Don't Pay the Ferryman

Posted on 27 Dec 2014 @ 9:22am by Lieutenant Olsam Mott

4,145 words; about a 21 minute read

Mission: Episode 07 - Sojourn
Location: Shuttlecraft, Starbase 84 system
Timeline: MD07:1400hrs

ON:

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Darazana Mott asked, leaning over Wintrow Paragon's shoulder. The Bolian lawyer was out of her seat on the shuttlecraft for the third or fourth time since leaving Starbase 84, peering uncertainly at the control panels and even less certainly at the young Betazoid manning them.

"Why don't you just shut up? I'll never understand how you turned out to be so insufferable when the rest of us are perfectly normal. How is he supposed to fly with you hovering over his shoulder, breathing all down his neck, anyway? He's probably drowning in the smell of the oyster sauce you had for breakfast. Just sit down," another Bolian grumbled, eyeing the one hovering over Wintrow.

"Why should I sit down, Gwidon? So I'm within reach and you can stab me with a butter knife again?"

"That was three years ago, let it go!"

"It was last year, and I'll never let it go," Darazana said defiantly, straightening up to her full height to try to look more intimidating to her seated brother.

In the co-pilot's seat, Dr. Olsam Mott pinched at the bridge of his nose and the cartilaginous ridge that divided his face, hoping to relieve some of the tension building up in his body. His two youngest siblings had the most contentious relationship in the entire family, often coming to blows upon meeting one another. It didn't help that they were both attorneys at complete odds with one another - Darazana for the Bolian government and Gwidon for a law firm that made the government a favored target. And it really didn't help that they insisted on representing opposing cases as often as possible, working ceaselessly not only for their clients but also for the right to boast about a win over the other.

Unfortunately, it was their work that had put them in the shuttlecraft with Olsam and Wintrow in the first place - the Bolian Supreme Court had granted their petition for a writ of certiorari and scheduled deadlines for the filing of briefs and oral arguments that necessitated their immediate return to Bolarus IX. A passing Bolian ship had agreed to drop out of warp long enough near Starbase 84 to rendezvous with the shuttle since the pair refused to use the transporters. (Olsam suspected they did so just to be difficult and inconvenience one another.)

"I'm sorry," Olsam said, leaning over to Wintrow with a pained expression on his face. The Great Butter Knife Debate of 2390 continued to rage on behind them but he'd gotten pretty good at tuning his family out. "There's nothing at all wrong with your flying."

"Thank you sir," Wintrow murmired as he hunched over his console. His expression was tight as he was forced to listen to the argument raging on behind them, his discomfort over the very situation quite clear. It wasn't that he had to fly them anywhere, it wasn't even that he was here with a doctor and his family. No, his discomfort was purely directed at the constant bickering.

The teenager turned around slowly. "I would appreciate it if you didn't stand too close," he explained to the Bolian woman, "I don't mind explaining what I'm doing, and I'm pretty sure I know what I'm doing otherwise I wouldn't be qualified to fly this type of vessel, let alone with people on board." His voice was shaking as he literally worked up the courage to speak his mind. "But I do mind my personal space being violated. If you want to see what I'm doing, switch places with Doctor Mott." He drew in a deep breath as he turned back. "Please," he added as if in after thought.

The absolute silence that filled the cabin was deafening given that the argument had just been reaching its peak before Wintrow spoke. No one had really even heard the first few things he'd said, but by the time he'd finished speaking everyone had fallen silent. Olsam and Gwidon both looked horrified, looking rapidly from the young man to their sister, who was in no way accustomed to anyone telling her what to do.

For her part, Darazana just stared at him. And as more time passed, the staring seemed to increase in intensity. Once - just once - she looked the young man up and down from head to toe, as if appraising him, and then she went back to staring. Olsam felt his chest start burning from holding his breath, and he had to remind himself to exhale and inhale. When his sister finally spoke, he jumped a little in the co-pilot's seat.

"What is your name," she said, leaning forward in her chair toward Wintrow; the question seemed to have so much intensity to it that it sounded more like a statement.

