by Scribe & Dolarabee
NX-01 Enterprise
Mid to late 2155
Evening on the Good Ship Lollipop with fucking Fleeters walking around with joy, joy smiles plastered on their fucking faces and his Holiness, the Hallowed Hayes, treating this duty like it was a sacred charge instead of the indignity it was. Fucking country cousins who had to stay with their big-city kin, that's what the MACOs were reduced to. Not soldiers, not Sharks but casts off from an obliterated planet and dead planetary defence body. Tom Merrick hated it, and he hated being on the NX01 even more.
Times like this, he missed that stupid corporal Tom had saved from himself. The kid was his friend, and bloody well knew how to drink and chase tail like any seasoned veteran butTom hated it that someone like Derick Rickman, didn't quite have the polish to make Hayes' dream team. Sitting in the silence of the NX01's observation gallery, in a sweet spot allowing for a panoramic view of the space outside, Tom nursed his misery with a bottle of Scotch won at last night's poker match and was grateful that at this hour of the night, he had the place to himself.
"Got enough to share?" Sloane had approached silently, an ability borne out of training and a bad habit around Marines she had yet to learn to curb. The man was out of uniform, warming up a bench facing the black of space and his annoyance was coming off of him in waves. His bone? Sloane didn't know, but she could relate to the mood nonetheless. It suited her own and attracted her... the promise of hard liquor even more.
Tom looked up at the new arrival and noted that it was one of the Earth force types that had been absorbed by the MACOs after Earth was destroyed. Glancing in her direction, not at all repentant that he was somewhat out of uniform, wearing a white singlet with his fatigues instead of customary MACO grey, Tom tried to place her. McCray or something? She wasn't a bad looking sort, pretty damn sexy if you like your women being able to kick the shit of you before they let you fuck them silly, so Tom supposed he could spare a swig or two from his bottle. "Help yourself," he handed the bottle to her.
"Cheers." A nod as she accepted the bottle, she barely glanced at the label before she brought it to her lips. The alcohol tickled her nostrils even before she felt the slow burn of the Scotch drawing a path down her throat. Strong. Unforgiven. Her eyes watered a little and she smiled. "Thanks." She so needed that. Bloody dumb fuck Hayes. Sighing, she glanced down to the seat next to... who was he anyway? "Mind if I sit..." Her eyes automatically went to his breast and then shoulder, but without his MACO vest, she couldn't figure out neither his rank nor name. Oh, she had seen him around, throwing attitude and broody comments, but hadn't had the opportunity to meet him. Until now.
She had been to the gym if her clothing was any indication and Tom had to admire, she was a good looking bird that he was unashamed to admire appreciatively. He wondered if she was up for a tumble and then remembered Hayes' prissy voice reminding him about fraternisation. Right fuck knuckle, 6000 of us left and only Hallowed by thy Hayes would tell you, we have to keep it in our pants. "Go right ahead... Captain, isn't it?"
"Yeah," she replied, some bitterness in her voice, though not directed at him. "Sloane McRae. And you... lieutenant?" She took a guess, based on age and his rough look. Normally she would have gone for NCO, but somehow that didn't fit the bill either.
"Merrick," Tom retorted, still not quite used to the fact that he was a fucking officer. he had managed most of his career escaping that, he could have done without the Earth blowing up to finally get pinned down. "And lieutenants about right, unfortunately." He said with a self depreciating smirk. "So what are you doing wandering the halls at this hour, Luv."
Luv? Sloane immediately picked up on the word, and the remnant of a British accent, and smiled again as she sat down. "Can't sleep." She looked him up before looking out to space. "What do you mean by 'unfortunately'? If you don't mind me asking..."
"Spent me entire career managing to avoid officer country," Tom sighed, just on the side of drunk enough to give a fuck who he told how he felt about his 'commission'. "I was a bloody good Gunny Sgt until some Fleeter decided that I needed a promotion."
