Splashdown Remastered and HousecatChapter 5 Shore Leave
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A Bad Day For Shore Leave free porn video
Sumati pulled her uniform jacket taut over her body, glancing down briefly to confirm that she looked suitably smart. It really shouldn’t matter, she thought to herself, as she flicked aside a few stray hairs from her jet black fringe. Here, just beyond the borders of Federation space, nobody was going to care that much.
Except that the senior officers might very well care, especially with the Captain being such a stickler for rules. The Captain always looked immaculate, almost infuriatingly calm and polished. And Sumati knew exactly what the Captain would say: today she was representing Starfleet, and couldn’t afford to let the side down.
The last thing Sumati wanted right now was to turn up at the transporter room and be sent back to tidy herself up. Perhaps it wasn’t very likely – it rather depended who was on duty – but she wasn’t going to take the risk.
As an ensign, she didn’t have a window in her room, only senior officers were lucky enough to get that privilege. Instead, her brown eyes flicked up to the monitor screen above the fold-away dresser. The space station hung there, a clunky collection of habitat modules around a central hub and power pylon. It was matt grey, the insignia scuffed by micrometeorite impacts that suggested a somewhat erratic shield system. It was an old design, too, hardly a match for modern Starfleet facilities, and in orbit around a nondescript, uninhabitable ball of rock.
It looked, in short, little better than junk. But, to Sumati, at this moment, it seemed a golden haven of opportunity. She actually had to steady her breathing for a moment, before picking up the chip, and securely pocketing it inside her uniform. It wouldn’t do to leave without that!
She opened the door to her cabin, and stepped out into the corridor, her long braid swishing behind her as she turned to head towards the transporters…
—***—
When Sumati had first been assigned to the USS Endeavour, one thing she hadn’t expected was a protracted period of celibacy.
Although, as a newly graduated Ensign, this was her first real assignment on a Starfleet ship, much of the rest of her life on board had been more or less what she expected. Life in Starfleet wasn’t always as glamorous as the stories made out, but it certainly wasn’t bad.
True, as a lowly engineer, she rarely got to leave the ship, to physically explore all the ‘strange new worlds’ that the recruitment ads talked about. They were certainly there – she could see them through the windows – but she rarely had the opportunity to set her feet on alien soil. But she didn’t mind that too much. There was plenty to keep her busy on the Endeavour, a state-of-the-art research vessel, with several sophisticated features.
And, of course, she had to prove herself and work her way up through the ranks in order to get the best opportunities. She understood all that, Starfleet had a rank structure for good reason. There were even some benefits to being an engineer on a research vessel, around half the crew were scientists, and they always needed someone to keep their equipment working. It meant that she – or at least her department – was often in demand, and her skills were appreciated, as they might not be, for example, on a space dock.
No, none of that was the problem. It was definitely the celibacy thing.
One of the first things she had discovered on receiving her berth on the ship was that the USS Endeavour didn’t have a particularly large human complement on its crew. She didn’t really have much to compare it to, from her own personal experience, but the impression that most people had about Starfleet ships was that they were, by and large, crewed by humans, with just the odd Vulcan or Betazoid here and there.
Not so the Endeavour. A modern research vessel and one of the best of its kind, it seemed to attract science officers from across the Federation. She wasn’t sure how many of them had been personally picked by the Captain or senior crew, but they were among the best in their respective fields. And, naturally enough, that meant that they were a diverse bunch. After all, Andoria and Benzar, to name but two worlds, surely produced just as many top quality scientists as Earth. Humans couldn’t have it all their own way.
So, there were a lot of alien races on the Endeavour. It made some of the discussions in the lounges and rest rooms fascinating, a blend of different cultural perspectives that Sumati quite enjoyed. But it did rather leave one short of romantic opportunities.
Of course, even on the Endeavour, she was far from the only human present. What with the physical requirements of Starfleet training, many of the younger men were pretty good-looking, too. They were also all either dull science nerds that really weren’t her type, or else already in a committed relationship by the time she’d embarked. A larger ship, or one with a more Earth-centric crew, would surely have had more exceptions… but not this one.
