The Judas Addiction

Posted on May 25, 2015 @ 10:30pm by Lieutenant James Barton
Edited on on May 25, 2015 @ 10:30pm

Mission: The Lights of Hyperion

“The Judas Addiction”

(Continued from “Slumber Party”)





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“For you will certainly carry out God’s purpose, however you act, but it makes a difference to you whether you serve like Judas or like John.” – C.S. Lewis



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LOCATION: The USS PHOENIX

SCENE: Cargo Bay Three; “Shanty Town” -> Virgo Silsby’s Tent



Barnes made another round of the cargo bay, nodding at some of the residents, glowering at others. Periodically he passed one of ‘his’ deputies, men introduced to him by Arthur Embry, who had explained they would be assisting Barnes in his efforts to keep peace in the cargo bay. He nodded at them as well, noting their demeanor. To a man, they had been respectful and receptive to his direction. Thus far, they showed up when they were told, they were sober, they kept focus on their duties instead of socializing with the other residents or among themselves. “Incidents,” as Embry referred to what Barnes called ‘fistfights’ had dropped off almost entirely, in no small part due to the focus on de-escalation demonstrated by the deputies. Embry had managed to amass a nearly professional, if undertrained, security force in less than a handful of days.



So what was it about them that made the hairs on his neck stand up? Embry had kept telling him that he needed to relax, that his sour demeanor was not only off-putting and intimidating to the people in his charge, but also that it was certain to upset his stomach and impact his bowel health. Barnes rolled his eyes at the thought, even as he felt the tug of a grin at the corner of his mouth. Embry often provoked a similar conflicted reaction within him. No two ways about it, Barnes thought the older man was smug, condescending, insincere, and Barnes didn’t trust him as far he could throw the community leader. For all of that, and simultaneously, Embry was funny, and smart, and charismatic. He had a knack for showing up at exactly the right moment, repeatedly playing the benevolent savior to one refugee or another, then receding away after making a proclamation or two about the “potential” of their “little community.” The smaller man was almost frighteningly capable, and in the desperate situation they found themselves in, that was a hard quality to dislike. Some part of Barnes, in every life he’d lived, had always had a deep appreciation for seeing something done well. He found himself genuinely liking the older gentleman.



Their first meeting hadn’t gone particularly well, at least from Barnes’ perspective. He’d been livid following the demeaning encounter with the PHOENIX’s captain, and was twitching for the space and quiet he needed to purge his emotions in a punishing workout. No such luxury was to be found in Shanty Town, however, and he’d had to make due with a thudding, driving patrol through the cargo bay, looking for trouble and secretly hoping to find it. Instead, he’d been intercepted by a Vulcan who had passed along an invitation from Arthur Embry, the man the Irish asshole had already tried to steer him towards. Some impulse, related to guilt by association, thus made Barnes’ opinion of Embry low from the outset. Their meeting had begun as only-barely-cordial, with Embry attempting to enlist Barnes in an organized security force, and Barnes refusing. He’d made clear that he was taking the safety of the refugees on as his own, and the only orders he would be taking would be from the Starfleet forces. Embry had squawked and protested that he had no intention of wresting autonomy away from Jacen, but instead had only intended to be merely a liaison between Barnes and their hosts regarding security. So, of course, he would defer to Barnes’ expertise. Taking note of the larger man’s expression when Captain Kane had been mentioned, Embry had very pointedly pointed out that, in his opinion, the Captain was a tiresome, exasperating person and it would allow Barnes to focus on the more important work of keeping Shanty Town safe if Embry handled the communications with their Starfleet benefactors. Begrudgingly, the larger man conceded the point, and Embry had continued…



At the end of that conversation, Embry had maneuvered Barnes into accepting his proposal and the man who’d made keeping to himself one of his highest priorities for years was suddenly in a recognized, if ad hoc, position of authority, Embry made a couple of references to him serving as “sheriff” of their community. He had a way of presenting a situation so that there was only one logical, rational, compassionate, or human response…and it always seemed to be what Embry wanted. Barnes couldn’t dispute the man’s logic or arguments, but he wasn’t blind to Embry’s tactics either – Arthur was manipulative, he was smug, and even the things he said that were indisputably true often had the self-serving tone of deceit to them. If his lip twisted higher, it would be an open grin; if lower, it would be a determined grimace. But Barnes had seen Embry’s face as he turned away from a number of conversations and recognized the expression the older man probably thought no one saw: it was a smirk.



That first concession had led to a host of others, in quick succession. Embry had suggested a body of deputies to assist Barnes, to which Barnes had refused, declaring that he trusted only himself to oversee the refugees. They ultimately settled on a group of ten men, at least to begin with. Embry had offered to draw on the acquaintances he’d made moving through the cargo bay and provide the men to assist Barnes. Jacen had shut that down flat, claiming that he’d find his own men. That conversation had ended with Embry formally introducing Savaar, the Vulcan who had brought Jacen’s first invitation, who had then presented Barnes’ new deputies. Barnes had insisted on spending his time on patrol, claiming that he had no interest in an administrative role, and would lead from the field. Embry had agreed wholeheartedly, and by the time he’d finished explaining his reasons why, they’d agreed that Barnes would be spending a considerable amount of time at Embry’s side, providing a visual symbol that Arthur claimed would be more effective at winning people over than Barnes lumbering back and forth through the cargo bay. Time and again, Barnes felt his words being twisted and himself being manipulated, and though he bristled at the treatment, he also couldn’t ultimately deny the practicality in Embry’s ‘suggestions.’ Neither could he deny the results within Shanty Town, so he choked down his pride and said nothing.



