TRACK 01 - WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE
New Jericho Colony, Planet Scesity, Salem Sector:
The Proximity Alarm sounded, like a wailing wind over the community.
Kate Sternhagen had been hunched over her worktable, attempting to repair the combadge when the Alarm sounded. She set down her precision tools, closed the casing on the combadge, and tossed it back to her guest. "Sorry, Sport, I'll finish it another time. It'll chirp, though."
On the woven rug near the stone fireplace, eight-year-old Thom Christopher caught his toy instinctively, fitting it onto his replica Starfleet jacket, though his attention was clearly on the sound outside. "They're early. Why?"
"Dunno," she lied, rising and reaching behind her to press her fists into the small of her back.
Damn, she had hoped that it might have worked...
"You'd better get back to your Mom. She'll be worried about where you are now."
"Yes, Captain."
"I'm not a Captain," she reminded him wearily for the thousandth time, a rote that never seemed to sink into the kid's head. Thom had been a burr in her backside ever since he had learned of her past from someone here, had pestered her time and again for stories, souvenirs, repairs to his toy combadge, tricorder or phaser. Anything Starfleet related, and never mind her repeated denials or suggestions to go play in the hills or the mines rather than waste her time.
Thom rose, tapping his combadge until it chirped. "I'm gonna be Starfleet, like my Dad. Starfleet's not afraid."
"You should be. Get going." As the boy departed, leaving the door open so Sternhagen could see the other colonists emerging from their habitat domes to venture out, she ran her arthritic fingers through her greying curly hair, and cleaned the lenses of her spectacles, a vintage compensation for her inability to more modern corrective measures.
She watched her breath ghost before her as she stepped out into the cold air of late afternoon, rubbing her hands before tucking them into her cardigan, as most of the rest of the colony emerged from their warm homes to pour like a half-frozen river down the slope of the main street to the foot of the open plain.
She looked around, noting the number, hoping they would be sufficient to not raise suspicions and trigger another raid on the houses. People inevitably died at such times, though these days they rarely gave any justification to do so. They had learned quickly the rules of the New Order.
As the Alarm finally died away as if exhausted by its efforts, Sternhagen took her customary place at the front of the assembly, the older members of the colony gravitating behind her. She was not the elected leader, had never even asked for any attention since arriving here years ago. She just wanted to be left alone to spend her remaining days in isolation. But the Universe had other plans, it seemed.
Thom was also nearby, as usual, despite Sternhagen's orders; the boy had more loyalty than sense. He kept nervously tapping his combadge, as if the chirps it made could really work, and he could summon help.
The older youths, though, stayed silent and sullen near the edges.
No more acts of rebellion again,
Sternhagen silently urged.
It's not worth it.
Then the Wolf Pack's Fleet appeared from the cloud-blanketed sky: shuttles, runabouts, fighters and flyers of all shapes, sizes and origin -- bound together by the red and white striped war paint daubed on their hulls -- led by the largest: an ancient, box-shaped Starfleet Galileo-type shuttlecraft, at least a century old but still somehow functioning almost despite itself.
I know the feeling
, Sternhagen thought.
The Fleet moved into a tight delta formation as they settled as one onto the grassy plain at the foot of the colony, their engines creating a massive symphony of power. Finally the engines died, doors and hatchways opened as one, and the Wolf Pack emerged: a motley collection of humanoids of many races, armed with a plethora of weapons and clothing, but like their vehicles bound together with the same red and white war stripes on their persons.
It was always the same ceremony, each time they returned.
But they're earlier than usual now, Kate. You know what probably means...
From speakers mounted on the Galileo shuttle, orchestral fanfare blared, and the doors on the starboard side extended and parted, and a small, hunched figure scurried out and ahead of the formation: a Ferengi male, dressed in furred robes, finer materials than the other Wolf Pack, as befitted his slightly elevated position in their food chain.
His huge ears seemed to twitch from excitement rather than the rising wind as he raised a loudspeaker to make his customary announcement following the fanfare. "Greetings from the Invincible! The War Chief of the Wolf Pack! The Conqueror of the Kzinti! The Scourge of Starfleet! The Master of Mayhem! The Warrior of the Wastelands! The Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla!"
His Toady is in fine form today,
Sternhagen noted wryly, watching the Ferengi bow and scrape like a puppy around a second figure emerging from the shuttle: a huge, muscular humanoid male two metres tall, clad in leathers and furs, including the hide of an adult silver and black Terran wolf, probably replicated, worn like a cape. The Invincible's face was covered in a leather wolf mask in the same red and white colours.
Someone's been to Mardi Gras
, Sternhagen always thought.
He stepped forward, holding out his right hand, fully expecting the Ferengi to hand him the loudspeaker. He was not let down, though when he used it to address the colony, his voice was deep, deliberate. "I am greatly disappointed in you." He spoke slowly, as if to ensure that the gravity of his words was not lost on the assembled colonists. "Here you are, alone in a dangerous war-torn Galaxy. And we come and offer our protection, asking for only a few meagre scraps of goods and services in return-"
His words sparked grumblings of disbelief and dissent among the group, but Sternhagen raised a hand to silence anything more vocal.
"And what do we get in return?" the Invincible continued. He signalled to his Toady; the Ferengi barked at some subordinates, who appeared from the shuttle, carrying out the black-charred remains of a metre-long cylinder, dropping into onto the grass beside their leader.
There were more sounds from the colonists. Sternhagen let them indulge this time, her own guts twisting in disappointment. She knew that converting the old orbiting probe into an interstellar distress beacon had been a major investment of much of their valuable, irreplaceable pieces of technology and resources. And she knew the risks if, as it turned out, it was discovered and destroyed by the Wolf Pack.
But she, they, had to do
something
. They couldn't keep living like this, under the shadow of these barbarians.
