—- Planetside, Paris X —-

Lieutenant Sesi Oari placed the wet shirt on the clothesline and headed over to the river. Kidnapped her and Commander Olivia Carrillo were being made to do chores, particularly what was for the time period considered “women’s work” even though neither of the two had ever cleaned a shirt or skinned a mammal.  A guard dozed not too far off, armed with a period appropriate revolver firearm.

“I’m actually enjoying this,” Oari said as she dunked another shirt into the river and scrubbed it with a bar of soap.

“You like laundry?” Carrillo asked skeptically.

Oari shook her head, “No but I enjoy seeing where you came from. On Bajor we’re told that humans are this evolved species. Brave and kind, and nearly as logical as Vulcans. Not for you is the power of the Prophets, or worship of any kind, except for cold hard science.”

Oari gestured about them, “Here is what you really are. Superstitious, violent. Smooth Klingons basically.”

Carrillo laughed, “We weren’t always that way, but I’d imagine you got some history of Earth at the Academy. Even the Vulcans weren’t always the Vulcans. Most of us fought and struggled to overcome the part of us that rides into town and takes what we can grab.”

A male voice interrupted, “Got a problem with might makes right pretty girly?”

They were approached by the main gang leader, who kicked the guard awake. He grinned at Carrillo and Oari showing off teeth that needed significant care by a dental expert. He reached for Carrillo and took her chin in his meaty hand, which was rough with calluses and covered in dirt and grime.

“We got the guns, we make the rules, that’s how it’s always been,” he bragged, “Way back to the time of the Romans and Caesar Salad.”

Ignoring the Salad part of the statement Carrillo tried to twist away. She slipped away but fell backwards and the man drew an old 23rd century Starfleet issue phaser like the two officers had seen in museums. A phaser from Kirk’s era, or the era of the USS Paris. He grinned as they both starred at it and licked his lips, “Here we are mighty, and we take what and who we want.”

He laughed and after holstering the phaser walked away, “I don’t care about your rights, just my might.”

“Hurry up,” barked the guard.

Carrillo was helped up by Murf and the two women returned to their assigned chores with Murf continuing to clean and Carrillo using a knife to try to figure out how to skin a cat or whatever this small mammal was, so that it could be boiled for dinner.

“I wonder if the replicators on the USS Paris still work, that’s got to be better than this,” Carrillo said.

“Or the ones on the runabout,” Murf pointed out, “Paris weren’t they still doing tiny cubes instead of actual food?”

Pulling the fur off the rat thing in a series of jerky tugs Carrillo sighed, “I’d take cubes of food over whatever this is going to taste like.”

—- Starbase 86 —-

Captain Adriana Cruz winced as the doctors examined the mechanical leg. She had become something of an issue, given that the poison that the animal had injected had slowly began to ruin more of her leg than just the lower bit.

“We’re transferring you to Starbase 93, where we have a specialist,” the doctor said, “Then some shore leave will do wonders.”

“My ship,” protested Cruz.

“Is being fixed, and besides we’ll assign a temporary CO if we feel that Commander Carrillo can’t handle it,” said the doctor who had spoken with Starfleet Command anticipating pushback. Captains did not like leaving their ships.

He handed Cruz a PADD with the orders on it, signed by someone she knew not to argue with. She sighed and handed back the paperwork, lying back on her bio-bed and watching as a nurse took another scan.