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Easy Rider

Posted on Tue Aug 29th, 2017 @ 9:10am by Lieutenant JG Vecon Fick & Lieutenant K'Laus

Mission: Into The Wild
Location: Cargo Bay
Timeline: Recent

On his days off and in his spare time, sometimes Fick liked to try and build things. Most of the time those things were fairly small scale and almost all of them flew in some way shape or form. He had built and sailed an old fashioned, lightweight, one man sailing vessel, but that was rare. Before he had left the Academy for his new adventure abroad he had started a new project, but he hadn't really had time to unpack it. Currently, it was sitting in a couple of large containers in cargo bay five. With a whole day to himself, he was on his way to unpack it and figure out how to store it while he worked on it. He carried with him a toolbox of his own personal tools.

The shuttle bay wasn't all that busy. At least that was good. Not a lot of people to ask him a lot of questions about what he was doing. It wasn't that what he was doing was wrong or against the rules in any way. It was that the newest item he was constructing was rather unusual. He was excited about it and wasn't really ready to share it. It was Klingon in origin and the person who had sold it to him had told him it was a one-man hover bike. Fick wasn't so sure. He had done a lot of research into the item and had mostly found that Klingons really didn't give two hoots about floating around by themselves. Much to his surprise, when he had first opened the box, he had discovered that what he had was Klingon, but it never hovered. It was a motorcycle.

Most cultures that had developed vehicles of any sort had a motorcycle. They were not always the same in shape, size or usage and some did fly. His current project however was not one of those. He was disappointed at first, but got over it and decided he was going to do the project anyway. He found his crates after some searching and was able to use a lift to get them out of the corner they were in. He picked an empty bay. Hopefully, no one would complain since it was already empty. Once he'd moved the crates there he set about unpacking them. It was a lot of unpacking and the crates were a little deeper then he could really reach the bottom of.

What was left of the bike was in pieces, but not all of them were small pieces. Klingons never did anything small. It was, however, pretty old. Fick was sure he was going to be typing schematics into the replicator at some point to make up for the pieces that were either missing or completely rusted away. The frame was the last part to remove from the crates, but it was a little bigger then Fick could really handle. He was plenty strong, but the depth of the crate plus the awkward shape of the frame was making it a real challenge.

As Supply Officer aboard the USS Pandora, the cargo and transporter rooms were some of Lieutenant K'Laus' more well trafficked areas of the starship. He had to work closely with the crew, especially the Security personnel, Engineering and Operations Department. When new cargo was brought aboard, he was often present to take inventory and help with the safety and security inspections necessary. One mishap with cargo... BOOM goes half the starship. The one positive thing he could say about the Federation, especially Starfleet was they checked everything thoroughly and had good safety measures in place.

Pakleds, Ferengi, and even the Talarians at times all had a habit of making serious cargo mistakes. Only a few months ago there was an incident at a Federation space station. A Pakled vessel was carrying perfectly legal cargo, but two containers that shouldn't have been within one hundred feet of one another were stacked atop one another. A little turbulence when the docking clamps were released and BOOM! went the upper half of the docking pylon. No doubt the Federation were not pleased with the Pakleds as evident by the heavy sanctions levied against them.

Lieutenant K'Laus carried a PaDD in hand and entered the Cargo Bay expecting it to be empty. He did not see or hear Fick when he entered. The Klingon was busy, lost in his thoughts and concentrating on his work. He was going to take a quick inventory of a few rows of containers. The sound of his excessive typing on his PaDD let out small low sounding beeps of varying pitches. He sat the PaDD down atop a work station and unclipped the Tricorder from his belt as he started to take readings of one container. The code on the container when scanned came up in Klingon. A few taps of the PaDD and the Klingon script was translated into another language he was more accustomed to: Talarian. Though he was Klingon by looks, he was born and raised as a Talarian for the most part. Gagh the contents were translated to. More specifically Live Gagh and another code that he scanned added a stardate to it. He grumbled and shook his head. It was packaged nearly six months ago. No wonder the Operations crewmen had complained of the foul stench. "Live Gagh my ass!" he said with a chuckle.

