USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 50209.25 - 50210.05 |
A billion suns blazed against an ebon black backdrop.
This particular section of space had four gleaming interlopers within it.
Three of them were sleek and deadly Klingon Battlecruisers. They sat montionless, like spiders staring at the harassed fly that had blundered into their web.
Equidistant from each of the hunters, lay the USS Galaxy. A gleaming 'lady' that made the phallic lines of the Klingon ships seem brutal and ugly by conttrast to her smooth organic curves.
Look closer. . .
* * * * * * * * * *
Kylar stepped into the Observation Lounge. The ominous backdrop settled before him outside the immense concave portals, as if waiting, dangling the carrot in anticipation of the kill.
Nobody had arrived yet, which was fine with the Liaision Officer. This gave him a chance to anticipate the thrust of the meeting, as based on the previous encounter with Brhode. If the Captain stepped in the the room and advocated war, the Kelvan would not let that stop him from drawing battle lines in the dirt, if not to enforce the Federation standard in diplomacy and tact.
He settled into his seat, third from the left, so as not to intrude on Starfleet protocol of the Executive Officer's taking up station next to their Commanding Officer. since there were two, he shifted an extra seat down in the event of breaching protocol. He was not about to give Brhode the upper hand by berating him - a Protocol Officer - for breaking protocols.
On The Kelvan's heels were the usually bickering duo of the Executive Officers. They had a minor, unspoken squabble as to who would sit on the right or left of the Captain, with Lysander trying to make it look like he was pulling Rebecca's chair out for her, instead of trying to sit in it himself. He was icily ignored for his efforts. Neither Commander made eye contact with the Kelvan, who was rigidly ignoring both.
Silence reigned in the Observation Lounge, broken only by Lysanders observation that it 'Was sure smeggin' quiet!'
* * * * *
The turbolift doors gently opened onto the bridge, and the winged science officer stepped out. Cutter briefly glanced at the layout of the new bridge, similar to the old but different with the flanking Sciences and Mission Ops stations(now with CHAIRS!) before walking across the back between the Tactical Arch (still NO CHAIR!) and the Science and Engineering Stations, entering a door, taking a few more steps through a small hall, and entering the aft conference lounge.
Only the two executive officers were inside. Commander Von Ernst seeming to be trying to drill a hole through Hawksley with her eyes, while he was staring down at a small computer terminal in front of him. He looked up at the sound of Cutter's entrance, and welcomed the distraction, as look of relief momentarily washed over him. Cutter stepped around the table and sat next to Von Ernst. He never even noticed the Kelvan, still staring out the portholes with a rigid look on his face.
"Lieutenant, errrrr......Killer? Slicer? Cutter!" Hawksley greeted, and allowed time for Cutter to nod an acknowledgement, "Do you have the maps I asked for?"
"Its name is Cutter." deadpanned Rebecca from across the table.
"It's a he!" retorted Lysnder, seemingly confused himself at his own clarification. Von Ernst just smouldered more diapassionate hate across the table.
Cutter nodded once again, and slid an isolinear chip full of maps and route plans from Stellar Cartography across the table to the Co-Executive Officer. Hawksley quickly took it and slipped it into a slot on his terminal. Von Ernst continued to stare, considering the duo like she was trying to decide which would look nicer stuffed over her fireplace.
"My Cartography Chief is still only recognized as Dr. Quick. Fortunately, I am not, otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to get you those maps," Cutter stated. Before Hawksley could respond, someone else entered the room (in a cloud of foot-stank and HAI-KARATE cologne!!)
"Hey... whaddya whaddya whaddya!" chanted Leo, sliding into a seat near Lysander, who he had identified as the richest guy in sight and therefore his 'new buddy to buy me drinks.' (It's like breathing to Leo. Schmoozer is his middle name) The odd little man stopped and sniffed the air with a speculative look on his face. He turns to Cutter.
"Hey... Wings... did you cut one?" Leo demanded.
