Mack went to the middle level and retrieved her bag from Sick Bay. She detoured to the mess hall, and could hear the workmen nearby, installing the machinery for the holodeck, but she didn’t see any of them.
She stood in front of a replicator. “Computer, switch out of food preparation mode.”
Working.
“Create a sports bra for high impact activities.”
Size?
“Uh, band is one hundred and four centimeters. Cup size should be, erm, seven point seven centimeters.”
Color?
“Oh, I dunno, light grey.”
The replicator dutifully spat out the requested article. “Matching panties; size is Enolian size six.” The second article was produced. “Athletic socks, grey, standard women’s size.” Again, they were prepared for her. “Tee shirt, plain grey. Dammit, that’s a lotta grey. Uh, Titan Bluebirds regulation tee shirt, grey with bright blue short sleeves. Size is Enolian size fourteen.” She thought for a moment. “Matching blue running shorts, Enolian size sixteen. Also, create blue and grey running sneakers. Compensate for slight pronation on the negative angle of the left foot, by, uh, ten degrees.”
Size?
“Twenty-seven.” The articles were produced. She took them and her bag to her new quarters.
She opened up the bag. There were two white tank tops with shelf bras, hopelessly stretched out of shape. The backs of each of them said in Enolian script – Property of Canamar Prison. She threw them into the disposer. There were three pairs of white socks with a similar message. She got rid of those, too. A pair of white tees said the same thing. Those, too, were pitched. There was also a small Dopp kit. On the side, it said, in Federation Standard – Property of Gemara Prison, Berren Five.
She emptied it onto the bed. “Tooth cleaner, hair brush, blue cube razor, unscented deodorant and nothing else? Sheesh.” There was a little bathroom off to the side, and she put the articles into it, and then disposed of the bag they had come in.
Then she stripped completely, tossing her old clothes into a corner, and appraised her image in the mirror. There were huge scars crisscrossing her chest. Some were darker, some were wider and some were jagged. “These prove that it was all real, that it really happened,” she said to no one. She put on the new clothes and returned to the middle level, and began to run along the perimeter track, making two full circuits. When she was done, she checked a wrist chronometer which also worked as a personal communicator. “Huh, fifty minutes for a 5K. You gotta do better than that, MacKenzie.”
There was more of a sound of machinery and work being done on the holodeck. She peered at the chronometer again. “Dammit, I’ll be late for my call!” She hightailed it back to her new quarters.
Once inside, she took off her bra and then put the tee back on, and then hopped into bed. She clicked on the communicator while simultaneously turning on her PADD. “This would be easier if the damned desktop was set up,” she muttered. The two devices synchronized nearly immediately. She pulled up Marty’s note as the communications relayer for the Perseus Trading Post got on the line. “I’d like to talk to Marty – er, Martin – Madden on the, holy cow, the Enterprise.”
“Connecting you now,” replied the relayer.
“Hey!” she called out, smiling.
“Hiya! Man, oh, man, it’s been a long time. Too long,” he replied.
“Well, that appeal took forever! It was like Bleak House, that Jarndyce and Jarndyce case – it took nearly two decades to get those stupid trumped-up charges dismissed. No wonder so many people give up hope.”
“You’re looking good,” he said, “Hard for me to believe, but the last time we saw each other, we were both in our thirties. Your hair’s still brown.”
“Yeah, heh, well, the transfer guy who gave me a haircut was nice and colored it for me. I like your salt and pepper.”
“Ah, thanks. So, when’d they spring ya?”
“A few days ago, I got word that I was being transferred out of Canamar to Gemara.”
“Gemara?”
“Canamar’s run by the Enolians. Gemara used to be Romulan, way back when, but now it’s Tellarite. It’s near the galactic barrier. And it’s a lot worse than Canamar. So I got transferred there. They didn’t tell me what was going on, but that was par for the course.”
“I can’t even imagine your ordeal,” Marty said sympathetically. “You’re holding together really well.”