When Fick finally managed to get the frame free from the storage container it was with a screech and a loud bang as the empty box skidded along the floor and then fell over when he heaved the frame out of it. He looked around, a little embarrassed about making so much noise, but no one seemed to be coming to stop him. He checked the containers to make sure they were empty and set about trying to get the frame of the bike to stand up. It was, once again, heavy, awkward and mostly rusted. He finally settled on climbing on top of one of the containers so he could get a good heft on the solid piece and set it upright. It was still difficult and it was screaming against the floor in protest as Fick pulled on it. With a mighty heave the frame suddenly popped up on one end, rather like a rearing stallion, before it settled into place, upright like he needed it to be. The bad part was that Fick was totally unprepared for it to happen like that, so when the bike frame popped up he let go of it in surprise and suddenly found himself hurtling backwards off the container.

The Klingon was taken by surprise by the sound. That loud bang echoed through the cargo bay and caused him to go into a defensive position behind a stack of containers. He reached for a non-existent dagger, a Talarian weapon of choice. None. Not there. He wasn't on a Talarian ship. No luck reaching for a disruptor either. Wasn't on a Klingon vessel either. Damn Federation starships he thought to himself and muttered a few choice words under his breath. "Who's there?!" he shouted. "Identify yourselves," he added seeking answers.

Fick hit the ground hard, landing on his ass. He sat there a moment, surprised, but got right back up and back on the container to readjust the frame of the motorcycle. Just as he was crawling up onto the container for the second time he heard someone call out. He looked around, but didn't see anyone immedately. He thought that he had heard the voice ask who was there, but he wasn't sure. He called out anyway. "Hey! Over here!" and figured that would cover it. Maybe some big, burly, handsome security guy would come help him with this bike frame, which seemed to have some sort of personal vendetta against him.

It far from covered it. All it did was tell the Klingon approximately where the person was and that they clearly were not a threat or worthy of his defensiveness. As he approached, he looked up and saw what looked to be nothing more than a mere child. "What are you doing?" asked K'Laus crossing his arms. "You could have been shot with a disruptor if I were armed. You should not be poking about and playing in the Cargo Bay," he lectured briskly.

Fick chuckled and lifted his gaze from the motorcycle to the Klingon in front of him. He had to admit that there was definitely nothing wrong with the way Klingon's were built. It was hard to stop himself from grinning. "I'm not poking about and I'm definitely not playing. I'm unpacking my bike. Granted it still needs a lot of assembly." He continued to grin. "So you come here often? And anyway... where the hell are you gonna get a disruptor? Unless you have one stashed somewhere..." He eyed the Klingon up and down with that same sly grin. It seemed more of an excuse to look K'Laus over then any sort of real concern over a hidden disruptor.

The Klingon nearly snarled at the pathetic little specimen of an officer. "NOWHERE," he bellowed in agitation. "Federation starships are too comfortable! They have crews who roam about in Cargo Bays, and nobody is ever armed except for Security," said K'Laus. "How these people managed to defeat the Klingons in one war is disconcerting enough let alone the several wars the Federation defeated the Empire," he said partially disappointed by the warrior's heritage he was supposed to have inherited from his biological parents.

Fick raised his eyebrows. "Don't get your panties in a bunch. Maybe you could help me instead. The guy I bought this from said it was Klingon. I'm not sure he was telling me the truth." He turned back to the bike frame and tried again to put it in the right position to work on it. It was rather obvious that the frame was way too heavy for him, but he was giving it a good go. The problem was he was standing on a box. The box under him teetered with his effort, threatening to slide out from under him again. "I was thinking... maybe... you could tell me... if it is... in fact... Klingon..." His voice was also strained with his effort.

"Warriors do not wear... panties," replied K'Laus gritting his teeth. That would be...ridiculous he thought to himself as he listened to this boy's story and just let out a frustrated sigh. "There is an Earth saying: 'Do not judge a book by its cover,'" the Klingon quoted and looked at the younger man. "I only look Klingon to you because of my parents. I spent little time on the Klingon home world and am still learning about my culture and heritage. However, it does look Klingon in design," he added.

Fick looked up at K'Laus for a moment. "I understand actually... at least a little bit. I know my mother's people, but not my father's. I don't really know anything about his people aside from what I learned at the Academy." He grinned and winked at K'Laus. "... and everyone wears panties, tough guy. It's really just a matter of semantics. Unless you don't wear underwear... and honestly I wouldn't advise that in a Starfleet uniform." He chuckled. "Not that I would mind..."

