I Object! Part VI
Posted on Thu Jun 25th, 2026 @ 11:17pm by Chief Petty Officer Stephen Farrelly & Captain Thorrin & Commander Marisa Sandoval & Lieutenant C'Mila Juli & Major Hastios Eilfaren
Edited on on Sun Jun 28th, 2026 @ 3:57pm
2,344 words; about a 12 minute read
Mission:
In The Nick Of Time
Location: The Planet Kroat
Timeline: MD006 1430 hrs
Hastios turned his head at the sound of Marisa’s voice, and for one brief moment the hard set of his expression loosened. She was there. Moving. Alive. The sight of her did more to steady him than the hand he had clamped against his side.
“If I lean on you,” he said, voice low and rough with pain, “I’ll squash you flat and undo everything we just saved.”
The humour was thin, but it was there. So was the relief.
He drew in a careful breath, jaw tightening as the wound pulled beneath the ruined cloak. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he added, quieter now, meant only for her.
Then his eyes shifted back toward the body on the grass, and duty settled over him again. “We can’t leave him here. Not like that.” His gaze moved to the weapon, then to the dead man’s face. “A corpse from the wrong time, carrying the wrong technology, with poison nobody here should be able to identify. If the locals examine him properly, we may still contaminate the timeline.”
He straightened a fraction despite the pain, refusing to let it own him yet. “We need the body, the weapon, anything he had on him, and we need Wyatt looked at before this crowd turns into a tribunal.”
His eyes found hers again, steady beneath the strain.
“Then we go home.”
Home. Yes. The Herodotus had become home. Because of Hastios.
"Yes." The word held a promise.
Then her focus returned to the situation. "I heard something about a blood hunt? If so, you have a right to take the body. It belongs to you." She looked around, then back to Hastios. "For the rest...we will think of something."
There was another long pause as she tried to keep her worry from showing. "I need to tend to your wound. And you will not squash me." A faint smile twitched at one side of her mouth.
The guards were heading their direction. She was concerned with the look of his wound, but they could not draw any more attention to themselves right now.
So, she stood straighter, ready to face them...and hope some of her training as a counselor would help in this particular predicament.
The phalanx stood their ground and maintained their protective stance, weapons at the ready. However, the General that stood at their head was no longer alone. He was now joined by the groom, the Prince of the Kroat. The Prince stood and looked at the group gathered. It was quite the scene, with the injured and the blood. It was also symbolic of what this wedding was to do. A Vwaarti noble stood with Kroat soldier as they had fought valiantly to stop the assassination of his bride. The Prince smiled and spoke with his arms extended. "Friends. I know not who you are, and yet I am in your debt. You have saved my life, my bride's life and what is more the life of our children to come." He paused and looked toward the General his expression changed from one of thankfulness to one of slight anger. "General we will discuss your utter and complete failure to protect this wedding later." Just as quickly the Prince's face returned to its happier state. His eyes shifted to Hastios as if he saw the wound for the first time. "Soldier. You are hurt. Fetch my personal physician. This man's wounds will be tended to."
Juli now held the Kroat's weapon in the folds of her skirt, hidden pockets and did her best to keep the people back. But there was still another problem. Wyatt was in the grass, unmoving. Thankfully the attention had been drawn to the commotion surrounding the princess, not many people seemed to have noticed that he was injured, but it wouldn't take long.
"Maybe I should get to Wyatt before he draws attention," she offered.
Hastios’ eyes moved once, briefly, to Wyatt.
It was enough to mark the problem without naming it.
“Go,” he said quietly to Juli, his voice pitched low enough not to carry beyond them. “Take him somewhere quiet. If anyone asks, he was overcome by the excitement.”
There was no humour in it, but there was enough control that it almost passed for calm.
Then the Prince’s attention settled fully on him.
Hastios shifted his stance, bringing one arm a little lower across his side. Not enough to look defensive. Enough to hide the worst of the blood where it had begun to soak dark through the fabric. The wound pulled with the movement, hot and deep, and for a heartbeat the garden narrowed to the Prince’s voice, the smell of crushed grass, the copper slick beneath his palm.
He did not let his face change.
“My lord, you honour me,” he said, inclining his head with careful respect. “But there is no need to trouble your physician. It is a scratch, and nothing more.”
It was not a scratch.
Every breath made that increasingly clear.
He bowed as much as the wound allowed, letting discipline disguise the stiffness. Pain pressed cold at the edges of his vision, but he held himself steady. A soldier who swayed invited hands. A soldier who accepted hands invited questions. And questions, here and now, could do more damage than the blade had managed.
“My name is Aranis,” he continued. “I served only where any man of conscience should have stood today.”
His gaze moved briefly to the place where bride and groom stood at the centre of all this blood and ceremony, then returned to the Prince.
“This wedding was meant to bind two peoples who have spent too long measuring one another by old wounds. Let today be remembered for what survived, not only for what was attempted.”
The words cost him more breath than he liked. He kept the last of it locked behind his teeth until the dizziness passed.
“I will have my injury seen to elsewhere,” he added, with another respectful dip of his head. “Your attention belongs with your bride, your people, and the peace they came here to witness. I would not take a royal physician from those duties for so small a thing.”
His hand pressed a little harder beneath his arm.
Only for a moment.
Only enough to keep the blood from showing.
"I add my words to those of Aranis," Marisa said. Her voice and demeanor showed the proper respect for the prince as a Vwaarti noblewoman. "It is vital to the peace of both our people that the marriage ceremony continue without delay. As to the assassin, he belongs to your subject as his reward for the blood hunt."