* * * * *
Leaving the helm once again in the adequately capable hands of that dashing Lieutenant What's-his-name, and muttering to himself the along the way, Jeremy crossed the bridge and headed for the Captains' ready room.Bhrode'sready room. The Pit. How he loathed staff meetings. They were usually nothing more than long, tedious, sessions of clammer about some anomaly or a general dressing-down to the senior staff en masse.
Knowing Bhrode, Jeremy's money was on the latter.
The doors hissed open as he made his way for whichever vacant seat was farthest from the old man's. And from Lysander. Spying an open spot next to that peculiar little security guy who ranted to him and Erin in Ten Forward, Jeremy decided even that nut was easier to put up with than the others. Besides, from that spot he wouldn't even have to -look- at Lysander.
Of COURSE the bastard leaned into Jeremy's view and began talking to the tubby oddball.
Lieutenant Donovan Black arrived shortly after Lieutenant Savoie did, and took his place, strategically placing himself far from Bhrode's chair and the Liaison Officer, Curran. Looking across the table, he examined the personel currently in the room. Outwardly expressionless, he inwardly winced at the memories of Commander Hawksley and Commander Von Ernst, when they had been his superiors on the original Galaxy.
Rebecca was staring at Lysander, seemingly intent on using the powers of her Math skills and photographic memory to make him burst into spontaneous flames. Lysander was cleaning his fingernails with a strip of Latinum and ignoring everyone else.
The doors hissed open again and the Engineer was walking into the lounge, K'Eytyanna took a seat at the end of the room. Pullingout her d'k tagh, she started tapping it against the table, ignoring looks from around the room.
Major Laughing Horse Log rose from the chair he was akwardly stuffed into and slid to a spot in K'eyt's periphial vision. Wordlessly, he held out one massive and scarred hand. The size of the hand was easily the size of her head, and the wrist it was attached to was thicker than her thigh.
"What?" demanded K'et, her voice shrill in the room.
"The Knife. No weapons. Captain's orders. Give it up or put it away."
The Huge Indian grated out, in that scary voice that sounded like eighty tons of gravel sliding down a rusty chute.
"Ohh.. are you gonna turn me over your knee and spank me to get it away?" The woman demanded, sliding the dagger back to its hiding place.
"Maybe later." the Marine shrugged, his blocky face giving no clue if he was joking or not.
* * * * *
Sickbay was left without its king. For at least half an hour. Throwing mental tantrums into the big JQB, Vladimir left sickbay, not even caring to appoint somebody to manage the shift while he's gone. His personnel was trained enough by him (if word 'training' fits for what Vladimir imposed in sickbay), so all the roles were assigned in a split second. Doors opened and Russian evil doctor entered ready room. His standard Duty smile was sticked on his face to hide all the thoughts, that were boiling inside. All of those thoughts were about The Bug Guy Himself.
Vladimir's cold blue eyes observed the place and his internal shitmeter pointed him at the most safe of remaining seats in the room. With quiet satisfied groan he sat on quite comfortable seat and closed his eyes, waiting for JQB to come in.
Which he soon did.
* * * * *
Bhrode stomped into the Observation lounge. He stopped for a moment and surveyed the table, the Marine and Security Officer team on his heels taking up positions just inside the doors. As the Captain glared around the room Victor noted the various reactions to the impact of Bhrode's gaze silently from his newly-assumed place by the door.
Fear, apprehension, irrational calm, and irritation were common, but there were a few faces that hid other emotions behind carefully constructed masks. ~ This is going to be interesting - if watching people be flayed alive is your idea of interesting. I hope the Princess manages to keep her temper in check, if she loses it I'm stunning her and to hell with the war it might start. Better stunned than dead. ~ He suppressed a frown as a tinge of pain shot through him while he settled into position.
~ I'll give Corgan credit, I thought he'd try and stick my in quarters after Dr. Malgin released me. I guess he figured this was less likely to start another 'problem' than my showing back up at the Klingon detail today after that... discussion... the bodyguards and I had yesterday. Whoops - Bhrode's moving again! ~ He stopped letting his thoughts wander and concentrated on watching the Princess and the rest of the people at the table.
"So glad you all could make it. I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't. So disappointed. . .I may have foregone courtmartials to shoot people, myself." Bhrode barked, his eyes raking the assembled table like he wished they were lasers and burning all he found arrayed before him.
