|
"Boomer Bust" by Lady Rainbow
Rating: PG-13 BTW, my French is decent, but I'm not fluent like Hoshi or Malcolm, so please don't shoot me if my grammar's wrong. R/S implied. As usual: Comments and Reviews wanted and appreciated! Thanks! ;) Four Travis sat on his bunk, trying to read the ghost stories on his PADD, but the laughter and raucous voices distracted him. He glanced up at the table and didn't bother to hide his smile. Malcolm had just taken Philippe's rook, and checkmated Philippe. He let fly a whole set of curses in French, his hands animated as he shouted his displeasure. Malcolm only smirked. “Touché, mon ami. Pardon, Monsieur.” Philippe's voice was sarcastic. “D'accord, Monsieur. Je vous dois combien?” Malcolm made a show of checking his PADD. “Vingt-cinq credits cinquante.” "L'année prochaine,” Philippe replied sourly. "Huh?” Travis asked. “Anglais, s'il vous plait. Can I have a translation, please? I'm not Hoshi.” Malcolm laughed. "Elle est plus jolie que lui." Philippe scowled as he turned to Travis. “I asked him how much I owed him and he told me twenty-five credits and fifty. I told him he could expect it next year--.” Travis turned his mock expression of disbelief to Malcolm. “For God's sake, man, don't mess with my honorary helmsman! He's liable to steer us into an asteroid and then where would we be?” Malcolm laughed and threw back his head. The gray streaks in his hair made him look like a mad scientist. “As your tactical and sensory specialist, I don't think I'd let that happen, eh?” Philippe wasn't finished. "And he said that Hoshi is prettier than you are." Travis rolled his eyes. "Okay, I'll admit that one." "Come on, Travis, he just insulted you!" "Philippe. You're talking about a man who plays with phase pistols and torpedoes for a living. Do you really want him to shoot you out of a torpedo launcher? Besides, Hoshi is prettier than me, and I'm not going to argue with said linguist's beau. All right?" "Good man. A ship's captain knows how to make a tactical retreat, eh, Travis?" Travis grinned at the private joke and went back to his PADD. I'm glad they get along so well. It's weird how Malcolm changes when he doesn't have to worry about the fraternization rules. I see it when he's around Hoshi; good to see that he considers Philippe like the kid brother he never had. That was a good way to describe it. When Malcolm had told him his French was “passable”, Travis fully expected that it was better than his own French by far. Of course, the modest Armory officer had played down his linguistic skills. There were advantages, Travis reflected, to having the Enterprise's comm officer as your girlfriend. The intercom chime rang next to Travis and he reached over casually to answer it. “Yeah?” “Do you gentlemen need anything?” came the harried voice of the shuttle steward. It had been a long night on the Bernette as they'd crawled from Risa towards their first stop, Auring Five. “You don't happen to have any more of those barbeque wings from the galley, Jerry?” Travis asked. “I've got a serious case of the munchies.” The steward chuckled, though he still sounded tired. “No problem, Captain Raymond. No offense, sir, but I'm glad you have less complicated tastes than your companions.” Travis grinned as he slipped into his “Captain Raymond” persona. “I guess barbeque wings and beer's more my style. I don't deal with the fancy stuff.” “Boomer, eh?” “Through and through, Jerry. No red wine and pomme frites for me, thank you.” “You sound like the only sensible one in that cabin, sir. I'll send those wings and throw in a complimentary pitcher of beer.” “Charge it to their account. I don't think they'll mind.” That earned him a loud guffaw from the steward, then Travis closed the connection. At least he'd been able to lighten someone's mood tonight. He glanced at the table to see both Philippe and Malcolm gazing at him. “What?” he asked with a shrug. “Pomme frites are what the Americans call 'French fries',” Malcolm said primly. “If that's what you call 'complicated tastes'--” Travis chuckled and shrugged again. “What can I say? I'm a simple man.” Phillipe grinned and threw himself on the bunk next to Travis. It was good to see the young man smiling again after the past few days. Even now, the baseball cap sat askew on Philippe's head, giving him a rakish look. He certainly didn't look like the heir to an economic empire. “You know, this kinda thing was one of my childhood fantasies.” “Your childhood fantasy was to share a cabin with me and Malcolm and argue whether 'pomme frites' counts as exotic cuisine?” Philippe grabbed a pillow and threw it at Travis, who caught it easily. “No. I wanted to experience what a normal Boomer pilot would. You know, going from place to place, not