Let There Be Rain(e)

Posted on Sat Mar 9th, 2019 @ 5:46am by Lieutenant Raine MacLeod
Edited on on Wed Mar 13th, 2019 @ 1:57pm

683 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: Mission 6.5 - Obtaining New Crew
Location: Shuttle En Route to Starbase One
Timeline: 2296/02/12 - 0700

The shuttle was crowded as crew transports often were; rather than fight for a seat, she sat on the floor, feet tucked up underneath her and back to the wall and was soon asleep. Well, not fully asleep, too many people for that, more like dozing, drifting, mind untethered from the concerns of the day. She placed her carry-on between her and the person next to her, creating a spot that was ... separate. As she sat, half in shadow and half in light, long blonde hair tumbled forward as her head bent, with one hand on her calf, fingertips resting on the handle of the knife she kept in her boot, she looked more like one of the enlisted than the Chief of Security that she was.

Her name was Raine. Raine MacLeod though the surname was one she had taken to honor the man that had saved her from a short life and a messy death on Turkana IV. To be fourteen and know, with absolute certainty, that you would never see twenty aged you. To actually make it to twenty, was party-worthy or so Calum had insisted. Thirty apparently was also party-worthy and he had made her promise, a most solemn oath that involved spitting and handclasps, that she would indeed celebrate that day no matter where she happened to be. A reminder to her fourteen year old self that she, as it turned out, didn't have all the answers after all.

With her eyes closed, she listened to the sounds around her. The hum of the engines in counterpoint to the rumbling snores of the crewman sitting next to her. The exasperated and incessant grumblings of a self-important Lieutenant JG who had insisted he had to have a seat and not sit on the floor with the riffraff. Interesting that he'd used that particular word; she'd only started learning Federation Standard when she was a teenager. The library had been a place of refuge in those days, quiet and safe, where she could investigate the words flung at her in school. Understand what lay behind the snide looks and pointed hostility. Riffraff was an old word, from the fifteenth century, and meant a disreputable person. Riffraff had been applied to her at fourteen, fresh from Turkana Colony, and, being fair-minded, she had to agree. Then again, the ones that hurled the insults with their perfectly coifed hair and smug belief that the universe owed them something would not have lasted a week on Turkana.

She had survived fourteen years.

She drifted. Half asleep and half awake until the sound of the engine told her that they would be landing soon. She stood up in a single fluid move and lifted her carry-on. Around her, the enlisted were already stirring in preparation for disembarking. The exasperated Lieutenant JG was already starting to complain about how late he was for a very important meeting. Oh how she dearly hoped he would be assigned to the America. A little petty but she wasn't above petty. Well, not entirely. The upside of being in the rear was that she would be getting off first and she was early so there would be time to drop her gear off in her quarters before she had to go find her new Captain and report in.

She found the deck officer surrounded by new arrivals and smirked as she walked past. New arrivals. The kind of new where the insignia were still shined every night and no one had a clue what to do beyond 'getting to the ship.' Had she ever been that new? No. Decidedly not. Life had taught her the value of preparation early on. You didn't go into a situation blind, relying on someone else to know what to do and where to go. That was just ... wrong. She entered the turbolift and turned to see the pompous Lieutenant JG wading into the group shouting for attention. The deck officer, a full Lieutenant, bellowed for silence and she laughed, as the door closed, at his outraged, red-faced expression.

 

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