LtCol Wes Greaves – Cargo and Consequence

[Jacob Rittenhouse]

LtCol Wes Greaves – Cargo and Consequence

 

(( Flight Deck - USS Talents – Tlugani Nebula ))

 

The Talents felt less like a runabout and more like a combat operations center. JoNz had the freighter’s schematic up on the main viewer with the boarding team’s icons crawling through it. Helmet cam feeds cycled in a corner window when the signal was clean enough, and the open comm line carried the kind of ambient detail that never made it into official reports. Breathing through suit filters. Boots on deck plating. The subtle shift in a voice when someone was seeing something they didn’t like.

 

Wes stayed just behind and slightly to the right of JoNz’s seat. Close enough to see every change on her displays without crowding her hands.

 

Woolheater:  =/\= Talents, we have found the survivors and the freighter captain. Ragh and Serrano are ready to transport. =/\=

 

The words took a little pressure off the room, but not enough to relax.

 

A compartment aft of them collapsed and the decompression sent a shudder through the vessel. And an alarm blip sounded; Serrano’s suit readings had spiked just enough to set off the tactical display.

 

Wes’s eyes flicked to the structural diagram and then to the suit telemetry. He didn’t have the luxury of seeing what Woolheater saw, not in full detail, so he did the next best thing: matched the spike to a compartment identifier, cross-referenced it with the schematic, and checked whether it was along their team’s path.

 

Woolheater: Explosive decompression; we’re good.  We do need to move out though.

 

On the screen, Sam setup the transporter enhancers in a triangular pattern as close to Ragh and Serrano as he could manage. 

 

Greaves: =/\= Confirmed. It was one of the rearmost compartments. Nothing close. We’re keeping an eye on hull integrity for you. =/\=

 

Ragh: Response

  

JoNz: =/\= Serrano/Comm Line =/\= Serrano, this is JoNz. You good? Your readings spiked a bit there. 

 

Serrano: ::to JoNz:: =/\= I’m good, just had a moment. =/\=

 

Wes kept his mouth shut and let the channel breathe. There was a temptation, in this kind of situation, to fill the air with control. To ask for constant updates. To shape every move from the safety of a console. He’d seen that impulse ruin good operations. Micromanaging from a command center didn’t make a team safer, it just made them slower and more distracted.

 

So he listened. He watched. He made sure the Talents was ready to do what it needed to do the second someone asked.

 

Ragh: Response

 

Woolheater: Your cargo? Is that why you were attacked?

  

Luriaa: I request that the supplies we have be transported to your ship.

 

Wes held on to that sentence for a beat longer than he meant to. They didn’t have the space to play freighter themselves, not with a triage area improvised out of a runabout’s limited compartments. Every extra crate meant less room for patients, less room to move, and more unknowns coming aboard. 

 

It also meant Luriaa was thinking past the immediate emergency. It told him she was still thinking past the next minute. Pain, injury, ship dying under her feet, and she was already making the next ask.

 

Woolheater: ::to Ragh:: Doc? You ready to book?

 

Ragh: Response?

 

Luriaa: I wish to speak to Lieutenant Colonel Greaves. 

 

Wes didn’t react outwardly. Inside, he felt the situation tighten into a more defined shape. She wasn’t requesting “Starfleet.” She wasn’t requesting “the officer in charge.” She wanted him, specifically. That could mean she remembered him as the hardline voice. Or it could mean she thought the Marine would be easier to push into a direct action. Either way, it was intent.

 

Woolheater: Yes captain, right away. I’d like to get a copy of your nav and sensor logs, cargo manifest as well, with your permission of course?  Then we’ll see if we can patch your ship up or put you in tow back to DS14.

 

Ragh: Response?

 

Luriaa: It is important to the survival not only of what’s left of my crew, but of yours.   I’m well aware this freighter is in no condition to move on its own and I doubt the vessel you’re in can easily tow her. 

 

The senior Marine frowned deeply. Luriaa was intent on her cargo. It meant it was important. Or dangerous. Or both. He couldn’t reconcile that with what they knew so far though. It seemed like routine medical supplies. There had to be something more to it. Especially since it seemed the freighter had been ambushed over it.

 

Woolheater: Captain, we might surprise you with what we can do. Let’s get you looked at and I know you’re wanting to talk to our CO. 

 

Sam motioned for Staff Sergeant Navarro

Woolheater: Staff Sergeant? Please escort the captain here to Colonel Greaves?

