Wherever I lay my hat...

Posted on Friday February 22nd, 2019 @ 08:07 hours by Langar Tarn

Mission: Pixie Dust
Location: MoA's cabin
1073 words - 2.1 OF Standard Post Measure

[ON]

[Starbase 72]

After leaving the Fawkes' Langar made his way back to his accommodation, a rented room behind a bar. His bag was already packed, as it always was, ready to go a moment's notice whenever he was not on a ship. He pulled it out from under the bed, took a last check around the room to make sure he'd left nothing behind, he had not.

He grabbed a clothe and wiped down all the surfaces and then pulled a small bag from a pocket in his luggage, it contained nothing but dust and debris that he collected occasionally, usually in bars or public places. He held the bag up and sprinkled the contents around the room, leaving little traces of dust, fibers and other tiny detritus around the place. Nothing too obvious, but just enough to screw with any kind of tricorder DNA scans if somebody decided to coming looking.

Satisfied he shoved the bag back in the pocket, hoisted his luggage over his shoulder and went down to the bar to pay his bill. He always paid promptly and in full, wherever possibly in the local currency or Latinum. Skipping out on a room bill was sure way to get yourself remembered by landlords who might make a complaint to the authorities.

"You leaving?" One of the barmaids asked as he left the owner's office. He'd chatted with her a couple of times over a drink. "Pity..." She gave him a wink.

"Yeah just a got a job on a freighter heading back to Bajor" He lied with a sincere smile. "Be back in a couple of months though" He gave her a wink in return and didn't look back.

He took the long way back to the Docking Pylons, stopping by the arboretum and the promenade decks, satisfied he was not being followed he made his way back to the Fawkes.


[Master At Arms Cabin - Deck 2]

Lanagr could have walked from hatch to Deck 2, where the crew's cabins were, with his eyes shut. He'd spent a long time on Groumall Freighters back in the day. Although the first trip had not been quite so pleasant as the others, shackled in a cargo hold enroute to a mining facility on one of the moons.

He looked around, the corridor, this one had clearly been refitted more than once but he wondered about it's history after it left Cardassian hands. He remembered a way to check and reminded himself to look when he was on the Bridge.

Langar found his cabin, the door slid open and he entered. It was small but clean and serviceable. There was a bunk, with a pile of folded bedding and pillows; storage lockers underneath, on each side and over the top of it. Another closet, a small desk with terminal, screen and chair and another easy chair, there was even a small porthole sized window. All in all not bad he thought as he looked around.

He set his bag down and went back into the corridor, as he expected there were a couple of heads and two shower rooms a couple of doors down. He stuck his head in, both were clean and tidy. "Gotta love Lady Captains" he murmured to himself and returned to his cabin.

Unpacking did not take long, clothes and a spare pair of boots went in the lockers and closet; hygiene kit in another locker. Mixed in to his gear were several innocent looking pieces which when assembled in the correct order turned into a small but quite deadly little pocket disrupter. Those went in a separate locker under the bed.

The last item out of the bag was a small, brown, cube shaped object, about three inches on each side. It was scratched, worn and had a couple of dents but was one of his oldest possessions. He set it on the desk, slid open a panel in the top and one on the side. There were some small control buttons on the top and on the side something that looked like a dark polished glass circle.

He tapped one of the buttons, it lit up orange and there was an almost inaudible humming sound as the item warmed up. The button changed from orange to blue and two others lit up green and red. He tapped the red one and a small holographic image was projected from the lens on the side out into the cabin. It was about two feet across and showed a view of one of the Bajoran mountain ranges. The image was a little fuzzy around the edges but in the middle the detail was crisp and clear, after about a minute the image changed, this time to one of the off shore islands at sunset.

He sat back on the bunk and watched it play for a moment. The projector was probably over a hundred years old, he'd had it since he was fifteen. It had been given to him by a old man in Batal Labor Camp in the winter of 2365. The man had been selected for transfer to a resettlement camp which was term used by the Cardassians for those they selected for an annual cull of the old, sick and injured prisoners. It saved them having to feed them through the winters.

The man had pressed the projector into the young Tarn's hands and told him to never forget how beautiful Bajor was before the Cardasian's came. Then told him to make sure he lived long enough to see it when they were gone. Moments later the man had been dragged out of the hut with the rest of those selected, herded onto a transport and was never seen again.

It was a week after that Langar had escaped the camp when the Resistance had attacked and blew a hole in the fence. The projector stuffed in the pocket of his ragged coat as he'd run through the snow to freedom. The little device had been with him ever since.

He let he images play for a while then reached out, tapped the controls, shut it down, closed the two panels, slipped it back in the bag and placed it securely in a locker.

He got up and headed out to check out the rest of the ship, the one that was, for now, home.

[OFF]