Bhrode made his way to his seat and settled in. Rebecca Von Ernst sat to his left, her face expresionless and seemingly intent on burning dispassionate holes into Lysander, who sat in squirming insolance opposite her to Bhrode's right whislt looking everywhere but at Rebecca.
"Number One!" Bhrode barked, staring down the table and daring anyone to meet his eye.
VonErnst broke off from her torture of her peer to begin 'reporting' in that damned monotone, uninflicted voice of hers that made a computer seem warm and chatty.
"We are five hours from Federation Trade Base Alpha located in the Rigellian Colonial Consortium at Rigel VIII. A Dual Class G star system locked in a di-polar orbit of each other, only orbital facilities can exist there because of the severe gravetic waves. However, its location and proximity to the Outlands and all other Interstellar Powers make it a prime Federation Base Site. All Federation Trade Convoys stop at Alpha, as the last 'Federation' stop before leaving Neutral Space. All Incoming traffic comes through the system as well."
Lysander fumbled around, activating the Holoscreen behind Bhrode, showing the Stellar Cartographic map, and then a close up of the Rigel Systems, and the sweeping arc of GALAXY'S course to date projected into the graphic.
Bhrode pointed a blocky finger at Donovan Black, Intelligence Chief.
"That right Mister Black?" he demanded, waving Von Enrst to her seat again.
"Of course, Commander Von Ernst is correct. All traffic to the outlands goes through Rigel VIII." Black said, confirming Von Ernst's report. Then he continued with his own, "The Outlands themselves border on the space of many of the civilized and uncivilized races of this quadrant. We can thus expect possible threat forces from many different organizations.
Most likely would be the Klingons, as our current situation shows, and the Rigellian Pirate Cartels. There are fifteen seperate goverments in the outlands, all of which are listed on this PADD, along with a detailed analysis of their ability and status regarding the Federation and the Klingon Empire. I threw that last one in there because we're transporting Princess Dev'orah." Black finished his report by passing the PADD up to Bhrode, careful not to let it pass through Doctor Quick's hands as he did so.
Rebecca shifted her icy gaze from Lysander to Black.
"Of course I am correct. And there are 22 separate Stellar Powers who border along the Outlands, 23 if you count the current stituation of Civil War in the Kzinti Grand Duchy, which you seem to have forgotten to cite." she said, in that barrenly chill voice.
As Rebecca finished up her rebuttal, Bhrode snorted. "Should have been an Engineer, Black. Before the Klingons arrive, anyone have any bright ideas about what's up their collective asses?"
"A possibility is that these particular Klingons are not aligned with the Klingon Defense Force at all, or the High Counsel for that matter. They could be her family's personal forces, or they could be renegades. I have my people working on identification of the three battlecruisers.
We're cross referencing them with the KDF database, sir." Black suggested after a moment.
"Horseshit. She's from the Imerial Family. The whole Klingon Fleet is their 'personal force.' both the Internal Security Force and the Deep Space Fleet. These bastards are DSF, not ISF, right Hawksley?"
"errr... rather." Replied Lysnader, clearly confused.
"And 'renegades' don't exist in the Klingon Fleet MISTER Black, let alone flying around in a Vor'Cha class Battlecruiser. The word 'Renegade' in Klinghai comes from the same root as 'target' which tells you how much they like finding renegades and how they remedy the problem. The first thing they would have done was killed the officers and burned their uniforms if they were Houseless renegades." Bhrode rebutted Black, waving Von Ernst to coldfaced stony silence.
Kay spoke up, "I expect that somebody in the High Council has a hidden agenda against either you, the Princess or the Federation Ignoring the nattering fool Engineer and the uselessly naive Intelligence Officer, the Legate spoke up.
"They are testing our composure under stress, Captain. They are attempting to impress upon us their show of strength and honor by facing down the flagship of the Federation. Quite possibly they may be a
faction within the Empire who desire war with us again, now that they have shown their citizens that they can stand on their own two feet again." He looked at Karyn Dallas as he spoke his next thought, as Bhrode flashed one of his rare smiles.