Wintrow felt utterly uncomfortable under her stare but he held his own and stared right back even though his cheeks had flushed bright red and his dark blue eyes held a note of apprehension. "Cadet Sophomore Wintrow Paragon," he replied softly, his courage quickly waning now.

"Well, Cadet Wintrow Paragon," Darazana said, getting up slowly from her chair. Gwidon leaned back into his own, trying to put as much distance between himself and his sister as possible. She was speaking slowly and moving slowly, and he'd seen that in court a hundred times before.

It was usually never good.

Finally, she crossed the space between them and towered over him, even straightening up as much as she could to increase the differentiation in their height between her standing and his seated position. "I'm Darazana Mott, the Assistant General Counsel to the Bolian State Council for Justice & Ethics. And in addition to being a pilot you must have the distinction of possessing the biggest set of balls on the USS Galileo to work up the nerve to talk to me like that." For all intents and purposes her face seemed to continue to harden - like she was preparing to strike a blow - until it finally and suddenly broke, the muscles relaxing and easing into something akin to amusement. "Maybe you could teach these two something about having a backbone."

Behind them, Gwidon let out an exasperated sigh, as if he'd been looking forward to violence only to be sorely disappointed. Olsam just frowned at his sister as he stood up to free the co-pilot's seat for her. Passing by to move to the back with his brother, he muttered something about going easy on Wintrow because he was just a kid.

"I..." The teenager's voice faltered, all his senses on 'red alert', his body tense as if expecting to be struck any second now. He looked every bit the part of a boy expecting to be struck down, his entire body on the defensive. "No ma'am, I don't," he finally whispered, looking away, his hands shaking above his console.

Darazana's brow wrinkled under a shock of platinum hair, watching him as she took a seat in the co-pilot's chair. Olsam and Gwidon had fallen into a hushed conversation in the back of the shuttle, probably something to do with Wintrow avoiding disaster. "What's the matter with you? Why are you shaking like that? Do you have a neurological disease or something?"

Carefully, the teenager shook his head, relaxing ever so slightly now the woman had sat down. The 'red alert' feeling eased somewhat but didn't quite go away. "No ma'am," he answered timidly, unwilling to give her the full truth. It was private, and none need know about it. "No diseases ma'am." He returned his attention to his console, without ignoring her. "We'll be initiating landing procedures in a few minutes." He pointed at his sensors. "This is where we are, and there's the civilian freighter waiting on you."

"Yes, I see that," Darazana said, as if she were a pilot herself. She cut her eyes to the side to look at him, giving him a good once over up and down. "How old are you? My brother assured me you're authorized to operate this vessel..."

"Nineteen ma'am," Wintrow replied, "almost twenty, in a few months. I've been flying since seventeen. I did my evals recently and im qualified to operate this craft." He seemed almost offended, despite his timidity.

"You haven't killed us, yet, so I suppose that will have to do," Darazana responded, sitting back in her seat next to him. Her eyes shifted from the slight Betazoid to her left up to the view of the Bolian civilian transport, which was still quite distant and looked like a small pinprick in the fabric of space. "What is the maximum velocity of this vessel, young man? Uh, Cadet... Wettrow, was it?"

"Paragon ma'am, Wintrow Paragon. These shuttles go warp 9.97 I believe but I'm actually not certain. Would you like to try?"

"Right, Wintrow Paragon," she mimicked. She pursed her lips together in thought, reflecting on what he'd said. Warp 9.97 would get her back much faster than that Bolian transport, which wasn't likely to break Warp 6 for more than a couple of hours. If she could manage to trick her brother into boarding the transport without her and then taking the shuttle it would give her a decided leg up - hours, perhaps a day or more, to prepare her side of the legal case. Her brother, the opposing counsel, would be at a decided disadvantage, and that was just the way she liked it. "Warp 9.97, you say? How long can we maintain that speed? It's very important that I return to Bolarus IX as soon as possible."