worrying about extra security or what the governor of the colony would think if you used the wrong fork at the reception.” Travis threw it back at Philippe. “Yeah, it has a certain appeal, but it isn't all excitement and danger. It's a long trip between ports, and either you're bored stiff or you're hoping your transport survives long enough to get to where you're going. Of course, that's why you end up thinking about ways to distract yourself.” “Uhm,” Malcolm murmured, and Travis blushed. In fact, Travis himself was a result of his parents' efforts to “distract” themselves on a long trip. It took a minute for Philippe to understand, and when he did, his face blushed even hotter than Travis. Travis decided to change the subject. “At the clothes are decent. Which, by the way, reminds me..“Who's your tailor on Risa, Malcolm?” Malcolm settled back in his chair with an easy sprawl. His cap was tilted at an angle and gave his features a piratical look. His open pilot's vest was of black leather, with various cargo ship patches sewn on it. His white shirt was tucked into black breeches, and a laser pistol was worn low on his right hip. All in all, Malcolm cut a dashing figure. Malcolm raised his eyebrows. “What's wrong with what I picked out?” “Nothing. I think it looks good. Just wondered if he could make me a get-up like yours.” Thanks to Malcolm's and Jon Archer's arrangements, the three of them had been transformed into three shuttle pilots, out on Risa for some days of drinking before catching the Bernette to new jobs at Alpha Centauri. He didn't question Malcolm's connections, but whoever they were, they knew how to do undercover missions. Not only did they provide authentic clothes, but they'd altered their appearances. Philippe now sported black hair and a goatee, while Malcolm had gray in his hair and Travis wore several diamond studs in his ears. Malcolm laughed. “I'll be sure to tell him when we get back. Though I daresay that a red shirt would suit your coloring better.” “Yeah, and gold thread on the vest,” Philippe piped up. “Magnifique.” “Mais oui.” Whatever Travis was about to say was interrupted by the door chime; he went over to pick up the order of barbeque wings and the pitcher of beer. Travis noticed that Malcolm had placed his hand lightly on his laser pistol the entire time, and he didn't relax until the steward had left. “It's safe,” Philippe said, as he scanned the food and drink without Malcolm's prompt. It gave Travis a distinctly uncomfortable feeling to see him slip into professional paranoia. Considering that his family 'forgot' to file his resignation, I don't blame him for jumping at shadows. They're nasty people. Philippe nodded at Malcolm, then turned back to Travis. “Mind sharing?” “As long as you don't mind that it isn't raw oysters and red wine, Philippe,” Travis joked. “Don't worry. I hate raw oysters anyway. Maman did too. She called it 'snot on a half shell'. Of course, never in Father's company.” Travis nearly spit out his beer and Malcolm roared and said, “'Snot on a half shell'? I don't think I've ever heard it referred to that way...though it fits. That sounds like something Trip would say.” “I think the Commander would've gotten along with my mother,” Philippe said, but didn't elaborate on it further as they dug into the food and beer. By the time they'd finished the entire platter, and most of the pitcher, Philippe was already snoring in his bunk, and Travis was drowsy in his. “G'night,” Travis mumbled as he switched off his bed lamp. “Good night, Travis. Sleep well.” Just before Travis drifted off, he thought he saw Malcolm pull out a silver charm on a chain around his neck and passed his thumb over its surface. Then Travis fell asleep. They arrived at Auring Five the next morning without incident. As they waited for another transport to take them on their next leg of the trip, Travis mingled with other transport captains and their crews. He overheard bits of information about the new trade routes. Many of the Boomers were banding together, informally, to protect each other. “Ah, young Captain,” said a Varlon. His large, gray-green eyes gave him a wistful look as he shook his head at Travis. They sat in the spaceport's bar, nursing a couple of ales. The Varlon's extra joints enabled him to hold his mug at an angle that was impossible for a Human. “I envy you, taking command of a new transport at Alpha Centauri. The optimism of youth. What's the name of it again?” “The Raven,” Travis answered. It was an inside joke between him and Malcolm. A few months before, he'd challenged the Armory officer to a tactical simulation. His “transport” had been named the Raven, and he took that as the name of his “new command”. “I'm not familiar with that name. Is