Author's comments below after the story.
No matter how much he shifted, Uzgrank Sneekstabba couldn't get comfortable in the chair. It wasn't the original chair the vessel came with, of course. That chair had been build for puny humies and had been ripped out. Replaced with a metal sheet welded to a chunk of bulkhead "salvaged" from another ship his warband had raided. It wasn't that he was some prissy pointy eared git who needed a piece of cloth and fluff to sit on. His discomfort had more to do with the task Warboss Vazkog Skulbreaka had assigned him. The Warboss had been in a foul mood ever since the "upgrades" the Mekboyz slapped onto their krooza's engines sent them to some strange realm filled with humies and other weird gitz. Being somewhere else wouldn't have bothered Vazkog too much. But the mekboy upgrades had proper zogged up his krooza's engines with the activation of their little "improvement".
Not that this was a bad place. The gitz in this area of space were all pushovers, to be sure. But at least they had plenty of neat flash and sparky bitz you could tack onto your gear, shootas, and kroozas. The problem was they were running out of planets to loot and sack. And with the krooza's engines zogged, they couldn't set off again any time soon. Vazkog had hit on the idea to settle in for a bit and build up his forces. He put his newly acquired slave force to work making him lots of kroozas and snazzguns that shot that beamy flash the local gitz were so fond of. In the mean time, he had gotten some of his most trusted Kommandos together and gave them a task.
"Lizzen here ya wimps-" Vazkog was of the opinion, like many orks, that kommandos weren't orky 'nuff on account that they preferred to sneak up to their enemies and blow/chop their heads off at close range. As opposed to running across an open field screaming and shooting wildly. Vazkog tolerated kommandos because he was shrewd for an ork and knew they could be useful certain situations. "-da krooza's inginez'a proppa zogged up so we ain't gedding outta here any time soon. Deez humie ships are buncha toyz dat break da second ya kick'em wrong. So iz gonna be a bit 'for da mekboyz make em proppa tuff'n'orky." The kommandos nodded dutifly. Most of the information flew in one ear and out the other. They were not mekboyz and Vazkog didn't want them to sneak on the ships and blow them up, so that information contained nothing that concerned them.
" 'Ere'z what I'z be wantin' da kommando ladz tah do." The kommandos perked up. Now it was listening time. "I wants ya tah get on onna dem humie ships dat ain't been touched by da mekboyz an' fly outta da system. See wot typa gitz be muckin' about 'round us. Den come back an tell us so we'z know how best tah krump em." It was the most sneaky kommando thing Uzgrank had ever done. Even for him, it was quite the deviation from normal oppa- aper- upra-...supah sneaky git krumpin' he was used to. Usually Uzgrank and the ladz painted themselves purpul, crept into the enemy camp, then started shooting and blowing up anything that wasn't ork. This mission there would be no shooting, no exploding, and a LOT of talking.
Vazkog had made it very clear he expected the kommandos to use the ship's talky magik to jawjack with other gitz on other ships they came across. This would be the most challenging part of the mission. Uzgrank's dialoge with most non-orks usually consisted of "WHERE'Z DA RESTA YA BOYZ SO I'Z CAN KRUMP EM TOO?!" Obviously he had to practice on some of their humie slaves before he and the rest of the kommandos set off. It wasn't the easiest task. The first thing Uzgrank had to learn was that when the humies used fancy, funny words, he couldn't just crump them so they would shut up. Then he had to learn how to ask the 'right' questions 'proppaly'. You couldn't just ask "Where'z da nearest planet tah loot?" You had to ask "Where'z da nearest planet dat has a lot a stuff? I'z got tah buy sum bitz for me krooza." Frankly, Uzgrank was shocked he hadn't gone mad. Though he was rather pleased with himself that he was smart enough to learn so much.
And so here they were. Uzgrank, his kommando boyz, and a backup pilot from Vazkog's defunct krooza to fly the humie ship. That was one thing they just didn't have time for. Steering kroozas was tricky buziness and you didn't want to crash it into a rok or a planet or another krooza. Even after they had ripped out most of the consoles for the humie ship and replaced them with a metal slab with five controls and a screen that displayed the ship and it's surroundings. The controls were a "go slowa" button, "go fasta" button, "go supah fast" button, a "steery-turny" stikk, and a "beemy-flash dakka" firin' button. Scrawled above the last one was "Don't touch dis zoggin' button unlez dey shootin' ya first!" And underneath that was "Or elze's gunna rip yor 'ead off n' drink squig beer outta yor skull! -Vazkog"
Uzgrank supposed that was where his discomfort came from. They were on a very un-orky, very flimsy humie ship. They had to go out into the vast unknown to "collekt intel" on the surrounding systems. And on top of it all, they couldn't even use the beemy dakka whenever they wanted. This was as un-orky as you could get. Still, kommandos were all about un-orky thinking. So that, combined with threats of horrid violence by Vazkog, made Uzgrank confident he would be sue-sess-, sukses-, doing a proppa job of it.
