Prisoner, thy name is Mudd

Posted on Sun Nov 9th, 2025 @ 9:27pm by Lieutenant Aubrie Fox & Captain Michael Murphy

2,319 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: Trouble with Mudd
Location: USS Montana Brig

Hardcourt Fenton Mudd has been in the USS Montana brig since he was arrested regarding his illicit activities with the vessel Athena. Originally operating under the alias "Harry Fudd", the crew has since learned his true identity and of his list of known crimes.

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ON:

Harry was bored. It was the same thing day after day. At least if he were taken to stand trial, it would be something different. It was just his luck to be arrested by a ship on some kind of deep-space exploration mission. He figured if he didn't do something soon, he would go mad.

He sat in a corner of the cell and worked on a thread at a corner of his jacket. He was well dressed, as always. One thing he was most proud of was his wardrobe. It hurt him to damage the jacket, but he needed to get at what was hidden inside. After an hour or so, he had made a hole big enough to shuffle the small wooden stick out of. It was really more of a splinter. Thinner than a standard stylus, and only two inches long, it never showed up on weapon scans. He'd used it in the past to pick locks and restraints. Today, he'd use it to try to find a weakness in the force field of his cell. He didn't know what he'd do if he got out, but he figured anything different was good.

He moved to the edge of the cell next to the forcefield and sat with his back to the wall, his right side parallel to the forcefield. He began subtly poking at the corner of the forcefield with the stick, watching the distortions in the field as he did it.

From the Security console outside the brig, a soft alarm tone chirped — not loud enough to indicate a breach, but enough to catch Aubrie’s attention. Her eyes flicked toward the readout, brow arching slightly.

“Well, well, Mr. Mudd,” she murmured, tapping a control. The display magnified the interior of the holding cell, showing the con artist hunched near the edge, something small glinting faintly in his hand.

Aubrie stood, arms crossing as she approached the brig doors. With a command to the computer, she dropped the opacity of the forcefield just enough for her face to be visible on the other side.

“You know,” she began evenly, voice calm but carrying that undercurrent of authority that came with long experience, “most people would take confinement as an opportunity for reflection. But you—” she gestured slightly toward the flickering field “—seem determined to make my life interesting.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. “Whatever you’re holding, I suggest you drop it. Forcefields on the Montana aren’t like the ones you’ve toyed with in the past. They tend to... retaliate.”

She paused, tilting her head. “Tell you what, Harry. You cooperate, and maybe I’ll see about getting you something other than replicated coffee for the next few days. Try that again, and I’ll make sure your next cell comes with nothing but beige walls and a single light.”

Aubrie tapped the control, the forcefield flaring slightly brighter in warning before returning to normal.

“Your move, Mudd.”

Mudd took in all the Starfleet Officer had to say, carefully choosing his words. He did stop antagonizing the forcefield and slipped the stick up his left sleeve.

“Forgive me, ma’am. I have rarely seen a beauty such as yours. I would love nothing more than to enjoy refreshment in your company. And perhaps, we could enjoy each other’s company more privately after.” He flashed her his best grin.

Aubrie’s eyes narrowed, the calm mask never faltering, though the faintest twitch of her lip betrayed her barely contained irritation. She leaned a little closer to the console, letting the feed capture her full expression.

“Mr. Mudd,” she said, voice cool and clipped, “I’m going to stop you right there.” She tapped a few keys, sending a soft pulse through the forcefield, enough to make him shift uncomfortably in his seat. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere in the brig. And I assure you, any ‘private’ meetings you have in mind won’t be happening—unless you enjoy very uncomfortable confinement.”

She straightened, crossing her arms again, her tone sharp now. “I’ve dealt with con men, smugglers, and thieves before. I know how your type operates. Save the charm for someone who can’t see right through it.”

Aubrie paused just long enough to let her words land, then added, “So I suggest you behave, Harry. Your stick isn’t going to help you here, and your silver tongue certainly won’t.”

The screen flickered slightly as she backed away, leaving the forcefield stable and Mudd contained.

He wasn’t sure if she was still listening, but he wasn’t ready to give up.

“Hmph, it’s unfortunate for me that you believe the lies the Federation tells about my character,” Mudd said, the charm gone from his voice. “I assure you that I can explain every charge against me so that you’d see they were misunderstandings.”

Aubrie stopped mid-step at his words, glancing back toward the monitor. With a quiet sigh, she keyed the audio back on.

“Misunderstandings,” she repeated dryly, one brow lifting. “That’s quite a word for arms dealing, smuggling, fraud, and identity falsification. Not to mention endangering a Federation crew with that little stunt aboard the Athena.”

She stepped closer again, folding her hands behind her back. “You’re not the first person to tell me their crimes were ‘misunderstood.’ But here’s the thing, Harry—Starfleet doesn’t operate on rumors or bedtime stories. We have the evidence. And frankly, it paints a much clearer picture than your version ever will.”

A faint hint of wry amusement softened her otherwise firm tone. “Still, if you truly think you can explain it all away, I’ll make sure the investigating officer knows you’re eager to clarify things. Just don’t expect me to buy it.”

She gave the faintest shrug. “Until then, I suggest you settle in. If you’re lucky, trial prep might give you the excitement you’ve been craving.”

He could tell he wasn't getting through to her, but this conversation still had potential. But even if it didn't go anywhere, she was right about the trial prep.

"Where will my trial be held, while we are so far from Federation space? Is there a nearby Starbase? Will a tribunal ship be meeting up with us? Will the fine officers of this vessel preside over my trial here? Surely the Federation wouldn't allow me to be held in this brig indefinitely?"

