Ain't Life A Bitch?

Ain't Life A Bitch?

Character codes: Tom Riker (AU)

Be careful what you wish for ...

William Thomas Riker stared at the transporter pad for several long moments before climbing up onto the platform. His fleet-issue duffel was light where it hung from one shoulder, but the comforting weight of the trombone case in his other hand almost balanced the scales.

"Ready, sir?" Chief Hennesi asked.

Riker started, drawn from his thoughts and back to the present. It had been a long journey, and an even longer one lay ahead. "Ready, Chief," he agreed, squaring his shoulders against the quiet niggling of fear that ate at the base of his spine.

The familiar tingle effect embraced him. It skated his molecular structure and disassembled it. For an interminable amount of time, he felt nothing, was nothing. And then, William Thomas Riker re-materialized on the transporter pad of the USS Ghandi.

He released a sigh of breath he was barely aware of holding. The dark-skinned man behind the transporter smiled.

"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Riker," he greeted.

Riker glanced around himself as he descended the platform. "Thank you, Chief ..." He let the sentence dangle, and the transporter chief obliged.

"Chief Savei," he offered. "Charles Savei, but my friends call me Chuck."

Riker smiled and extended a hand. "Chuck," he agreed. "My friends call me ..." he hesitated, an unfamiliar name on his tongue but another trying to answer. "... Tom," he announced finally.

Savei gave him an odd look but accepted the handshake. "Tom," he repeated. "Well, Tom, the captain wanted you to report to his ready room directly upon arrival. If you want to leave your gear here, I can have it stowed in your quarters for you."

Riker drew a deep breath and nodded. He surrendered the duffel easily enough, but the trombone was harder. It was a link to his previous life, one he wasn't sure he wanted to let out of his sight for even a moment.

However, unless the new captain was a very serious musician himself, he would hardly consider 'bone in hand to be appropriate attire for a first meeting; and the least he could do to repay Picard for putting himself on the line to get him this commission was make a sterling first impression.

"Don't look so nervous, Tom," Savei advised grinningly. "The captain isn't half as bad in person as his reputation makes him out to be. And besides, he's been on board less than a week himself. That almost puts you on equal footing."

"Almost," Riker agreed gamely. He thanked Savei and headed for the bridge, only getting lost once on the way.

The captain was in his ready room, his back to the door and staring out the viewing portal behind his desk. He didn't turn when Riker entered the room even though he'd answered the protocol summons with a customary "come."

"Lieutenant Riker reporting for duty, sir," Riker announced, snapping to attention in a way he hoped wasn't outdated.

"I've been looking forward to seeing you again, Riker," the captain said, still neither rising nor turning to face him.

"Again, sir?" Riker repeated carefully.

Slowly, the other man rose. Tall and thin with greying hair and an austerely severe bearing, he turned to face Riker. Hard, judgmental eyes glared from his sharp-featured expression.

"Have we met?" Riker asked after a long moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Welcome to the Ghandi, Lieutenant Riker," the captain said quietly. One corner of his thin lips lifted to the barest of smiles. "I'll be your commanding officer. My name is Captain Edward Jellico, but my friends call me sir."

Ain't Life A Bitch? 2

Be really careful what you wish for ...

"Ready, sir?" Chief Hennesi asked.

Riker started, drawn from his thoughts and back to the present. It had been a long journey here, and an even longer one lay ahead. "Ready, Chief," he agreed, squaring his shoulders against the quiet niggling of fear that ate at the base of his spine.

He released a sigh of breath he was barely aware of holding. The dark-skinned man behind the transporter smiled.

"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Riker," he greeted.

Riker glanced around himself as he descended the platform. "Thank you, Chief ..." He let the sentence dangle, and the transporter chief obliged.

"Chief Thunderhorse," he offered. "Joseph Thunderhorse, but my friends call me Geronimo."

Riker grinned and extended a hand. "Geronimo," he agreed. "My friends call me ..." he hesitated, an unfamiliar name heavy on his tongue as another tried to answer. "... Tom," he announced finally.

"You don't sound sure about that," Geronimo observed, accepting the handshake with a firm grip.

"Long story," Riker sighed.

"Aren't they all," Geronimo agreed. "Well, Tom, the captain asked that you report to her ready room directly upon arrival. If you want to leave your gear here, I can have it stowed in your quarters for you."

Riker drew a deep breath and nodded. He surrendered the duffel easily enough, but the 'bone was harder. It was a link to his previous life, one he wasn't sure he wanted to let out of his sight for even a moment.

"Sacred War Lance?" Geronimo inquired as Riker grudgingly relinquished the trombone case.

"Trombone," Riker allowed with a grin.

Geronimo winced. "You white men always were better at that prolonged torture crap than we were. Turbolift is down the hall, second door on the left. Don't get the wrong one, 'cause the first is the women's head, and the squaws around here get mighty mean when you trespass on their squatting ground." The transporter chief's dark eyes glinted. "And they'd have a heyday with you, Tom," he added, indicating Riker's beard with a quick nod. "Two ends to scalp. Women do love a choice."

Riker laughed. "I'll keep that in mind," he agreed, already feeling more at home on the unfamiliar ship.

