VIGNETTES

By: Aesop

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, and no profit is gained.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: After 'Hobson's Choice' was posted to I got questions about a sequel to the story. It took me a while to work up some ideas, but I finally got some inspiration. Here are some 'out takes' from the adventures of the crew of Moya in the Star Trek universe.

RATING: PG

SPOILERS: None to speak of.

CATEGORY: Crossover

THREE MONTHS AFTER HOBSON'S CHOICE

THE MORE THINGS CHANGE…

…the more they stay the same, Crichton reflected as he pounded down the corridor of the intrepid class vessel, catching himself against the bulkhead repeatedly as he was thrown off his stride by the shaking of the vessel. The red alert klaxon and the shaking had begun less than a minute ago, but no one was answering his calls if he didn't count the Orions chasing him.

"Hey old man," the call came as he ducked around the corner and paused to fire back at the boarding party.

"Chi!" Crichton called over his comm. "What the hell did you do?"

"Gave ya what ya wanted."

"I asked for a distraction, not a disaster."

"Hey, its workin' ain't it?" A volley of disruptor bolts kept him from answering as he ducked around a corner before returning fire. The pulse pistol had caught them by surprise, but they had quickly figured out the weapon's capabilities and limitations.

"If you say so Pip, but the ones chasing me still seem a wee bit too focused."

"I got ya Johnny. Lead 'em down the next corridor on your right, second on your left, and uh, keep your head down." She giggled in a manner that always made him nervous. It meant she had an idea.

"Right." He ended the call and ducked down the next corridor in time to see Chiana dash by the first cross corridor. She used one finger draw a line in the air about five feet off the ground before vanishing. Unsure what to expect he made a dash down the corridor, careful to keep his head below that level, while wishing he knew why. "You are having entirely too much fun girl," he muttered.

He found out a moment later when the Orion pirates, Zenetan wannabes he'd called them earlier, came pounding down the corridor after him. He hadn't regretted his flippancy until they'd tried to steal the ship Moya's crew was trying to salvage out from under them. The Orions had better weapons and were more savage than any Zenetan he'd ever met.

John ducked around the corner just ahead of a disruptor bolt aimed at his head and paused there to fire back. Cries of alarm and confusion erupted behind him before he could fire a single shot.

Risking a look, he saw two of the pirates on the deck, bleeding profusely from their necks where they had encountered the filament Chiana had strung across the corridor. He took advantage of the distraction to shoot two of them. Then the chase was on again.

The mission, their first for the Federation after a period of acclimatization their new employers had insisted on, had seemed so simple when they first took it on. Ferry a group of engineers to an uninhabited system not far outside Federation space. It seemed that an Intrepid class vessel, the Peregrine, had taken heavy damage from some sort of transient spatial anomaly. The crew had made it off in shuttles and life-pods, but they'd been unable to get the ship clear. There was a long winded technical explanation that the scientist in John found fascinating. The rest of him and the rest of the crew only cared that the danger had passed and Moya should be able to approach and deliver the engineers and equipment safely.

The anomaly hadn't been a problem, unless one counted the lingering radiation that made using the transporters impossible, and the salvage mission had proceeded without a hitch until the Orions had arrived. The notion of claiming a Starfleet vessel and selling off the technology and the secrets its computers contained had overridden any apprehension they might have had about crossing the Federation.

They had arrived only an hour after Moya and had managed to drive off the unarmed leviathan, leaving John, Chiana, D'Argo, and four of the engineers trapped on board. With Moya on her way to the nearest outpost for help, the Orions knew they didn't have much time. John knew that they had less time than they thought, wondering what Aeryn would cook up to deal with this situation.

OOOOOOOOOO

The mission had seemed so simple when they first took it on. Risky, certainly, but everything had fallen into place perfectly. No Starfleet vessels were available to retrieve the damaged Peregrine, and the task had fallen to a civilian freighter. Easy pickings, as the Human saying went.

Easy Pickings! Grat snarled silently as he tried to repair the internal sensors and get a lead on where the Federations might be hiding. How exactly, he wondered, did this go so wrong? The initial delay that caused them to arrive after the freighter had been unavoidable. It wasn't clear till the last minute that the information had been accurate.

Starfleet was still spread thinly over the Federation's vast territory and the civilian freighter that had been dispatched was actually unarmed. A few cargo haulers and some engineers wouldn't be a challenge, or so they had believed. The bizarre looking freighter had fled, but the people left behind hadn't wasted any time making a serious nuisance of themselves.

