Disclaimer: They belong to paramount, not me, and I'm too poor to sue anyway
First Officer's Personal Log, "The Thunderbird," : Day 10. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have come to the decision, over the last 10 days, that human behaviour is absolutely impossible to understand. This, of course, is a realisation that I came to when I was first activated on Voyager, yet I had insufficient data for comparison at that time. Over the years I came to the assumption that the behaviour of the Voyager crew was due to the fact that they were lost in the Delta Quadrant.
The dynamics of the various relationships that were forged during that traumatic time were unnatural, in my professional opinion. Yet, I experience the same complete bewilderment of the nuances of human behaviour as I adjust to my new 'life' on board the Thunderbird.
This is not a Star Fleet vessel. The same rules and constraints that apply on a military ship are obviously absent, yet the dynamic here is both strangely the same and at the same time completely different.
Chakotay is indisputably the Captain of this ship. Everyone looks to him for support, guidance and decisions. He is 'in charge'.
Except that he isn't.
If Chakotay is the head of the ship, then Tom is its heart.
Even our new Engineer, Jem Trabor, has fallen under the spell of Tom's charm. I see him vying with Harry and Chakotay to please Tom, just as Neelix spends hours in his galley attempting to turn my nutritional orders for the pilot into something that will tempt his palate.
I can see the general protectiveness towards Tom possibly becoming a future issue that could cause tension between the two men. On the fifth day of our journey, for instance, it became obvious that Chakotay and Tom had had a disagreement over the appointment of Trabor, and while Tom spent the day alone in his room, Chakotay spent that same time 'alone' on the bridge under the glaring condemnation of Harry and Sue. Then Neelix practically threw Chakotay's dinner at him that evening.
The conclusion I have reached is that, in a crisis, Chakotay is the Captain, but in the popularity stakes, Tom is the clear favorite.
Fortunately they resolved their difficulties overnight and harmony was restored before we left Deep Space 9 towards Hyperia.
Captain's Personal Log, "The Thunderbird," : Day 12.
I knew better than to accept that bastard Quark's assignment. Something about him just reeked of dishonesty. Then again he's a Ferengi, so I wrote a lot of my caution off as being simple prejudice. He was also clever enough to offer such a small sum for our assistance that it lulled me into a false sense of security. I was so busy being offended by the paltry amount he offered us that I failed to adequately question him about the legality of imports from Hyperia.
I'm not completely naive. When we rendezvoused with Quark's contact at a small port on the third moon of Hyperia, I was careful to check all of the crates for contraband substances such as drugs and weapons before allowing them to be placed in the Thunderbird's cargo bay. It appeared that the cargo was nothing more than the manifold stated, several crates of assorted liquors, twelve pallets of Hyperian Caviar, which is just about the most disgusting foodstuff I have ever come across but is unsurprisingly popular with Klingons, and the last item was a box containing a few roughly hewn statues.
It was the last box that worried me. I had never seen such ugly or badly carved figures before. They were fat squat idols, each with pendulous breasts, fat bellies and then anatomically improbable cocks thrusting out and then curving like handles on a mug. I spent a long time with a tricorder, checking that they weren't hollowed out and filled with contraband since I couldn't imagine anyone voluntarily parting with credits for the ugly statues.
My caution seemed unfounded. The statues were solid stone. I eventually decided that they were just some manner of tourist souvenir. Like Tom said, some people have fuck-all taste, after all.
It wasn't until we were leaving Hyperian space that a huge battle cruiser dropped out of warp next to us and told us to stand down and prepare to be boarded.
That little fucker Quark had set us up.
The ugly statues turned out to be priceless artifacts that had been found in an archeological dig and only the fact that the Hyperians were natural telepaths and realised that we had been duped saved us from all being arrested on the spot.
They confiscated the treasures and fined us, although fortunately they were satisfied to take the 12 pallets of caviar as the fine. So we were left with several boxes of cheap liquor, less fuel than we had started with, and absolutely no chance in hell of getting paid by Quark.
I was all for heading straight back to DS9 and inserting one or two of those bottles of whiskey up Quark's ass, but Harry, the voice of reason as always, just pointed out that it would waste more fuel and since we had a "bad rep" at DS9 we were unlikely to get any other customers there. He said we would be better moving on from Hyperian space towards the Romulan border where there were always opportunities to ferry disenchanted settlers from the demilitarized zone back to less hotly disputed territory.
Tom agreed with him. Not because he wasn't furious with Quark himself, but because the idea of "rescuing" refugees was far more exciting than any cargo opportunities we might find in Federation controlled space. As an independent, neutral vessel we had access to places that Federation Starships couldn't go.
So I reluctantly agreed that my vengeance on Quark could wait for another day.
Chief Pilot's Personal Log, "The Thunderbird," : Day 13.
Poor Chakotay is SO cute when he sulks.
It wasn't his decision to accept Quark's assignment. We all agreed that it was worth taking the risk of doing business with a Ferengi, so we are all equally to blame for what happened. Besides, apart from denting our pride, it was no great loss. The cost of the fuel expended in going to Hyperia was little more than the exorbitant docking fees we were paying to stay at DS9, and we might be able to get some credits for the booze.