"Hey, Kimo Sabe," Geronimo called as Riker stepped into the corridor. "Don't let the captain scare you. She's not half as tough as her rep makes her out to be."

"I've never served under a woman before," Riker commented.

Geronimo laughed, a crude, joyous laughter that rolled off the metal bulkheads like thunder. "And you call us Indians savages," he quipped lewdly. Offering Riker a two fingered salute, he said, "Good luck, Tom. And hold onto your scalp."

"Both of them," Riker agreed.

The captain was in her ready room, a sheaf of papers spread across her desk and several disks stacked in one corner. She looked up when Riker entered. A smile spread widely across her pale features.

Riker had an irrepressible urge to grab the top of his head to protect his scalp, but instead, he snapped to in a way he hoped wasn't outdated.

"Lieutenant Riker," she said before he'd had a chance to introduce himself. "Welcome aboard." She rose and offered a hand across the desk.

Surprised, Riker leaned forward to take it. "Have we met, sir?" he asked carefully.

Again, she smiled. Again, he had the urge to protect his head.

"Actually, Lieutenant, I've had dreams about this day." She laughed. "Dreams that would curl your hair."

It did curl his hair. The hair on the back of his neck. "Sir?" he asked hesitantly.

"Welcome to the Ghandi, Lieutenant Riker," she told him with glittering eyes. "I'll be your commanding officer. My name is Captain Elizabeth Shelby, but my friends call me sir."

Ain't Life A Bitch? 3

Just don't wish ...

"Ready, sir?" Chief Hennesi asked.

He released a sigh of breath he was barely aware of holding. A deeply-tanned man with startlingly blonde hair stood behind the transporter console. He regarded Riker with a look of barely concealed contempt, arrogance explicit in his crystal blue eyes.

"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Riker," the man greeted without inflection.

Riker glanced around himself as he descended the platform. "Thank you, Chief ..." He let the sentence dangle, but the transporter chief didn't respond.

Riker took a deep breath and bulled ahead. He extended a hand. "My friends call me ..." he hesitated, an unfamiliar name heavy on his tongue as another tried to answer. "... Tom," he announced finally.

The transporter chief ignored the extended hand. His gaze strafed Riker's meager belongings, and then Riker himself, before once again focusing the arrogance eye-to-eye.

"The captain expects you in his ready room immediately, Lieutenant," he stated icily. "You may leave your belongings here and return for them later."

Riker drew a deep breath, withdrew his hand and nodded. He surrendered the duffel easily enough, but the 'bone was harder. It was a link to his previous life, one he wasn't sure he wanted to let out of his sight for even a moment.

"The Captain doesn't like to be kept waiting," the chief observed coldly as Riker settled the trombone case carefully against one wall where it would be out of the way and relatively safe.

Biting off the reply that lunged up his throat, Riker tried once again to be civil.

"Have you know him for long?"

The muscular chief straightened with pride. "I have known him forever," he answered regally. "I served him when he was more than a mere captain. When he was a ruler of worlds, a ruler of universes."

"Uh ..." Riker wasn't sure how to respond. " ... okay."

It was a relief to escape the chief's condescendingly cutting gaze. He took refuge in the familiar, yet unfamiliar corridors of the starship. Too soon, the turbolift reached the bridge. The captain's ready room lay ominously off the port deck.

The captain was sitting with his back to the door, staring out the viewing portal behind his desk. He didn't turn when Riker entered the room even though he'd answered the protocol summons with a customary "come." All Riker could see of him above the throne-like chair was a wild shock of silver-white hair.

"Lieutenant Riker reporting for duty, sir," Riker announced, snapping to attention in a way he hoped wasn't outdated.

"Lieutenant Riker," the captain murmured, still neither rising nor turning to face him. His voice was deep, deeper than even Picard's. He spoke with a heavy accent that could have been forged in any of a thousand predominantly Hispanic colonies. "I take great pleasure in welcoming you aboard my vessel."

"Thank you, sir," Riker answered carefully.

Slowly, the other man rose. Tall and graceful and as muscular as his transporter chief, he turned.

"You realize, of course, that you were hand-picked for this assignment." He smiled a white-toothed smile that was at once resplendent with re-assurance and bone-chilling threat. "I allow only the bravest, the most loyal, to serve me."

A chill spiked Riker's spine. "Sir?"

"We are the future of Starfleet, as we were once also its past," he went on as if he hadn't heard the question in Riker's tone. Steel grey eyes of ice burned with an inner light. "We are the new generation, Lieutenant Riker. The dawning genesis of mankind's destiny. A superior breed of man who will one day rule the stars."

"I don't understa --"

"You are part of a family now," the captain went on, his eyes and voice relentless. "Ourfamily. You will become one of us. You will come to love your ship-mates as your brothers. You will come to love me as your father. As your prince."

Riker took an unintentional step backward.

The captain laughed. It was a full, rich baritone laugh that echoed in the small ready room with a maniacal edge that cut Thomas Riker clean through to the bone.

"Welcome to the Ghandi, Lieutenant Riker," he announced grandly, spreading his arms wide in a gesture of welcoming embrace. "My name is Captain Singh, but my subjects call me Khan."

End