A Storm To Knock Your Spots Off

Posted on 04 Jun 2025 @ 8:38pm by Lieutenant Commander Temerant Bast

1,206 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: The Festival of Unity
Location: Elysia
Timeline: Concurrent with The Storm

Bast moaned as he turned over in bed. The dancing at the party had perhaps been a bit too much, and he had overexerted the muscles around his new femur. Just the act of turning over in bed was causing some discomfort. In his half-awaken state, he considered getting out of bed and getting some of the pain medication that had been prescribed by Doctor Ravi, but that would mean emerging fully from that half-asleep state.

If only there wasn't so much overhead traffic, he might be able to get a good night's sleep, he thought. The shuttles coming and going from the Starbase were unusually active, perhaps because of the Festival, he thought. Who's bright idea had it been to put cabins right under their flight path?

Through his closed eyelids he could see flashes from their floodlights as they tried to illuminate the landing platform.

Except...

A split-second later, he heard a loud rumble. Had the shuttle crash-landed? No, he could still hear the whine of its engines...

His eyes snapped open, his mind now completely awake. He was nowhere near the flight path of any approaching shuttles, and the landing platform was several kilometers away, on another island entirely. And Starfleet shuttles didn't make that kind of noise...

His mind finally focused on the sounds he heard. The noise of the overhead shuttles was the howling wind, mixed with the rain that was hitting the windows. His mind had also mistaken the lightning for floodlights from those imaginary shuttles.

He could feel the floor shaking from the strong wind, and the roof of his cabin was threatening to tear away. One corner of the roof was already beginning to crack. He rolled out of bed as quickly as he could. He made his way to the front door, and looked out just as lightning illuminated the scene. He could make out the shadow of the island. His cabin was about a 400-meter dash on the boardwalk from the shore. There were three other unoccupied cabins between him and the shore. But the boardwalk itself was getting washed over by the waves, which meant it would be slippery. There were guardrails, of course, but only about waist-height, and there was no telling how sturdy they were - for all he knew, in this storm, they could break like twigs.

Perhaps it would be safer to wait out the storm in his cabin.

Suddenly there room erupted in a thundering sound, and cold rain came pouring all over his naked back, as the roof of his cabin was ripped away by the storm.

So much for that idea, he thought.

He barely inched the front door open before it was blown inward, slamming into his shoulder. He winced, and looked out at the boardwalk, squinting to keep the rain out of his eyes.

He looked around his cabin and spotted a belt, hanging on the back of a chair. He wrapped one end around his left wrist, and walked out onto the boardwalk. His bare feet slipped on the smooth wooden surface, but he managed to keep his balance. He was soon soaked down to his underwear - which didn't take long, since that was all he was wearing. He grabbed hold of the railing alongside the boardwalk, looped the belt around it, and wrapped the other end around his right wrist. With any luck, the belt would hold, and it would prevent him from being blown away.

The wind screamed around him, and the rain pelleted his skin. Debris flew all around him as he carefully made his way along the boardwalk, one centimeter at a time, until he got to the next cross-section.

He wrapped his arm around the railing, and untangled the belt from his right wrist. He reached around the post and under the railing, struggling against the wind that buffeted him from side to side, and nearly lost his footing as another wave washed over the boardwalk. He grabbed hold of the belt and wrapped it again around his wrist, before resuming his slow progression toward the shore.

He reached the next cross-section, and once again, he carefully freed his right wrist from the belt, and reached around the post to grab it again. But the wind howled again in his ears, just as another wave washed over the boardwalk.

Before he knew what was happening, Bast was airborne, the Trill whirling through the air, flailing his arms and legs. He felt the impact as he crashed into the trees on the shore, after a flight of Gods only knew how far he'd gone. How strange he must have seemed, he thought, a Trill flying through the air in his underwear.

The sudden pain in his side alerted him immediately to a very strong likelihood of broken ribs, and as he slowly fell to the ground, he wondered how many other ways the universe might try to kill him.

He looked around the area where he'd fallen. He was surrounded by tall trees, half of them broken and splintered, and the other half bent until they almost touched the ground. In the distance, not far from the treeline, was a structure. In the darkness, illuminated only by the occasional lightning and in spite of the torrential rain, he recognized it after a few seconds - the hangar where Émilie was repairing that sailing ship, or whatever it was.

And with any luck, the door would be unlocked.

He made his way to the treeline and caught his breath, readying himself for the final sprint to the hangar. There was no point in waiting for a break in the rain or for the wind to die down, there was no telling how long this storm would last.

He raced for the building, trying to keep his center of gravity as low as he could, and trying to run in as straight a line as he could, and reached the door before anything heavy could hit him. His ribs burned and he was short of breath, but nothing he couldn't handle.

He opened the door, trying to keep a firm grip on the handle, but his hands were wet and the handle slipped from his grasp. The door barged open, letting in wind, rain and debris. He slipped inside the building. It took all his weight to get the door closed, his feet slipping on the floor, but he managed to get it done. The screaming sound of the wind died away, and he was finally able to catch his breath.

There was some light coming from the quipment, enough to allow him to find the switch to turn on the main lights for the workshop. When the lights came on, he saw that he was leaving bloody footprints, and examined his feet. There were deep cuts that needed attention.

He set off in search of two things - a medkit with a dermal regenerator, and some clothes that he could put on. Now that the adrenaline rush was coming down, soaked and in his underwear, probably in shock with a couple of broken ribs, he was beginning to shiver.

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A post by

Lt Cmdr Temerant Bast
First Officer, USS Cygnus

 

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