Jailbird

Posted on Sep 14, 2014 @ 7:50pm by Commander Jacob Crichton
Edited on on Sep 14, 2014 @ 7:51pm

Mission: Absolute Power

= Jailbird =

(from "Naive Grace")



LOCATION: Starfleet Headquarters

SCENE: Corridor

STARDATE: [2.14] 0909.1031



The security guards on either side of Jake looked like they’d been carved from stone, and their grips on his arms added to the effect. Jake wondered what they were so worried about; even if he managed to wrench his way out of their grip and make a mad dash for the nearest shuttlecraft, any daring escape attempt would be quickly thwarted by the fact that Jake’s hands were manacled together in front of him. It was just another indignity, one more way for Edgerton to twist the knife. Whatever else came of this, news footage of Jake Crichton, trussed-up like a criminal and paraded around in front of cameras from every major news network, would follow him around for the rest of his life.



**My mom’s gonna be so proud,** Jake thought.



He spared a glance at the guards that flanked him. Each one somehow managed to look more stoic than the last, and Jake found himself wondering if they were Edgerton’s men or if they were just normal Starfleet security goons, doing their job. It didn’t make much difference to his current predicament, but knowing that there were still a few square-jawed brick shithouses playing for the good guys’ team would have at least made him feel a little better.



“So be honest… am I the most famous guy you’ve ever arrested?” asked Jake, trying to get some kind of human reaction from either of his captors. Neither one even flinched, though their grips on his arms tightened a bit as they were about to pass a set of doors at the center of the hallway.



“In here, sir,” one of the guards said.



“Hold up, Bludo,” Jake said, nodding at the sign hanging near the wall. “This is the transporter room.”



“You’re being transported to the stockad,” the other guard said, and tugged on his arm to urge him forward.



“Now wait a minute,” Jake said, doing his best to dig his heels in. “I need to call my wife and kids.”



“They don’t watch the news?” Guard No. 1, whom Jake had called ‘Bludo’, asked.



“Not a family man, huh?” Jake asked. “Look fellas, I know you’re just doing your job, but I know my rights.”



“You’ll get comm credits at the stockade,” said Guard No. 2.



“*If* you behave,” Bludo added.



“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Jake said, but then Bludo pressed a ham-sized hand into the small of Jake’s back and shoved, and Jake was send stumbling forward into the transporter room. A young tech stood behind the control console, looking shocked and uncomfortable. Jake guessed she was about 15 minutes out of the Academy.



“What…” the tech said, apparently the only word she could muster at the moment.

“Prisoner transport,” Bludo said, holding out a PADD. “The coordinates are listed there.”



“Y-yes sir,” the tech said. She took the PADD, examined it, then looked up at the guards and nodded.



“On the pad, sir,” Guard No. 2 said. “Please.”



**At least he’s polite,** Jake thought.



“Look guys, I just need to make one quick call,” Jake said, trying his best to sound reasonable. He even caught the eyes of the tech, figuring that any sympathy he might drum up would only help his position. “Just to see my wife and kids, to tell them I’m okay.”



“Get on the pad or we’ll put you there,” Bludo growled.



“Hey man, what’s your problem?” Jake frowned.



“My problem?” Bludo asked, staring at Jake with what looked like barely-contained murder. “An old friend of mine was on the DISCOVERY.”



“A friend of yours,” Jake repeated. He suddenly felt guilty, even though he had no reason to. Nevermind that the destruction of the DISCOVERY *wasn’t* actually his fault… standing here under the accusatory gaze of Bludo the Guard made Jake feel responsible somehow.



“Yeah,” Bludo nodded. “He didn’t make it out. I guess he was busy trying to hold things together while you were looking out for yourself. He get a chance to call his wife and kids, do you think?”



Jake started to reply, but Bludo was already pushing him towards the pad, and Jake had to pick his feet up quickly to keep from tripping over the stairs and sprawling on his face. Jake shot an angry glance back at Bludo, but the guard didn’t look impressed.



The tech set the coordinates and waited for the order. Jake noticed she was trying not to look Jake in the eye, giving Jake a kind of crawly feeling down the back of his next. Suddenly, he really wanted a look at that PADD, to make sure the coordinates listed really were for the New Zealand stockade and not, say, the center of the sun. It wouldn’t be the most subtle way to do away with him, but Jake had to admit he had no idea exactly how far Edgerton was willing to go. Suddenly, standing on the PADD with his hands bound, Jake felt extremely vulnerable.



“They’re expecting you,” Guard No. 2 said. “You’ll be greeted by Colonel T’Prell, the stockade’s commandant, and his security detail. Cooperate with their instructions and you will be treated civilly.”



“Or don’t, and you won’t,” Bludo muttered.



“Hey man,” Jake said, catching Bludo’s eye. The burly guard stared him down with no trace of fear or doubt. “Sorry about your friend.”



