Better Red Than Dead

Randy's Personal Log, Stardate 2125ish

Required Clearance: Angel 0/A

Sos we’s been down on this rock fer a few hours now, and I’m feelin’ sicker’n’a cold-sleeped monkey. Turns out we’re in some kinda sideaways universe, ‘n’ everyone we know is tryin’ ta kill us. Not that different than when I wuz run off Gedi Prime that one time, really, heh heh. Anyhoo, first some Bravos beamed down ‘n’ Sgt-boy blew ‘em to high hell, then we scarpered inta the native’s shuttle, which got its own self blowed to bits. Gears had a chance ta looksee the data we’d picked up from the comm at that point, and turns out we had less’n a week ta get beamed back or we’d be pickin’ up our pensions right here (well, the way things’re goin’, I don’t ‘spect that’d hon’stly be much of a concern.)

Bit o’ a hike later, we got ourselves to the “Rebel Base”. Not much o’ one, really, some carved out rock heap. Guys wuz friendly enough though. Well, we’s all not likin’ much the way Starfleet is doin’ things in this here ‘verse, so we offer our help in causin’ havoc, hopin’ we can get some infos from the Potty while we’s at it. That damnable pig is apparently makin’ everyone’s lives miserable at some fancy shmancy hotel in the other cap… the first one bein’ slagged to space dust by now. So we go ‘n’ make some plans, but a few o’ the boys ‘n’ girls got all their panties in a knot and we don’t use any of ’em.

Well, they say stuff ‘bout mice ’n’ men, but when you don’t have a plan to begin with is really when the whole thing goes to hell, and it shore did. We got recognized in the lobby, afore we’d even found the bastard we wuz lookin’ fer, and the hofficer I was chattin’ with made some ridiculous contortation from a light-speed laser he couldn’t have possibly seen. Meanin’, o’course, I missed him entire. But I swears ma card sharkin’ ain’t bad enough fer him ta… well, never you mind.

After that, o’ course, we got some company inbound fast. We done found boar-breath by now, shakin’ his fat booty in some par-tay in the lounge, but ol’ Krusk ‘n’ some buddies packing some serious heaters beam in and blow seven kinds of hell outta anythin’ and everythin. Cap’n stays behind and saves all our asses by drawin’ their fire; hell, last I saw o’ him he blasted Krusk inta bits. Heard him scream though, and gave a prayer up, when I sees Rookie yellin’ and hollerin’ and runnin’ out inta the middle of it all. Bastard didn’t stand a chance. He was down in seconds, and I could see his insides from behind the wall. Bloody fool.

What wuz left of us gone dragged the Amb-ass-ador out and sent up a “distress” call ta get us beamed up. We zipped up, dropped the engy, Gears grabbed the data with a damn nice set of slicin’, and we beamed down. Oh, and I left a lil’ present behind fer the kind folks up top.

Once we’d got what we needed, we called in our ride… I wuz impressed with his parallel parkin’ skills, since he were blowin’ in at half a Mach while doin’ ‘er. Barely clipped that buildin’ at all. Then, crazies o’ crazies, after we escape Starfleet, we go knockin’ on the door o’ some Klingons. Yeh know the world’s messed up then.

Some crazy scarred chick started attackin’ Priest-gal ‘n’ she started flingin’ stuff back, ‘n’ I was saying my final prayers when they started gibberin’ at each other. Shoulda payed more ’tenshun in that language class, I guess.

Long story short, we got ‘em ta help us go back home, but they wanted me special suit as part o’ the price. Well, I weren’t about ta let that go without a fight, and I got ol’ Chaplain ta git me a deal with these ugly grunts. Ah wagered my services permanent AND mah suit ‘gainst their helpin’ us fer free. A sorta double-r-nothin’ type dealie. Well, no scar-face is goin’ ta turn down a challenge like that, so we had a real tense game goin’. Reminded me o’ when I signed on ta Starfleet, like. Wells, I won, but it were a closer game than I’d a liked. I wuz worried fer a bit.

Well, whatever Slice did, worked out; we got ourselves back to where people waren’t shootin’ passer-bys and then ah spent the next two days drinkin’ in memory of those we lost. If there is a Machine God, mebbe he’ll take pity on their poor bastard souls…


tbug uldeim

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