“It was, eh, I can’t quite talk about it yet, okay?”
“Understood. But you tell me any time, okay, Mystic? Just wake me up in the middle of the night if you have to.”
“Mystic. Ha, nobody but you ever called me that, Cuz.”
He smiled at that. “And nobody calls me Marty but you. I, I missed that.” They were both quiet for a while, remembering the lost years. “You were talking about Gemara,” he prompted.
“Yeah, they got me there – apparently the Tellarites are better-equipped to do transfers and releases there. It seems Canamar has so few releases that the Enolians barely know how to do ‘em. So anyway, they put me in Solitary for my own safety. Two days later, they handed me a bag with a few things in it and a PADD, plus enough credits to get to the Perseus Trading Post.”
“Then what?”
“I was on the transport and got here this morning. First thing I did was trade down the PADD. I know they put tracers on ‘em for parolees. I’m no parolee, but I dunno if they really knew that, or wanted to believe it. I couldn’t take the chance,” Mack stated. “Then I checked my accounts and found I was, well, not exactly wealthy, but not exactly poor, either.”
“Your folks took the Titan Bluebirds organization to court to make sure you got your back wages. You, uh, you know about them, right?” Marty asked.
“Yeah,” Mack was quiet. “The Enolian authorities didn’t tell me when it actually happened fourteen years ago, those SOBs. I, uh, I found out they were dead this morning. I guess I’ll process that sometime later, too.”
“Call me if you need me. I want you to, okay, Mystic?”
“Thanks. They, uh, I had no contact with anyone. It was – I told myself that you were all dead. If everybody in the family was dead, I kinda thought no one would be worried, or anything. Nearly two decades in prison will make you go into pretty deep denial. You kinda pretend about a lot of things. It makes it a little bit easier, I guess. You get kinda Zen.”
“Aw, Mystic. When did you get the letters?”
“Maybe an hour ago. A lot of ‘em are from you, Marty. You, uh, you kept going when it looks like nobody else did. I wish they had let me see the notes when they first came in, but better late than never, eh?”
“They’re pretty basic,” he admitted. “I figured they were reading your mail. So I didn’t want them to really know anything, yanno?”
“I appreciate it. They didn’t – and they still don’t – deserve to know.”
He looked at her. “Why don’t you tell me about your business deal?”
“Oh yeah, I bought myself a ship.”
“You what?”
“Yeah! It’s kinda tricked out. I’m sure I don’t know a good ninety percent of what’s really in it.”
“And?”
“And I’m gonna tour the galaxy, barnstorming.”
“You need a team for that,” he pointed out.
“Yep. I’m gonna have tryouts in a few days. I figure I need maybe fifty people of various abilities, and then we’ll play whatever sports are out there.”
“So, not just baseball?”
“Not just human sports, either, Marty. I, yanno, if they hadn’t planted contraband on me, well, I’d’ve played a lot longer.”
“Yeah. You were a good shortstop, even though the Bluebirds stank on ice.”
She laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think they’ve ever been any good.”
“So, do you need me to help you get on your feet?” he inquired.
“Partly.”
“Oh?” he asked. “I know that look in your eye, Mystic. And I can’t afford to get into any more trouble than I already have today.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“It’s nothing compared to you. Tell me what you want.”
“Okay. There’s, uh, a few things. First off, we took the ship out for a test spin, and we got shot at.”
“We? Who’s we?”
“I already got myself a pilot and an artist.”
“An artist? Mystic, you gotta be more practical than that.”
“I know! She also runs Communications.”
“Ah, okay. Go on.” He paused for a second. “Uh, why were you shot at?”
“We, er, the ship has – don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“Huh. I can’t endanger the Enterprise, yanno.”
“This won’t. It’s just – it’s illegal. I think.”
“Mystic, you just got outta stir.”
“I know. But it’s, well, it saved our bacon while we were being shot at.”
He sighed. “What is it that you’re talking about?”