“Energize,” said Guard No. 2. It looked like Bludo was about to say something, but the world around Jake Crichton disappeared in a silvery shimmer before he could hear the guard’s final word on the matter.

=[/\]=



LOCATION: Papakura Stockade, New Zealand

SCENE: Transport Center



Jake didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath, with his eyes screwed tightly shut, until he heard a calm voice from about a meter in front of him.



“Open your eyes, Commander Crichton.”



Jake did. He didn’t seem to be standing in the center of a sun, so all things considered he was off to a good start. Standing before him, dressed in the formal greens of the Federation Marine Corp, stood a lanky Vulcan. His emerald eyes seemed to regard Jake with lazy interest. The Vulcan’s hair was cut short and neat, and his skin had a leathery look of too many days spent out under the sun. Jake spotted a handful of small scars criss-crossing the Vulcan’s cheek and neck. The rank insignia on the Vulcan’s uniform identified him as a Colonel.



Standing on either side of the Vulcan were two MPs, hands folded demurely behind their backs. Jake noted the heavy-duty phasers each one wore on their hip. A stun blast from one of those would knock a Nausicaan into next week, so Jake had no desire to find out what effect it would have on himself. At least so far the guns were staying in the holsters.



“I am Colonel T’Prell,” the Vulcan said. “Welcome to the Papakura Stockade.”



“Hi,” Jake said, trying to sound polite.



“These officers will escort you to your cell,” the Colonel said. “Your bindings will be removed. I’m afraid you’ve missed dinner, but I will arrange for some food if you’re hungry.”



“I need to call someone,” Jake said. “It’s important.”



“Of course you are guaranteed time to speak with your legal advocate,” T’Prell said. “Any other comm-time is considered a privilege. We will see how well you acclimate to your new situation and discuss your request at a later date.”



“No,” Jake said, setting his jaw. “I need to call my wife.”



“You are new here, so I will give you this one warning,” T’Prell said. “You will follow orders here, immediately, and without question. I do not tolerate insubordination from those under my command.”



“I’m not under your command,” Jake said. “I’d say I’m your guest.”



T’Prell nodded almost imperceptibly. The phasers came out of their holsters in almost perfect synchronization and pointed directly at Jake.



“I am sure you have heard that Vulcans are not renowned for the sense of humor,” T’Prell said. “I think you’ll find that Federation Marines are even less so. Now, I believe you meant to say ‘sir yes sir’?”



“Lead the way, gentlemen,” Jake said, trying a charming smile. None of the officers smiled back.

----------------------------------------------


SCENE: Corridor -> Cell



Jake went with the guards, one in front of him, the other behind. He was hoping they’d put their phasers away once he demonstrated how cooperative he could be, but the guards kept them out. They kept them pointed towards the floor, though at such an angle that they could be snapped up to hit Jake right in the chest if he decided to try anything cute. Fortunately, prison breaks were not a key part of the Academy curriculum, nor of Jake’s post-educational experience. This meant that Jake probably wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, but by his math it also dramatically lowered his chances of getting his ass shot off in a failed escape attempt.



Silver linings, and all that.



They stepped out of the transporter room. The corridor reminded Jake of a Federation starship, right down to the lighting and ambient temperature. It gave the place a familiar, comforting feel, no doubt as a way to keep the “guests” feeling right at home. Of course, there were security cams mounted throughout the corridor, plus security panels outside each door they passed. Then there were the heavy-duty forcefield emitters discretely placed at 10 meter intervals, too.



**All the superficial comforts of home,** Jake thought.



They took him around a few bends of corridor, then they came to a larger chamber lined on either side with cells. There was a guard station at the end of the row, with large windows that gave the officers inside a complete view of the cellblock. It wasn’t as gritty as the prisons Jake had always pictured, but then this wasn’t some super-max facility built into the side of an asteroid. This was New Zealand, EARTH, and the prisoners here had all ostensibly sworn loyalty to the Federation.



“In here,” the guard in front said, coming to a stop in front of a cell near the guard station end of the row. He thumbed a security panel near the cell door, which swished open to reveal an 8x10 room with flat, mostly featureless walls. A small bed was mounted to the wall in one of the corners, as well as a sink and toilet at the other end of the room. There was a small desk and chair, with a comm screen mounted into the wall above the desk. There were no controls for it that Jake could see… Jake guessed that the guards set up the call from their station and forwarded it to the relevant prisoner’s cell.



**No long distance phone calls, I guess,** thought Jake.



“Inside,” the guard prompted again. His phaser was still in his hand, but he kept it pointed at the floor.



“No force-fields?” Jake asked, hesitating at the threshold.



“Waste of power,” the guard behind him said. “You’re stalling, Commander.”



“No, it’s not that,” Jake said. “I’m an Engineer. I guess you could call it a professional interest.”



“He’s stalling,” the guard said to his colleague.



“They always stall,” said the other guard. “Inside, Commander. You can consider that a direct order.”



