Getting the Band Back Together: The Wayward Astronaut

Posted on Sun Mar 21st, 2021 @ 10:31pm by Administrator LordeEmp

Mission: Heroes of the Hov'hurgh
Location: Nimbus III
Timeline: 2409

She was gone. The one last supernova in his life was gone. After being flung into a far distant future Frederick had no idea what had happened shortly after to T’Vyn. It was a last straw of sorts.

To the Lieutenant Junior Grade the young lithe Vulcan Lieutenant Commander had been the heart of what the future had in store for him. Not only was she one of the few that could understand him and his odd way of speaking and thinking but she was always a true friend. Just too much had happened after he had come to the future from the twenty first century to continue on as though everything was ok.

So Carlow had given his resignation from Starfleet and he had left the ship at the nearest station with a transport hub. Then he went as far as Federation space would allow. In this case the outer edge of Romulan space.

Again having been thrown forward in time (Possibly by his own hand, the details had never been fully investigated as far as he knew) again he was considered an outcast of sorts. So began the downward spiral, mentally and spiritually. The white mousie decided that he needed to live longer to see a better day and age. Perhaps one in which he might find another soul like the honey eyed Vulcan girl’s.

Using some of his varied skills from both science and intelligence he began to research longevity through genetic restructuring. Many of the topics he needed had been deemed classified but oddly enough his top secret clearance had not been pulled or had somehow been reinstated.

Arik Soong had done tremendous work with a group of people called Augments in the history data files. Some of the information surrounding those entries went on to explain that this “procedure” tended to lead towards differing sorts of madness, which presented themselves in various ways.

It also mentioned a few other genetically enhanced people, one of the more interesting entries was a Doctor Bashir. He seemed to have come through with flying colors. All in all, in Carlow’s mind, the merits outweighed the flaws.

Testing the RNA make up on rats before testing on himself was only going to tell him part of the story. That said, a few did develop mental and aggression issues, but more than half where just fine. He also that noted that about five percent died from the injection alone. Although it was by far no where near what Starfleet would require for human testing he knew that they seemed like better odds than what he would have had coming up with something like that in Kahn’s time.

The first thing he did after deciding to inject himself was to rent a room on Nimbus III. This was a bit more work than it may have seemed. The first place he found to stay was run down like a third world country and the other was like some dive buried deep in Earth’s Las Vegas. For more than a few reasons he chose the Orion Vegas.

Once in his room he made sure to let the staff know that he didn’t want to be bothered for at least a day, guessing the reordering of his DNA might take a toll on him and leave him in a more than compromising position. Then after taking a shot of the local nerve tonic for courage he used the hypo on himself.

The closest way that he could describe the next day was like having the worst case of malaria ever. Fever tore through his cramping body and for hours he couldn’t even move himself to the bed. His nerves burned from the forced changes in his body as well as the nerves themselves. He sweat out so much that he knew that he would be quite dehydrated and that was just for starters.

About thirty six hours later the symptoms began to fade. When he made it to the bathroom to clean up and drink some water he was greeted by a very changed man in the mirror.

A trained eye might have recognized him. If someone knew him in his childhood they also might know him as, in fact, he looked a bit like he did before the age of thirteen. Most of the fat that he had carried all through adulthood was gone. His face had thinned, but the most notable change was that he now had a very cut physique.

After running a few tests on himself, both physical and mental, he was satisfied with the results. He decided to check out how he was going to live his new life in an armpit of the galaxy.

One of his first hobbies was gambling, and being a super genius augmented by super soldier DNA, made grifting many of the Orion’s clients somewhat easy. Some might guess that he would have been thrown out or worse for winning like that, but any time he made profit he tipped and spent more than half back. He even bet on the fighters in the arena in the club. Although he found the sport deplorable as it was often to the death, he did so to insure that he fit in with the average, rough edged crowd.

Gambling was not his only way of making a living. Being from Starfleet and a science officer some people would come to him with problems ranging from not understanding the proper way to care for and feed a phaser, to helping with a needed algorithm or so.

As he had no one to trust he hired some security. An Orion woman that he called Lady Luck. He made it clear he didn’t wish to know her name and to try and stem any greed in her he told her twenty five percent of his profits would go to her. Thus making her equal partners of sorts. She stayed in his room and ate the same food and so on.