"They are arrogant, and laugh at us, for the Federation in their eyes were weak and needed assistance from the Klingon Princess in hiding their true vote on lanjep. The multitude of truces and alliances forged over the last century fell into turmoil as the result of the failure of the Federation diplomats to put their own personal concerns behind for the sake of the unions. Only through the diligence and aggressiveness of the Klingons was all that prevented, save for a few cultures who haved backed out of the Federation. For this, the Klingons have no faith in our ability to protect the daughter of Kahless, and for this, they dare us." He turned back to Brhode, who surprisingly was letting him speak.
"It is a double-edged sword. Attack the Klingons, and we risk war as well as the dissolution of the masses who have flocked to the Klingons as their primary ally. Bow to the Klingons and give in to their demands, and we are weak, with jelly for a backbone. This is why I urge you not to use the weapon, Captain Brhode. You need to be aggressive without firing on them, or even charging weapons."
"Horseshit. I was with you right up to the end." snorted Bhrode.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Gotta be on time, gotta be on time...." Curtis kept chanting to himself as he made his way to the ready room. His first meeting with the captain had been a fiasco, and he was determined not to repeat the mistake.
Arriving at the bridge, Curtis couldn't help but feel a little bit of apprehension. The last time he had tried to go into the ready room, he was almost blasted into tiny pieces of kibble by Lady Deathstrike and her Marine Squad of Doom. Checking to make sure they weren't around, Curtis quickly and quietly entered the room, sat down in the first seat he saw, and waited.
Curtis almost died when he noticed that the entire room was looking at him, seated Next to Lady DeathStrike and with that HUGE scaryassed Indian Marine Officer seeming to suck all the light and air from the room sitting directly across from him. STARING at Curtis with hard, dark little beady eyes that glittered evilly under the lights.
Nice seat choice.
"You're late, nerp." Hissed a voice into his ear, that Curtis had been hearing in his nightmares ever since his frist run in with the Marines.
"Running. You will run with Security in the mornings. Make a man of yourself." grated the scary looking Indian Officer in a tone that promised that the alternative would involve more pain for The Engineer.
"Hehehehe...uhhh." began Curtis, as his mind did the equivalent of running in circles while screaming 'eeeek!'
"I'll be seeing you. Or **ELSE**" promised the hard Indian.
"Nerp! Use a chrono often?" hissed that voice in his ear again.
To Curtis' utter confusion, Bhrode leaned onto the table, resting on his elbows and ignored eh interruption.
"Black... you're totally wrong. I already ID'ed the ships and the Thought Admiral. Engineer! Lay off the catnip! This damned Liasion Officer just came up with the same assessment I did in my wisdom. Except that I think it's NOT Klingons out to de-stabilize their Empire and its alliance; I think they're hell-bent on making the Empire stronger and bigger at our expense. And the princess should be here to explain it all to us ...right about.....now."
Bhrode's diatribe was cut short as the doors hissed open again.
The next to arrive at the Observation Lounge was the duo of Princess DeV'oraH and Lieutenant Commander Corgan, along with a pair each of Klingon and Starfleet bodyguards. The Princess was no fool. She kept her full agitation under wraps, but as a Klingon, she was both passionate and unused to hiding her emotions. No matter how well she hid herself, a fraction of her emotions would betray her true feelings. And what she was feeling was annoyance for being summoned, and hate for Captain Brhode. The Body Guards glared around the room and took up position, flanking the door and nudging the Marine and Security officer there, aside. Victor glared daggers at his Klingon counterpart, to no avail.
Corgan was no fool, for he saw what was going on, and in fact sympathized with the Princess. It was Brhode who sent him off the security team and into this brand new assignment. He was nothing more than a high ranking honor guard, unsuitable considering there was a murderer to catch on the ship. James wanted back on security. There was an investigation to take place. It was where he belonged. Anybody could guard the Klingons. Hell, they could guard themselves, but they needed real help, besides Leo Streely, to catch a killer.
"Hey! Crazy Head! How they hanging?" asked Leo, seeming hurt that no one even noticed. "Fine... I'll show him... try and stick ME watching some big burly sweaty half naked dudes shovel shit..." Leo muttered, again to himself.
