Ad Astra :: Star Trek Fanfiction Archive ^{Beam me up, Scotty.}

Chapter Text

The Star Beagle Adventures                                                
Episode 4: Starship Trooper
Scene 5: You May Follow

4.5
You May Follow

“Definitely ferengi in manufacture,” said Spike. “You can tell by the periodic waggle on the tail end.” She tapped on the sensor readout with highly polished, glossy black fingernails. 

“Some sort of manufacturing defect?” asked PFC Guz Maxwell.

“An advantage,” said PFC Raanda Habib. “Each probe has a number of natural blind spots for each component of its sensor array. Can’t be avoided at superluminal speeds. The waggle is designed to give each part of the sensor array a chance to look into its blind spot, make sure it’s not getting followed - or shot at.”

“Which is why shooting at it would just be a waste of power and ammunition,” Spike rejoined. “Since we don’t know who put that tail on us, I’d prefer for them not to know for sure what our capabilities are.”

“I thought you said they were ferengi,” said PFC Sasha Soko. 

“Could be anyone,” Raanda Habib replied. “The probe is ferengi manufacture. Which means any number of actors might have purchased it - or traded for it. Ferengi tracking technology rivals even the Vulcan Science Academy.”

“Is there any way we can shake it?” asked Guz. There was a nervous edge to his voice.

“Nope,” said Spike. “Better we don’t even try. Right now I’m trying to pretend it isn’t there and not let it change anything we're doing. It’s the only advantage I can think of at the moment. We’re nowhere close to a star system or anywhere we can hide. So all we can do is hide our capabilities.”

Lance Corporal Petra Spitze looked around at her young charges. They were nervous. They desperately needed a lesson in how to be marines at this moment. She stretched, yawned widely, laced her fingers behind her head.

“So what is your plan?” asked Sasha. He was nervously playing with his mustache. 

Spike got up slowly, fluffed the brightly colored tufts in the front of her hair. “Yeah… I’m thinking a turkey sandwich and a nap. Wake me up if anything interesting happens.” She turned and ambled toward the rear compartment, leaving the three young privates in the flight cabin.

The replicator was located in the passage between the flight cabin and the rear compartment. Spike paused at the replicator. “Turkey on rye, tomato, onion, brown mustard. Hold the mayo. And a cup of sog, cold.”

As she walked with her tray into the rear compartment, she smiled as she heard Raanda Habib saying, “Sog? Ugh… How does she drink that stuff?”

Spike laid down on a cot, placed her food on the floor and nibbled at it. The sog was a horrible tasting betazoid drink, even more disgusting than saurian brandy and without either the restorative or intoxicating effect of the infamously foul-tasting liquor. But despite the nasty smell and far worse taste, sog was oddly soothing without being a tranquilizer. It helped her turn her brain off so she could sleep.

There was no way of knowing how long the probe would follow them, but at some point whoever was controlling that probe was very likely to show up. 

And that was unlikely to be a pleasant encounter.

She would need her strength. And hopefully the young marines would learn the lesson she was teaching them the best way she could. 

Don’t worry about what you can’t control. 

Gear up. Get ready. Rest while you can.

And most importantly, be at peace until it comes.

4.5