John Zabertini: The Lost Link.

[Zeke Zabertini]

A man known as the Silver Knight once said that "it is not easy to act in the name of justice." In the twenty-fourth century, the United Federation of Planets was bringing justice to the stars. Civilizations that were once threatened by marauders and pirates, the bottom-feeders of the galaxy, stood strong with the power of Starfleet at their backs. Thousands of ships in hundreds of star systems, all bound in peace and prosperity by the Federation Charter. The Federation was weary in those days; paranoid. Always on guard. It had fought the Cardassians, the Borg, the Dominion, the Breen.... Always another race, always another reason to destroy or consume.
The Federation had survived, thanks to the brave action of its many citizens in Starfleet, the defenders of peace and justice. There would always be another war. The galaxy had too many people with too many goals to change that; but still the people fortunate enough to live in established UFP space lived relatively unaware and indifferent to these problems. Some though, were touched personally by the violence that marked the latter half of the twenty-fourth century. Many of them were inspired to themselves join Starfleet. In any generation though, there will be those that choose the easier path and run from their problems rather than facing them. When there's too much to remember and too much to live up to, escape is sometimes the only way to keep what little sanity one has.
For three siblings who grew up in the heart of the Federation, what was the goal for two became the greatest fear of the third. Perhaps it was the death of his mother at the hands of Cardassians, perhaps it was the intimidation of living in his elders' shadows. John Zabertini ran. He ran as fast and as long as he could. If there is one thing that we have learned in our species' long existence though, it's that we all must face our demons eventually. On a small moon orbiting an insignificant planet in a strategically unimportant system on the outer edge of Federation space, John Zabertini lived in blissful ignorance of the universe around him. When a man refuses to seek his destiny, however, destiny has a habit of finding the man.
So our story begins.

OOC: Huzzah for spare time! I'll be updating this story whenever I feel like it until it's done at some undetermined point in the future. It takes place (obviously) in the late 24th. century (2390 to be exact), and is based on the already-established vague storylines on the U.S.S. Skyline RPG regarding the youngest Zabertini, the drifting brother of two highly-successful Starfleet officers. I hope you enjoy it.

[ILoveHarry]

I'm eager to read more. I love that so many of us, Skyliners, are writting supplimental stories.

[Zeke Zabertini]

Darsus II was a small moon, only a few thousand kilometers in diameter, but thanks to its extreme density it had gravity only slightly less than the standard one gee. Its inhabitants were all either criminals or drifters, in some cases they were both. Darsus Prime, the volcanic world that Darsus II made one rotation around every sixty-four Earth days, was technically within the boundaries of the Federation, but the planet and the system it was in were completely worthless. The nearest Federation establishment, a border outpost over sixteen lightyears away, was as much a symbol for the planet's remoteness as was the UFPs complete indifference to the place and everyone in it. A few years back a serial rapist escapee had drawn enough attention to attract Starfleet to the moon, the system's only inhabitable body. A string of arrests followed as those unlucky criminals who happened to be there at the time were brought in. After it was all over though, Starfleet stopped coming and the Federation let Darsus II slip back into obscurity. Life went on on Darsus II, called simply Darsus by its inhabitants. The criminal population grew again, restoring the eerie peace of the moon. This was not a place of unusual violence or activity. Darsus was a place for those that simply wanted to be left alone by the rest of the galaxy and wallow in their own troubles. Few people who arrived on the moon ever left. Most of those that did were either going to turn themselves in or, more rarely, decided to face their troubles back home.

John Zabertini left the bar quietly, sober but wishing he was drunk; the hot sun beating over him and the desert landscape that surrounded this small town in the last beams of dusk. Alcohol just didn't have the effect that it once did on him. When he first arrived two years ago he had planned on staying only a week; two at the most. The dreary atmosphere seemed boring, and it was just one more place to stop on his journey to nowhere. That same atmosphere that had repelled him though lulled him into staying one more week, then a month, then a year.... If you had asked him now how long he had been on Darsus he would first correct you on the name, Darsus II, then tell you he had been there a month, at most. If you found him in a particularly drunken or drowsy mood, he might simply answer "forever." That's how most of the people there were, beyond caring about anything save life itself and how to waste it for the next half-hour. So when John dragged his feet past the front door of the house that had become his after old Parker died, he didn't even notice the man in a red trenchcoat sleeping on his couch. He simply fell into bed and remotely traced the cracks in the ceiling with his right index finger until sleep overtook him seconds, an eternity, later.

