Caretaker - L. A. Graf [23]
The very first ship Cavit had ever served on board was a Starfleet colony-relief transport, some ten or fifteen years ago.
He'd been a young ensign then, not even out of the Academy, really.
They'd sent half his class out on short-term noncombat hauls as part of some new curricular plan, giving them the chance to experience the reality of what they all thought they wanted to train to do. A chance to get their feet wet, in a manner of speaking.
Cavit had thought it the most exciting assignment in the world at the time. The U.S.S. Kingston had ferried scientists and medicines, animals and supplies, to every growing colony between Miracle and Cimota VI. It had seemed like there could be nothing so romantic, nothing more important than bestowing on mankind's most remote bastions the very elements of life they needed for their everyday survival. He had felt like a young god, bringing blessings from the stars to every planet on their itinerary. The Kingston's CPO, Russ Tepper, had laughed to hear Cavit admit to his feelings, but even that had never changed the young man's private views.
Then, while the Kingston was shipping stock gametes from the Vulcan genetic yards to Rukbat III, Orion pirates swept down on them and carved their hull apart.
The Orions had thought the Kingston was carrying latinum to a processing plant in the Ganges Sector, where it would be smelted and put to use in all its various valuable forms. The pirates were on board and reaving through whatever crew stood up to fight them before they discovered their mistake. By then it was too late for the Orions to back away as though nothing at all had happened. If they left without murdering every member of the Kingston's crew, then there would be witnesses who had seen the Orions, seen their ship, identified its engine patterns so that the Federation authorities could hunt down the Orions to a man and bring them before the fair but efficient Federation court of law. Worse yet, they might be turned over to their own government, which had some particularly unpleasant ways of dealing with privateers who were stupid enough to be caught by the Federation. The Orions had no choice, as far as their limited views of morality took them--they had to clear the decks and make it look like some other brand of raiders did the dirty work before running with their tails between their legs for the hiding places in their own sector of space.
If this crew was composed of primarily unarmed workers and untried ensigns, well, it was merely one of the casualties of doing "business" with the Orions.
Cavit had been so young then, so eager to please his superiors, to do what he'd been told. When Russ Tepper grabbed him and the other frightened cadets, Cavit had been more than willing to follow the CPO to any part of the ship he said--to do anything Tepper or another officer told him to. Because doing what your CO's said was right. If all else failed, you could just follow orders, and everything would be fine.
Tepper had crammed sixteen young men and women into the far aft cargo bays, inside and between as many different gamete-transport pods as he could turn off and move. By the time the Orions reached those smallest bays, they'd already discovered their error, and weren't looking to spend any more time among this essentially worthless payload. They'd left the bays--and the sixteen people inside them--without even turning off the lights.
Cavit had huddled in silence, just as Tepper commanded, until the Enterprise arrived two days later to clean up what was left of the terrible slaughter.
He'd done the right thing, a dozen commodores and admirals had told him in the years to follow. All those young people had been so smart, so brave, so loyal, to hide themselves