Last Hope

Posted on Sat Aug 9th, 2014 @ 12:57am by Vendenje Kamdram & Andrew Sage [Protected - Do Not Use]
Edited on on Wed Aug 20th, 2014 @ 10:37am

Mission: Vagrants, Vagabonds, and Thieves
Location: Paris, Earth
Timeline: Current

The ship spiraled into the atmosphere of the rust-colored world, long contrails of black, brackish smoke trailing behind plumes of angry fire. Every plate, every bolt, every fibre of the vessel seemed to vibrate, and sitting in his command chair, Andrew Sage could feel all of it.

Sage stared at the small hololith he gripped tightly in his hand. The image was of four figures standing together in what appeared to be the hangar of a starbase. The hangar was dirty, tools and parts strewn about, and barely contained in the picture was the edge of what appeared to be a ship. My ship.

The four figures… Sage was one of them. Next to Sage stood a particularly untrustworthy looking Bajoran. Next to him a lovely female Bolian, and next to her a rough looking human with a cigar in his mouth.

The Four Horsemen, Sage thought. The title Jilrak had given them so very long ago had been a derogatory one – Jilrak had told Emma that they were like the four hosemen of the apocalypse, and that if she didn’t keep them away they would bring everything crashing down.

Sage could feel the heat as plates buckled. The bridge was suddenly bright and hot. He was sweating. His purple eyes darted around and he saw the dead form of the female Bolian, of Taran. She was slumped over her console, her blue eyes still open and staring at him in shock. Across the bridge Phenix, the human male, lay sprawled across the floor.

For a moment he thought he saw the Bajoran standing in the center of the bridge. He had a wide-brimmed hat, like a cowboy hat, on his head. A long brown coat dropped down around him and fluttered as though a strong breeze had played across it. His hat and clothing were odd, but Sage said nothing about it. The Bajoran slowly tilted his head up and looked at Sage. “You’ve killed us all,” Sage said.

The Bajoran – Vendenje Kamdram – smiled. “Yep,” he said. Sage wanted to say more, but the figure was gone.

Sage closed his eyes. The entire ship rattled and shook as it spiraled down to the surface of the plane. He felt nothing but peace.

--

Andrew Sage opened his eyes slowly and stared at the ceiling. Lying next to him, Emma also had her eyes open. It was still the middle of the night in Paris, France, but Sage slowly sat up. Emma touched his back carefully, and watched him for a moment. “That dream again?” she asked.

Sage didn’t say anything. She already knew it was. “I wish you would stop putting so much stock into it,” she said. “Really, the idea that a dream might actually come true.”

“I dreamt about Kathryn; that came true, didn’t it?” Sage asked.

“That’s different,” Emma said. “There are only two genders to choose from, Drew,” she said. “We had just as much of a chance of having a boy as we did of having a girl. Putting any more than that into it is… Pointless.” She sighed. “Honestly, this dream of yours… Kam…” She shook her head. “I know that you never really got closure with how things ended between the two of you, but if he wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

“Gee, thanks,” Sage snapped.

Emma furrowed her brow. “I’m not patronizing you,” she said. “I am only stating a fact. Of the two of you, Kam is the better fighter. More than that, he’s the better killer. You’ve never really had the stomach for it. I will say you have strength and speed on your side, but he has experience and skill on his, and if I were simply analyzing the odds, I would have to put them in his favor.”

Sage slid out of the bed and padded into the bathroom. He took a moment and splashed the water on his face. It was a handsome face, with a strong jaw and full lips. His vibrant violet eyes stared back at him, and, despite Emma telling him it was only his imagination, he thought he could hear the quiet hum as they focused in on him.

She followed behind him and he looked at her in the mirror. Emma Beckett, his wife, was roughly ten years his junior. She was stunning, he thought, and had only become more stunning with age. Her dark brown eyes reminded him of honey in the sunlight, and her slightly curly hair, which was normally worn pulled back, fell around her small, feminine face. He smiled at her, and she lofted a brow at him. A moment later a smile crossed her lips. He remembered when it had been nearly impossible to get her to smile at him. “Come back to bed,” she told him.

He nodded and allowed her to take his hand and lead him back to the bed. He found himself smiling again as they slid back under the sheets. She was still smiling, he realized, only it was far more predatory than before.

--

Sage held the dataslate for a moment, his eyes scanning across the scrolling text. “These numbers can’t be right,” he said.

Coal tutted at him. The dark-skinned man with the long-blond dreadlocked hair was never wrong, and Sage knew better than questioning him. “Leon…”

“It’s what you ordered,” Leon Coal said. The man’s heritage, Sage had found out years ago, was half African, half Indian (the kind from India, not North America. Sage, not originally from Earth, had not known the distinction for quite some time.) He came from an affluent family in India somewhere, Sage knew, but Leon had been something like the fifth or sixth son and wasn’t entitled to very much. He’d enlisted in the Marines and served a short stint during Wolf 359 and later again during the Dominion War, but had gotten out shortly after that. He’d joined Sage’s crew some 8 years prior, and was Sage’s right hand in all matters. “You wrote the order yourself,” he said.