But as James saw the K'tinga class cruiser slowly amble by the Lounge Windows, he felt that now wasn't a good time.
~"Maybe I should wait for it..."~ James thought, feeling disgusted at his own cowardice, ~"Dammit, I want to say it, but I can't. I want to tell Brhode that I have to get on that investigation."~
Finally, he gathered up the nerve to say, "I have a request. " There was no politeness, meekness, or any servitude in his voice. He was straight, to the point, and assertively cold. It surprised himself to see how he was standing up to Captain Brhode this way. He would have thought that after a few times locking horns with the Captain that he would have learned to shut up, but this was not the case. His friends, his staff, his crewmates were dying, and he was being sent on a plum assignment. It was not right.
"Corgan. You can see the dead bodies later, maybe get some giggles on your own time. For now, I want to welcome the Princess and..." began Bhrode.
"Sir, I want to join in on the murder investigation." He plowed through, his voice as hard as steel and as cold as a Praxis snowstorm, "I just saw two of my department staff murdered in the brig. My crewmates are dying, and I'm doing nothing about it. It's morally wrong. I must be on that investigation."
"YOU saw them get whakked? Was it.. you know.. all bloody and like a pro job? Silenced Phasers and some goombahs, just like in that "Goodfellah's" movie starring that sexy and handsome and yum-yum(not in THAT way! I can say he's a damn fine looking man to all the ladies and not be all gay about it! sheesh! This is ME! LEO here!) Joe Pesci?" demanded Leo Streely, jumping up and taking his pudgy hands out of his pockets.
"That was a figure of speech.." began Corgan, confused at Leo's latest outburst.
"The Lieutenant Commander is full of crapola. Request Denied." Grated Bhrode in a tone that indicated he was NOT happy and that there WOULD be future discussion on this topic.
"I wish to protest the assignment of this...coward to my detail. This human is so weak and flawed, it needs corrective lenses." challenged the Brigadier General on the Princess' heels, sneering at Corgan.
"Very well..." James didn't hide his approval, but didn't cower away either, "As you wish, sir." ~"I didn't want to go maverick, but you left me no choice, Brhode."~
"I know this goombah! He's gonna go maverick! He's a loose cannon! Me and Raven already GOT the 'Lethal Weapon' schtick sewn up! He's nuts I tell you! It was Suicide!" screeched Leo.
"ONE PROBLEM AT A TIME!" thundered Bhrode, ending all discussion.
Bhrode stabbed a finger at Leo like he wished it was a knife.
"YOU. Sit your ass down and stop with the pre-holo movie reviews or I boot your buttocks into the nearest sun."
"WHAT? that was a joke... right?" Challenged Leo, hands on his hips.
"Think so? Wanna see the Brig again?" grated Bhrode through clenched teeth, the vein on his forehead throbbing like a boa constrictor.
At his second finger=knife stab, Leo sat down and shut up.
Corgan[stab]
"YOU. Sit your ass down and shut your mouth. The NEXT word out of you and you're an Engineer's Mate siphoning Deuteronium by hand."
Princess[stab]
"YOU. Your Highness. Sit your royal ass down and tell us why you're REALLY here and why there's a flotilla of Imperial ships out there wanting to take you with them."
Somewhere in the endless cold of infinity there prowled a hunter. Threading its way across the stars in the manner of a predator following a spoor, the space-going beast bristled its hide of duranium and plastic, thrilling at the surge of nuclear-powered adrenaline coursing through its electronic arteries.
This as the USS Galaxy, and no longer was she a graceful Empress of the Stars, originally designed for regality and beauty, but now transformed into a predatorial marauder. . . .a vicious creature of blood and fire, armed with teeth of razor sharp phaser-fire, and possessing a burning heart of unbridled quantum energies. Galaxy was a Wolf amongst the sheep of Star Fleet. Nothing of the grace and beauty that originally graced her hull remained, but rather there was a gaudy Tri-nacelle engine, and an obscene underslung Phaser Cannons which spoke of only on purpose. Galaxy was a whole new girl, and this time she meant business.
