIS corrosive, not even to fungi.”
Peter finally summoned the intestinal fortitude to move forward and kneel by Meg Wind-People’s remains. He sighed, buried his emotions, and put on his Captain’s duty face, then carefully examined the body. He looked at the exposed skeleton.
“Her metal skeleton isn’t melted… just her flesh,” O’Tar pointed out.
Peter nodded, then picked up a loose piece of the suit and examined it. He knew what stress fractures looked like and this wasn’t it. He knew what explosive damage should look like, probably better than those surrounding him, and this was not that either. To him the metal looked as though it had been shredded like a cat’s claw on a stick of room temperature butter. He stood up quickly.
“Quatta,” he said, still looking at the scrap in his hands, “Assemble the Ship’s Defense Force and open the armory. I want them armed to the teeth. You know what? Screw it, ANYONE with weapons quals is to be armed.”
“Yes sir,” Quatta replied with a curious look on his face.
“And, Quatta, I want scans of the entire ship. Every nook and cranny! Check all the sensors, cameras, logs, everything. I want to know who and what came in and out of every passageway, and the cargo bay doors… and what came in and out of this tank,” Peter barked.
“Yes sir,” Quatta again replied. “You mind sharing what you are thinking so I can see if you are thinking what I’m thinking?”
“We have a stowaway,” Peter replied, handing the armor piece to Quatta, who looked at it, then to Peter and nodded.
“Yep, that’s what I was afraid you were thinking,” Quatta replied
“What kind of creature could do this?” O’Tar asked.
“I don’t know exactly, Doc, but I sure as hell wouldn’t want to meet it without superior firepower.”
He pulled out a communicator and hailed the bridge. “Bridge, this is Bulloch.”
“Bridge here,” the voice of Gibick responded. “Is Wind-People alright?”
“No.” Peter said with a pause. “She’s dead, Gib. Listen carefully, bring the ship to condition Yellow. I want dog zebra on every hatch, and no one, I repeat, NO ONE walks around or does anything alone. I don’t care if they are going to the bathroom. They go with a partner. Got it?”
“Aye aye, Captain. What the hell happened to her? What’s going on?”
“We have a xeno hitchhiker,” Peter said, “Bad one. It killed Meg. Tore right through her suit.”
“Shitballs. I was beginning to like her,” Gibick replied. “Want me to make for the nearest starbase?”
“Yeah, what’s closest?”
“Deep Space Thirteen is within 40 Limas”
“Alright, let’s not drop in uninvited with a rider. Contact them first,” Peter ordered. “Find out what they want us to do.”
“What do you want me to tell ‘em, Peter?”
“Tell them we have an unidentified stowaway, potentially very dangerous, and we are voluntarily quarantined and in need of Starfleet assistance. Tell them we…” Peter paused for a moment and looked at the body that was once a vibrant, happy soul, and then continued. “We have one dead already. Tell them that. See what they want us to do. I’ll be up shortly.”
“Yes, Peter,” Gibick responded on the other end, with obvious dismay.
“Captain out.” Peter said, closing his communicator and forcing it back into the pocket of his coveralls. Looked up to the others. “Please… bag Meg… the remains. I’ll uh… I’ll notify the next of kin.” He began to move to the ladder up to the hatch and stopped. “Oh, her will stated we are to collect any spores that apparently are produced when they die and return them to Risa. Please find them.”
“I looked, Captain,” O’Tar replied. “I could find none.”
“What? Are you sure, Doc?” Peter replied in disbelief.
“I scanned with the parameters that Counselor Jarkael had sent, and nothing. Not even in her dorsal ballistospore fins.”
“And you know what they should look like?” Quatta asked. “Aren’t they microscopic?”
“They are very tiny, but not microscopic,” O’Tar replied. “In fact, this whole area surrounding the body would be covered in a fine black dust that is the ballistosporic ejaculation, but it’s not. It’s as if it was cleaned or they were sucked up as they came out.”
“They didn’t get washed into the tank did they?” Peter asked.
“No,” Trish replied softly. “She hadn’t even gotten to the full flush yet. We don’t do that with someone in the tank. There’s an interlock… on the hatch, and the hatch was open when I… when I came looking for her.”
“Okay, then… just uh… let’s get her body to medical…” Peter paused then continued, “With the suit please. It’s evidence.”
“Aye aye, captain,” O’Tar and Quatta both replied.
Peter silently departed for the ladder then climbed upward out of the tank. Once at the top there was a shelf-like lip just underneath the hatch, and there, tucked away for safekeeping was a ship’s cap with the name Wind-People on the back.
Peter stopped with his left hand holding the last rung out, and then closed his eyes for a moment and bowed his head with a shake. He opened his eyes and with his right hand took the hat, tucking into the open top of his coveralls on the left side of his chest. He then finished the climb out of the tank.