The old Algernon mouse had began drinking quite a bit. Like many times, he was sitting in front of the Dabo table, staring into his glass and imagining the golden honey swirling in the center of his glass to be the golden irises of T’Vyn. He still wondered what had happened to her and worse yet why Starfleet hadn’t done all that they could to find out.

The chatter of the people around him was just a buzzing in his ear, and he was making some of his bets more out of reflex than anything else. The statistics and probabilities were more of an echo in his mind that drove him to physical action.

He slammed down the drink and ordered another one. He couldn’t remember the name at the time but it had a sweet and sour taste with a drop of honey. It was not too strong and not to weak. It was served in a stemmed glass, with a glass straw that looked like a micro honey stirrer.

As he licked a bit of the leftover honey after mixing his drink a bit, he heard a voice that made him start to question his last threads of sanity. There she stood over him looking in her own way like a mother disappointed in her child.

“It appears that you are out of uniform, Mister Carlow,” said a voice from the past. The calm, familiar Vulcan voice that had long haunted his dreams. Could it really be her, or was his fevered mind finally selling him down the chocolate river in that long forgotten candy factory?

Half because he was unsure of what he was seeing, half because of his blood alcohol level, the old scientist lifted his glass, “And aren't you out of costume Alice?” To which he swigged down his drink and looked at Lady Luck.

“You seeing this?” Fred slurred slightly, waving his finger back and forth pointing at the Orion bodyguard and the Vulcan woman in atypical satin, emerald green robes. Her hands were folded in her oversized sleeves and from most angles her head was covered by the large, loose, hood.

The Orion woman’s green eyes widened, her pupils dilating as she studied the seemingly familiar face of her business partner, then she glanced towards the small Vulcan. She had always known that she’d been hired for a purpose and she wondered if the hooded figure represented that unknown threat. Even though Lady Luck knew that the woman’s race could be formidable, it was almost hard to imagine the being before her as a threat.

Golden honey eyes flickered towards the Orion and it was rather obvious that she was sizing the bodyguard up. The edge of her eyebrow twitched slightly as she considered whether or not Carlow’s money had been well spent. But the glance ended as quickly as it had appeared and, unconcerned, T’Vyn’s lightly colored gaze returned to the drunken former Starfleet officer, “You appear to require a number of Raktajino. While your metabolism is rather high, it seems that you have no difficulty in surpassing it with your drinking prowess.”

Addressing the holo-Leeta, Frederick shook his empty glass in her direction, “I’d like one of those Raktajino with a splash of that chocolate liquor... and one for my friend here...” he waved towards his ex-XO.

“Hold the chocolate,” the young looking Vulcan woman said with another twitch of her eyebrow and she settled into a seat across from him at the table. From within the folds of her robes she produced a strip of gold pressed latinum that she used to place a bet for the next round.

After the bets were in and the old friends had new drinks Frederick mentioned that it might best to retire to his humble abode as the walls were green and had ears. That brought a slight smile from his companion and a nod from T’Vyn.

Wandering toward his room through the smoky club, rave music filling areas that surrounded the dabo tables, was bit of a journey. Every brush past one of the more inebriated patrons could have had unforeseen outcomes and that night was no different.

A rather large Nausicaan with a surly look to his eye stepped in front of the motley crew. “Who is this? Are you a new addition to the club?” It was not a totally erratic question. Most women there did tend to work for the club in one way or another. That said his tone and demeanor spoke volumes to the petite Vulcan psychologist.

Her lightly colored eyes moved up the alien man’s form, her face a mask of serene neutrality, “Molesting I or my companions would be an exercise in pain and futility for you,” T’Vyn said, her voice even and smooth. With that, she moved to step around the towering, drunken brute.

Growling with rage at being dismissed so offhandedly, the gruesome looking alien pulled a rather nasty looking energy weapon, training it on the green clad Vulcan woman, “You need to learn some manners,” he said as he reached out to take hold of her arm.

A momentary flash swept through the woman’s eyes. Dodging the drunkard’s grasp, she came up under his gun hand and struck out with two stiffened fingers, making swift and damaging contact with the thug’s wrist. His eyes widened with shock as the pain caused his hand to involuntarily open up and drop the weapon to the ground with a clatter that was lost in the cries and cheers that had suddenly erupted from the crowd that was forming up around them.

As the melee ensued Carlow simply looked on with a grin. If things went south he might step in but odds being odds, that poor guy was likely in for a week full of bad days. He whispered to his jade companion. “Ya know sometimes you gotta feel for a bad guy, right?”

TBC