“Good questions,” Aubrie said, her tone measured but edged with that same cool professionalism she’d maintained since the start. “You’ll be pleased to know Starfleet doesn’t make a habit of indefinite detainment—even for repeat offenders with a flair for dramatics.”

She moved back toward the brig control station, fingers gliding over the console as she brought up a few lines of text. “Given that we’re operating in deep space, your case will be processed through standard Fleet channels. That means your preliminary hearing will be conducted via secure subspace link—adjudicated by a Federation legal officer. Once we return to a sector with the proper facilities, or rendezvous with a starbase or tribunal vessel, you’ll be transferred for full proceedings.”

She met his gaze through the shimmering forcefield, voice firm but not unkind. “In the meantime, you’ll be treated fairly and according to regulation. You’ll have access to counsel and the right to review the charges in detail.”

Aubrie tapped the control, and a small holographic padd materialized just outside the field—showing a summary of the charges, with his name and aliases neatly listed.

“So there you have it, Mr. Mudd. No shadow tribunals. No indefinite cells. Just the fair and open justice of the Federation you claim misunderstands you.”

Her lips curved slightly, almost—almost—a smirk. “I’d start thinking about how to make those explanations of yours sound convincing.”

Mudd gave a sigh. "I thank you for the explanation. Will I have access to counsel while still on this ship?" His voice no longer carried the bravado he had kept up for the conversation so far.

"And while it may not be indefinite, it does feel a bit indefinite. Is there any way I could have access to a larger area or something a little more comfortable?"

For a moment, Aubrie studied him in silence. The shift in his tone didn’t go unnoticed—gone was the bravado and sly charm. What sat in front of her now was a man realizing just how long deep space could stretch.

“You’ll have access to counsel,” she said after a beat, her voice softening slightly, though still steady with command. “The JAG office will assign you a legal representative once your hearing is scheduled. Until then, I can authorize limited communications through secured channels. You’ll be allowed to review your case files and send messages relevant to your defense.”

She keyed in a few notes on her console, marking the adjustments for the ship’s legal liaison to approve.

“As for your accommodations…” Aubrie exhaled through her nose, glancing toward the brig cells. “You’re still a detainee, Mr. Mudd. Security protocols don’t exactly allow us to let you roam the ship. But,” she conceded, “I can see about a few small comforts—something to read, perhaps. Maybe a proper meal once in a while instead of the replicator’s idea of nutrition.”

Her gaze returned to him, measured but not without empathy. “You cooperate, keep things civil, and I’ll do what I can within regulation. Fair?”

He was surprised. He had originally intended to continue plotting once Fox was bored of the conversation. But a book? Something flavorful to eat? Unless he had a for sure escape plan, he wouldn't jeopardize these luxuries. He had wondered if he could secure a trial on this ship, with people who weren't so knowledgeable about his past that he would hope to sway towards leniency. If Fox was to be considered representative of the rest of the crew, though, it seemed unlikely.

"Ma'am, you have my word." He retreated from the forcefield to sit on the bench. "You also have my thanks. This is the longest conversation I've had in ages."

Aubrie’s expression softened at that, just a fraction. The tension in her posture eased, and she let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Well,” she said, almost to herself, “that’s probably true. Not many aboard are eager to make small talk with someone on the Federation’s ‘most colorful personalities’ list.”

She stepped closer to the brig, though her stance remained professional. “You’re welcome, Mr. Mudd. For what it’s worth, conversation isn’t a crime—and you might find cooperation makes these days go a little faster.”

A faint, knowing smile ghosted across her face. “I’ll have a few selections from the ship’s library database queued up for you—fiction, memoirs, even a bit of history if you’re feeling introspective. And I’ll see what the galley can do about something that doesn’t taste like it came out of a replicator calibration test.”

She turned back toward the console, entering the permissions with practiced ease. “You keep your word, and I’ll keep mine. But let’s not make this a daily tradition, hmm? I’d rather see you reading quietly than testing my security systems.”

With that, she gave him a final nod, her voice returning to that steady, even tone of command.

“Get some rest, Mudd. You’ll need your wits about you soon enough.”

He smiled, "I appreciate the compliment. I do pride myself on my charm."

"I would make two requests regarding literature and food, with no hard feelings if they are too much to ask for," he said. "The Count of Monte Cristo. And peanut butter. Two of my favorites."

"Rest assured, regardless of whether my requests are met, I shall repay your kindness by leaving the forcefield alone."

He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. She was right, of course. He would need to conserve energy and keep his wits about him. "Thank you for the advice. I think I will rest now."

Aubrie let out a quiet chuckle—just enough to be heard through the field. “Of course you’d pick The Count of Monte Cristo,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “A story about a man wrongfully imprisoned who plots his elaborate revenge. Fitting choice, Mr. Mudd.”

She keyed in a few commands on the console. “You’ll have your book. It’s a good one, and I suppose it’s better for you to lose yourself in literature than in scheming.” Her expression softened a touch more, the steel in her eyes giving way to something almost wry. “As for peanut butter… I think I can manage that. But only if it doesn’t end up being used as an adhesive for another one of your ‘creative projects.’”

Her tone carried a faint teasing note, though the authority beneath it remained unmistakable.

“I’ll have those delivered shortly. In the meantime, you’ve earned your quiet, Mudd. Just remember—peace is a privilege aboard this ship. You keep holding up your end, and I’ll make sure you have a few comforts while you wait for your day in court.”

She gave him a short nod—something between professional acknowledgment and the smallest gesture of respect.

“Rest well. That’s an order.” With that she walked out.

 

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