David felt angry enough to hit a Targ! It wasn't enough that the crowding in cargo hold two was nearly intolerable. And the stupid fist-fight he'd had with the Bolian there a half hour ago hadn't helped either. But while walking the corridors to cool off, an interminable Vulcan officer had had the temerity to ask him if there were any complaints that he would like to pass on to the Captain! Complaints? On this twice overcrowded piece of ...? Well, he had managed to keep his smoldering temper in check and mumble something about the smell, and the pitiful rationing.
 Stepping around a tumult of children running the other way, he saw the Vulcan officer enter a turbo lift farther along the corridor. 'Probably going to relax in her quarter's', he though morosely. 'Come to think of it, I haven't really noticed any of the crew members as being very underfed looking!'
 Snap decisions had kept him alive more than once out in the galaxy, and his sudden decision now was just as sure to him now as if he were still running contraband from Ferenginaar to Coridan. David Rogers was hungry, and the galley would give him a proper meal post haste, or "Captain's mess" would derive a whole new meaning aboard this heap of parts!

ooc: Something like that K'Suan ? =)

It was late. There was no active timepiece in the room, so the captain did not know how late, but it was late, and he could not sleep again.

He reached over and activated the lights. They flickered on dimly, serving only to remind him of the ships current state. Having recently transferred survivors to STOzone base, the ship had use up alot of its power reserves, and being a civilian ship, to resupply was costly.

It was the third night in a row he had not been able to sleep - perhaps it was because he could sense the weakened state of his ship, or perhaps it was something else - maybe both.

Wandering over to his desk, he activated his computer and accessed his newest messages. One from Engineering letting him know that yet another EPS Conduit had failed, One from the Redshirt complaining about "The Freakin Replicators" - Just more  stuff to stop him from sleeping. He scrolled through the messages, skimming over every one........Stop.....There it was again, another one. Unknown Sender, Unknown Origin. He tried to run a trace but he knew the results before they even flashed up on the screen - Trace Route Failed. He wasn't surprised - he hadn't been able to trace the messages the last seven times, why would this unknown sender slip up now.

Accessing the unknown message, he skimmed over the contents, growing more wide eyed with surprise as he progressed through. If this information was correct, something big was about to happen - Something so big, it could shake the very foundations of the quadrant. His ship needed to be in top condition, even if it was going to use up the last of his credits to do it.

"Captain Zach to the Bridge - Set a course for Space Station K7 - Request Permission to Dock and Resupply. I want every system on this ship repaired. Have time and cost estimates ready for me in the morning"

God Knows, he couldn't afford it, but this ship and this crew were all he had left. Once a proud Captain in Starfleet, now, leader of the only independant news corporation in the quadrant.

Walking back over to his bed, he sits down on the edge  and opens a small drawer on a bedside cabinet. Pulling out a hypospray, he pushes it to his neck. "Hiisssss"

"Ahhhhh.....Finally" - He thinks to himself. His eyes close, and darkness surrounds him. The Captain will live to fight another day!

Phaser fire sizzled the air as women screamed and the cowards fled, knocking anyone over who got in the way.

Thick, overturned, iron tables took the brunt of incoming shots as Kinneas sat snarling behind one.

The now four member Klingon wolf pack would have him surrounded in a moment.  They didn't take kindly to humans in these parts and an insult that could not be held back was all they needed to seethe and unsheathe.

After dropping one Klingon to the bar room floor with a stiff knife hand thrust to the throat, two of the others upped the ante and drew phasers.

Despite the snarl, Kinneas was not irritated.  He had been away from this era in time for almost ten years.  An 'Odyssey' of his own.

He had been a counselor for a brief time in Starfleet before that event.  Fresh out of the Academy.

 Instead of continuing on with Starfleet he went home and joined the local UFP militia and found himself in a prvate little UFP skirmish and was lost through a doorway...stranded on a primitive world of blades, blood and magic.

The person behind the table now was not at all the one he had been before.

With no phaser, Kinn snatched the combadge off his uniform and ripped the cover off and reconfigured it's innards before popping the combadge up into the air to peek over the table towards the Klingons.   Doing what it was not intended to do, the badge sent out a wave that toppled over walls of bottles onto several of the attackers. Kinn smiled hearing the Klingon cursing and wedged the badge into a nook to continue assaulting anything in the cone with seismic waves.

From the right..A leaping flanker, with blade raised.  Instead of blocking, Kinn grabbed the wrist of the incoming attacker and pulled the knife in faster towards himself, then spun in the last second and pulling up hard on the wrist of his enemy.  The Klingon ended up on his back, gasping for air as Kinneas smiled and spun the blade in his hand, then dropped a knee and the death dealing point of the blade.

Sizzling air and fire tore the extracted blade from his hand. Spinning fast while advancing he moved out of the crosshair of several more shots. Grabbing a nearby dinner fork from the floor he hurled it with great precision.

A gasp and a thud.

It was over.

::: Kinneas to the bridge.  Re-supply at space station k-7 underway. ::   K'Suan'Indra said.  She was another related story altogether.

Jogging from the holosuite, Kinneas ran to his quarters to quickly shower and report for duty.

 Rogers thought that perhaps it was his half-Romulan ancestry that effected him at moments like this, but this particular Vulcan had seemed to rub him the wrong way from their very first meeting. Whispering aside to chef Rybeck, David snorted; "I think this officer is a little too much into herself for a Vulcan."

"A holodeck Ma'am?" David asked jokingly. "Is that what Vulcans use in this Quadrant? I would think a workout in the real world would be more beneficial."

 Ignoring her pre-occupation with the data padd, Roger's continued with the taunt. In no way was he about to acknowledge her seemingly Vulcan superiority, and he thought perhaps it was time to see who was the more capable.

"Perhaps you would like to shed some of your own testosterone ma'am? What say you to an assault on a cliff face on Risa? Just you and me? I warn you though, I am fitter than I look at the moment!"

Placing his hands on his hips, Roger's stared the challenge directly into her eyes, ignoring the warning hand chef Rybeck was placing on his shoulder.

"What say you, Sir? I'll take any conditions you need to equalize the climb for you!"
 

  She gives a sideways glance towards Kinneas and the fork, a bit of a snicker eminating from her throat. "I do not think that implement is necessary here. They only have one head each."
  Emerald eyes then settle back onto the "apprentice" and the underlying hostility radiating from him. She takes a few steps towards him, inclining her head in a benign fashion. "My concern is for the safety and financial stability of this ship, and that cannot happen if anger and pent-up rage take over and blow a hole in the side of the ship, unless your 'floating-out-in-space-without-any-life-support-systems' is equal to your boasts of climbing sheer face cliffs. On that accord, your challenge is accepted." That gained Rogers a flash of a grin before she turned upon a booted heel, handheld downloading the new supply order for the Captain's approval.