Then the alarm on the pilot's control panel started shrieking. "Oy, wat'z all dat noize dat fing iz makin'?!" Uzgrank barked.
"Der's anudda humie ship gedden close! You'z want me to zog off past em?" The pilot asked. Uzgrank rubbed his chin. Vazkog had been very clear in his instructions: Talk to other gitz on other ships. So talk he would.
"Nah. Turn on da talky magik. I'z got sum kwes'tons tah ask." He reached over to grab something out of the gear sack next to him. "Get yor dis'guyzez on." He ordered.
Captain Wyzzr Yijara, of the Steamrunner-Class U.S.S. Heermann, leaned forward in her captain's chair. The Caitian's tail twitched in agitation and anticipation. Next to Yijara, her first officer frowned. "Thoughts, commander?" She hissed. Commander Irin Navich rubbed his chin.
"It's certainly...something." He mused. On the viewscreen before them was an archaic Antares-class cargo hauler. Both Yijara and Navich were somewhat surprised to see such an old vessel meandering about. But perhaps more shocking was what had happened to the vessel's hull. First off was it's "paint" job. The whole thing had been slathered in purple. With the exception of the warp nacelles which were painted red with yellow flames. On the bow, in big, messy letters was written "HUMIE SHIP. NOT ORK KROOZA." Aside from that, were the myrid of metal lumps that stuck out from the ship like pustules. They looked like someone had welded chunks of scrap metal to the hull and wrapped it up in exposed wires and cables. The whole thing was a sight to behold.
"Well if things in the system are as bad as intel suggests, it makes sense that people would use whatever vessels they could get their hands on to escape. No matter how old or shoddy they might be." He said finally.
"And the writing?" She mused. The betazoid shrugged.
"Perhaps their comm is out. We know from other refugees that the race terrorizing the sector call themselves 'orks'. Perhaps they want possible rescuers to know that."
"Are you sensing anything from them?" Wyzzr asked.
Navich frowned. It was an expression Wyzzr was used to. Irin, unlike most betazoids, seemed to only be impassive or disgruntled. He had a terribly bland personality. But he was mentally sharp, quick, and had plenty of experience. Which was all Wyzzr needed. Not to mention the edge he gave her with his abilities. "I'm sensing a lot of apprehension. But not in the terrified way. More like...they're all waiting for something important to happen. And I get the strangest feeling of...'sneaking'?" He seemed to ask himself. "There's something else beneath it all. It almost feels aggressive, but there's too much interference." This time it was Yijara's turn to frown. She had been hoping Navich would give her a clear cut view of the situation. But based on what he said, they could either be fleeing refugees or the aggressive aliens themselves. She turned to her science officer.
"Can we get a reading of who's onboard?" She asked. The officer shook his head.
"Their shields are up. Looks like they've been modified too. Sensors can't get past them." He explained. A picture was beginning to form in Wyzzr's mind. It was probably smuggers. That would explain the age of the ship, unusual shields, hull modifications, and paint job. They had been caught in the crossfire when the aliens had attacked and were now trying to slink away. It as decent a theory as any, she supposed.
"Captain, we're being hailed!" Her comm officer announced. Yijara let loose a toothy grin.
"Well let's not keep them waiting. On screen." She ordered.
The humie ship's pikt'cha box had survived the gentle caresses of the mekboyz and flashed to life. Uzgrank's beady eyes widened a bit. On screen he could clearly make out a puny humie wearing silly-looking red and black clothes or whatsit. But next to him was a creature Uzgrank had never seen before. It too wore the pathetic garment the humie sported. But it was a strange, fuzzy, orange beast. Uzgrank had never seen a feline before. Most of his adventures usually involved smashing humie gits, blueskins, or the occassional pointy-ear. The plus side was it's hide looked like it would make a nice addition to his trophy belt. It might even be big enough to become a cape. Then he remembered what the boss wanted, and thoughts of capes and trophies moved to the back of his mind. Instead, he simply picked up the dead squig his "lines" were written on and began to speak.