Rebecca von Ersnt was a whole new girl as well. Very little
of her original sweet innocent (if awkward) mannerisms remained. Instead the
same
warhawks who pushed the redesign of Galaxy itself had likewise encouraged the
obscene transformation of a little freckle-faced farm girl from
Minnesota into a predator in her own right.
Where Galaxy snarled a vicious growl as it streaked across the
sky, so likewise did Rebecca’s thin lips curl itself into a cruel sneer
as she
stalked down the crowded corridors of the beast’s belly.
Deep within these metal corridors there surged a living blood
flow of crewmen, pouring through the arterial passageways of the ship like so
many
microscopic cells within a living body. Urged on by the pumping urgency of the
blaring Red-Alert Beacons, this flow moved onwards, branching and
twisting at each corridor junction as each element sought to man their respective
battle-stations, or repair some vial link in the body as a whole.
It was not unlike the symbiotic relationship in true lifeforms.
There were elements that repaired, elements that bore messages, and elements
that
fought off invading diseases.
The crew was the life-blood of the ship. When they ran out. . . . the Ship died.
Amongst this living flow of bodies however there were some blood cells that were more important than others. Just like in real life there are some cells that are more specialized, more efficient. . . .and some may say. . . . more downright spooky.
This was Rebecca. The wild card.
Like a veritable pebble standing against the rushing flood,
the petite redhead worked her way through the rushing flow of bodies, headed
towards
the Main Turbolift. Klingons had been sighted off the starboard bow and Brhode
was going to need her to put them back in their place.
Like Moses of old, the crush of bodies and limbs seemed to part before her magically, allowing her safe passage thought their midst only to slam shut again behind her in the wake of her passage. If the crew was the blood of the vessel, then the young redheaded Commander was surely a part of its brain. Or perhaps to be more accurate she was the sword. A tool to be sharpened and wielded mercilessly in battle, only to be cast aside as a broken tool when the deed was finally done.
The metaphor was one Rebecca had tossed around in her crowded mind many times over the last year or so, each time coming away with a mixed feeling of excitement and horror at the same time. It scared her to death.
Ignoring the crowded pandemonium around her, and keeping her typical blank unreadable mask firmly in place, the young Commander rounded a bend, and hailed the nearest Turbolift.
She didn’t have to wait long, her elevated status amongst the crew gave her direct priority over almost every other person on the ship. When she wanted a lift. . . . she got a lift.
Stepping inside, she quietly reviewed what little tactical information
she had while the car whisked her away towards the distant bridge, where no
doubt Captain Brhode would already be on the rampage. She sighed slightly as
privacy wrapped around her like a secure cloak, allowing her (however briefly)
to look as bad as she felt. With a slight wince, she pinched at the bridge of
her delicate nose, attempting to ward off a nasty headache that had been threatening.
“Blech.” She stuck out her tongue, giving her honest
opinion of the situation. Maybe Galaxy was supposed to be a predator of the
stars, but it
was acting more like a predator with a severe case of leprosy. Things kept falling
apart around her ears for no apparent reason.
This was bad enough but when you factored in the trio of Vorcha
Battlecruisers surrounding the ship, and throw in one hair-trigger Brhode,
you got. . . . “Blech.”
Humming lightly to herself, Rebecca tossed the tactical situation
over in her head. Three Vorcha vs one untried Galaxy-X class starship. Talk
about a whole lot of variables to compute. Any one of the three Klingon cruisers
would be a match for a standard Galaxy Class, and while
theoretically the updated version should be able to handle two of the marauders,
that wasn’t taking into account the shoddy state of repairs
aboard the ship.
Rebecca frowned. It as her job to take everything into account, and after some cojmplex mental tabulations she gave the new ship less chance than a standard Galaxy with all its parts functioning.
Fortunately it was not her job to compute certain failure and meekly accept it. If anything had been pounded into her fragile redheaded skull at the 359 School t was to fight and scratch and cheat for every little advantage possible. Her job was to win no matter what the laws of physics said. Half closing her brown eye, the child-like warrior mentally brought up a new flow-chart of variables in her mind’s eye. She was here to perform the impossible tactically, and if the laws of physics denied that. . . . .well it was time to compute up the equations for some new laws.