"Not for very long ma'am. A shuttle doesn't have the structural integrity a starship has, so maybe two hours at best, then we'll have to reduce speed to Warp 5, which is cruising speed ma'am. I don't really know a lot about engines I'm afraid, I'm a pilot, not an engineer."

"Hmm," Darazana mumbled, calculating in her head. Two hours at Warp 9.97 would still put her on Bolarus several hours ahead of her brother. She would be able to receive documents from the Bolian Supreme Court, access databases at the State Council for Justice & Ethics, and begin drawing up a case that would be far superior to whatever nonsense her brother could manage to throw together. She cleared her throat but spoke quietly enough that Olsam and Gwidon wouldn't be able to hear her in the back. "Very well then, I am commandeering this shuttle on behalf of the Bolian World Council. You may drop Gwidon at the transport, beam Olsam back to the starbase, and then proceed directly to Bolarus IX with me."

Wintrow just gawked at her, then turned to Olsam. "Sir..." he implored of the doctor, "can she just do that? This is Starfleet property sir..."

"Do what?" Olsam said, turning from his conversation with Gwidon to look at Wintrow. "What's she trying to do?"

"I'm not trying to do anything, just mind your own business, Olsam!" Darazana snapped. She glared at him then turned an even more withering gaze on her other "brother" and opposing counsel, Gwidon.

"She's taking control sir," Wintrow blurted out, "she wants me to transport you to starbase and your brother dropped at the transport." He sat, wide-eyed and clearly unsure of what to do. He couldn't just let her take the shuttle, and him as pilot, could he? "I can't do that..."

"What!" Gwidon shouted, coming out of his seat in a flash. Olsam tried to grab him by the arm but he wasn't exactly known for his quick reflexes and athleticism so the younger Mott simply side-stepped the attempt and continued on marching toward Darazana. "You're trying to shaft me with that lumbering garbage scow while you take control of a Starfleet shuttle craft? Why? Are you going to tell him to shoot out the engines of the transport, too, and strand me in space? Make me forfeit the case?"

Darazana sat up stiffly in her chair, like she was prepared to receive a blow from the brother towering over her. "I hadn't thought about that, but now that you mention it-"

"This is madness!" Olsam shouted from somewhere in the rear of the shuttlecraft. Eventually, his blue face appeared over Gwidon's shoulder as he strained to physically insert himself into the conversation. "She absolutely cannot take control of this shuttlecraft. I'm sure it violates like... I don't even know how many regulations! A lot! I probably shouldn't have even asked you to fly them. I should have just sedated them and forced them to use the transporter."

"Don't be absurd, Olsam," Darazana scoffed, keeping one eye on the slightly volatile Gwidon while glaring at Wintrow. If he'd just managed to keep his mouth shut and be appropriately pliable and open to suggestion... "I'm sure this has all just been one big misunderstanding. I was merely testing young Cadet Winchrow's understanding of Starfleet protocols. No need to get in a huff about it. Sit down, Gwidon. You, too, Olsam, you look like you're about to blow an artery."

Meanwhile Wintrow just shrank back in his seat, blood drained from his face as he slapped his hands over his ears. All this shouting, at him, over him... "Stop!" he suddenly screamed, his eyes wrenched just just in case. "Please...stop shouting...." He couldn't take this anymore, this bickering, this fighting. "I'm not flying anyone anywhere but where I've been ordered to go, by a Starfleet Officer. I will not dump anyone anywhere."

"Well now look what you've gone and done!" Gwidon said, flailing his arms in Wintrow's general direction. "You heartless squid, he's about to cry. Is that your goal in life? To ruin everyone who gets within three meters of you?"

Olsam put his hand on Gwidon's arm to silence him, seeing how upset the young Betazoid was. He frowned at both of his siblings and then pointed forcefully toward the rear of the shuttlecraft. "You two should prepare for docking and transfer. Go on. Go. Go, go, go!" Gwidon looked properly chastised as he slipped away; Darazana looked like the eldest Mott brother had just started a blood feud, but she complied nonetheless. When they had disappeared to collect their things, Olsam slid down into the co-pilot's seat and looked over at the young man next to him. "Sorry, Cadet. My family is very...Bolian."