It wasn’t that she was obsessed about sex, or anything. It really was, in the grand scheme of things, a minor inconvenience. At least she was here, on a starship, exploring the galaxy. It made up for a lot. But still, celibacy hadn’t been on the brochure.
After a few months, she had hit upon the obvious solution: the Endeavour had holodecks. It wasn’t really the same thing, but it beat the alternative – which was to say, nothing. So she had booked some leisure time, obtained a suitably erotic program, and had looked forward to trying it out.
It was when she had tried to feed the program into the holodeck that she had found out that the Captain’s idea of relaxation wasn’t quite the same as her own. The holodeck rejected the program, and left her in no doubt as to why it had done so, the Captain had evidently put a lock on it to prevent just this kind of use. Why, she wasn’t entirely sure, although the fact that the ship’s commanding officer was a Vulcan probably had something to do with it.
She was positive that the red flag that the program had raised had gone straight to the Chief Engineer. But, to his credit, he had never said a word about it to her. Perhaps he was used to it happening, at least among the new recruits. They didn’t even have to be human, presumably the Ktarians, and all the rest, became equally frustrated about the lack of available singles of their own species.
She was equally confident that she could override the lock. But she wasn’t going to do that. For one thing, it had doubtless occurred to the Chief Engineer, at the very least, that this was possible, and there would be countermeasures in place. Sooner or later, no matter how careful she was, she was going to be found out, and unauthorised tampering wasn’t going to go down well.
But there was also the fact that she was, at the end of the day, a Starfleet officer. By tampering with the lock, she would be disobeying an order, even if only an implicit one. She wasn’t going to do that, she wasn’t that desperate, and she would be betraying her new family… even if she disagreed with them on this one point.
So, celibacy, that had been the remaining option. She could live with it, but, at times, it was rather frustrating.
But not today, Sumati had promised herself. Today was going to be different!
—***—
The Federation called it by the rather unimaginative name of Waystation Five. Apparently, it had had so many names down the years that the dull moniker at least had the advantage of consistency… although Sumati wasn’t entirely sure where Waystations One to Four were. The numbering must have made sense to somebody at some time, but she had no idea when or why.
The reason it looked like such a haphazard pile of junk from the outside was largely because that was what it was. Historians might have known more, but all Sumati knew was that the place was old, and had been built and rebuilt, with new bits being added here and th
ere, and old ones being cannibalised, all on a timescale of centuries. Currently it was owned by a Ferengi consortium, which used it as a neutral meeting ground and a place for traders to stop off from all over the galaxy.
Being located where it was, in that little patch of unclaimed space where the Federation came close to the Klingon-Romulan border, doubtless made it a metaphorical latinum mine for its owners. There must have been few places better placed for interstellar trade… at least in times of peace such as the present.
Looking around herself as she stepped off the transporter platform, Sumati couldn’t help but think that the Ferengi influence was obvious. The décor had that slightly tacky look to it that suggested the designer had more money than sense. In these days of replicators that was unlikely to be literally true, but she suspected it was the sort of impression that Ferengi liked to give off… especially if it wasn’t the case.
Brushing aside a small gaggle of Ferengi merchants who had gathered outside the transporter room to sell her goodness knew what (they had to be the ones at the bottom of the pecking order, surely?) Sumati headed down a short corridor and onto what appeared to be the station’s main concourse.
It was a hive of activity, full of gaudily decorated stalls and concession booths, holographic adverts flashing in the air, open cafes and bars competing for space with the salesmen. And there were salesmen everywhere. At a guess, less than half of them were actually Ferengi, with races from across the quadrant here to try and sell something. That was before you counted the visitors, the people here to buy, or perhaps to exchange goods from far afield.
It was a bewildering array of cultures and aliens, not to mention a cacophony of voices.
Sumati quickly identified a holo-map of the station’s layout, flashing with adverts for what else was available. Casinos, hotels, restaurants, strip clubs… they were all here, along with a host of quieter places to do business. She paused for a while, trying to find the best place for what she had in mind. It turned out that there was only one – the station wasn’t actually as big as it appeared when you looked at it from outside. But one was all she needed.