But even as things seemed to quiet in the cargo bay, something whispered threats in Barnes’ ears. He watched as, inexorably, groups of strangers coalesced, broke apart, than came together again in new configurations. People were finding their ilk, those who shared similar desires and priorities. In many cases, that meant new friendships were being forged to solidify their new community. But, Barnes knew, that also meant that the criminals were finding the other criminals. In the dark of night, and out of sight of the ersatz Marine patrols, hands were being shaken, deals were being struck. Power bases were forming, and soon those powers would be ready to test each other, to establish who were big fishes and who were small fishes in this new pond they shared. He couldn’t see it, couldn’t grab it, but he could hear it and he could smell it. As the audible noise of the chaos of the cargo bay ebbed, the silent scream of danger only intensified.



Then, the replicators had gone down. Almost immediately, the quiet they had built began to be chipped away, like a sand castle as the tide began to roll in. He’d been admonishing a heavyset Orion, when the shouts and the smell raced toward him. Seeing the gray sludge erupting from the portable replicator, and the recoiling people around it, he’d set to work nearly immediately, forcing people back and away from the malfunctioning unit, while also opening the thing up to take a look inside. He didn’t often take the time to tinker any more, but neither had he forgotten everything he used to know. He hoped against hope that the fix would be a simple one: a blown coupling, an overheated command circuit, something that would take five minutes to fix and then have the replicator spitting out its edible version of peace again. The smell told him, as soon as he’d opened the panel, that he wasn’t that lucky. There was an ozone stink of fried wires and mechanics, overlaid by the almost waste-ish smell of the gray sludge. Around him, he saw first disgust on the faces of his neighbors as they caught the smell as well, then the desperate fear as they realized what the stink portended. On one or two faces, he saw a thinly-disguised look of predatory glee. He guessed those were the ones with the richest caches of food, and they were already dreaming of how they could exploit them, and their neighbors.



He’d found Embry in front of another replicator in the same condition, doing his “this-is-no-cause-for-concern” shtick. As bad as this situation was, as *dangerous* as it was, Embry didn’t seem to be perturbed at all. He seemed to believe, to his core, what he was saying to the refugees about how this wouldn’t be anything more than a minor inconvenience. He seemed, Barnes realized, almost satisfied. As much as he didn’t trust Embry, he couldn’t deny that he did like the older man, and he wanted to pretend he wasn’t seeing what he was in Embry’s eye…or what he thought he saw there, he insisted to himself.



Embry had spoken to him, but the older man’s attention was focused everywhere else across the cargo bay. Realizing that the sharp-eyed gentleman was invested elsewhere, Barnes played dumb and let Embry play the educator. The former negotiator laid out the dangers Barnes had already been preoccupied with, the potential panic, the loss of support from those they had propped themselves up on. Confusion clawed at the edges of Barnes’ mind. How could Embry be so blasé if he was aware of the powder keg they were sitting on? He tried to content himself with silent assurances that if Embry wasn’t panicking, then Embry had a plan. None of his schemes had failed yet, so there was no reason to doubt him. No reason to suspect.



However, Barnes had been paranoid for a long, long time and didn’t need a reason to do those things.



So he’d watched as Embry spoke to the engineer with the cocky grin who’d given the order to beam Barnes and his charges aboard. He wasn’t comfortable with the way the engineer’s eyes would periodically dart over Barnes, but the officer’s primary interest was Embry, so Barnes told himself it was only because of his size and pretended to believe it. He’d tried to focus on keeping the crowd held back, giving the engineer room to work and Embry room to talk (which, he realized, was how Embry did *his* work) but it really didn’t take much effort. People weren’t really inclined to do violence in this moment; their cries and shouts were born more from a need to be recognized, to be assured that they hadn’t been forgotten and that salvation would arrive shortly. They just wanted to be told they were safe, and Embry was more than happy to oblige them. Barnes couldn’t help but half-grin as he saw the relief on their faces as Arthur reassured them. His words had really come to mean something to these people. Again and again, Embry promised everyone whose path he crossed that he was dedicated to their safety and they believed him, and they were less scared.



Then, less than a half hour later, Embry had explained in some detail how he intended to turn the refugees who had grown to count on him into a weapon that he would bring crashing down on the heads of the people who had rescued them all. Step by horrifying step, he explained how he’d make their Starfleet benefactors into boogeymen who were out to exploit the refugees. He’d frame every malfunctioning replicator and delayed maintenance request as a tool of willful oppression. He’d cast every kindness and fulfilled promise as either an attempt to camouflage their ulterior motives, or a means of making the refugees dependent and weak. He’d implore people to avoid violence against Starfleet – to those who hadn’t even considered the notion – until they saw no other reasonable redress for their slights. He’d never mention slave ships or secret Federation labor colonies – but his feeble protests when others brought these fairy tales up would only solidify them in people’s fears. He’d plead for patience and forbearance until the pawns in his game believed the violence and destruction they wrought was their own idea. Occasionally, as he walked Barnes through his plan, he’d shake his head or cluck sadly at the situation, demonstrating even to his fellow conspirator just how deeply this plan pained him to his peace-loving heart.