What does that mean? wondered The tall Klingon, looking very warrior like but was starting to feel rather inquisitive. "You are not like all the other Humans aboard?" he asked, not really having known much outside of Talarian space and the Klingon Empire. His 'meeting' new people was often in combat. "I do not get around to other worlds very often. I know only a few species by appearance," he confessed.

Fick chuckled again. "Well for one thing... I'm not Terran." He hopped down off the crate and started to sort out the various part and pieces of the bike. "My mother is from Risa and my father is from Bajor. He fled to Risa during the Cardassian Occupation and met my mother. The rest is history and here I am. How about you? You sort of seem like a regular Klingon, but you don't really talk like a regular Klingon. Where are you from?" He stood from where he had been squatting and grinned at K'Laus. "And I don't even know your name..." he said coyly.

"Risa," said K'Laus having never been to the planet, but knowing it by reputation. "The planet of sex?" he said not mincing his words. K'Laus crossed his arms and stared blankly at the young man. You don't know my name because I did not give it to you he thought. "My name is K'Laus and I am Talarian. That was where I was born and is all that I know."

Fick's eyebrows shot up when the Klingon said Talarian. "Oh yeah? And yeah... A lot of people call it that. What's wrong with sex anyway?" He chuckled. "I guess the Talarian's are kinda stuffy about that sort of thing, aren't they?" He grinned and winked at K'Laus. "My name's Fick. Vecon Fick, but Fick is fine, cause it's really my first name... even though Bajoran's put it last. It's all sort of confusing. But yeah... Nice to meet you K'Laus... the Talarian that looks like a Klingon." He grinned again.

K'Laus was not amused. "Fick," he said the man's name In a low grumbling tone of voice. "Fick Fick the Risa tick oh mighty is he who sucks a lot of..." The man stopped before saying anymore. "We're not stuffy. We just have better things to do than each other," replied K'Laus as he adjusted his hair, pulling it back. "Klingon or Talarian, I will not stand here and explain myself to a child," added the bigger man as he crossed his arms.

Fick busted up laughing. He laughed so hard he had to sit down for a moment. "Oh man... that's the best one I've ever heard!" he exclaimed, when he had finally recovered. He stood again, slowly, wiping tears from his eyes. "We've got better things to do too... we just make sure to make time to do each other as well..." He grinned at the Klingon's dour face. "You should really write that poetry down. Did you come up with that off the top of your head? That's a talent! And I'm not a child. I'm twenty years old, well past the legal age for most things."

The Klingon scoffed. "I do not fancy myself a poet," he said shaking his head. "Perhaps you should reconsider the amount of time that you put into pleasuring others and learn how to ride that... thing," said K'Laus. "You LOOK like a child. Does not matter how old you actually are or how legal you may be. The fact of the matter is, I do not see a warrior when I look at you. I see fodder," added K'Laus.

Fick rolled his eyes. "That's nice. So you just... run around making assumptions about people based on their appearance? And bullying? How did you get through Academy? Make any friends?" He climbed back up on the crate and it wobbled under him a little. "And that's what I'm trying to do! I've ridden a lot of things..." he let that one sit for a minute. "... but I've never ridden one of these and I'd like to... I hear the experience is quite exhilarating." He grinned and reached for the heavy frame of the bike again. "And you know... we can't all be warriors... people gotta do other stuff too..." He grunted a little, straining to get the frame into place.

K'Laus growled at the young pathetic man child. "I'm sure you have ridden plenty Fick. You look like a natural... I could probably have the Chief Medical Officer perform a search on the Federation Medical Database and learn your favorite places to ride, but then again why consult a database when you probably have a reputation around the galaxy as an 'easy rider' perhaps," the Klingon said with a grunt and smirk. "I bet your little black PaDD has more names than a Denobulan marriage license," teased K'Laus. "And what Academy? Starfleet? No, a Klingon raised Talarian isn't going to make it through the pathetic Humans' Academy. My rank is provisional," he added with a grumble of disappointment.

Fick let go of the bike for a moment and repositioned himself atop the box. Maybe if he could rock it back and forth it would move to where he wanted it. He chuckled at the Klingon's comments and shrugged with a grin. "And so what if it is true... which it isn't... I haven't hard nearly enough time to sleep with that many people. I guess it's true that Talarian's are prudes." He hooked his arms under the edge of the frame while squatting on top of the box. He tried to rock it back and forth. "So you're not even real Starfleet? How'd that happen? You're not one of those Marines... are you?" The rocking seemed to be working and slowly the frame was inching closer and closer. Fick was also pulling harder each time with the frame's gathering momentum.