 

SSgt Navarro: ::sharp nod::  Aye Sir!  Captain, if you’ll follow me?

 

Luriaa: Response

 

Ragh: Response

 

Woolheater: =/\= Talents actual. The captain is on her way to see you sir. She expressly asked for to speak with Lieutenant Colonel Wes Greaves, sir. Navarro is escorting her up the manual docking hatch. =/\=

 

JoNz: Response

 

Wes watched on the schematics as one of the boarders moved off, leading a life sign off the bridge and back down the twisted corridors toward the Talents. From what he could tell, it shouldn’t take more than a minute for Luriaa to reach them.

 

Greaves: =/\= Good work Sam. We’ve got the last of the casualties secured here. Send Doc Serrano back here to continue triage. See what you can get from that ships logs. We’ve got some time still, and I want to know a little more about this mystery. =/\=

 

His voice was short, direct, and clipped. That of an experienced battlefield leader, though in this case, Wes was quite thankful he had the luxury of speaking calmly over the comms. Sure beat shouting over phaser and disruptor fire or explosions.

 

For a few moments, Wes and JoNz waited and watched in silence as the boarding team shifted to intelligence exploitation and Luriaa made her way back to the runabout.

Woolheater: =/\= Talents?  Gunny and I are proceeding to one of the intact cargo bays to inventory the medical supplies.  Give us ten more minutes and let’s salvage what we can. I’m not being too picky. If it looks intact we’ll grab as much as we can. I know you have your hands full JoNz.  Just don’t cut us loose without saying goodbye.  =/\=

 

JoNz: Response?

 

Wes weighed that request against the clock and the risk. Ten minutes wasn’t much, until it was. Still, if those supplies were the reason the freighter had been attacked, leaving them behind might mean leaving behind the only clue that explained the whole incident. For now, the risk was worth the reward, but that was an ongoing calculation in his head.

 

Greaves: =/\= Ensign Ragh, go with Woolheater just in case you three stumble on more survivors. If anything in those cargo bays are shielded we might have missed casualties in our scans. We’re going to meet with their Captain. Closing this line for now, but we’ll keep an eye on you. Call if you need something. =/\=

 

JoNz/Ragh: Response

 

 

OOC – Splitting up our two locations here into separate scenes. No need to spread tags around unless they’re deliberately on comms. That’ll make it easier for the boarders to develop the exploration scene and the Talents to have the interrogation interview.

 

Wes stood up straight and stretched his back. He’d been standing just behind JoNz’s seat at the helm and bending over this whole time to watch the monitors closer. Now his back was cramping. He rolled his shoulders once and let his posture settle.

 

Greaves: So, they were clearly attacked and boarded by someone, and their cargo got ransacked. That, combined with the cargo being very important to their Captain, and their Captain being a power player in the UDP… what do you think it all adds up to?

 

JoNz: Response

 

Wes listened without interrupting. JoNz had instincts shaped by a different kind of work than his, and sometimes that was exactly what he needed.

 

Wes shrugged and twisted at the hips one direction, then another, continuing to stretch.

 

From aft of them on the Talents, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed off the bulkheads. It wasn’t hurried, but it had purpose. Navarro’s escort cadence, and another set that didn’t quite match his.

 

Greaves: Only one way to find out. Our guest sounds like she’s almost here.

 

He turned to face aft, letting his expression settle into neutral. Not welcoming. Not hostile. Just present. He wanted her to read professionalism, not emotion.

 

Captain Luriaa emerged into the flight deck a moment later, framed by the narrower passage behind her. The sling was the first thing Wes noticed, followed by the dried blood at her temple and along the edge of her jaw. It had been cleaned as well as circumstances allowed, but not enough to hide how hard she’d been hit. Despite that, she stood straight, shoulders squared as much by habit as by intent.

 

Navarro stepped aside smoothly, giving her space without needing to be told. The hatch sealed behind them with a muted thrum, and just like that, the noise of the boarding operation faded into the background.

 

JoNz/Luriaa: Response

 

Greaves: Captain, you’re the last person I expected to run into out here. You’re lucky we found you.

 

JoNz/Luriaa: Response

 

 

Tags/TBC

 

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Lieutenant Colonel Wes Greaves

Marine Detachment Commander

USS Octavia E. Butler NCC-82850

E239702WG0

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