And then, because he couldn’t seem to help himself, he would smirk.



As they sat there, Embry sipping tea and discussing the best way to incite a riot, Barnes became ever more aware of the weight tucked into the back of his pants, hidden from sight by his vest. He hadn’t produced the disruptor yet, though in the first night, he’d come close once or twice. None of Kass’ Marines had yet come to relieve him of it, though he wasn’t convinced that he’d entirely avoided that possibility. Near as he could tell, no one knew but him that he had the weapon at all. He honestly wondered if the right thing to do would be to pull out the Ferengi weapon and turn Embry’s forehead into a ventilation shaft. That would certainly put an end to Embry’s destructive plans, and it would also, he guessed, cause the smaller man’s final facial expression to be one of stunned surprise, instead of the bored superiority he was more familiar with.



Apart from the fact that he really didn’t want Embry to die, there were other reasons why he couldn’t do it. They’d come for him, of course. Before the shrill cry of the disruptor had faded, they’d have discovered the weapon discharge. Before he could tuck it back into his pants, they’d beam him into a brig, if not out into the vacuum. Then what? His explanation likely wouldn’t fly. It would be his word against Embry’s, and when choosing whose word to trust, most people tended to choose any option but the guy with the smoking gun in his hand. Kass would doubtless believe that he’d manipulated her by keeping the weapon, and maybe he had. In any case, she’d make an example out of him to try to put the ‘murder’ genie back in its bottle before the other refugees could run amok. Additional staff would be pulled off of critical system work to simulate security. The work would slow. Food supplies would become as bad as people were currently afraid of them being. Empty bellies would overrule brains. Resentment would grow on both sides. There would be violence. Lots of people would die, and it would be his fault.



*Remember that?*



So, he didn’t pull the disruptor. Instead, he just listened, and nodded, and finally made the only decision he could: he agreed to assist Embry in his by-proxy assault on the Starfleet crew. Once again, Embry had won the argument before it had even begun. His orders were simple, for now, though Embry had made no secret that things would grow more complicated. Until then, his only responsibility was to continue his duties keeping the peace, but making sure to find any opportunity to lay blame for whatever troubles at the feet of their Starfleet hosts. Ultimately, Embry had dismissed him with a smile that said “I-know-I-can-trust-you-implicitly,” and a look in his eyes that bespoke what would happen if Barnes betrayed that trust.



Barnes, head swimming, mechanically walked the aisles of cots and makeshift lean-tos. How had this happened? He closed his eyes and tried to imagine his life from a week earlier. Had there been signs of what was in store for him prior to that? There must have been. Things didn’t just change that quickly. It was inconceivable. There must have been a warning. There must have been some sign that he was going to end up in an obviously brand-new, bewilderingly understaffed Federation warship, whose security forces were led by a blind woman, captained by some jackass who, by virtue of a combination of blistering shortsightedness and delusions of grandeur, had managed to maneuver his own crew to a 70-to-1 disadvantage against a horde of both the criminal and the desperate, then had the temerity to reject capable assistance, instead choosing to demean those who offered their hands, deciding instead to place authority and his trust into the hands of a smiling megalomaniac.



It must have been a hell of a sign and he felt like an idiot for missing it.



He felt the mass of opposing forces shifting around him like tectonic plates: the refugees, the beleaguered Starfleet personnel, the overtaxed systems of the ship itself, Embry’s machinations, and the demons he’d brought with him. They rolled and heaved over each other, around him, and he felt a dead, dull certainty that they would crush him. He seemed to have a Judas addiction. First, he’d betrayed his own best judgment by getting so involved in this folly of a community, then he’d sold out Kass and her Starfleet brethren by agreeing to Embry’s insane machinations, and now he was already plotting to lay his betrayer’s kiss on Arthur himself. He knew that Judas had come to an ugly, ugly end and he fully expected the same to come for him. But until that happened, every minute he could buy would mean less bloodshed, so he had no choice but to simply last as long as he could. To do that, he’d need resources. And something like a plan.



Resources. He had his size. He had his strength. He had his speed. He had the reputation that had begun to spring up. At Embry’s insistence, he’d begun to introduce himself to people who hadn’t even been causing trouble. Once they knew his name, and his purpose, they stopped looking at him with wide eyes and breath caught in their throat; they started to offer reassured smiles when they saw him. He thought he had Embry’s trust, which should give him some room to operate. He had to assume the deputies were solidly Embry’s men, so he couldn’t send them against the former negotiator openly, but they could be of use if he was subtle in their deployment. Due to his connection with Kass when he’d first come aboard, the Marines in the cargo bay knew him, though he wasn’t certain they shared their Major’s trust in him. He had the secret disruptor in his waistband. He wasn’t empty handed, but he’d need more. First and foremost, he needed someone he could trust.



There weren’t a lot of options.



He turned and headed in the direction of his bunk, in the far back corner of the room. His first fight over the bunk had been the only one, but it hadn’t been the only encroachment. Twice he’d had to shoo people away, and considered himself lucky those hadn’t turned physical as well. That was before Arthur had introduced himself; no one had made any motions to taking his preferred spot since he’d signed up with Embry. The benefits of privilege, it seemed. However, he wasn’t one to trust to privilege and he hadn’t taken for granted for a moment that his peace would last.