"Atenshyun humie ship. We'z da humie ship Not Filled Wiv Orks. We'z tryin' tah get away from dem ork boyz dat be attackin' all da humie plannetz behin' uz. Pleeze tell us were dah nearest tradin' world iz so we'z can ged awayz from da orks." The individual grunted out.
On the Heermann there was a bit of shock at what the viewscreen displayed: Two bulky figures stuffed into the cramped confines of an Antares-class bridge. The helm console had been replaced with a crude panel containing a few switches and knobs. The only source of illumination were red emergency lights. The figures each wore a crude mask that looked like a child drew it. Two holes for eyes, a square hole for a mouth, a drawn circle for a nose, and written on the top was "dum humie." Surrounding their frames were dirty sheets that hid what they were. The words "totally a humie, nota ork" were written several times on the sheets in various inks and fonts. You could clearly see the jaw of speaking one move behind it's mask. By all logic, the Starfleet officers should've immediately figured out something was amiss and attempted to detain or board the strange ship. And yet...
Every kommando on their ship believed their disguises were fool proof. Every ork in Vazkog's horde believed the disguises would work. Every mekboy was sure the purpul paint would keep anyone or anything from seeing that the ork vessel was filled with kommandos. And once orks believed in their heart of hearts that something was true, it somehow became just that. Navich, despite his betazoid telepathic abilities, was unable to pierce through both the subconscious, reality warping, gestalt psychic field that the orks were generating, and their incredibly thick skulls. And it was because of the former that Captain Wyzzr Yijara, as sharp and perceptive as any starfleet captain, found her thoughts on the matter become muddled.
Still, years of training and intuition could not be so easily pursuaded. The caitian shook her head to clear her thoughts and composed herself. "And who might I ask are you?" The figure on the screen flipped around the dead creature for a second.
"Uzgr- ur, I'z meanz I'z Johnny McHumieton. I'z a regular humie dat loiks muckin' about in da dirt an not krumpin' stoopid gitz for der flashy bitz." The words of 'Johnny' set her subconscious on edge. A small part of her was screaming at how ridiculous this individual was being. But, another part of her brain argued, he had said it with such sincerity and earnestness. He must be telling the truth. Right? Yijara was a bit shocked at her own internal debate. Wasn't this an open-and-shut case only minutes ago? She turned ot her first officer. Irin took the hint and asked a question of his own.
"You say you're fleeing these 'orks.' " He stated. The figure nodded. It's mask wobbled a bit. "How did you escape their wrath? And where did you get your ship?" Navich asked. 'Johnny' looked a bit stumped. Wyzzr felt her mental fog begin to clear.
"I'z simpul. We'z snuk onna diz ship while da ork boyz were krumpin' everythin else. Den we'z nicked it when deyz wuzn't lookin'." He said suddenly. Well that made sense, right?
"Where are the orginal owners of the vessel?" Navich asked, unhindered.
"Dunno. Prolly got krumped by da orks." Johnny replied, seemingly nonchalant. Navich frowned.
"Do you know why your ship's shields are emitting such unusual power fluctuations?" He tried again.
"Zog me if I know." Mchumieton said with a shrug. Irin seemed stumped. Yijara decided to pick up the interrogation.
"You seem to know a lot about the orks." She said. "What can you tell us about them? Size, numbers, weapons, ship types, anything you know." Wyzzr purred. Data on the orks was vital. Starfleet had became aware of the problem when ships packed with fleeing colonists began arriving at surrounding worlds. They hysterically jabbered about terrifying, muscled slabs of green barbarians. Monsters that screamed and bellowed and hacked people apart with glee. Sensor data and recordings were a little more rare. And Starfleet had positioned a cordon of ships around the sector to contain any hostiles attempting to escape. As the Heerman was apart of that cordon, anything Wyzzr could send back to Starfleet intelligence would be invaluable.
"Er, well, da orks be nuffin ta mess wiv, ya see?" The individual called Johnny explained. "Deyz ded killy. Got lotz a shootaz 'n choppaz ta crump any gitz dey comma'croz."
"Excuse me, but what are 'shootaz 'n choppaz', if you don't mind me asking?" Wyzzr asked.