She turned in that direction, her thoughts focussed on the chip in her pocket, when she heard a loud, deep voice calling out behind her.
‘Hey, Starfleet! Didn’t know they let you human scum here! Better watch your back, weakling!’
She span round to see a group of four Klingons stepping out from the transporter arrival suite. It was clear from their uniforms that they were no mere traders, but warriors of the Klingon Defence Force. Sumati had not seen any such ship berthed when she had looked out of the viewer on the Endeavour… it had either arrived later, or simply been hidden by the bulk of the station.
Two of the Klingons let out a barking laugh, while a third – an ugly, squat individual with a scar across his face – simply grinned as if he had just made a particularly fine joke.
‘You’re outside your Federation now,’ sneered the scarred Klingon, his voice clearly the same as the one that had just spoken, ‘let’s see how you last without a ship to hide in. A true warrior faces death in the face when he can. Are you ready to do that, Starfleet weakling?’
Sumati backed away, looking around and seeing none of her fellow officers in sight. Nobody else seemed to be paying any attention, either, and she doubted that anything she could say would change the Klingon’s attitude. This was not a good start to her time off!
The scarred Klingon snorted in derision, stepping suddenly towards her, his hand reaching for a wickedly serrated knife at his belt. The Ensign braced herself, ready to dash into the crowd if she had to.
Before she could do so, the fourth Klingon in the group acted instead, grabbing onto her scarred compatriot’s weapon arm, and harshly jerking him back. The only female in the group, she was dark skinned, even by the standards of Klingons, her head completely shaven save for a short pony tail wrapped with a leather cord.
The scarred Klingon snarled at her, and almost seemed about to strike his own fellow with his free hand, but she hissed something in his ear, too quiet for Sumati to hear. Whatever it was, it had the desired effect. His eyes full of fury, he lowered the blade, though his teeth were still bared in a ferocious display.
‘This isn’t over!’ he called out.
‘Yes it is,’ stated the Klingon woman clearly. ‘This is neutral ground. We don’t attack without reason. Understood?’
He nodded, albeit in as surly a manner as the human had ever seen. The two other Klingons laughed again, at him this time, and he glared at them, all his swagger gone.
‘I’d leave, human,’ said the dark-skinned Klingon woman, ‘before I change my mind. And if you see us coming again… get out of the way.’
Sumati swallowed, and walked briskly away, trying not to make it look as if she was running. Yes, she was a Starfleet officer, and had had all the combat training, but she wasn’t carrying her phaser, and hand-to-hand fighting had never been her strongest subject at the Academy. There was a reason she had become an engineer, instead of joining security, after all.
Once she was far enough out of sight, she stopped to steady herself. Her heart was beating, and she felt a little flushed. That had been close, and it was only the common sense of the – well, senior officer, she presumed – that had saved things from getting nasty. Even if she had managed to avoid injury, getting herself into a fight could result in her being thrown off the station, and she couldn’t have that.
It wasn’t a good start to her day, not at all. But it hadn’t been a disaster, and she still had something to do… something that could let her forget about violent Klingons for a while at least.
She tried to get her bearings again, realising that she’d walked off in a hurry, and had already forgotten the exact details on the map. She needed a corridor of the main concourse, that much she knew, but she wasn’t going back to check up. It was probably that one there… yeah, almost certainly that one.
The corridor seemed empty after the bustle of the main concourse, but Sumati could hear a loud pulsing beat from up ahead that indicated she was heading towards some kind of nightclub. Or whatever you called the 24-hour equivalent. There had been mention of something like that on the map, she reflected, although she would like a good look at another one. Pity she didn’t have a PADD on her to download the thing from the station’s database.
It turned out that there was no way round the nightclub, at least not in practice. There was a large open area in front of it, dimly lit, through which the corridor ran. It was cluttered with tables, and the crowd from the club proper spilled out into it. Sumati didn’t think much of the design choice, but perhaps the intention was to lure passers-by in to spend money.