So he’d made his own arrangements.



He tapped with a finger on the cloth flap which sealed the tent across from his cot. He got no response, so he tapped again. When there was still no reply from within the tent, he began cocking his finger behind his thumb and repeatedly flicking it against the taut fabric of the tent. Outside the tent, it produced satisfying POPs. Inside, he imagined it reverberated like a series of small explosions. He liked tents. “Hey Virgo, I need to talk to you.”



The fastening on the flap slid open, but just partially. From inside, a pair of eyes under sandy hair squinted up at him. “Damn it, Barnes. That’s loud as hell in here, you prick.”



“I tapped nicely. You didn’t respond.”



“You should’ve gone away.”



“Yeah, well, I didn’t.” Barnes swallowed. “Look, Silsby, I need-… We need to talk about- Look, can we talk privately.”



“No one touched your cot. I was watching.”



“You were inside!”



“I have a sense, Sheriff. No one touched it.”



“Don’t call me that. Look, can I just…come in?” The blonde man in the tent, Virgo Silsby, scowled at him. In the past couple of days, the two men had become unwitting neighbors. Barnes’ presence kept troublemakers away, which had worked out well for Silsby, as his tent wasn’t exactly a high-security fortress. In fact, his first meeting with the sheriff had come when Barnes had run off two men who were threatening to tear open the tent and rip Silsby from it. The conflict seemed to emanate from their previous time on LIMBO, and judging by the shouts of the perpetrators, stemmed from certain behaviors Silsby had engaged in with their wives. Concurrently. Once Barnes had sent the two jilted husbands on their way, he and Silsby had started talking. Soon they’d struck on a mutually beneficial arrangement. If trouble came around when Barnes was there, he’d run it off. If trouble came around when Barnes wasn’t there, Silsby would come tell him and Barnes would run it off. That was as far as their ‘friendship’ went – and in Silsby’s view that didn’t extend far enough to have this giant man in what now passed for his home. Barnes saw Virgo’s scowl deepen. “It’s important.”



“To me or to you?”



“Gonna be to everybody.”



“So…you, then.”



“’Everybody’ includes you, Silsby.”



“You’d think they would, but some people just always want to exclude me from everything.” Virgo laughed at his own joke. When Barnes’ expression didn’t change, Silsby frowned at him, sliding open the tent flap the rest of the way. “Oh, go to Hell, Barnes. That was funny. Well? Come in, if you’re coming.” He retreated into the tent. Barnes dropped to his knees and negotiated his mammoth frame into the impromptu shelter. Inside, as expected, the tent was cramped. There was a rumpled padded sleeping bag next to two duffel bags and a small pile of soiled clothing. Silsby had slid next to a tabletop on the floor (no table, just a top) where he was in the middle of dealing some kind of card game to himself. He was neither tall nor short, not heavy or thin. His hair was a sandy blonde, and the stubble on his chin was only slightly darker. Leaning backwards, feet akimbo, he managed to pull off a rakish air despite the fact he couldn’t stand up if he tried. Two feet away from Barnes’ face sat a pile of packaged foodstuffs, a pile which required only a glance to tell that its owner had been flagrantly flaunting the restrictions on food storage. Barnes gave Silsby an accusatory glance. For his part, Silsby just shrugged and held up his hands, an easy charming grin touching his face. “Like the replicators were gonna last forever.”



“They only burned out because-“ Barnes caught himself. He wasn’t here to discuss food hoarding. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I mean, it does. Knock this crap off. But that’s not what we need to talk about.”



Silsby took up his cards and resumed his deal. “Well, if you’ve got some other point, make it, Big Man. Cause if you’re here to hit on me, sorry, but you’re not nearly pretty enough for me.”



Barnes twisted into a seated position, his legs folded. “There’s something coming. There’s going to be trouble.”



“What kind of trouble,” Silsby cut in, looking at him now and holding a card suspended over the table top.



“For us. For everyone in the cargo bay.”



Silsby resumed his dealing. He frowned at the cards in front of him, scooped them up and began to shuffle. “If only there was some self-appointed nutjob who could take it on himself, unasked, to police everyone.”



“It’s too big for me.”



“That’s pretty big. Lucky for you that Embry’s got guys working for you already.”



“I don’t know if I can trust Embry’s guys.”



“Why not?”



“Because the only thing I know for sure is that I can’t trust Embry. None of us can.”



Silsby cut his eyes back to Barnes. He tapped one card against the deck while he puzzled over some internal question. A moment later, he sighed and set the cards aside. “Okay. I’m listening, Big Man. Tell me.”



Barnes laid out the situation for Silsby. Much of the situation was clear already, obviously, but Barnes was able to fill in a few details for his neighbor. Silsby was observant, and he knew how to put two and two together; he asked several astute questions as Barnes brought him up to speed. The sheriff explained just how short staffed the PHOENIX was, and how overtaxed her crew was. Silsby asked if there were other Federation vessels en route to provide assistance.



“I haven’t heard anything about other ships.”



“Ok, that’s weird. Right? That Starfleet would leave a ship in such bad shape out here?”



