No Discounts for Telefragging
Posted on Mon Nov 17th, 2025 @ 9:33pm by "Sonnet"
Edited on on Mon Dec 1st, 2025 @ 2:59pm
917 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
ARYL 1X04: All the Friends We Can Get
Location: Sector Three, Kannok
Timeline: SD 8965.6 (28 August 2290, 02:00)
In a nondescript building of Sector Three, one which countless beings walked past on their way to work every day, fifteen people – women and men, Drenkul and alien – were squeezed against the walls of the cellar. Thick walls muted the sound from the outside and kept any noise inside leaking out, but it also kept the air stale, reeking of too many warm bodies hidden for too long. The cellar might once have comfortably fit double their number but the centre of the room was cordoned off, causing them all to squeeze against the walls and each other in a space meant for fewer than were gathered.
The only light was a screen, on which flashed a simple “READY” icon. Two of the cellar’s occupants, a Drenkul man and woman, were watching it with bated breath.
READY.
READY.
READY.
INCOMING MESSAGE.
The woman tapped the screen promptly and eagerly, accepting the transmission. The visage of a woman with dirty blonde hair, pointed ears, and a sinister grin filled the screen.
“Where is it?” the Drenkul woman asked sharply.
”Patience, patience, dear!” the Romulan woman said with a giggle. “Have I ever let you down?”
”This is our first interaction,” the man reminded her. “You’ve never come through for us either.”
”You’re so negative, Parit!” The agent giggled again. “You two are my favourites! I would never burn you! At least not on the first business deal.” She tapped some buttons on a Federation issue tricorder she was holding. “Hope you’re clear. I don’t offer discounts for telefragging, especially when it’s your own damn fault.”
Two seconds later, the cellar was engulfed in light as a transporter beam activated within the protected open space. The light flared bright before dissipating, and in the once empty space sat boxy gray crates piled nearly to the ceiling.
“And since your money was good,” the Romulan added, “the unlock code is five-four-seven-November-Echo-three.”
Her recitation prompted each of the dozen or so crates to click as locking mechanisms disengaged.
”You’re welcome!” The Romulan said, waving sweetly to those gathered.
”Don’t pretend you did this for us, Sonnet,” the woman said. “You did this for your own goals. They just happen to align with ours.”
”The latinum didn’t hurt either, sweets,” Sonnet said, agreeing with the assessment. “Remember! I don’t know you! You got these from a very friendly Nyberrite trader! That’s certainly what all the comms logs will say. Take care! Don’t kill anyone I wouldn’t kill!”
The screen went dark. A few of the gathered beings turned on torches to examine the crates further.
“What do we have?” asked the woman at the screen.
”Phasers here,” one called out. “A mix of everything. Nyberrite, Drenkul, Pydrian, Federation. Some I don’t recognize.”
”Communicators,” said another. “These look like they can work off-network. They can’t jam these.”
”Yes they can,” one of the aliens gathered said. “It’ll just be harder.”
“These look like grenades,” someone called out. “But not explosive. Anyone know what Ar Dash Vee Gee Dash Tee means?”
”Those are chemical irritants,” another person answered. “If it ends with Dash-Ess that’s smoke. Dash-Eff is incendiary.”
”Any of these have masks?”
”Over here!”
“Those Nyberrite traders sure were helpful!” someone said with a smirk.
“What does telefragging mean?” came a younger sounding voice.
“You don’t want to know…” answered an older man, the gruffness of his tone conveying to the asker that indeed he shouldn’t push for details.
For her part, the woman leading this little insurgent group opened the crate closest to her and picked up a stylized bludgeoning weapon. Matte-black and heavy with a ridged grip. She recognized it immediately. This was Drenkul, standard issue truncheon for prison guards. She’d been on the receiving end one time too many. She grinned as she clutched the handle. She swung it down hard, causing the crate to dent and two nearby colleagues to yelp in surprise from the loud clang. If that’s what it does to plasteel, imagine what it’ll do to helmet. And bone.
“This one’s got medical gear,” a new voice called out. “We’ll need these. Does the plan include placement of a trauma station?”
“You read the plan, didn’t you, Sawat?” asked another voice.
“Well I don’t remember every detail!”
“Corner of Palopal-Drenkulo and Snivet!”
“Right, near the checkpoint. Sorry.”
“Some of these phasers are old.”
“They’ve seen action. This one still feels warm.”
“It’s your imagination, old man.”
“We’ve done our prep work,” the leader said as she held her new club tight. “Our people are in place. And now we have the tools we need. And most importantly, those Drenkulo-based assholes and their new red-clad playthings don’t expect a thing.”
She lifted her truncheon high above her head. “In a day and a half, we’ll either be dead or in control of the Assembly Hall. But one way or the other, they’ll read our message loud and clear. For victory!”
The assembled insurgents cheered, many lifting their new weapons high in support of their leader.
“Looks like Efra-day morning will be busy, boys and girls!” someone added from the back.
The room filled with laughter; some of it nervous for what was to come, much of it hungry for it, all of it loud.
The Revolution was underway.
END
RSS Feed