She stood on tip-toe, trying to see over the throng of drinkers – if anyone was dancing, they were in the main room, off to the side – and managed to make out an exit beyond. Cursing the profit-oriented stupidity of the station managers who allowed this sort of arrangement, she began winding her way through the crowd.
‘Excuse me… excuse me… excuse me…’
Somebody bumped into her, hard from behind, and she felt a cold splash as some sort of beverage was unceremoniously dumped over her back.
She span round. ‘Watch where you’re going!’ she snapped, liquid still dripping from her clothing. She regretted the words almost immediately.
The Nausicaan glared at her, smashed the empty glass down onto the nearest table, and swung his fist in her direction with a belligerent roar.
Sumati ducked out of the way, underneath the blow, but the room was crowded, and the Nausicaan’s fist impacted
with a human civilian standing nearby. He staggered back into the table, as three of his friends rose to their feet, their own fists raised.
Great. A pub brawl. On a crowded space station. She was going to get in so much trouble if anyone thought she had anything to do with this!
Fortunately, the Nausicaan seemed to be too drunk to notice that he’d hit the wrong person. Or possibly, he just didn’t care so long as there was a fight to be had. Either way, he didn’t seem to be paying any attention to her any more.
Sumati ran for it as the fight erupted behind her.
For the second time in what seemed like just a few minutes, she found herself standing in a corridor trying to regain her breath. Surely even independent space stations shouldn’t be this violent? She was having incredibly bad luck, when all she wanted to do was have a good time. She wasn’t even the only one who had taken shore leave here… if everyone was having as much trouble as she was, half of them would be on a disciplinary by the time they got back.
Her uniform was dripping wet, the drink soaking through the outer jacket onto her vest beneath. After all the trouble she had gone to get it looking immaculate! If any of the Endeavour’s senior officers saw her like this…
A short while later, she had managed to find a washroom, and was doing her best to dry out her clothing, mop it up, and generally look respectable. There was still a stain on her vest, but the jacket covered that, and, once it was dried out, the black fabric of the jacket itself seemed to hide the discolouration quite well. She put it back on, smoothed down her hair again, and went back out.
How hard could it be to find what she was looking for?
Well, she wasn’t going back down that way, because it led back to the club. So, onwards…
She soon came to the conclusion that she was not only delayed, but also lost. The station could seriously do with more signage, she thought to herself grumpily. Still, so long as she didn’t keep doubling back on herself, sooner or later…
Yes! She was back on the main concourse again!
The station, after all, wasn’t as large as all that, and she’d known that, since everything else was arranged around the central hub, she’d be bound to get back there eventually. And the main concourse, at least, did have maps.
She was some distance from where she’d started, but she could see another of the map holos not too far from where she was standing. All she had to do was check it, and…
‘Hi, Sumati! Come and join us!’
Off to her left was a sort of ‘open air’ café (as much as one could be, under a concourse roof), and sitting at one of the larger tables were some of her fellow crew from the Endeavour. Trying to avoid rolling her eyes in frustration, she reluctantly walked over to them.
The woman who had called out to her was Lugmilla, one of the ship’s piloting crew, and a full lieutenant. Like most Tellarites, she was argumentative, and she could have a mean streak a parsec wide if you really crossed her, but Sumati rather liked her. She had a relaxed attitude for a lieutenant, and could be mischievous when the mood took her, as well as possessing an earthy sense of humour.
She could see the reason that Lugmilla wanted her to join her, though. She was sitting with Sh’ree, who was a decent enough sort for an Andorian, a slightly geeky looking science officer whose name she couldn’t recall, and… Lieutenant Halvorsen.
Astrid Halvorsen was in security, and, boy, did she take it seriously. She wasn’t, Sumati supposed, actually a bad person, it was just that she was quite staggeringly dull. If she had any hobbies, Sumati knew nothing about them, and her conversational skills were quite limited. Since she wouldn’t approve of any even slightly risqué topic, or anything that hinted at skirting Starfleet rules to have a good time, she had to be driving Lugmilla crazy.
‘Ensign Chennapragada,’ said Halvorsen, acknowledging her presence as she sat down. Wow, she stuck to surnames only, even off-duty. What a barrel of fun.
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