She paused, considering her words. "I will assist him so that there may be no further interruption to the day." Inclining her head respectfully, she added, "And may you and your bride live long and prosper."
When Marisa and Hastios finished speaking the Kroat present erupted in cheers of support. "Well said soldier, well said indeed. Your name will be spoken throughout the annals of history. Be it known that Aranis has fulfilled the Blood Hunt. To the victor goes the spoils. Take this piece of granthor (shit). Tomorrow the festivities will be renewed and the wedding will happen. For now, we rest, save for you and your men General. You will find out who is responsible for this." When he finished speaking the Prince turned to make sure his bride to be was well and unharmed. The General turned to a group of his soldiers and signaled that they should go with him.
Hastios inclined his head again, slow and respectful, holding himself still while the cheers rolled through the garden.
It was a dangerous kind of attention. Warm, approving, too loud to be safe. His name, or the name he had given them, was already passing from mouth to mouth, becoming something larger than the man beneath it. Aranis. Victor of the Blood Hunt. A soldier with a wound he could not afford to let anyone see too closely.
History had teeth.
He waited until the Prince’s attention had turned elsewhere, then moved.
The first step was worse than he allowed his face to admit. Pain bit clean through his side, deep enough that his breath caught behind his teeth. He let the stiffness become ceremony, let the slow movement look like solemnity as he crossed to the fallen assassin.
The body was heavier than he would have liked.
That was almost funny.
Hastios crouched beside the dead man, one hand braced against his own thigh for balance rather than need. The world tilted for a second, bright at the edges, the garden sounds stretching thin. He closed his fingers around the assassin’s clothing and waited until the dizziness passed.
Not here.
Not in front of them.
Not now.
With a controlled pull, he hauled the body up enough to get it across his shoulder. The movement sent a white-hot line through the wound and down into his hip. His jaw tightened once. That was all. No sound. No stumble. The blood beneath his hand felt warmer now, spreading despite the pressure he kept against it.
He turned back just enough to address the nearest soldiers.
“The Blood Hunt is fulfilled,” he said, voice low but clear. “I will take what is mine.”
No one needed more than that. The Prince had spoken. The old law had wrapped itself around him like armour, and Hastios intended to use every piece of it before it cracked.
He walked away from the centre of the garden with the assassin’s weight over his shoulder and his own blood hidden under his arm. Each step was measured. Too fast would look like escape. Too slow would invite assistance. He chose the narrow line between them and stayed there by force of will.
The crowd blurred at the edges as he passed through it.
He did not look back.
Only when the noise had dulled behind stonework and darkened greenery did he let his expression shift. Not much. A tightening around the eyes. A brief pull at the mouth. The body across his shoulder dragged at his balance, and his injured side answered with a deep, ugly throb that made the air feel thin.
He found the place where Juli had taken Wyatt, screened from the garden by carved stone and the heavy leaves of ornamental plants. Good. Quiet enough. Shielded enough. The kind of place people overlooked when history was busy making noise elsewhere.
Hastios lowered the assassin’s body to the ground with more control than gentleness.
Then he set one hand against the stonework and allowed himself half a breath.
Only half.
His fingers came away wet when he adjusted the pressure at his side. Too much blood. His blood. Wrong blood, if anyone here looked closely enough. That alone mattered more than the pain.
He tapped his concealed comm.
“Hastios to Herodotus,” he said, voice still steady, though it had lost some of its margin. “Four to beam directly to sickbay. Include one deceased. Low signature transport. Now.”
Farrelly was at his post as he worked feverishly to keep the transporters active during the Krenim onslaught. He had taken the temporal transporters offline and cannibalized power and parts from there. The problem now was that he slowly ran out of parts and options. Additionally, the Away Team sends a message to be brought home. "Shite..." his accented voice said to no one in particular. He reached up from under the console and pressed the communications button. "Much apologies. But we are barely holding it together here. Give me a few minutes."
Hastios kept his eyes on the garden path while he waited, body angled between the others and any possible approach.
Even wounded, even bleeding, he still made himself the wall.
The transporter shimmer caught him just as his knees began to consider mutiny.
Marisa knew he had to do this. To be strong. To carry his prize out of sight. But she hovered near him, ready to lend a hand. Or a shoulder. Ready to keep others from getting too close. From seeing the blood.
Only when the body lowered to the ground did she relax. A little. Hastios was injured. She wanted to turn to him. Attend to his wound. But she couldn't. Not here. Not now. Here she was a Vwaarti noblewoman and still had a part to play.
Until she heard the distinctive sound of the transporter taking them home. Even so, it seemed to take forever.
The ship stopped rocking all at once. It seemed that whatever they did up there on the Bridge had won the day. With swift deft motions, Stephen notified Sick Bay of the incoming wounded and energized. When the team materialized he ran to help with Hastios. "Welcome back. We just got out of the shower. Sick Bay has a table waiting for you."
A Joint Post By
Major Hastios Eilfaren
Chief Security & Tactical Officer
Second Officer
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
Commander Marisa Sandoval
Executive Officer
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
Lieutenant Junior Grade Wyatt Spencer
Chief Operations Officer
Communications Officer
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
Captain Thorrin
Commanding Officer
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
Chief Petty Officer Stephen Farrelly
Chronal Metric Transporter Chief/Transporter Chief
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
Lieutenant C'amila Juli
Chief Science Officer
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
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