“Very,” Barnes replied, though to his mind, ‘weird’ wasn’t the word for it. As much as the PHOENIX suggested the old Galaxy class vessels, one look said that she was something else entirely. It didn’t make sense that Starfleet would have even sent the ship to LIMBO so understaffed in the first place, let alone approved the civilian evacuation. To think that now they’d leave her, and her proprietary secrets, in such a position so far from the seat of the Federation was nearly incomprehensible. However, if there had been assistance forthcoming, he figured the Starfleet crew would definitely have shared that information to keep anxiety levels low. For some reason that Barnes couldn’t fathom, they were on their own, and he shared this with Silsby.



“So, Embry’s planning on manipulating the food shortage into a riot. You think he had something to do with the replicators going down?”



Barnes blinked. He hadn’t even considered the possibility. On one hand, it seemed entirely unlikely. The replicators were constantly busy, and it would be hard to hide any tampering from the Marine patrols. Moreover, considering how the replicators were being overused, it was inevitable that the power drain would become an issue. Still, it was coincidental that the replicators had all malfunctioned at the same time, in the same manner. Stranger still that a lone replicator had remained, like a bright candle shining in darkness. Embry had made a lot of friends already, and he obviously had no qualms about enacting dangerous schemes. It wasn’t inconceivable he could have gotten some folks to look the other way. Barnes wasn’t sure that Embry’d had a hand in the crash, but all at once, he was suspicious. “Good call. I don’t know. Maybe. Worth checking out anyway.”



Virgo nodded, then scratched at his stubble. “So he steers everyone out there into a riot. Then what?”



“Near as I can tell, mutiny. They take the ship.”



“Embry said that?”



“Not directly, no. His entire case was built on trying to save Starfleet lives in the violence. According to him, the best way to do that is if he’s in the lead of the whole thing. Best place to lead is from the chair in the center of the bridge.”



“Convenient.”



“Ain’t it just,” Barnes said, with a humorless grimace.



“Okay, so I’m still unclear: Why are you talking to me?”



“Because, like I said, I need help on this one. I don’t know if I have any friends on this ship, but I know I don’t have any in this cargo bay and anyone outside isn’t going to be much use. Three things I know about you: You haven’t knifed me in my sleep, and you haven’t gone rooting through my bag when I’m away-”



Silsby raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”



Jacen fixed him with a level stare, and his lip twisted upwards in a mysterious half-smile. “I know.”



Virgo spread his hands. “Okay, so you caught me *not* trying to rip you off, Sheriff. Big deal. That doesn’t mean I wanna be your partner.”



“And that’s the third thing. If you were Embry’s man, you’d be coming to me instead of the other way around. So all told, those three things leave me trusting you about that much,” Barnes demonstrated the amount by holding his thumb and forefinger two inches apart. “And that much trust in here makes you my new best friend. Also, don’t call me that.”



“Damn it, Barnes. I’m a card player, not a security guard.”



“Even better. I’ve got security guards. Embry gave them to me, and for at least the time being, they follow my say-so. They’re not gonna let things go tits up until Embry wants them to, so I feel pretty confident in them doing that job for the time being. What I need is someone to tell me everything they won’t. To help me keep people calm. You can’t play cards all by yourself and that means you know people in here. More than I do. People will tell you more than they’d tell me.”



Silsby chewed his lip for a moment, then picked up his cards. “So, the guy everybody’s trusting to keep things sane around here is gonna light the fuse on the powder keg we’re all sitting on.” Barnes nodded. The blonde gambler slid a single card off the top of the deck and, with a practiced snap, placed it face down on the table. “The folks in charge of keeping the lid on all this are outnumbered 7-to-1?”



“Close. Seventy.”



“Oh. Of course.” Another card snapped in place. “You, having been invited - and having agreed to join – Embry’s goon squad are setting up, by yourself, to betray and set yourself up against the most popular man in Shanty Town.” Jacen nodded, and another card joined the first two. “You’ve got no weapons, no tech, no support and no plan to stop Embry.” Barnes thought again of the disruptor in his waistband, but decided against saying anything. Instead, he only nodded again. Silsby gave him a pained expression, and snapped another card down. “You’ve got all the charm and social grace of a sexually transmitted disease – no offense – and you need someone to help you keep your ear to the ground.” He didn’t wait for Barnes to respond, just slapped another card into place. He carefully set the deck down, and gestured at the five cards on the table. “Five good reasons you need me, Big Man. Now you need to tell me why I need you.”



Barnes sighed, and extended his hand towards Silsby. Taking the cue, Virgo passed him the deck. The bearded giant peeled a single card off the top. “Embry will never take the ship. Never. If the choice is between dying and turning a ship like this over to Embry, Starfleet will destroy this ship before they let him have it, and they can do it faster than he can stop them. Either we stop him, or we’ll be vaporized in space.” He held up the card for a moment, then with a heavy smack, lay it put down his card, face up across from those placed by Silsby. The card was marked with two ‘As’ and a single diamond. Barnes had literally and figuratively played his only ace.



They sat there in silence for a moment, each weighing the five face-down cards against the lone ace staring back at them, before Silsby let loose an exasperated sigh.



“Shit.” Another pause. “I’ve got some terms.”



“Like what?”