Oh, so NCO had been right. "So my demotion for your promotion, eh?" Sloane shook her head at how Starfleet and MACOs operated. She took another swig and handed the bottle back. "I won't congratulate you then." Nope. He really didn't look happy about all of this.
"Cheers," he said, taking the bottle back and taking a swig. "Luv if it were that simple, I'd be charming your out of your demotion right now, but that means I'd have to go crawling to his holiness and ask for a papal audience," Tom remarked, thinking that if she knew who he was talking about, he might let her finish the bottle with him.
Surprised Hayes wasn't the beginning and end of everything, after all, she blinked and her chuckle resonated around the room. "And here I thought he was well-liked by everyone..." It had been days if not months since Sloane had felt genuine mirth. It felt good, even if, sadly, what she was laughing at was to be their curse from now on.
"Fuck that," Tom snorted. "You've only had months to put up the fuck. I've known GOD when he was just a 2nd lt. trying to impress the brass on Earth." He gave her a smile. Yep, this one was good enough to drink his booze. "Here," he handed her back the bottle.
Sloane grabbed the bottle again, taking a healthy swallow this time, before coughing a little. "Bloody hell..." she smirked. She wasn't used to drinking it neat, but she wasn't going to let that deter her. "Merrick, it's been a couple of months too long." In fact, ever since she had come aboard, Sloane had not fit in. Coming head to head with God, so to speak, was her daily bread of late, and coming to terms with what had taken place and precipitated her assignment to the NX-01 was something she found hard to handle. "How long have you been on this boat?" she asked, wondering just how long Hayes had been riding his ass.
"Not long," Tom explained. "I'd been serving on one of the smaller ships, but his Holiness decided he needed to replace a lieutenant and mine was a name he recognised from his days as one of the little people, so here I am. Can't say I like it much. This ship," he looked around him, "this ship is like the Holy Grail for Fleeters. I was happier wiping snotty noses on maggots trying to work out which way is up on a rifle."
"Well, this ship..." This ship was something. Sloane was no Fleeter and didn't have a thing for big Caddies such as these, but she had to give credit where credit was due, and the Enterprise deserved some and more than most. And she was quite sleek for her size too though Sloane would have never given up her fighter for a place aboard a Big Bertha had she had a choice in the matter. No way, Jose. "I don't think it's the ship's fault," she tried to compromise.
"Probably not," he had to give the crew of the Enterprise that much. "Much to respectable for the likes of me, though." He winked at her. "I'm used to getting dirt under my nails and not giving a flying fuck whether or not my salute's snappy enough. MACOs are good for two things, kicking the shit out of things and shooting the fuck out of it if it doesn't stay down."
"I hear you. So MACO through and through, huh?" Sloane had done the training and then some, but for her, the Air Force would always be her thing. That too didn't sit too well with the big boss. A good thing Captain T'Pol wasn't as short-sighted as Major Hayes was. "Always been posted on land before?" Space didn't suit everyone.
"I've done a couple of tours on ship, 'specially after Earth got blown up," he leaned back against the bulkhead, taking another swig from his bottle. "Didn't mind it, but that kind of combat makes me a little twitchy, can't go about shooting everything in sight. Bloody holes let the space in." He tossed a bit of smile or a sneer, he hadn't decided which suited her best. His judgment of her was still skim, not soaked through to leave an impression. She was good to look at though, and he could do worse for a drinking mate.
Only the fact she could be good for a tumble made her as moderately tolerable as the dumb Corporal.
"True..." She smirked. Yep, ground pounder through and through. And not bad looking either. Smiling at where her own thoughts had drifted to, her eyes moved back to the space surrounding them. "I hate being stuck in a tin can myself." She didn't know why she was telling him this... must have been the liquor talking but then again it was obvious something was keeping her up.
Handing back the bottle to her because he had made the decision that for right now, he would do for company and maybe a little bit more if she got more booze into her, he asked, taking a long look. "So what kind of name is Sloane for a bird?"