"Wouldn't you like that. You'd love if I were a marine," countered Lieutenant K'Laus. "No, I am not. How did it happen? I left my home world and joined the Klingon Defense Force. It was alluring to the Federation and Starfleet to have someone who understands the Talarians and speak their language. I happened to be at the right place at the right time," explained the Klingon.

"Oh... yeah?" Fick was straining with the bike. "I bet... you do that... a lot..." He pushed with all of his strength. The motorcycle frame slid exactly into the spot that Fick had been trying to get it into, but not before it bucket like a bronco. Unfortunately, Fick still had arms wrapped around the frame and when it bucked up it took him with it. Fick wasn't a huge guy, so the heavy frame had no problem lifting him into the air and flinging him off like an annoyed rodeo bull throws a cowboy. Fick expected to hit the ground, hard.

Damn children thought K'Laus, his Talarian reflexes and Klingon senses kicked in. Fick was not going to hit the ground. Anyone else, sure. Fick would have hit the ground hard, but almost protectively, Lieutenant K'Laus leapt into action, nearly knocking a heavy barrel out of the way with force in order to reach Fick in time. The young little Risan fell right into the Klingon's big arms, cradling Ensign Vecon Fick. "I told you to stop playing with that damn thing," grumbled the Klingon still holding the ensign in his arms. "You are lucky I was here to catch you, PetaQ," added K'Laus with a smirk.

Fick had expected to hit the ground, but when he didn't he was totally surprised. He slowly opened his eyes to meet the gaze of the Klingon, his mouth stayed open in his amazement. He liked the feel of K'Laus' chest against him. The Klingon was strong, not that that was so surprising, they were often strong, but Fick had never had his hands on one to feel exactly how hard bodied they could be until now. "T-thank you," he stammered. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks.It hadn't been very often that he'd been picked up by someone either. It was rather sexy. "I was lucky..." He knew it was probably going to prompt the Klingon to drop him, but he had to try and put his arms around K'Laus' neck and grinned at him, perfectly content to let the Klingon hold him.

The Klingon was not stupid. He could feel the warmth of Fick's body heat increasing, the sweatiness of his palms, the softness of that skin and THAT look in the younger man's eyes. Lieutenant K'Laus was unsure what to do. He did not welcome this sort of thing, especially not with this scrawny childlike humanoid. The Klingon let out a rough grumbling low growl. "You are too FRAGILE," he said, nearly hissing at Fick as the Klingon completely let got of the younger man, retracting his arms and all grip. He let Fick drop the few feet onto the ground.

"Why do you look at me like that?!" shouted the Klingon. "Are you not right in the head, child?" added the Klingon nearly snarling at Fick and backing away to put some distance between them.

Fick let out a little breath of air when he hit the floor. He had to admit it did hurt a little, but it was so much better than the fall he had been set to take. He picked himself up off the floor and dusted his uniform, still grinning, despite his bruised tailbone. "I'm sure someday you'll figure it out. Thanks for saving me though. I might be little, but what I lack in height I make up for in tenacity." He chuckled and looked over at the bike frame. For all of it's rocking around it had ended up exactly where he had been trying to get it to. "I'm cool though, it's all good." He put up his hands like he was surrendering, shaking his head, his grin turning into more of an amused smirk. "I'm good, really." It was hard to tell if Fick was suggesting the many, many layers of that statement. "Thanks for your help," he said almost dismissively.

There was no 'you're welcome' from the Klingon. Either because the words were so foreign to him, or he simply found no need to say them. He just glowered at the other man and rolled his eyes. "Yeah," was what he forced out as an immediate response. "Well, I was here. It would have looked terrible if a Starfleet Officer died or was seriously injured while I was around, especially with the current issues the Federation may be having with the Klingons and Talarians.

Fick ignored the Klingon. It was a little tactic he found sometimes worked when people liked you, but were pretending they didn't, called being coy. He went back to his motorcycle and started to try and determine what the priorities were for reassembling it. He heard K'Laus get fed up behind him, but he didn't look. Not yet, instead he continued to busy himself organizing the parts. He wondered if they would let him replicate motorcycle parts if he needed them. When he turned to ask the Klingon he was gone.



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