STAR TREK: FALL OF THE FEDERATION
RATING: PG-13 (Violence)
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters or settings to STAR TREK or any of the franchise. I'm not even really a STAR TREK fan.
CHAPTER I
"You have the look of a man with one foot in the grave and the other in hell," the Ferengi said.
There were other empty spots in this filthy bar. For some reason, the filed-toothed Ferengi passed right by all of them to sit by Jonah. Jonah ignored him, staring at the spectacle ahead.
Two Remans, their bodies sculpted from years of working as slaves in the dilithium crystal mines in the dark side of their home world, wrestled behind a force-field. Jonah knew the field wasn't truly invisible, that it really distorted color to make blood appear more vivid against the combatant's leathery skin. He didn't care.
"You can call me Sunyak, if you'd like," the Ferengi said. "What's that you're drinking? Looks like bourbon. Not really my stuff, there. Me, I like a good Klingon wine. I know what you're thinking, and it's hard to believe, but those Klingons do make some mighty fine wine. Ever try it?"
The larger Reman shifted his weight, throwing his opponent off balance. He raised his elbow and dropped it straight down on the smaller one's spine. Jonah watched dispassionately, tuning Sunyak out as easily as he did all of the other patrons.
"Of course, they don't have any Klingon wine here. I'll bet you can't get any on this whole stinking rock. I'd try to import some myself, but who here would buy it? No wonder this world is in the neutral zone. Who'd want it?"
The bigger Reman put his enemy in a headlock and started twisting. Veins started popping out from the smaller one's bulbous head. More than half of the audience booed.
"And another thing about this planet. Why does it always rain here? I must have been here for three days looking for you, Captain Pillory, and in that time ..."
The smaller Reman sent an uppercut straight into the bigger one's groin. At last he was free of the hold. He buried two jabs straight into his foe's solar plexus. The crowd cheered.
For the first time, Jonah turned away from the fight. He turned until he was staring into the Ferengi's beady eyes, between its cavernous ears and under its bony forehead ridge. "What did you just call me?"
The larger Reman stumbled back. The smaller one moved in to deliver a right hook, but was stopped by a straight punch to his jaw.
"You are Captain Jonah Pillory, aren't you? You match the description. Just under two meters tall, yellow hair, gray, uh, eye. I'd hate to think all that money we spent tracking you down was wasted on a bad tip."
The bigger Reman grabbed the smaller one's chipped ears and forced his head down. Once again, he held the smaller one in a headlock.
Jonah barely noticed. "Who would want to track me down?"
"Because I represent a group of concerned merchants, and ..." The rest of the Sunyak's words were drowned out. Jonah glanced back to see the smaller Reman had his ear torn off.
Inspired, Jonah grabbed Sunyak by the ear with his right arm. "You're going to have to speak up, I can't hear you," he shouted over the Ferengi's ultrasonic wail.
"We need someone like you," Sunyak screamed. Jonah twisted again. "We need a good ship captain."
The smaller Reman slipped free from the hold, blood pouring freely from his wound.
Jonah let go. He didn't say a word; he only gazed at Sunyak with disbelief.
Now in a berserk rage, the smaller Reman threw himself on his enemy. His arms and legs flailed madly. More shots connected than didn't.
"We read your Starfleet Academy records," Sunyak said. "We saw that you had the highest scores in strategic and tactical aptitude since James Kirk graduated a century ago. At 32, you were the youngest captain ever to take command of a Starfleet vessel. We also know about your record of disobedience and insubordination."
The bigger Reman couldn't land a counterattack. He began to retreat into a corner, his arms raised defensively.
"Then you know how that story ended," Jonah said. He gestured to the glowing blue glass eye that penetrated the flame-scarred right side of his face with his cybernetic left arm. "I don't have a ship. I don't have a crew. I was drummed out of Starfleet. I'm not a captain. Call me Jonah. At least I am one of those."
The bigger Reman tried to regain control of the fight by throwing a haymaker. It would have been devastating if it had hit; instead the smaller one trapped his wrist.
"I know all about that, captain, er, Jonah. Frankly, we think you made the right decision. That's the main reason we're coming to you."
The sound of the bigger Reman's wrist breaking managed to rise above the crowd's cheers. Jonah could almost hear him scream for mercy.
Jonah waited until the crowd died down. It took a few minutes for all the bets to be settled. By the time the background noise level dropped enough for him to speak, Jonah had thought about what Sunyak said.
"What do you want from me?" Jonah said.
"Oh, I can only tell you that if you take the job," Sunyak replied. "After all, this is a sensitive matter, and loose lips sink ships.
"I'll tell you this much: We want you to do what you're best at, with minimal risk to yourself. In return, we'll give you a generous compensation. Do real well, you could get a rather lucrative ongoing job out of this."
Jonah turned away. He watched the maintenance droids step into the fighting pit, methodically spraying away blood and teeth from the last battle.
"You have nothing to lose," Sunyak said. "Maybe you like doing cleanup work at the space docks under an assumed name, but we all know you're overqualified for that job."
As the crowd cleared, Jonah saw a familiar face at the bar. Since he first started coming to this hole-in-the-wall three nights ago, there had been only two characters that had consistently shown up. The man at the bar was the first. The second was coming soon.
Judging by his delicate features, Jonah figured the regular was Betazoid. His black hair, once cut short, was now a spiky shag. Combined with the dark-blue synthetic leather sports coat and sunglasses he always wore, he could have been some disheveled Federation starship-trash. As usual, he had a glass of golden yellow liquor in front of him. He grinned as though he knew he was being watched but didn't raise his head.
"Of course, if you like your life of menial labor and drowning your troubles in replicator-made bourbon, that's your choice," Sunyak continued. " I won't force you to do anything. I just thought you'd like the chance to turn your life around."
The second regular, a Klingon, limped into the fighting pit. She was the sort of Klingon a human could easily find attractive, even beautiful if he liked muscular women. That is, she would be if her face weren't swollen from too many punches. Her left arm also hung weakly from its socket, apparently hyper extended.
The announcer grabbed a microphone and barked some unintelligible words. Only a respectful silence followed. No one cheered, no one clapped, no one booed.
"If you'd like more time to think about it, we can talk tomorrow. I'll give you some more details, then ask for your final answer. But that's the deadline. I've already wasted too much time finding you. If you're not taking this job, we'll have to get someone else quickly."
An amazingly obese human entered the other side of the pit. He was the kind that seems to show up at every mining world, the guy who gets fat by beating up smaller workers and taking their rations. He turned and raised his fists to the crowd, arousing a bloodthirsty cheer from their ranks. A round of applause marked his entrance.
Jonah gestured to the Klingon. "I'll make you a deal," he said to Sunyak "That woman has fought for the past three nights. She hasn't lost yet. She can't lose and live, this one is the death match, the last night of the night.
"If she wins, I'll meet you tomorrow and we'll talk. You name the time and place. If not, you better start looking for someone else."