A bird... Sloane nearly rolled her eyes. But you didn't go through Earth Forces and MACO training without hearing them all, and this was one of the nice ones. "It's Gaelic, Irish. It means..." hell, she hadn't thought about that in a long while, "warrior." She chuckled, a sound without mirth. "Always wondered why my parents, bookish types, went for that..." Turned out they had been some kind of visionaries.
"Warrior." He nodded, taking in the explanation for her name. He looked at her a long moment and pegged right away that she probably wasn't one of those women who were going to bitch about their nails or something. She took care of herself by the smoothness of her skin (which was almost luminous by the way - not that he cared) and there was just enough pretty in her to indicate there was a woman under there, but she wasn't soft. "Fits," he said, looking at her with a barely discernible smile that was mostly in the eyes.
"Hmm," Sloane replied with a small, thoughtful smile. "So that Brit accent, where's that from?" There was only a hint here and there, not strong enough for a full blood Englishman but then again Sloane, being Welsh herself, had an ear for accents from the old country.
Brit, that was nice to hear too. Most of the time, they said English and for some reason expected some bloody David Niven type which he really fucking wasn't. One bloke had called him Australian once and near got his ass kicked but then Tom was also half pissed so that probably didn't help the situation much either. "Norfolk," Tom replied after a moment. "The olds were a part of the colonials who came from there, but I grew up in Alpha Centauri, which is why I sound like a bit of a mongrel. Some would say that fits too."
Ah, well, that explained a few things and why she hadn't been able to nail his accent down. "Didn't peg you for a mongrel..." she said, taking a swig of the Scotch. Angry and raw, like she was - hell, like they all were - but he had a right to be. Didn't make any of them mangy dogs... except in the eyes of Major Hayes.
"Depends on who you ask," Tom replied smoothly, motioning for the bottle again for a swig. He didn't say Hayes, but he hung on the tip of his tongue.
And Sloane caught it. "Ah, him?" She handed him the bottle. "I've come to the conclusion we're all bastards to him."
"He was born a fucking officer," Tom snorted taking a deep swig and wiping his lips with the back of his arm. Eyes fixed on her, surveying the terrain as definitely acceptable for a tumble, Tom decided that she was alright though for more, if she knew who he was talking about. "Has been that way since he was a second lieutenant. Not much has changed."
"Wouldn't know." Didn't care. All she knew was that he was riding her ass every chance he got and that was royally pissing her off. "But I might end up being flushed out of a goddamn airlock." She knew she also had a knack for annoying the hell out of Hayes. God, she missed her own. Her squad, her fighter. "I don't belong here, and he won't let me forget that," she admitted, glancing at Merrick.
"I wouldn't worry about it, Luv," Tom replied, handing the bottle back to her, seeing that she might need it, voice low. "If he's giving you that much shit it usually means he likes you. The ones don't interest him, God could give two shits about. Oh, he'll note their name and their rank, just in case he needs to write letters home but other than that, he couldn't care less. Pity that." Tom lapsed into a bit of thought about Hayes, the kind of man he was. Smug and superior, without a fucking clue about how the real world functioned. "He doesn't know how to express, like in any other way."
Sloane turned to him, studying his face. He had bad boy written all over him, and she knew she liked those. Accepting the bottle, she took a swig, and then another, feeling the warmth spread all over. That would just about make Hayes' head explode if he caught her with one of his lieutenants. "Sounds like you have the man pretty well sussed out..."
"Was his gunny sergeant for more years than I'd like to count," Tom replied with a shrug. "Served with him on Earth and went our separate ways when everything went to bugfuck in a handbasket."
"Oh... don't envy you that. Bugfuck, that's about right." That was only a few months ago. Not Earth, but the rest of their solar system. "Lost many?" God, did they really want to talk about that? But then that was now like one of the usual questions... name, where you're from, lost many?
Burning hair... like candles, Scarpie screaming, plasma fire searing her flesh off, layer by layer...
"No," he said plainly with an edge of finality to it. He gestured for the bottle and took the long swig needed to douse the fire inside his head when he got it back. "Folks were gone before the war. You?"
