Walter Brunsig - Fight the Power (Part I)
Quinn Reynolds
((Nearne District, Witherington, Indre III))
Rain fell from a mourning black sky, as if the planet itself wept for its situation, pooling in deep puddles on cratered streets. Thready neon lights peered out from behind nanoglass, distorting and flickering as they struggled to penetrate the falling sheets of water. Drains overflowed, the streets pockmarked with puddles, some as deep as the knee. A Cardassian disruptor could make one hell of a dent in the pavement.
Lurking in an alley, Walter slid the communicator from his pocket and stared at it with fleeting apprehension. Quinn had assured him the Cardassians wouldn’t detect their transmissions, and even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to break through the encryption. He had no reason to doubt her assessment; she was smarter than anyone else on the crew, including the encyclopaedias masquerading as Vulcans, and had proven her engineering chops time and time again. And after this long, he had no reason to doubt her loyalty.
Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling his decision to invite her into his bed was going to be the death of him.
Dismissing his internal doomsaying with a curt shake of his head, he thumbed the device and spoke in a low rumble.
Brunsig: =/\= Fingers, you there? Your lot get through in one piece? =/\=
Neathler/Sevo/Stoyer/sh’Qynallahr:
Brunsig: =/\= We need information. Numbers, locations, patrol routes, you know the drill. I don’t care how you do it, as long as you don’t get noticed. =/\=
Neathler/Sevo/Stoyer/sh’Qynallahr: =/\= Response =/\=
His mind ran over the possibilities as he listened. Neathler had her crusade for vengeance, Sevo was a hair’s breadth from being a complete psychopath, and Strip had a thing for the violent redhead. The Andorian was a tad more professional, but what was a blademaster who didn’t use her blades?
An approaching band of Cardassians drew his attention. One of the armed, armoured patrols which roved the city, looking to clamp down on any dissident behaviour. Speaking into a communicator would certainly draw their suspicions, given how tightly they controlled the colony’s communications.
Brunsig: =/\= I have to go. But don’t forget how they work. For each Cardassian body that hits the deck, or mysteriously vanishes, they’ll kill ten of the locals. Keep it quiet and keep it clean. You’ll have plenty of chances to get blood on your hands later. =/\=
Neathler/Sevo/Stoyer/sh’Qynallahr: =/\= Response =/\=
That check-in complete, he pulled up the collar of his long, heavy coat against the constant drizzle, and turned to face the wall. With his palm against the brickwork, his gaze low, the passing Cardassian patrol spared him only a revolted sneer before continuing on. If there was one thing you could count on, it was their arrogance and disgust for other species.
More fool them.
He peered out into the street. Harried faces hurried by, chins tucked into their chests, hands where the Cardassians could see them. Rooting in a pocket was a quick way to get shot, if the patrols were in a foul mood. And they were often in a foul mood—the omnipresent rain made sure of that. Watching their retreating backs, he waited until they had passed out of view before thumbing the communicator once more.
Brunsig: =/\= Evening, Blondie. Everyone there? =/\=
Marshall/Gnaxac/Tagren-Quinn: =/\= Response =/\=
Brunsig: =/\= We need supplies; for ourselves and the locals. Cardassians have been starving the people of what they need, and we’ll need some party favours for the fireworks later. =/\=
Marshall/Gnaxac/Tagren-Quinn: =/\= Response =/\=
It was enough to make his blood boil. There was no reason for the Cardassians to withhold medical supplies from hospitals, or food from the people; the colony had enough for everyone. Nothing more than an exertion of power, to remind the planet’s inhabitants that they were no longer at the helm of their fates.
But control like that was nothing more than an illusion. One that the Maquis were all too happy to dispel.
Brunsig: =/\= Be creative. If they see things going missing, they’ll tighten security—or worst case, guess what we’re up to. And then we’ll be up a certain excremental watercourse without a means of propulsion. =/\=
Marshall/Gnaxac/Tagren-Quinn: =/\= Response =/\=
Brunsig: =/\= I’ll be on the comms. But don’t call unless you have to. Ursa Pater—::something akin to a grin briefly coloured the words::—out.=/\=
Sometimes, if he let himself dwell on it, the task ahead of them seemed overwhelming. Free an entire planet from the grip of the Cardassian military. It was almost enough to make him step out of that alley and turn the corner into the seedy bar nearby, drown his sorrows and his regret, and try not to think about the easy life he’d left behind.
But he didn’t let himself dwell on it. He broke it down into small, manageable tasks. Gather information. Gather supplies. Recruit allies. Add the magic ingredient of pig-headed maniacs who called themselves Maquis, and you could make even the impossible happen.
Make it happen. Not make it happen cleanly, or with a happy ending for everyone involved. The Skarbek’s growing list of dead was a testament to that.
Brunsig: =/\= Greenhorn. ::He paused.:: We should get you a new name. Not so green anymore. =/\=
Tahna/Alieth/Finch: =/\= Response =/\=
Brunsig: =/\= We need your boots on the ground. Find us some allies. Look after the people. Some have already bled for our cause, see if you can find them and get them what they need. =/\=
Tahna/Alieth/Finch: =/\= Response =/\=
For all they were here to free the colony, it weighed on his mind that people were already suffering. And some would suffer more in the process. The least they could do was try to minimise or alleviate that suffering. And cynically, if people knew they could find some relief in the Maquis, they would be more likely to offer their aid. Allies were essential, not just now, but in the future.
Brunsig: =/\= I know. ::His voice, still gruff, softened just a little.:: Do what you can. Even if it’s just offering some hope. =/\=
Tahna/Alieth/Finch: =/\= Response =/\=
Brunsig: =/\= I’ve more to talk to. Watch your backs and stay alive. =/\=
He was all too aware that not everyone alive today would be alive come liberation. And those most likely to be lacking in vital signs were his people, putting themselves in harm’s way for their beliefs. A risk they all accepted, though recently it had been harder to bear. There were so many haunting the corridors of the Skarbek these days, and he stared at the communicator in his hand for a few moments.
Time to talk to Quinn.
TBC
--
Walter Brunsig
Captain of the Skarbek
The Maquis
Commanding Officer
USS Gorkon
T238401QR0