Silsby smiled again. “Command codes…”



=[/\]=



SCENE: Shanty Town



Barnes made his way through the cargo bay, doing his best to carry himself as he had on he had on all of his previous patrols. He needed to maintain the appearance of standard procedure, even while inside he felt like he was drowning. Already the noise levels had risen, as the previously quiet and casual conversations about a wide variety of topics evolved, one by one, into more strident ones about the ‘food situation’ or the ‘replicator crisis.’ He noted a number of people were moved in a huddle around the patrolling Marines. One of them, whom Barnes recognized as Kass’ partner in her exhibition at the bar on LIMBO, wore an annoyed expression. His partner, a much smaller woman, looked nothing but frightened instead, though she was obviously trying to mask it. The crowd hurled questions and exclamations at the Marines, though only the larger man responded. “We’re not engineers. No, we don’t know when the replicators will be up again. Yes, people are working on it. Please let us through. Please stay calm. We’re not engineers…”



Further along, he saw Steiner and Metcalf, two of the deputies Savaar had introduced him to. Steiner was a stout man with a pale, doughy face, thinning red hair, and a thicker beard of matching ginger. Metcalf was older, somewhere between a rough 50 and a young looking 60, rail thin and dark hair trimmed very short. Barnes watched as they moved towards him, smiling genially at anyone they passed, though the smiles didn’t touch their eyes. He found himself wondering how much, if anything, they knew about Embry’s plans. If he were to share what he knew, would they follow him to arrest the community leader or would they manufacture an ‘accident’ before they could even make it there? He didn’t know, and he couldn’t allow himself to take a risk.



“What’s going on, fellas,” Barnes asked as they neared.



“Nothing unexpected. Folks are nervous, but behaving themselves. Mostly. I heard that Jimmy and Cal had to break up a brawl between two entire families on the far side.” Barnes cocked an eyebrow at him. “Something about divvying up food they’d had pooled together. I’m pretty sure the guys got it settled down.”



“I need you two to make sure. Head over there and check it out. We need to get these people to a point where they’re looking to us and not to Starfleet to keep them safe. If you see Jimmy and Cal, tell them to find me at my cot at 17:00 tonight. I want to hear their report. Spread the word on that.”



Steiner and Metcalf shared a brief glance, then both looked back at Barnes and nodded. “Sure thing, Boss,” Steiner said. The look wasn’t lost on their nominal superior, and he recognized its meaning. While they weren’t arguing the point or refusing his orders, they also weren’t taking them at first blush either. What did that mean? Was it an indication of their loyalty to Embry or merely the natural response to receiving instruction from someone they’d never met before yesterday?



There would be no answers, so Barnes ignored the questions and watched as the deputies moved off to carry out his orders. Continuing his path, he resumed his search and also his mulling over the difficulties he faced. Starfleet, refugees, Embry, the deputies… and now the promise he’d made Silsby. He tried to remind himself that there was no way around it, that he needed *someone’s* help and, devil’s deal or not, Silsby had been his best (by virtue of being his only readily apparent) option. But not only was he uncertain as to how to acquire the codes, he was leery of what Silsby would do once he had them. Either way, he’d have to feed the Judas addiction again.



But those would be tomorrow’s problems, and he had to get through today first. After he and Silsby had finished speaking, the gambler had moved off to begin finding others who could be trusted to help them. He’d given one of his grins when he promised Barnes that he would be able to find them capable and trustworthy assistance. As a good faith gesture, he’d suggested someone who might be able to help Barnes get an idea of exactly what had happened with the replicators. Silsby didn’t know him well, he admitted, but he said that, from what he’d seen, the contact had a real interest in tech, and an apparent capacity for it as well. So armed with a name, a one word description, and a vague idea on where he bunked, Barnes had set out. Now, as he neared the space indicated by Silsby’s directions, Barnes saw his quarry, and also saw that his timing was fortuitous.



The Gorn was flanked by two men, who were repeatedly shoving the humanoid lizard while they berated him. Barnes couldn’t help but give a chuckle. The Gorn stood an easy head over both of the two men, and Shanty Town’s sheriff had no doubts that the Gorn could have annihilated both of his assailants without breaking a sweat. If lizards sweat, that is, which he didn’t know. Regardless, the Gorn had obviously resolved not to return violence for violence. Instead of lashing out, he was holding one of the boxes that indicated replicated food, merely trying to maneuver it away from the grasping hands of the Humans, and the other two men were taking that as a mark of weakness. As Barnes neared, he was surprised to see that he was actually taller than the Gorn. That was uncommon.



“Give it back, ya freak,” one of the men was shouting.



“Yeah, you big dumb lizard! Give it here!” As Barnes approached, unnoticed by any of the trio, the man punctuated his request with a fist to the Gorn’s jaw.



“HEY,” Barnes roared, straightening his shoulders and rising to his full height as he stormed the last few steps towards the altercation. The two men whipped their heads around and, seeing the hulking behemoth charging towards them, forgot about the Gorn and turned to face him, raising their hands defensively.



“Hold up! Hold up,” the first man began to squawk as Barnes grabbed his compatriot’s fist. The smaller man’s hand was engulfed entirely by the larger’s, like a python consuming a rabbit. The second man’s response, as Barnes began to twist his fist around, was shouted and composed only of vowels. The Gorn fixed Barnes with an implacable stare, but said nothing.



“What’s going on here,” Barnes demanded.



