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First Contact part 1

Posted on Mon Dec 12th, 2016 @ 12:27pm by Commander Mercia Kavi & David Hawkins & Lieutenant JG Nuxac

Mission: Anarchy in Alcatraz
Timeline: Current

“You want to do WHAT?” asked Grissom, the leader of one of the factions vying for control of the prison.

“You heard me,” Nuxac said, though in here he went by the name Malak. “Negotiate a truce with Starfleet.”

It had been several days since the mysterious attack on the colony which had wiped out all of the Starfleet personnel but had left most of the inmates alive, and the timing couldn’t have been worse.

He had gone from his undercover assignment as a typical Ferengi businessman on a starbase to this place in order to get some intel from a former Starfleet operative who had gone rogue. It had taken six months to earn the man’s trust—not to mention a healthy supply of the human confection known as chocolate.

Just the thought of that food passing his lips made him shudder. He had tried it once when he was back at the Academy, and he spent the rest of the day throwing up.

But he had finally gotten the information he had been ordered to get, and that was one of the few things that had gone right, because just two days later—the day he was supposed to be “transferred” out of here—the attack happened, leaving him surrounded by a group that would not hesitate to slit his throat if they knew he was actually a Starfleet officer.

“No way,” said Hartman, one of Grissom’s top enforcers. “I got three life sentences, I say we make those Federation bastards work to get this place back.”

Inwardly, Nuxac sighed, though on the outside he kept his smile firmly in place. Hartman was the sort who would kill for the flimsiest of reasons, and sometime he didn’t even need one of those.

“Look, I go to the Starfleet people and tell them the guards here were abusing us,” he said.

“And they’ll say we deserved it,” Hartman interrupted.

At that moment Nuxac seriously considered selling one of his many cousins into slavery for a phaser set on heavy stun.

“None of the guards are around to dispute it, and it isn’t as if they would keep records if they did,” he said. “The Federation is always trying to play itself off as the good guy, so they’ll spend months investigating the charge and in the meantime, just to show how kind they ‘really’ are, they’ll transfer us to a medium-security facility, maybe a minimum-security one if the right bleeding heart hears our story.”

Grissom was silent, and Nuxac could tell the man was thinking.

Smart criminals were the most dangerous. The violent, the insane, the greedy, the stupid, they were all easy to manipulate once he found what they wanted, but smart ones like Grissom were almost impossible to figure out because they gave hardly anything away.

“All right,” he said. “Go to them with that story and see if they buy it. If they do, it would be nice to be transferred somewhere else. If not, then I’ve only lost you, and you can’t fight worth a damn anyway.”

Nuxac kept his smile in place. He may not have been as dangerous as Hartman, but he had a few moves up his sleeve.

Grissom’s eyes flicked over to Hartman.

“You’re going with him to make sure he stays alive,” he said.

“WHAT?!” Hartman yelled.

Physically, Hartman was the more imposing of the two but Grissom wouldn’t be there if he hadn’t proven he was unable to play well with others.

He held his gaze with Hartman, never blinking, until Hartman finally looked away.

“And if Malak here can’t deliver on his promise, you can kill him,” he said.

Hartman smiled, and Nuxac thought that if he made it out of this he was going to request a transfer over to the Diplomatic section and finally negotiate a peace treaty between Klingons and the Romulans. It would be—what was the human saying?—a piece of cake after an assignment like this.


“Remember, let me do the talking,” Nuxac said as he and Hartman moved towards the sound of shooting.

“Fine,” Hartman said. “But as soon as it starts going south, I’m taking as many of them with me.”

“Okay,” Nuxac said as he stopped before a corpse of one of the inmates who had been killed in the power struggle.

He tore the man’s shirt off and tied it to the piece of metal piping he had found in some rubble.


Mercia climbed the stairs, her retrieved phaser rifle leading the way as she looked through the metal grates, ensuring that no one was going to surprise them. Zul'arra was limping behind, with Cooper bringing up the rear. She could only hope the prisoners he'd been controling the last few days were going to behave and remain where they were. What she was most afraid of was that telepath finding them again. The ability to force a mind to see terrors was not one she wanted to face again, she could fight it, but it was not easy, and Zul'arra didn't have that kind of control yet.