“It’s an ionization diffuser.”
“I’ve heard of those. And I don’t think they’re illegal, per se. It’s more that Starfleet doesn’t use them, and that means there’s no real market in the Federation. But I’ll check once we’ve said good night. I think it might be okay.”
“Oh, huh, that makes things easier.”
“What things?”
“Marty, I think we got shot at not just because of that. We also got targeted because it just looks like a little old independent Gorn ship.”
“Gorn? You bought a Gorn ship?”
“Yeah.” She clicked around on her PADD for a minute. “Here, I’m sending you what I’ve got on it so far.”
He glanced at the display. “That’s an odd design. It’s like a bunch of stacked hockey pucks.”
“I like to think of it as a big, round sandwich cookie. So I’m naming it the Cookie.”
He smiled at that. “The Cookie needs an engineer.”
“And a doctor and, God, I could use an extra Tactical person, too. The diffuser is in the back.”
“It’s not on the Bridge?”
“No, and I bet that was to make it harder to locate and steal if the Cookie’s ever boarded. Say, why doesn’t Starfleet wanna use ‘em? It came in mighty handy.”
“It’s a bit like a cloak,” he explained. “And they’ve had, well, bad luck with that tech.” He thought for a second. “It’s against the Treaty of Algeron.”
“The diffuser?”
“No, cloaking tech, specifically. They agreed with the Romulans not to develop it.”
“Well, this isn’t a cloak, per se. So they might wanna rethink it, at least when it comes to a diffuser, despite the Treaty of Algernon,” she said. “It’s a neat little toy. And I bet it’s not the only nifty toy on this boat.”
He laughed a little, “Algeron, not Algernon! Man, Mystic, you, huh, I continue to be amazed and, frankly, shocked that you haven’t changed much, despite everything.”
“Like I said, I’m being Zen. I’m repressing it all, Marty. I suppose that’s unhealthy, but it’s been a decent survival tool for the past two decades.” She sighed. “I don’t wanna talk about me.”
“Fair enough. You said you didn’t really know what was on the Cookie.”
“I’m sure I don’t. The former owner, he was an inventor. Just a cursory glance around tells me that there’s God only knows how much unfinished stuff here.”
“What does he say about all this?” Marty asked.
“He’s dead.”
“Mystic,” he asked, “Do you think he was killed for the tech?”
“I have no idea. But I’m thinking, yanno, that if the Cookie had some sort of a connection to Starfleet – even a really tenuous one – it just might get at least some of ‘em to lay off.”
He thought for a few seconds. “And you want me involved because I’m Starfleet.”
“It’s not just because of that, Marty. It’s also because you’re the only family I’ve got. I, I need someone I can trust – someone who’s smart, and who’s impartial.”
“Impartial?”
“Yeah. And removed, too. You’re out there, wherever, doing whatever. And when I talk to you, and I complain about something, or explain it or whatever, I can bounce it all off you. You’re good that way; you always have been. Plus,” she admitted, “It gives me an excuse to call you every night.”
He smiled at that. “You don’t need an excuse. Really.”
“Thanks. I’m just thinking, you know, your name could be listed, as a part-owner, of both the ship and the team.”
“You still need an engineer.”
“And I need a doctor, and a Tactical person – yeah, definitely – you’ll get no argument from me.”
“Let me clear this with Picard. If I can swing it, I’ll see about making some inquiries, and get you your crew. Maybe that link to Starfleet can be a little stronger.”
“Oh, you’re the best, Marty!” she enthused.
He laughed a little. “I definitely didn’t feel like the best today.”
“It’s your first day there, right?”
“Yep.”
“So tell me what the problem is,” she prompted.
“It’s, it’s nothing. Compared to your ordeal, it’s a walk in the goddamned park.”
“Look,” she said, peering at him intently, “in a contest to see who had the worst ordeal, I suppose I win that one pretty much every time, and not just with you, Marty. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wanna hear what’s wrong, or try to help you fix it.”