The fact that the freighter had escaped meant that there was a time limit on the mission. The plan had been to jam their transmissions and destroy the freighter, but now it was only a matter of time, perhaps mere hours, before a Starfleet vessel arrived.

As if that wasn't bad enough, the crew that remained were proving to be very effective saboteurs. The mild radiation left behind by the anomaly that had disabled the vessel made their own ship's sensor readings unreliable and the transporters unusable, but the Peregrine's internal sensors worked fine.

That was probably why, Grat reflected, they disabled those first. He had almost gotten the sensors working again when the ship began to shake. The red alert klaxon had sounded, and several key systems stopped responding. Apparently, one of the engineers they had not been able to find had found a way to override the extremely expensive command codes he'd brought with him.

Grat snarled and pounded on the console. First thing was first though. Why is the ship shaking? He wasn't completely locked out, he could see what was happening, but his ability to affect it was extremely limited. Helm control indicated that all port and starboard thrusters were firing at once, holding the ship more or less stationary, but rattling those aboard like dice in a jar. Then something else on the board changed. Oh no.

OOOOOOOOOO

"John," D'Argo called over the comm, "we are ready."

"Good. I'm getting sick of these guys. Are the brainboys all set?"

"Yes, but they have their doubts. Those safeties were put in place for a reason."

"I'm open to other ideas, provided they have them in the next ten seconds." There was silence on the other end. "I'm ready. Just hope this tub can take it." John strapped himself into the crash couch in one of the few remaining life-pods on the ship and held on.

"Switching off artificial gravity and inertial dampeners now." John immediately felt the result. "Cutting starboard bow thrusters and port aft thrusters… now."

OOOOOOOOOO

The Enterprise dropped out of warp to find the Peregrine looking somewhat battered but still in one piece. Moya floated serenely off its port bow. To its starboard was an Orion vessel that had definitely seen better days. "What happened here?" Picard asked of no one in particular. "The distress call we received indicated that immediate assistance was required. The one who sent it sounded panicked." He glanced at his operations officer. "Scanners?"

"The Peregrine has taken some damage and I'm showing several of her key systems offline. The… leviathan is undamaged. The Orion vessel is adrift. Engines are crippled, weapons and life-support are offline. I'm reading no life-signs on that ship sir."

"Hail the Peregrine."

"Receiving a response sir."

The bridge of the Peregrine came into view with John Crichton sitting in the captain's chair. "Hey guys what's the rush? Isn't there a warp speed limit or somethin'?"

"We received an urgent distress call," Picard surveyed the bridge of the other ship, noting the presence of two of the engineers and the alien girl, Chiana.

"Panicked might be a better word," his first officer put in, sounding slightly irritated.

Picard nodded. "Indeed. What happened, commander?"

"Trouble? Here? Naah. It was a milk run, but I'll make a note to myself never to let Stark send the distress call again." Both engineers had turned from their work to stare at him.

"I look forward to reading your report. What is the status of the Orion ship and crew?"

"Them? They didn't even manage to swipe the hubcaps. What's left of the crew is in the brig. As for the ship…" Crichton grinned. "What can I say? Never mess with a pregnant Sebacean. Aeryn's been a bit… cranky."

"I see," Picard returned, not sure he was looking forward to that report or not. "Do any of the crew or prisoners require medical attention?"

"Nah, we're good. Although I am a bit disappointed."

"Disappointed?" Picard's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yeah!" Chiana broke in. "We thought livin' in the Federation was gonna be safer, really really different, but safer. Instead…"

"It's just like an life in the Uncharteds," Crichton finished. "This was pretty much an average day for us. A terrible let down." He shook his head sadly, then grinned. "Almost makes me nostalgic." He had the full attention of the engineers behind him now who were, by turns, trading incredulous glances and eyeing Moya's crew nervously.

Suddenly Crichton's entire bearing suddenly changed. He slumped into a lazy looking sprawl in the command chair and adopted an exaggerated southern drawl. "Now the Peregrine… Well chief, there's good news and bad news. Body and frame are in good shape, so're the shocks and suspension, but ya gonna need a new carburetor and a tranny rebuild just fer a start. Yep, gonna cost ya."

Picard sighed, giving up on getting anything sensible out of the 20th century Human and addressed one of the engineers behind Crichton. "Translation?"

THE END