If she got a line of sight on that prisoner, she was going to put her down, no questions asked.

Up two flights of stairs the trio pressed against the wall while Mercia examined the lock on the door, this access point to the restricted areas was going to be tough to hack through, especially since she didn't have much in the way of tech, considering she'd left her pack in the wardens office when she ran after Zul'arra. She shot a glare at the girl again, for forcing them in to this situation. Their comms were lost in the rubble when they fell, so it wasn't as if she could call the team and tell them to let her in through this door, and unluckily for them, it was still intact. It would be a long walk and climb to get to another access point. She wasn't sure which was more worth it yet.

She struggled with the controls for several minuets before she slammed her fist in to the door with frustrating. "Damn it." she said. "Alright, down one level, we'll have to get through some prisoner held territory to get to another access point." she growled.

"Sounds fun..." Zul'arra replied through her grunts as she held onto the hand rail with one as she gripped her leg with the other. "That's what Commodore Hawkins would say, right?"

"Commodore Hawkins?" Cooper replied as he held his own weapon in hand. "Interesting..."

"Yes, we will have some prisoners. We have not seen much negative attacks either way with this group ahead, but I can not promise anything."

Mercia looked at the girls wound, the bandage was a bit red, and she was worried that they'd torn the cauterization and she was going to start bleeding again. "You gonna make it kid?" she asked.

"I will be fine, Captain. But I'd really like a weapon right about now," the young woman replied as she bit down the pain. "I do not want to be completely reliant on you all."

Mercia grunted, "Move out." she said leading the way back down the stairs to the level below she crept in to the hall way, listening for the noises coming at them. There was a lot of whooping and hollering in their path, all they could do was hope to sneak by. She pressed her finger to her lips as she picked her steps carefully. It wasn't easy considering the debris and rubble all around. She knew they'd soon come to the hole that landed them in Coopers cell block, and that was going to be tricky enough to get around.

Mercia paused the group as someone ran towards the t junction ahead. As they came in the clearing they turned down the hall facing Mercia. He skidded to a halt and for a brief moment they all stared at each other. The prisoner had a choice and he knew it. Sadly he picked the wrong one and let out a screech, which Mercia quickly squelched by shooting him with her phaser rifle. As he crumpled a group of prisoners appeared in the hall behind them.

"Take cover!" Mercia yelled as the fight ensued.


They approached the sound of fighting, which had steadily increased in volume as they got closer.

Upon reaching their destination, they saw a team of five inmates hunkered behind some rubble, armed with ancient slug throwers.

“What do you got?” he asked of no one in particular.

One of the prisoners, a scar-faced Klingon said, “We got a couple of them just ahead of us. They’ve been lucky, but it can’t last forever.”

“Stop shooting,” he said. “I’m going to talk to them.”

“What, are you crazy?!” the Klingon said. “We just about got them!”

“I’m going to talk to them,” Nuxac repeated. “Grissom told me to.”

“Grissom ain’t here, is he?” the Klingon retorted, stepping right up to Nuxac and stopping way inside his space. “Now me and my boys are going to take these Starfleet out and parade them all around to show everyone the Federation isn’t so mighty, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop me.”

He knew what was going to happen and there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it—not that he would have tried in the first place. He had some vital intel to pass along, and if it meant the galaxy would lose one Klingon criminal so be it.

“You’re right,” he said, looking the Klingon square in the eye. “There isn’t anything I can do to stop you.”

The Klingon sneered at him, then suddenly his expression turned to one of puzzlement as Hartman stabbed him several times in the back, then slit his throat and stabbed him in the eye for good measure.

Nuxac looked at the others.

“Anyone else want to stop me?” he asked.

They shook their heads.

“Good,” he said.

He waited for a lull in the shooting, then held up his makeshift flag high and waved it.

“HELLO, STARFLEET PEOPLE!” he yelled as loud as he could. “DON’T SHOOT, WE WANT TO TALK!”



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