“Well, thanks.”
“So spill! Don’t make me come down there – uh, wherever that is.”
“It’s confidential,” he said. “All I can tell you is we aren’t in orbit over the Perseus Trading Post.”
“More’s the pity. Now,” she pulled up the blanket a bit around her body, “tell me your troubles.”
“You asked for it,” he drew a breath. “I got in and got into the Bridge to meet the captain. And I have done all sorts of homework, y’see. I want it to be perfect.”
“And it was imperfect.”
“And how! I saw Riker there.”
“Who’s that? Keep in mind; I’ve been outta the loop for nearly two decades.”
“Sorry, I forgot for a second. Well, Riker is the guy I’m replacing. He just got his own command, the Titan.”
“Okay.”
“So I asked him for some last-minute inside info on Captain Picard.”
“He’s your new boss? Uh, she?”
“They musta really kept you outta the loop, Mystic. Picard is a he.”
“Go on.”
“Well, Riker was, damn,” Marty sighed again.
“What happened?”
“I suppose it was funny to him.”
“What was?”
“He told me the opposite of what I needed to do.”
“How so?”
“Riker told me,” Marty explained, “that the captain likes an informal Bridge atmosphere, and that I should call him by his first name.” He paused.
“So I guess you did.”
“’Course I did. I mean, I had no reason whatsoever to believe that he was telling me anything but the God’s honest truth, Mystic. And it went over like a lead balloon. I, I felt like I was being humiliated.”
She looked at him. “That was nasty; it was totally passive-aggressive. Sheesh!”
“Worst is, I can’t say anything.”
“Why not, Marty?”
“He’s a captain now, on the USS Titan. He’s very well-respected; he’s a hero, the whole nine yards.”
“Well, you’re nothing to sneeze at, yanno.”
“Thanks. But I know it would seem petty.”
“Petty? That insensitive jerk took away your sole opportunity to make a good first impression! Cripes! Did anybody see this?”
“Oh, yeah. The entire Bridge crew was there.” He shook his head.
“Damn. Whadda they say?”
“I can’t talk to them. I’m the interloper.”
‘Scuse me?”
“You know. I’m the outsider.”
“They gotta know you got this assignment because you’re good.”
He sighed again. “I’m replacing Riker, who they all liked. And just below him was Data, and he’s dead. That’s the only reason why I’m here, Mystic.”
“Data? Who’s Data?”
“He was an Android; he sacrificed himself in order to save them.”
“So you’re replacing the good-time guy and the heroic ghost,” she summarized.
“That’s about the size of it. People seem to be in mourning, or resentful.”
“Isn’t there anybody there to try to sort out that mess?”
“Their Ship’s Counselor left; she married Riker, actually. They don’t have a replacement just yet. The CMO and the proprietor of Ten Forward are filling in as they can. But the CMO’s got her own issues, it seems.”
“Maybe you can bond over that.”
“I dunno. Her son is suddenly back. He was away for a while. I don’t really know a lot about it, but apparently he was gone for years and they had no contact. It strikes me that it’s kinda awkward between them, and I bet it wasn’t before. But keep in mind this is the impression I’ve gotten after meeting them for maybe a minute earlier today.”
“So everybody’s screwed up, eh?” She looked at him closely. “I think it’ll turn out to just be a minor bump in the road.”
“I dunno,” Marty made a face, “I, I’m starting to feel like I don’t belong here, like I’m in over my head and all that.”
“Isn’t this just what you always wanted?”
“It is,” he admitted, “but it’s not quite what I thought it would be, or what I had hoped for. I dunno, Mystic.” He glanced at a wall chronometer. “It’s getting late. I think we’ve bent each other’s ears enough for one night.”
“I suppose you’re right. Marty?”
“Hmm.”
“We’re the Straight Arrow and the Black Sheep again, eh?”
“The MDM Twins forever. Madden out.”