“He stole my food! He took it right out of my footlocker,” the first man accused, shoving an accusing finger upwards at the Gorn’s face.



Barnes turned to the Gorn. “Is that true?” The Gorn didn’t move. At all. “I’m asking you a question. Did you steal that from this man?” Again, there was no response. Instead, the Gorn merely began looking back and forth from the box in his hands, to the two men who had been tormenting him, to this new Human who had arrived on the scene. “Let me see that,” Barnes said, releasing the man who’d thrown the punch and reaching for the box. The Gorn stiffened, trying to draw the box away, but Barnes did see his eyes widen. That was more emotional investment than he’d shown at being struck in the face. “Hey. Hey, relax. No one’s going to hurt you-“



“The Hell I won’t,” the second man said, even as he rubbed at his sore wrist. Barnes just glowered at him and he went quiet again.



“Did you steal that food,” Barnes asked slowly and directly.



The Gorn didn’t speak. He stood like a statue for a moment longer, than slowly moved one of his claws from the box to a small device mounted on his wrist. He touched a button there. [[No.]]



Barnes blinked, surprised by the sound from the wrist-mounted computer, but the first man was quicker in his reply. “You damn liar! You know you stole that from me!” However, the way his eyes darted around nervously, Barnes was beginning to seriously doubt his indignation.



“May I see that,” Barnes asked. “I won’t take it away unless you stole it.” No movement. “I promise.”



The Gorn held out the box for Barnes’ inspection. Gently taking it, and examining the label, Barnes turned to the other two men. “He stole this from you?”



“I told you that, didn’t I?”



“You did. What I’m curious about is why,” Barnes hoisted the box, “you chose to use your replicator rations on a case of Terran dragonflies.”



The first man began to pale, while his compatriot’s complexion had taken on a greenish cast. “Dragonflies?”



“Well, not exactly. More like artificially replicator dragonfly carcasses. But close enough. So I guess that explains why he might have taken it. I mean, I imagine that if you had a reptilian digestive system, these might be pretty delicious. But you say these are your dragonflies, and you sure seem certain… Well, I guess I’ve got no choice but to penalize this Gorn for theft,” The lizard stiffened, but didn’t move. Barnes held up what he hoped was a reassuring hand. “But before I do that, I’m sure all the excitement has you hungry. Why don’t we pop this open and you can eat a handful or two?”



“Well, now…” Barnes couldn’t tell who looked more uncomfortable, the Gorn or the two men in front of him. The man who’d claimed to be the owner of the Gorn’s food was stammering wildly.



“I insist. It’s important to keep your strength up, considering all that’s going on. So, go ahead,” he held the box out to the first man, “dig on in.”



“Look, I-“



“Let me put this another way,” Barnes growled, all affability draining away from his voice as he took a step towards the two men. “Either you, both of you, reach your grubby little paws into that box and choke down a handful of those disgusting, dead little bugs,” – there was an audible gag from the second man at that – “Or I will have the both of you sent to the brig for assault, food theft, and submitting a false claim.”



There was a pregnant pause. Finally, the first man, with a disgusted look on his face reached for the case Barnes held.



Barnes wrenched the case away, thrusting it back in the direction of the Gorn. With his other hand, he grasped the outstretched hand of the other human and pulled him in close. “You think that you can just steal from him and get away with it? Look at him, you damn moron. He could take your arm off of your body without thinking twice and, frankly, I don’t know why he didn’t do it. But I’m glad he didn’t, because…” Barnes voice trailed off. Over the man’s shoulder, and some distance away, he could see two more of his deputies standing stock still and watching him. Reality dropped a frigid stone into his molten temper and he paused, remembering the situation. Embry was expecting him to engender trust amongst the refugees, particularly those with violent enough inclinations to be useful in the violence to come. These two would be exactly the kind of people Embry would want, and Barnes would have to have good reasons to justify treating them poorly. Unfortunately, “being fully deserving” wouldn’t be a good enough reason. Barnes swallowed the words he really wanted to say, and whispered others it sickened him to utter. “Because you’re not…you’re not to blame. It’s not your fault that Starfleet’s put you in such an awful position. But…please…try to remember that we’re all in this together. It’s us…versus them.” He imagined he was the one who was now turning green. “You two just…go on. On your way.”



The two men stood for just a moment, watching Barnes to see if his demeanor would pivot again. When they were convinced that he wasn’t setting up another ruse for them, they turned and bolted away as fast as they could while maintaining some semblance of pride. Each of them were rubbing at their sore wrist – they looked like a poorly conceived set of bookends as they stole through the crowd and disappeared in the mass of bodies. Barnes watched them go and then, unable to resist the impulse, he spit on the ground.



Chaucer stood stock-still, again holding his food, warily contemplating the Human who still stood in front of him. He’d seen the Terran marching through the cargo bay previously, but they hadn’t interacted. It was obvious to Chaucer, though, that his Human was of great stature within this community and he was to be treated with deference. The Gorn had never been practiced at identifying Humans via their facial features – there was too little variance for that to be effective – and had grown into the habit of judging their age by their physical size. He knew their offspring were birthed comically undersized, and then increased in stature as they aged. The Human in front of Chaucer was actually taller than the mute engineer. The only logical conclusion was that this Human was extremely venerable, and had doubtless amassed great wisdom in its many years of life. That was clearly why the other Terrans obeyed its proclamations. For his part, Chaucer was mystified at the wisdom displayed by the Ancient One. To Chaucer, it had been terribly confusing when, after pledging that Chaucer would not be deprived of his delicious dragonflies, he had promptly begun insisting that the other Humans consume Chaucer’s meal. The Gorn had been on the verge of protesting, even at the risk of showing rudeness to such an honored elder, when the Human had handed him back his food and Chaucer’s assailants fled away. Chaucer chided himself internally for mistrusting the Ancient One, and he hoped that someday his own understanding would be equal to this one’s wisdom.