[Zeke Zabertini]

When John awoke the first thing he saw was the red-coated man sitting with his legs under him on a wooden chair, peering curiously over him. John closed his eyes, then opened them again to convince himself that he wasn't seeing things. When the man was still there, he sat up. "Sorry man, I don't swing that way." The man in the trenchcoat grinned ridiculously, his midlength blonde hair standing straight up and his lightly-tinted eyes seeming to sparkle as he opened his mouth to speak.
"Don't worry friend, I don't swing that way either. I came to talk to you about a problem I'm having. I don't suppose you could help me out...?"
John snorted and stood up, brushing his ugly, worn grey and brown clothes off. He went to the replicator. The whole "house" consisted of two rooms, a small bathroom in the back with a shower, sink, and toilet, and a main room with everything else. The main room wasn't overly large itself, only about seven by ten meters, with a compromised seven-foot-high ceiling that seemed to do nothing to protect the abode against any of the elements. The whole structure was made of clay, like something out of an old National Geographic documentary on adobe houses. In fact, the entire scene looked like it had been created by some mad scientist with a time machine. There was a feather-stuffed couch, wooden and beanbag chairs, an icebox, a Bajoran statuette, a replicator, a television set.... The bed was an overstuffed mattress set on a pile of boards that raised it two feet off the ground.
The trenchcoated man stood and followed John to the replicator as John made his order. "Three eggs and orange juice." Nothing happened, so John aimed a high kick at the machine, which was sitting on a bar stool. He managed to miss the replicator and instead topple the stool, dumping the whole mess to the ground. He swore loudly, then looked down, not hearing the expected sound of his expensive machine making contact with the hard floor. Sure enough, there was the man in the red trenchcoat, stretched out face down on the clay, holding the replicator safely in his outstretched hands. He spoke with his face still planted firmly against the mud.
"It's okay, I've got it!" John couldn't stop a small grin from making its way across his features as he set the stool back up and relieved the odd man of his burden.
"Thanks," he said with a true note of gratitude. "Who are you, anyway? I haven't seen you before. Are you new here?" The man's quirky grin faded into a true smile. He stood up, not bothering with the dirt that now covered his entire front.
"It's not important. You can call me Vash." John nodded sagely as the replicator almost miraculously delivered his earlier order.
"Well then, Vash. What was it you wanted help with again?"

[ILoveHarry]

Can't wait to read more.

[Zeke Zabertini]

The sun rose high in the sky, then fell in the west. It was dark when John and his new friend finally emerged from the house. He was laughing heartily with Vash, who was now eating from a large bag of donuts. "It's true!"
"Sure it is, Vash. I'm a giraffe in disguise though, so watch out!"
"That's not funny!"
"Sure it is!"
"You really should try some of these donuts!"
"No, I'm good. Really." The pair entered a pub, a small establishment with only a few patrons. The place was built with the same mud and clay as most of the town, and had a smoky atmosphere. For an "enlightened" people the residents of Darsus II certainly loved their liquor and cigarettes. Perhaps it was a symbol of their rebellion against society, or perhaps it was simply because they didn't care.
John shunned the few tables, instead sitting at the bar. "Hey, Dale! My friend here is a plant! Get him some water!" Vash smiled, sitting beside his companion.
"And my friend here will have some leaves." John chuckled.
"And by 'leaves' he means 'beer.'" He looked at Vash. "You seriously want just water though? I'll buy...." Vash just smiled and took the water handed to him. John shook his head. "You're hopeless. So, What was it you wanted help with? Can you tell me now?" Vash swirled his glass, looking at himself in the water.
"It's just a little thing. I'm trying to get to Pluto. I have a package to deliver." He drew an envelope from within his coat, revealing a large silver revolver with a tall barrel and a strong butt as he did. It glinted in the dim light for an instant before the envelope wss replaced, hiding it again from view. John raised an eyebrow. Vash smiled. "The gun? Just an antique I like to keep with me. I almost lost it once, but it's still useful."
John turned his attention back to his beer, taking a deep drink of the strong fluid. "It ain't unusual for visitors to pack a weapon 'round here, but it's usually some kinda phaser or disrupter. I haven't seen anything that actually fires bullets before." Vash looked sad for a moment.
"It's a part of my past. I couldn't abandon it." John shrugged.
"Whatever you say, partner."
Vash finished his water and handed it over to the barkeeper. "So what do you need my help for? I don't own a ship, I ain't got much money..." Vash interjected quickly, cutting him off.
"I don't need a ship or money. I just want someone to travel with."
"Someone to travel with? I told you I wasn't that way, right?" A soft, reassuring smile spread across Vash's features.
"You did, and it isn't. I promise."
"I don't usually..." Vash stood and turned, leaving the bar.
"Think about it. Something might be in it for you if you come along." The barkeeper looked after the red-trenchcoated man.
"Strange fella. You goin' with him?" John looked down at his half-full mug, then pushed it away.
"Thanks," he said, leaving the bar. He called after Vash, just about to go around the corner on the far end of the street. "Hey Vash! Mabye we can try out the donuts on Pluto, eh?" Vash turned and gave John the same carefree smile he did when they first met. Then he rounded the corner and disappeared from view. John went the other way, back towards home. "Wonder where he's goin'?" He walked in silence under the night sky, retiring to bed immediately upon his return. "Strange fella," he said; then fell promptly asleep.

[Zeke Zabertini]

Any interest at all in this story? Any reason for me to go on?

[Starbuck]

I'm reading it, I'm just not posting.

[ILoveHarry]

Hell yeah!!!! Keep going!!!

[Zeke Zabertini]

Okay, I was just about to give up. I'll keep going then.