"I'm..." Wintrow took a few deep breaths, trying to get his breasthing back under control. "I don't take well to being shouted at sir," he confessed, "and she...she reminded me of my stepmother." The fear at the mention of his stepmother was audible in his voice. "I was afraid she'd hurt me sir..."

Olsam looked over his shoulder. "Well, I wish I could say you were completely safe but she has been known to stab and maim people before." He turned back and gave a nervous chuckle that made it unclear whether he was being serious or not (he was). "Did you have a wicked stepmother? Thankfully Darazana has no interest in having children. Can you imagine?"

Slowly, after a moment of consideration, Wintrow nodded. "She is not allowed near me, though she is in jail now." His voice dropped considerably as he finally looked up at the doctor. "She tried to kill me, and nearly succeeded. Nearly killed my now ex-boyfriend too..." He swallowed a few times, suddenly feeling very concerned. "What about you though...how will this reflect on you?"

"How will what reflect on me? Your murderous step-mother? Well, I don't think it will reflect on me at all as long as we don't date one another," Olsam said, completely misunderstanding the cadet. He gave Wintrow a sidelong glance, baffled by the question. "Or... You mean... Them? My brother and sister?"

Wintrow nodded slowly. "I mean your sister," he clarified softly, "she seems like someone who always gets her way." As he spoke, he turned back to his console and adjusted their flight path to the transport to their final approach. He felt safer, with the doctor sitting next to him.

"Well, she'd have to incapacitate three people to commandeer the shuttle. And when we woke up, she'd have a lot of explaining to do. She's convincing in a debate, but not that convincing. I don't think we have anything to worry about. And since she's on her way back to Bolarus, I doubt I'll have to see her again for another five years or so." Olsam let out something like a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry she accosted you. I'd make her apologize, but I don't think she knows how. We're all pretty sure she's one or two genes shy of being a sociopath."

In the back of the shuttlecraft, another argument broke out between brother and sister, each accusing the other of misplacing some critical piece of luggage. Olsam closed his eyes at the sound of it and felt a headache coming on, a rarity for him.

"I hope that transport isn't as far away as it looks, Cadet."

"It isn't sir, a few minutes at best," Wintrow answered, feeling the same headache. Being an empath though, he was keenly aware of the flying emotions. "Why do they argue?" he asked daringly, "why do they even fly on the same transport if they hate eachother so much? Why do you let them argue?"

"Imagine the way they're going at each other now..." He turned to look over his shoulder just in time to see Darazana shove Gwidon, who promptly took a wide swing at her with a piece of hand luggage. "Except there are two of them focused entirely on you. That's what happens if you try to separate them. They hate each other because they've spent their entire lives trying to one-up each other but neither of them can ever get sufficiently ahead. It's not enough to beat your enemy once - you've got to hand them a crushing defeat so you can gloat over them, but they're both too smart to outwit one another that much.

"If you ask them, they'll say it's only professional competition but the truth is they've been doing it their whole lives. I'm not sure if it's really all about competition or something to do with proving themselves as the youngest siblings. Regardless... They are Bolian. So even though they frequently come to blows, they're still family. I think it's the only thing that keeps them from killing one another." Olsam lifted an eyebrow and turned in his chair to look at Wintrow. "Isn't it like that in your family, too?"

Wintrow shook his head. "My stepmother loved my father, I have no doubt of that, but she never loved me. My half brother and sister are twins, and two years younger. However my brother was heavier set than I and much stronger. I was never a match for him and his mother encouraged him. I spent a lot of time in hospital but doctors never investigated. I was just a clumsy child she would say. My brother nearly killed me a few times, especially when I tried to defend our sister who wasn't safe for him either."

He paused, it'd been a long time since he'd told anyone. "He not only physically abused me," he continued in a voice filled with shame and hurt, "but sexually too. I dared to go for help, the one time I did dare to, and he caught me before I actually could. He raped me..." He shook his head again. "It doesn't compare. My brother is dead now, my stepmother in prison and my sister is safe. I made sure that she's safe, I'm all she has left."