"Errr..." Uzgrank muttered. He wasn't expecting that question. Shootaz and choppaz were exactly that: Things that shot and things that chopped. What else was there to it? He suddenly wished there was a Mek next to him. Come to think of it, how would a Mek answer the question?...Then it came to him. "Well, ya see, a shoota sends dakka into a git supah fast so 'e gets filled with holes 'n bleeds out. An' ya hold a choppa 'n hit a git wiv it supah hard so ya slice 'im up inta gubbins." He said finally.
"So 'shootas' are ballistic weapons that propel metal slugs through the air via chemical explosions?" Navich asked. The one called Johnny nodded. Irin looked at his captain. "Ma'am, their story matches up with the other reports. We're definitely dealing with a new race here. Nobody else has used ballistic weapons for at least a century." Yijara nodded. The caitian looked back at the viewscreen.
"What else can you tell us about the Orks?"
Uzgrank decided it was time to stomp this squig while it was still small. "Er not much, ya know. Cuz we wuz hidin' from em til wez got to da ship and legged it." He replied.
"Surely you must've seen what they looked like?" Navich inquired.
"Da orks be big'n'strong'n'killy. Dat'z about all I'z can tell ya." Uzgrank replied. The two officers frowned. Starfleet had gathered what intelligence it could from fleeing refugees. Any new information would be a boon. And this 'Johnny' hadn't told them anything they didn't already know.
"Unless we have a reason to detain them, we'll have to let them go. They've done nothing yet besides having an unusual vessel." Irin murmured to Wyzzr. The captain frowned and rubbed her chin with a paw. Something in the back of her mind screamed to investigate further. She mentally shrugged.
"Well then Mchumieton, if that's the case, I shall let you go. We're sending you coordinates to the nearest starbase. They'll debrief you further. Safe travels." She motioned to the comm officer to cut the feed.
Uzgrank stared at the blank screen. That was that, he supposed.
"What you wantin' tah be doing now, boss?" The pilot asked. Uzgrank took off his mask and rubbed his cliff of a chin.
"You get dat spot where da humie base is?" He asked. The pilot nodded. Uzgrank's face split into a massize, ugly grin. "Well den wotta we wait'n for? Leg it ovah there real quick like."
With that, the two vessels parted ways. One stayed at it's station. Steadfastly determined to stop whatever hostile menace that tried to escape the sector. The other streaked off towards the highlighted starbase. It's occupants eager to scout around and learn who nearby had the juiciest loot to raid.
Author's notes: AW'RITE YA RANCID SQUIG HUMPAHZ LIZZEN UP!
Anyone who's thinking "Are you fucking kidding me?! Nobody, Starfleet included, could be that fucking stupid that they'd fall for that!" To which I say:
1. Have you even paid attention to StarTrek? I'm surprised they aren't all dead yet. Their officers will spend 40 minutes out of a 45 minute episode trying to figure out if it's morally okay to blow up a derelict spaceship about to crash into a planet of millions because there's an as-of-yet undiscovered sentient mold living on the ship. Seriously, it's like the Academy lobotomizes half their critical thinking and deduction abilities and replaces it with naive optimism.
2. Things work for orks because they think it does. The whole reason their technology works because they believe it can. So if they can wish-believe a metal pipe and some rocks into a fully functioning machine gun, then they can wish-believe a Star Fleet captain and her first officer they're fleeing human refugees.
3. Repeat to yourself "it's just a fanfic, I should really just relax."
Caitians, Captain Wyzzr race, do exist in the Star Trek universe. I didn't just pull her out of my ass. The most notable being Comm Officer M'ress, from the 1970s Star Trek: Animated series.
The Antares and Steamrunner class ships also both exist in the Startrek Universe. The Antares were transport vessels used around the 2260s to haul cargo and passengers. I picked an Antares class because some century old, beat-up cargo hauler sounds like something that would be trundling around a no-name system with nothing of real importance. I couldn't find any weapons specs, but one can assume the Orks wouldn't fly out on an unarmed ship. No matter how "sneaky" they're supposed to be.
The Steamrunners were a Heavy Frigate class of vessels used by Star Fleet during the 2370s and beyond. They saw action numerous times in the Dominion war and made up part of the defense fleet against the Borg cube in the battle of Sector 001. It packs a semi decent punch with 4 phaser arrays and two torpedo launchers. You can play it in Star Trek Online. In naval warfare frigates and destroyers are used for picketing and blockades so I figure Star Fleet would use a couple ships like the Steamrunner class to keep the ork-filled system quarantined.
THE MORE YOU KNOW!