Arm and a Leg

Posted on Fri Apr 6, 2018 @ 4:39pm by Lieutenant Venus Quinnell

Mission: History
Location: Nimbus III
Timeline: Ten Years Ago

Nimbus III, the Planet of Galactic Peace, was just a frontier backwater it had been since its initial emergence. Supposedly constructed by the Triple Entente- Federation, Klingon Empire and the Romulan Star Empire - as an inspiration to that hope for peace, it failed miserably. It in turn was a beacon to personal failures through out the galaxy. Those trying to hide or disappear found the Planet of Galactic Peace was ironically the place to be.

Weapons were prohibited though the citizens were creative enough that even if phasers and disrupters were not the principle choices for murder, primitive projectile guns and blades could do the job if you weren't shy of a bloody mess.

In this wild frontier, a young colonial found a home. Venus attempted to bury her grief over the death -murder- of her big sister by burying herself away in another lost world far from Benecia Colony that had been home.

Being in her late teens, with little experience in the great big galaxy, she had been very fortunate not to have been killed or sold within mere days of stepping on the planet.
Now, six months had passed and her previous skills as a mechanic, mentored by her father, had merit. With little in the way of technological progress that could allow any one faction to dominate others, more archaic machines became the norm and these became her playthings.

An Orion former crimelord, now hunted, was Orton Russ. He made a name for himself here and had a position of ruthless authority the Triple Entente simply ignored out of object indifference. Orton had a fleet of combustion engine vehicles that ran not on oil but Argelian Nitrate, which the Triple Entente was the only supplier, bringing it on cargo runs to Nimbus every so often. These vehicles needed regular maintenance from the arid conditions and general wear that such antiques often got into. It gave Venus plenty of work.

If she wasn't repairing something, she was gambling or drinking in the great number of taverns that spotted the settlement. Apart from killing, drinking was the biggest past time.

One of Orton's thugs had been a Maquis fighter in a different life. Vince Dalton lost everything and like her tried to escape. He fell into Orton's collection of misfits just like her. In time they had become casual lovers if not to pass the long nights. He had given her a knife as personal protection which she had to use seven times until Orton got involved.

Venus had been repairing one of Orton's trucks in her makeshift garage well beyond nightfall. The parts had been scrounged up and looked just as decrepit as the truck itself, covered in rust and dents. Appearance meant nothing only that it ran.

One of her frequent visitors was a Romulan. Ekkhae t'Khellian was an erei'Arrain, lieutenant, in the Romulan military assigned to their delegation. It was a punishment by the Tal Shiar for some slight she had done. At first, Ekkhae had been the efficient officer, following orders even though she knew she may never leave here. When the Hobus Incident happened, her delegation all but disintegrated but not Ekkhae. Without Romulus to stabilize the empire, factions and civil war were inevitable and she wanted no part in the slaughter that more likely would happen. As her countrymen departed for parts unknown, she stayed.

Gone was her uniform of a nation that no longer existed. Instead she wore civilian attire that could resemble a smuggler. Her hair, always short was now flowing past her shoulders. She still kept her stiff stance as if meeting the praetor which Venus always found amusing, saluting her when the other entered the garage. Ekkhae found herself employed by Orton as well as the Romulan trained his misfits to be an effective group that could do more than get drunk and bash heads.

Ekkhae, like Dalton became a casual lover as if sex had become a drug to escape the emptiness that was Nimbus III. The Romulan taught Venus the language, Rihanssu, and told incredible stories of being on warbirds. Ekkhae was the traveler to exotic lands that filled Venus' imagination of what other possibilities there could be.

Venus looked up from the transport truck she was working on to see the Romulan standing there in her usual formal stance. "Dalton said you might still be in here. I should not have been surprised since you were not to be found in any of the taverns. I did bring over my last bottle of Romulan Ale from the ambassador's collection." She held up the bottle, what had been left behind when the diplomat fled after the Hobus Incident.

Venus wiped her brow then set the spanner down. "You sure you want to finish it? Could be a long time before you get anymore but who am I to turn down booze."

Ekkhae smirked. "Booze...you do know that in Breen, that word means-."

Venus cut her off. "So I been told but forgive me for using an ancient human word...it connects me to my heritage." She laughed as she went back to half being hidden in the engine.

"I never understand why you can be so relaxed in such a world. Karl was shot with a pebbler by one of Devil Rejects." Ekkhae was always officious. Pebbler was a simple projectile handgun that once used pebbles or stones until someone made primitive bullets. The Rejects were one of the dozen or so gangs that tried to carve up the carcass that was this planet. When the Triple Entente became the Dynamic Duo of the Federation and the Klingons, things got progressively worse even if the authorities rarely got involved.

Venus nodded. "Karl..Shit. That's why I'm a mechanic. I don't get shot at..well rarely get shot at. You should try it, keeps my mind busy."

Ekkhae smirked again. She tended to show an array of emotions with Venus.

Venus started cursing as she attempted to pull off the manifold. These old wrecks could be difficult but this was ridiculous. When she opened it up, what she saw was a surprise.

One of those rival gangs had upped the game by using explosives, a clear violation of the Nimbus Declaration but few cared anymore. The device was crude and stamped with Nausicaan scribbles, definitely the Devil Rejects. "Ekkhae, go get Dalton tell him we got a big probl-."

It was the last thing Venus said as the device prematurely exploded. Outlawed for its volatility, it was used regardless for its power even in small doses. Ekkhae at least was shielded somewhat by the old sedan between them. Venus was not so lucky.

Semi conscious, she found herself on the floor, fire and smoke everywhere. Her eyes could see a ragged stump where an arm had been. A amputated leg wearing her boot was among the rubble nearby which her fluid mind attempted to decipher as her body, numb of pain for this fleeting moment, tried to understand what just happened.

Unconscuousness soon claimed her as her mangled body was rushed to Orton's makeshift clinic. The local surgeon had performed miracles in the past. but knew if the girl was to survive he needed help from the outside.

It was Dalton's pistol to Orton's head that convinced the Orion that Starfleet was the logical choice and informed the Federation delegate once they could find him.

Venus was in critical condition and was not expected to survive. Her belongings, the few she had, were already looted. Ekkhae, who survived with minor injuries, simply remained at Venus' side.

The Starship Constellation arrived three days later and brought her aboard where she underwent emergency surgery. She was fitted with prothesis for her lost limbs. The ship's counselor visited every day but Venus simply shut down. The Intelligence officer aboard was more than curious of Ekkhae, especially with the devolution of the Romulan Star Empire. She would disappear in the world of secrets.

Venus would never return to Nimbus III.