Her multidimensional musing s however were interrupted by the premature slowing of the turbolift.
Odd, she couldn’t have arrived on the bridge already, and that meant the lift had slowed for. . . .
“Greetings Admiral Short-stuff! Like totally pleased to meet you.”
With a goofy grin spread from ear to ear, and wearing a wild
shaggy hairdo, the tall lanky form of Dr. Jebediah Quick stepped into the lift
just as
Rebecca predicted. After all other than Brhode (who was already on the bridge)
there wasn’t another soul on this vessel who could have overridden her
express lift save for the Galaxy-X designer himself.
“Oops pardon the baggage sister,” Quick awkwardly bumping the elfin girl as he squeezed in. Rebecca frowned and eyed a large flat package stuffed under one of the scientist’s arms.
Idly Rebecca wondered if the notoriously unpredictable Doctor was going to give a poster-board presentation at the staff meeting.
At last Quick settled his burden, and the lift resumed its journey.
Idly coming a hand through his hopelessly bushy hair, the scientist gave his
fellow passenger a quick once-over. “Say Admiral,” he began curiously,
“pardon my infringing on your aura, but I wasn’t aware that Starfleet
was
drafting twelve-year olds into the service. . . . like un-cool abuse of the
innocence of youth sister.”
~~/he thinks I’m a little girl?~~~ Rebecca groaned inwardly.
It was the story of her life. It wasn’t her fault she barely topped out
at five feet
of height and possessed a thin boyish figure of 90lbs. One of the main reason’s
Rebecca never had a date was that she probably reminded too many guys of some
kid-sister back home somewhere.
“Not that I have any negative vibes for the young ones among us mind you.” Quick continued, “I’ve always said the youth of the multiverse are like the soul of the Goddess at play. They are the glue upon which the cosmos is crafted together. . . . . Indeed we should all tap the potential of our inner-Munchkin in order to better. . . .”
“I’m twenty-seven.” Rebecca interrupted.
“. . . . .Indeed you yourself should glory in your adolescence,
looking forward to that bright day when you will blossom into womanhood like
a
virgin flower spreading its petal for the busy bee. . . . “
Rebecca grit her teeth and repeated. “I’m twenty seven.”
“Thats the key Admiral Kidd. . . .visualization is the key to realization!” Quick babbled.
“I’m not an admiral. . . I’m not a kid. .
. and I’m not a noodling flower. “ Rebecca grumped. “I’m
twenty seven years old, Executive officer of this
vessel, and I’m on my way to the bridge to blast three Klingon cruisers
to little slimy noodle-chunks! Got anything transcendent to say about that?”
For a moment Quick actually took a step back from the irritable
little girl before him. “Whoa little sister,” he cried, “Negative
waves, Negative
waves! You’re infringing upon my aura’s alignment.”
“Leave your aura alone for a bit and help us align our
computer systems instead.” Rebecca grumbled staring impatiently at the
ceiling. How long
was this ride gonna be. Quick studied the girl who was
barely half his size for a long moment before holding up his finger in thought.
“I think you need a little liberation of your spirit little lady. It’s
do your harmonics good to be exposed to some positive vibrations.”
“”Oh really, like what?”
Quick shrugged, “I dunno little lady. Get some free love, do some crystal meditation, Learn to play and instrument. . . .whatever your inner Munchkin is telling you to do."
Rebecca opened her mouth to protest when the doors hissed open and Quick was already stepping out onto the bridge.
“Admiral Brhode! My Main Man!” he greeted holding
out the flat package before him. “Check out this like totally cool portrait
I painted of you. .
. . .”
****
The next extension of the tour, after a further few roadblocks thanks to the marines, was the Science Lab. Arrays of instruments were lined up on examination tables, and on each table was a console repeating all sorts of information on local stellar phenomenon, biology projects, anything of any scientific interest was probed, prodded, and classified here. The room was light beige in color, brightly lit to aid alien plants in photosynthesis.