"Hmm," Olsam said, as if they were simply discussing the latest art installation in a public gallery.

He'd read Wintrow's medical file, as he'd done with everyone else aboard the ship, so it didn't come as too much of a shock to him. A certain forensic pattern manifested itself with systemic abuse, and it had certainly been there in the little tell-tale signs: a poorly healed hairline fracture here, leftover scar tissue from untreated wounds there. But his most recent scans had been clean and there wasn't anything mentioned in the notes from other physicians, so he hadn't seen any need to bring it up. Likely he was pursuing counseling and by all accounts seemed to be dealing with things relatively well; a bit timid and shy, certainly, but at least he wasn't cowering in the corner or wetting himself at the first sign of trouble. If he'd weathered Hurricane Darazana then he must have been made of tougher stuff than he looked.

"I suppose we're all better off for his death," Olsam finally said, wondering if Wintrow might have been the one to murder him. He certainly wouldn't have blamed him. But then again Bolians had an unorthodox view of death and held life as a little less sacrosanct than most species; they simply felt sometimes society was better off with certain people dead. "And your mother? She passed away?"

"My birth mother died giving birth to me, so I never knew her. And I never told dad of any of this though in the end, I think he knew or at least suspected. He was a diplomat and away for work a lot. He did spend time with me, we often went sailing. I have a small sailboat back on Earth, which was a gift from him."

Olsam turned to look at the slight young man next to him and had a hard time picturing him on a sailboat. Or any boat. Weren't sailors supposed to be brawny with big hairy chests and tattoos and giant mustaches? Wintrow was so boyish in appearance he hardly seemed capable of growing a giant mustache, much less swinging from some... Whatever they called all those ropes and contraptions on a ship.

"I enjoy sailing. I mean, in that I like to be on a boat. I don't much enjoy operating the boat. There's an awful lot of work involved," Olsam rambled. "Moving the one thing so it's not in the way of the other thing and swinging that thing so the wind catches the other thing and moves the thing to the left instead of swinging it back around and hitting you in the head. We have a lot of ships on Bolarus, did you know that? There's a lot of water." He fell quiet for a moment, enjoying the silence that had settled over the shuttle. Apparently Darazana and Gwidon had worked out their luggage and taken their seats for docking, each silently fuming over some imagined slight. Olsam gave Wintrow a side glance and frowned a little bit in concern. "I'm sorry for the circumstances you've experienced. I hope Starfleet has been a more suitable environment, even if you do have the occasional mentally disturbed shuttle passenger."

Wintrow gave him a small but genuine smile. "Yes sir," he answered, "Starfleet is the best that ever happened and I do love to fly sir. Perhaps...if we're ever near Earth -or you know on a holodeck, I could take you sailing? It's only a very small boat, but it'll fit some six people."

"I don't think they have any intention of letting us see Earth for a decade or more," Olsam huffed, making plain his thoughts on shoreleave out on the Romulan border in the middle of nowhere. Despite the grumbling, he managed a smile. "But I think sailing on the holodeck would be wonderful, as long as you program some crew to help out. You don't want me assisting, trust me. The last time I tried to help I lost all four boat fenders, snagged the anchor on a coral reef and set off two emergency flares that caught the windsock on fire. As if it's my fault they make those things out of flammable material!"

"Oh don't worry sir, I can operate this boat on my own, you won't have to do anything at all." His smile widened just a little as he initated docking procedures with the freighter. "Almost there sir, just a few seconds and then we're fully docked."

"Thank goodness," Olsam said, smiling as he got up from the co-pilot's chair. He patted Wintrow affectionately on the shoulder, a sign of friendship and camaraderie forged under the duress brought on by his family, and moved to the back of the craft to deal with his siblings. Getting them off the shuttle was likely to be as much fun as getting them on it in the first place....

OFF:

Cadet SO Wintrow Paragon
Support Craft Pilot
USS Galileo
[PNPC T'Vanna]

&

Lieutenant Olsam Mott, M.D.
Assistant Chief Medical Officer
USS Galileo

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