The question was almost obligatory these days, like the family. Sometimes it was even a foregone conclusion.
There was so much tormented pain in his eyes in a flash, Sloane regretted ever letting the question slip.
"Sorry. Mine went with the war, with Earth. I doubt any of them would have tried for a transport." In fact, there was no doubt; she knew they wouldn't have. Her tone said as much, leaving no room for hope that she'd get reunited with some surviving family down the line.
He saw the grief, and if she had seen his and chose not to make a comment, he would do her the same courtesy. Taking a swig of the bottle, he toasted, "To those lost and gone," and then leaned forward to hand it to her, to share in the moment.
Grabbing the bottle, she repeated the words, "To those lost and gone." She raised it and then took a hearty pull. She grimaced and handed it back to him. "God.." she muttered at the burn in her throat. Sitting back, she brought her feet up, settling down again, cross-legged. "So what's to do on this boat when you're bored?"
A slow smile stole across his lips, full of filthy mischief. "It depends, Luv...."
He never got to finish the thought. The room was bathed in amber light as klaxons started wailing throughout the ship. This was followed a second later by the ship shuddering suddenly, throwing both of them across the room. The bottle shattered against the floor.
"Fuck," he cursed, angrier at that than being attacked.
Through the window, he saw a reptilian ship firing.
"Shit," Sloane muttered as she picked herself up, one hand on the bulkhead in case another volley came. "You alright?" She followed his gaze and saw the enemy ship coming about for another pass. "Merrick, I'll get you another one," she said of the broken bottle. "Come on, we're sitting ducks up here. Let's move."
"Lead the way, Luv," he said, following her just as the energy bolt hit. The shields held but the ship took the brunt of it with another violent jolt, with Tom barely managing to stay on his feet. He watched for McRae, impressed that she had stood upright, didn't go to complete shit house when things got hard. Some of these female officers did that in a fight. He tried not to judge, but it was hard when it was obvious.
Heading back towards D-deck, Sloane slalomed around sleepy-looking Fleeters suddenly flooding the corridors as they exited their quarters to respond to the alert. She hit the first comm unit that came along, glancing at Merrick, who was right on her heels, all trace of alcohol gone from his sharp gaze.
"Major Hayes, this is Captain McRae reporting. Where do you need us, sir?" she shouted over the klaxons, trying to contact their commanding officer. No point running cross-country over the whole ship. They needed to know what was going on, where they were needed first.
Just then, the NX took another hit, rocking the ship violently. The lighting dimmed, and sparks flew over them. The shields weren't going to hold for much more of the same.
Tom skidded to a halt, grabbing a bulkhead to keep from falling over when suddenly Hoshi Sato's voice echoed in a ship-wide broadcast. "Intruder alert, intruder alert. Multiple transport signatures located on Decks B, C and G.
Shit, the bastards were on board. "Bugger that," Tom called to her. "We need to get to the armoury. Deck C is just above Engineering!"
"I hear you. Go!" She sent him on, about to follow him. "Merrick, wait," she called again, thinking better of it. They were already on D-Deck, with Engineering right ahead of them. They couldn't afford the time to reach F-Deck. "Weapons caches in the cargo bays... aren't they closer?" He knew the ship's layout better than she did, she was sure.
Tom shot her a look, sharp enough to cut glass. "I knew you were more than just a great set of tits." He grinned. "Yeah, there are phasers in the cargo bays, not the rifles but for now it will do. Come on," he said, hurrying towards the closest stairwell, thinking that would be faster than attempting to reach a turbo lift and with the Reps using Enterprise for target practice, not necessarily safer.
Great set of tits? Sloane bit on a retort and followed him, taking the steps two-three at a time. And just like a MACO, she allowed herself a few seconds to check out his ass.
Tom made it up the staircase in good time with McRae keeping pace with him. As anticipated, the ship was in pandemonium, with Security running towards affected decks and Engineering crews running like chooks without heads to deal with the damage occurred. Running down the hall, they fought their way through the bodies and reached the cargo bay.