Sage handed him the dataslate. “We’ll need twice as many powercells if we’re going to transport these people halfway across Federation space. Just…” Sage sighed. “Just fix it, alright?”

Coal pursed his lips, but shrugged. They both knew he would, it was what he was good at. Well, that and shooting. “You’ll owe me.”

“Fine,” Sage said.

“That makes four,” Coal reminded him.

Sage inhaled slowly and then started to walk away. Emma, he realized, was there. She was in uniform, her hair pulled back, and had a sour expression on her face. Standing next to her was a fresh-faced young Lieutenant, a rather smug smile on his face. “I thought you had retired,” Emma said flatly.

“I have,” Sage answered, walking past both her and the Lieutenant.

“Then why are you ordering parts for the Hope?” Emma asked. “Lieutenant Tiranor pulled your requisition orders,” she replied. Tiranor held out a datapadd and Emma took it. She began reading, “twenty-seven replacement hull platings, three-hundred and fourteen new bulkhead casings, forty new touch-sensitive wall-mount control panels, one-thousand, ninety internal control systems…” She looked up from the list. “You are refitting the Hope,” she said.

Sage stopped and looked at her. They all stood inside of a large warehouse. To the far left was a doorway that led into an office area; the wall along the right side of the door was lined with windows and inside figures could be seen moving around, while others were sitting at desks working. Some were talking on earpieces. The warehouse and office building were located in the 17th arrondissement of Paris, an area dominated by business. Emblazoned on the outside of the warehouse was the name of the business, Horsemen Courier. Periodically the words would shift what language they were written in.

Bustling about around them were large grav-lifters, carrying heavy black containers and crates of stuff. What that stuff was, only Coal likely knew. It didn’t matter, really, so long as it got where it was supposed to. Nearby, at a local shipyard, Sage’s fleet of top-of-the-line transport and cargo ships waited patiently for their orders and load.

The Last Hope, Sage thought. It all started with the Hope.

No one knew the history of the Hope before she came into Sage’s possession. She had, once, been a Saber class vessel. Sage could only guess, but sometime prior to 2380 the ship had been partially destroyed, left to drift in space until the salvagers had dragged her corpse to the ship graveyard Surplus Depot Z15, where she was dumped, to wait until someone got around to pulling her apart for salvage.

Vendenje Kamdram found her, and, without knowing why, felt compelled to save her. Together, along with Sage and two others, they would repair and restore the ship. The Saber class with no name would become Sage’s last hope.

In 2386, during a pitched conflict against the Orion Syndicate, the ship would once again be mostly destroyed. Sage had her towed to his private shipyard, but never had the heart to fix her. He gave up flying then, and for the last five years had been under a self-imposed exile from space. Kam, sick of Sage’s wallowing, left. Soon after Phenix and Taran both left, and new members would step in to replace them. Coal had been a late addition that had worked out, but most could never truly replace the original team. Sage had lost his passion and drive.

But he felt something inside. Something stirring. “It’s the dream,” Emma blurted out. “Isn’t it?”

Sage didn’t answer. He reached out to put his hand on her arm but she turned away. “What about our daughter?” she asked. “What do we tell her when Father isn’t there?”

Sage lowered his arm. “I’m not leaving for good,” he said. “I just… I have to find him. I have to talk to him.”

“Kam left because he wanted to, Drew,” Emma said, using the name only she ever called him. It had always made him smile. He’d only ever had two nicknames in life, and Drew was one of them. The other was Herb, but the man that called him that was long gone. Most people had always just called him Sage. “He left because he didn’t want to be here anymore, and you going out and finding him is not going to change that.”

“I know,” Sage said. “I’m not going to bring him back, I just…”

“You need closure,” Lieutenant Tiranor chimed in. Both Sage and Emma looked at him sharply and he looked away, blushing slightly. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Emma looked at Sage. “Is that true?”

Sage shrugged. “Andrew,” Emma said, “a shrug is not a response. Is that true?”

“Yes,” Sage said. “Maybe. Probably.” He sighed. “Look, I just need this.”

“Five years,” Emma said. “That’s how long it has been since you’ve been off-world. That’s, I might also remind you, how long our daughter has been here. If you need to gallivanting through space, you need to let her go.” She reached out, and in a rare moment offered him a measure of affection in public. “We both care about you,” she said, “but you need to figure out whatever this is. Please don’t come back until you do.” She ran her hand across the side of his face and then lowered it, pushing past him, the Lieutenant in tow.

Sage watched her go, and then, with a scowl on his face, shouted, “Mount up!” He looked at Coal. “It’s time the Hope flew again.”

--

Andrew H. Sage
Captain, The Last Hope