Jake sighed, and stepped into the cell. Without missing a beat, the guard thumbed the security panel, and the door hissed shut. Jake heard what sounded like a heavy-duty maglock click into place from somewhere inside the wall. He could see the guard, standing just outside the door, through a small rectangular window in the top center of the cell door.



“Cozy,” Jake said.



“Someone will bring you something to eat,” the guard said. His voice came through a small speaker in the door, giving it a tinny, metallic sound.



“When do I get to see my advocate? Or call my wife?” Jake asked.



“You can call your advocate in the morning,” the guard said. “Any other comm time must be requisitioned. The Colonel approves or denies comm-requests on a case-by-case basis.”



“You can’t keep me from talking to my loved ones,” Jake frowned.



The guard started to reply, but something outside of Jake’s view seemed to catch his attention. The guard stepped to the side of the door, out of sight, and then Jake was looking into the cool emerald eyes of Colonel T’Prell. The Vulcan’s expression was neutral, the same disinterested look that every Vulcan seemed to have permanently glued on, but those eyes had an intensity to them that Jake had come to expect from marines. It wasn’t crazy (though Jake had known a few marines who possessed more than a measure of that particular trait), but it was a kind of fanaticism just the same: an absolute devotion to the values and creed of their corp.



“Commander Crichton,” T’Prell said. “How do you find your new accommodations?”



“Is that a real question, or is this just like a fun little bit you do with all the new residents?”



“We take prisoner complaints seriously,” T’Prell said. “If you see an area we might improve, there’s a form you can request from the guard captain on duty. He’ll send it to your terminal and make sure it crosses my desk.”



“I have a suggestion,” Jake offered. “Mints on the pillows. It really classes the place up.”



“Of course, we sift out flippant or nonconstructive suggestions,” T’Prell said, his expression and tone unchanged. “Your attitude is not lost on me, Commander Crichton, but I hope you understand that we have no wish to make your time here any worse than it is legally mandated to be.”



“So get my wife on the phone,” Jake said.



“The comms are powered down for the night,” T’Prell said. “I place great value on efficiency, Commander Crichton, and that includes distribution of resources.”



“I noticed,” Jake said, knocking on his cell door for emphasis.



“Tomorrow morning, you may requisition comm-time from the guard captain,” T’Prell continued. “You will get your approval or denial notification with 48 hours.”



“48 hours?!” Jake asked.



“I’m very busy,” T’Prell said simply.



“I haven’t been convicted of anything,” Jake said. “You can’t treat me like this.”



“My understanding is that you confessed to gross negligence in the execution of your duties as Chief Engineer,” T’Prell said, slightly raising one of his eyebrows.



“In a Board of Inquiry,” Jake said. “That’s not a court martial.”



“That is why I have continued to refer to you by your rank, Commander,” T’Prell said. “However, the orders I received are clear. You are to remain here, under my care, pending the results of your court martial. And while you are living under my roof, you will follow my rules.”



“Thanks, dad,” Jake said sarcastically.



“If you have no further questions…,” T’Prell said, turning to leave.



“Wait,” Jake said. The Vulcan stopped and turned to look at Jake again. “At least tell me this. You get a lot of people like me through here? People just waiting for trial?”



“It is not unheard of,” T’Prell said. “If the officer is accused of a particularly heinous crime, or is considered a flight risk…”



“Would you say either of those describe me?” Jake asked.



“I’ve only just met you, Commander,” T’Prell said. “I have insufficient data to make that call. That’s why I have order to follow.”



“In your experience, then,” Jake said. “I confessed, of my own volition. I’m not accused or murder or mutiny. At worst, I suck at my job. You really think this is where I belong?”



T’Prell stared at Jake for a long moment, his intense emerald eyes never wavering.



“People died,” T’Prell said. “People under your care. You were either incompetent or negligent, and they paid for it with their lives.”



“Yeah yeah,” Jake said, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. He had a feeling he would be on the receiving end of a lot of lectures over the course of the next few days.



“And on a personal note, I don’t think I am going to like you very much,” Colonel T’Prell continued. He said it with the same even tone that he said everything in, but Jake thought he saw a flash of contempt pass through the Vulcan’s eyes as he said it. “So to answer your question, Commander Crichton: I happen to think you’re exactly where you belong. But as I said, it’s not my call. I have my orders.”



T’Prell walked away, leaving Jake alone in his cell. He sighed, and went to sit on the bed. A few minutes later, a panel slid aside on the cell door and a tray of food slid through. Jake poked through it- it wasn’t the rancid gruel he’d half expected to receive, but it certainly wasn’t Xana’s cooking either- but he didn’t have much of an appetite. After awhile, he laid down and tried to sleep, hoping that he wouldn’t have to stay here for very long.



=[/\]=



NRPG: Here’s the other half of what I wanted to get out the other day.



Shawn Putnam

a.k.a.

Jake Crichton, Commander

Chief Engineering Officer

USS CENTURY

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