Barnes turned back to Chaucer “Do you need help? Are you okay?”



Chaucer blinked. The Ancient One had asked his second question before Chaucer could answer his first. Perhaps he was impatient. That would make sense considering that he would likely die of old age soon. In order to not waste this man’s precious time, Chaucer simply answered both of his questions in sequence. [[No. Yes.]]



It was Barnes’ turn to blink. “No? Or Yes?”



He never understood how much difficulty Humans had with affirmative and negative responses. To him, they seemed very simple. [[Yes. No.]]



There was a pause as Barnes tried to find a way out of the conversational maze he’d wandered into. “So you need assistance, you need some kind of help…or you’re okay?”



Three questions. Chaucer was impressed. This man must be very learned to be able to navigate such an inefficient conversation. [[No. No. Help. Yes.]]



Excitement touched Barnes’ heart. He was pretty sure he’d understood that. “You’re saying that you don’t need help.”



Chaucer was relieved. The Ancient One had finally understood him. [[Yes.]]



Barnes sighed in frustration. Apparently he hadn’t understood the Gorn at all. “So you do need help?”



Chaucer didn’t sigh in frustration, but only because he physically couldn’t. He touched his vox again. [[No.]]



“Ugh,” Barnes said with a disgusted grin. “Who’s on First, right,” referencing an old comic routine his grandfather had shared with him.



Chaucer didn’t understand the question in the slightest. But, not wanting to be rude, he provided the best answer he could. [[My name is Chaucer.]]



Twice Barnes opened his mouth to speak again, thought better of it both times, and finally took a long breath. When he exhaled, he looked squarely at the Gorn. “I’m pretty sure this whole thing was my fault.”



Chaucer wouldn’t be so rude as to contradict such a respected elder. [[Yes.]]



For just a moment, Barnes’ face split into a wide, easy grin and his eyes, normally so clouded over with worry, danced and sparkled. He extended a hand towards the Gorn. “Got to appreciate an honest man. Or, well, you know. Jacen Barnes.” Chaucer stared at the outstretched hand, then back at the Ancient One. He had the sense that the Human was inviting him into some sort of ritual behavior, but he wasn’t sure as to what it was. Eventually, he went with one of his most useful tactics in dealing with humans, and mirrored Barnes’ gesture. When the Human grasped his claw, Chaucer worried, just for an instant that he’d opened himself to attack. Before he could respond however, the Ancient One raised and lowered Chaucer’s claw in his own hand twice, then released him. “Okay, Mr. Chaucer. A little bird told me that you know your way around a machine. That true?”



Chaucer’s jaw opened in surprise. The Ancient One had avian spies in his employ. He quickly scanned the room, but saw no birds of any kind, small or otherwise. Such stealthy agents must be immensely useful. He touched his vox. [[Yes.]]



“Good, glad to hear it. You know we’re having some difficulties with the replicators. I was hoping I could ask you to take a look with me at a couple of the malfunctioning units. I’d like to know if there was anything going on with them beyond simple power issues.”



[[Help.]]



“Exactly. Look, Chaucer, people here are worried. Scared. If we don’t get food sorted out, and quickly, there could be…there’s going to be trouble. Violence. Some people here *want* it to be that way. They want people to be hurt. Maybe killed. I hate to ask, but I have to… That’s not something you would want, is it?”



So often, Chaucer was mystified by Humans, even after all the time he’d spent in their company. But as much as their speech and humor confused him, one of the things he unfortunately had no difficulty grasping was their ability to be gratified by violence and cruelty. They weren’t so unlike the Gorn in that regard. He stared straight at the Ancient One and activated his vox. [[No.]]



Barnes nodded. “That’s good. That’s very good. So…will you help me?”



[[Yes.]]



“Good.” Barnes sighed in relief. After the way the cosmos had decided to start spinning - wildly, unexpectedly, dangerously – within the last few days, it was a cathartic thing to receive an uncomplicated offer of help. For just a moment, the span of two breaths, the crushing weight on his chest abated. Then, the heady sensation of not-being-alone faded as the reality of his situation reasserted itself: the probability was that he hadn’t saved himself, just doomed Chaucer. His grin faded, then fell from his face like autumn leaves. “Let’s get going, then.”



****



NRPG: Introducing Virgo Silsby! He’ll be Barnes’ ‘right hand’ within Shanty Town, at least for the time being. I’ll work on fleshing out some of the “Embry’s” men in the next week or two.

…But what could he want those command codes for? (Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha.)



I’m flying out tomorrow morning for a week in the Midwest. I’m sure I’ll be able to keep up, but it’s unlikely I’ll get much chance to post.





Dale I. Rasmussen



~writing for~



Jacen Barnes

Maker of New Friends