Anyway, Harry's idea is stellar. I love the idea of nipping in and out of the demilitarized zone while the Romulans and the Starfleeters glower at us from the borders.
We won't be doing anything "illegal". We will be a neutral, civilian ship plying an honest trade. Our only real problem is room.
We had a long discussion about it and agreed that Chakotay and I would move into sickbay temporarily. The Doctor has agreed to shut himself down each night so that Chakotay and I can have privacy. Harry and Sue will move into our quarters. Jem will move in with Neelix and that way we have room to take a dozen or so passengers at a time. It will do until we are on our feet a little and can afford to have the Thunderbird's interior redesigned to a better specification.
We have also reached a mutual agreement that for every ten paying passengers we will take two for free. The problem with a job like this is that in a way you are preying on other people's misery. Our passengers are refugees. They will be leaving their homes and their livelihoods behind and although we cannot afford not to charge them for their journey, we do not want to take advantage of their desperation either.
The likelihood is that those people who will be willing to pay for passage out will have squirreled away some substantial wealth. They will be able to pay us handsomely for their passage. On the other hand, that wealth will be needed to set themselves up in new lives so it would be wrong of us to charge too much just because they have the money at the moment.
To ease our consciences, we will take two extra non-paying passengers each trip. I'm not sure how we will decide who they will be, and we won't obviously let the other passengers know what we are doing because this is far too small a vessel for resentment to live on board.
My idea is to take the money off all twelve, and then use the journey to decide which two get a refund.
So, I guess it's obvious that I'm pretty excited about this. We'll be doing good, earning money and playing "secret santa" to some of our passengers. I said as much to Chakotay but he just gave me a blank look as if he didn't know what I was on about. Which is blatantly untrue since we celebrated Christmas every year on Voyager. Mind you, we celebrated every other religious and secular ceremony we could think of too so maybe he genuinely has forgotten.
Personally, I just think he's sulking.
Chief Pilot's Personal Log, "The Thunderbird," : Day 14.
I was wrong.
He wasn't sulking.
NOW he is sulking and, believe me, the difference is obvious.
We are approaching the demilitarized zone so we moved into our "new" quarters last night.
After Chak moved a couple of biobeds together against the wall and tied them together, then unhooked the monitoring equipment and put our own quilt on, the one Chak's mom made for us, the room looked almost like home. Okay, it just looked like a sickbay with a double bed in the middle, but what the hell, we were alone.
Because Chakotay was still pretty quiet and miserable, I decided to cheer him up, I waited until he had helped me into bed and undressed and then, before he got his sleep pants on, I slid myself to the middle of the bed and then gave a huge groan as though I was in pain.
He was at my side instantly, his gorgeous cock dangling freely between his legs like a lollipop well overdue a licking.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes so worried that I felt instantly guilty. Still, I would be making it up to him, I decided.
"I think there's a gap between the beds, Chak. Something's pinching me," I lied.
"Can't you move sideways off the gap?" He asked reasonably enough.
"I'm trapped," I sobbed.
Chakotay climbed up on the bed to check the strapping that held the two beds together. Because I was lying down the middle, he had no option other to straddle my chest and lean over my head. It was perfect. I couldn't have maneuvered the Thunderbird any better.
The precise moment he realised that the binding was tight and I was lying, was the same moment that his cock reared over my mouth and I opened wide and swallowed.
At the same time, I grabbed his ass cheeks in my hand and pulled him closer. He lost his balance, fell forward and inadvertently deep throated me.
I immediately started the deep sucking that would convince him that I had intended this from the start and simultaneously poked my middle finger into his ass.
I had taken the precaution of surreptitiously rubbing my own pre-cum on my finger first so that it was lubricated, so it was definitely shock that made him scream rather than pain, and since his cock immediately stiffened in my throat until it nearly choked me, he was obviously enjoying himself.
Which is why the Doctor's "Please state the nat- oops, sorry. Don't mind me," probably pissed him off so much.
I don't see the big deal myself.
Like the Doc said, he had turned himself off but his program had activated at what it had interpreted as a scream of pain.
Besides, it wasn't as if it was Chakotay who was giving the blow job. I could understand that embarrassing him, but since his dick was rammed down my mouth, I don't see the problem.
Hell, the Doc might be a 'person', but bottom line he's a hologram. It wasn't like Harry walking in on us.
But Chak's in a snit about it. He says he's not having sex with me again in the Sickbay unless the Doctor agrees that we can put an override on his program that means he is completely shut down. The Doctor, not surprisingly, is reluctant to agree. He says that's like us temporarily "killing" him just to get laid.
Chakotay understands his point of view but won't budge. The Doctor has refused to give in. Unless I can find a compromise that they will both agree to, I am going to have to spend the next six weeks or so with a permanent hard-on until we have earned enough money to refit.
In other words, there's trouble in paradise again.