While the corridor was crowded, no Reptilians were visible to Sloane. Putting her hand on Merrick's arm as he went to key the cargo bay door open, she said, "Sato mentioned Xindi's on this deck." Her eyes told him the rest: where would you materialise if you had the choice? An unguarded cargo bay would work wonderfully, time for your molecules to stick back together without the risk of getting mowed down by you enemy's fire. "If we're lucky they're not in there but watch it, alright?"
"Don't worry," Tom replied, cocky as all hell because, well, she was tail. "If they're in there, I'll just blow 'em out the airlock." Yeah, he had a lot of fucking experience with that. As it was, he keyed in the security code, and the bay doors slid open. Tom took a defensive position next to the entranceway, just in case.
There didn't seem to be any danger until he attempted to get through the door and a bolt of energy passed over his shoulder as he faced himself facing a trio of Reppies. "Watch out!" He hollered behind him to get out of the way as he dove for cover.
"Fuck," he grumbled as he saw the blackened spot on the wall behind them. "That was a bit fucking close for comfort."
"Shit." Sloane pulled back in time, thanks to his warning. Crouching, she took another look, seeing the weapons cache still intact about five feet away along the wall.
"We can't let those fuckers out," she growled, glancing at Merrick. "You okay?" He didn't look injured; just a fucking close call.
"I'm fine," Tom growled, staring at the cargo bay door. "I'm going to shut that bloody door before those Reppies decide to come out. Once I've done that, decompress the cargo bay. We'll blow the fuckers into space."
"Good plan." But as she said that, Sloane wished she could at least cover him while he reached to key the door closed. "Careful. I'm getting attached to that ass of yours," she quipped as she started backing away to get to the panel further along from the door.
"That's what all the lovelies say, McRae." Tom tossed a wry grin and headed for the door, trying to keep his back to the wall and out of sight of any Xindi bastard attempting to emerge. He could hear footsteps as he neared the door panel and saw the distinct shadow fall across the doorway and started entering the instructions for sealing it. A bolt of energy exploded just as he finished entering the sequence, with Tom feeling a singe across his shoulder as it whizzed past, missing him by a fraction. The Xindi raised his weapon to fire again as the door started to close.
Sloane ducked on instinct at the first shot, keeping low and to the wall, but she turned just in time to see a Reptilian approach the closing door, weapon aimed at Merrick or to be used to disable the door, she wasn't sure which. Not thinking on it anymore than that, she grabbed the first thing she could, fighting briefly to release it from its spot on the wall, and slammed it down on the Xindi weapon. The fire extinguisher didn't manage to break the Reptilian's hold on his rifle, but it was enough to push it back out of the way, letting the door shut close freely in a hiss. Running back to the panel, she punched a code in and waiting for the green light to come on, confirming the inner door's seal. When she got it, she glanced to Merrick.
"Bye-bye." And pulled down the lever.
Within the cargo bay, the alarms started screaming, and if the Xindi didn't know what was about to happen to them, they would soon figure it out when the door began to slide open, and oxygen began escaping. There was an attempt to shoot, but the force of escaping atmosphere prevailed, and there was no other sound.
"Give it a couple of minutes," he told McRae, "before we seal it up again. Just in case those bastards managed to hold onto something." He doubted it but better safe than sorry.
"Yeah," she said, coming to his side. "Let me see," she said, motioning to his shoulder. His t-shirt there was still smoking.
"It's right, Luv." He glanced at his shoulder. There was pain but nothing that he couldn't manage. "Take more than that to kill me."
A corner of Sloane's mouth lifted. Damn ground pounder. "Alright. Let's close this and repressurise," she said, walking back to the panel. "Got weapons to pick up."
"Yep," he said, thinking she smiled pretty and then shaking the thought away because he needed his head in the game and not tail mining in the middle of a bloody attack. It was the surest way to get either of them killed.
"Weapons to collect and Xindi fuckers to kill. Stick with me, McRae, we'll always have fun."
And she did.