it an RH-900?” “Nope, can't afford that. It's a good old-fashioned Class-J.” “ Well, if you ever need any assistance, look up the Kitarra and Captain Dhoaliu. I'll be pleased to share a cargo run with you on the new Centauri/Vega route.” Travis grinned and raised his mug; Captain Dhoaliu tapped it with his own to seal the deal. “I'll keep that in mind, sir.” As he was heading back to the waiting area, he found his way blocked by a massive figure. “You, Pilot,” a rough voice called. “You don't look like any cargo captain I know.” Travis looked up at speaker, a huge Tellarite, with a coarse porcine snout and shaggy brown hair. He wore a vest similar to Travis's: brown leather with red trim and a captain's patch on the shoulder. Despite the Tellarite's manner, his clothes fit him well, and there was a shrewd intelligence in his eyes. Travis narrowed his eyes. “What makes you say that?” “I've never seen you round here before, and I know all the cargo captains on the Centauri routes.” Travis crossed his arms and said, “I'm new on the Centauri run. I used to do the Draylax/Vega route, but I've got a new employer. So what's it to you?” “Draylax/Vega, eh? Then you'd probably know about the Sharyu Corridor, then?” Travis chuckled. “'In like a lamb, out like a lion'. Gotta go in slow, pick it up midway, then shoot out the other end at maximum warp. Then you gotta put on the brakes at the right time, or you'll be a crater in the Ghorsa satellite.” “Takes a good hand on the helm.” “Damn straight.” The Tellarite eyed him. “Can you do it?” Travis eyed him with a suspicious air. “My father said that I'm the best stick and rudder man he'd ever trained. I've done the Sharyu in my sleep.” “Really? Well, that's a start, young one,” the Tellarite said, his voice not quite sarcastic. “Would you like to show me?” “Tempting, but not interested right now. Going to Centauri to take command of my new ship.” “Ah, and I bet you're eager to be on your own bridge, but what if I told you this will be quite profitable for you, especially for a new captain with a new ship.” He leaned forward and whispered a price. Travis blinked, then blinked again. Travis's suspicions deepened. “Who're you working for? EdML? Christ, they're the only ones I know who can pay someone that much.” “I'm working for Guillem Montclaire, the counselor of EdML's board.” Travis nearly sputtered. “What?” The Tellarite misinterpreted his outburst. “Yes, I know EdML doesn't hire non-humans for their runs, but they've decided to broaden their horizons.” Travis groaned at the words, and the Tellarite smiled. “They're going to dominate this sector, and I'm going to get a piece of the profit. Perhaps we can strike some kind of deal...if you help me out this run, I can help you with some of the extra fees for your new ship at Alpha Centauri.” Travis pretended to mull it over, but inside he was shaking. “How would you do that?” “The increase in fees has hurt many of us--” “Obviously not you, if you work for EdML.” The Tellarite ignored his jibe. “The only way we can survive is to band together. How about a quarter of the profits to you, to use for your new ship.” Travis regarded him with a cold expression. “So I'd be indebted to EdML for my ship.” “Who said I'd tell EdML about our little arrangement? Guillem Montclaire will never be the master; Trieste's son will put him in his place, once he arrives with a Starfleet task force to do his bidding.” Travis choked again. “He's got a Starfleet task force? Where the hell did you hear that?” “ Trieste's son is on Enterprise, is he not? So he's going to bring it to make Montclaire step down,” the Tellarite said in a reasonable voice. “Trieste's son is none of our concern; we were negotiating for you, and your ship.” “Um...yeah...” “ Consider the payment a personal gift from me, Captain Sandosh Bhunra. As I said, we Boomers have to band together, and I can tell you'll be an excellent captain.” Captain Sandosh lowered his voice. “I'll be at Docking Port 44 until twelve-thirty, and I hope to see you there.” The Tellarite bowed with a flourish and made his way through the crowd. “Mierde,” Travis cursed, one the few French words he actually knew. What the hell am I gonna tell Philippe? Sometimes the rumors on the Boomer Grapevine was even wilder than the Enterprise's, and suddenly, it made their mission even more complicated. |
Like it? Hate it? Just want to point out a typo? Join the discussion now.
Disclaimer: Star Trek in all its various forms and its characters are the property of CBS/Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended by the authors of this site, which is solely for the purpose of entertainment and is not for profit. This site is owned by CX and was opened to the public in February 2008.