This annoyed the Klingons in two ways. One, as a warrior race, they shared a only a passing interest in the sciences. Their interests were not as large as their Federation counterparts, and therefore they considered science as a hobby or less honorable task. The second annoyance was the bright lights.
Bitterly, the Klingons complained about the lights. (Though strangely, they don't mind glaring red neon lights in their buildings and starships, as long as everything else was poorly lit).
"What is this?" Princess DeV'oraH objectively looked down on an innocent petri dish.
While James, bored with the tour and creeped out by the Princess's strange interest in him, was tempted to break the tedium by announcing that the petri dish was an experimental biogenic weapon. But then again, he knew Klingon sense of humor wouldn't permit it, and the science staff already went through another remodeling after the Quick incident. It wouldn't be fair. He had to tough it out some more.
"I'm... not sure." James looked down at the innocent green mold, "Looks like moss."
"Whatever this is... it looks harmless. It does not hold my interest." She flippantly walked off towards General Kragg, who was being explained to by a young ensign the genetic sequence of the Bolian Bowel Plague.
The Legate himself was bored. Sciences were never his strong suit. As much as he appreciated those who had developed methods of incapacitation through genetic and offensive tactical offenses, he did not have the inclination to lean over a spectroscope to stare at something small and indifferent for hours on end to determine its mating cycle.
He needed to be on the front lines. To be the general leading his troops into battle. Hiding behind petri dishes and moss was not the way to decisive victory in his mind, but he knew they were needed to provide him with the means to an end.
"Commander Corgan, Legate Curran..." One of the Klingon envoys ran eagerly up to the Chief of Security. He looked like a young warrior, barely a beardling, his hair still youthfully smooth. He wasn't armored like the other Klingons, but wore the traditional pelts and leather suits of a civilian. The young Klingon extended his hand in a greeting, first shaking James Corgan's hand in a tight, viselike grip, then shaking the Legate's hand. He then introduced himself. "My name is Rotar, son of Nome, scientific advisor to the Living Sword of Kahless."
"James Corgan, Chief of Security. Pleased to meet you." James bowed.
"Legate Kylar Curran, Chief Federation Liaison Officer to the USS Galaxy."
This Klingon was far too excited over mosses and molds for his liking. Not much of a life at home, he guessed.
"Aye, it is an honor to meet you, Sir." The Klingon advisor curtly spoke.
The first thought that came to James's mind was, ~"He's polite?"~.
"So, anything I can help you with?"
"Yes." The young science advisor spoke excitedly, "I would like to stay awhile in your lab. Federation scientists have long held a reputation for being the finest in the Alpha Quadrant. I would like to observe these scientists for awhile and learn from them."
~ Here we go again. ~ Victor kept a frown off his face with some effort.
~That's two people we've had to split off and detail a man to baby-sit. One more and we're down to the original size of the security team - are they doing this on purpose? ~
~"I don't like this..."~ Corgan thought with alarm, ~"The group's splitting up. It'll be harder to keep track of them. But they do have the right to tour on their own, and if I said no they and the Legate would b*tch and complain about it. Better let him go with an escort."~
"Legate, you don't mind?" James indicated the young Klingon science advisor.
"I have a bit of a concern of this. There are some very sensitive experiments being held in here, both classified and not." Kylar was leaning towards declining the request.
"I promise not to bother any of the scientists working, Legate. I have long admired your Sciences Department. Funding on the Klingon Homeworld is slight when it comes to the sciences."
"We are a warrior race, not ones who tinker with baubles and bugs!" The Princess was exasperated and threw her hands in the air. "Can we PLEASE go somewhere more deserving of our presence?" Kragg breathed heavily, casting a glance to the Legate prodding him to make his decision soon and be on with it.
"If Rotar wants to go, I can post another guard. They'll keep him out of the sensitive areas. I trust that Rotar will be on his best behavior, and I trust my crew to protect him. I don't like the idea of the group splitting up, but as long as everything is closely watched, it should be fine." James added.
The Kelvan was getting irritated at the events of the day. These Klingons were grating on him, and couldn't wait to get rid of them.
"Do NOT disturb any of the scientists here, Rotar, if you must stay. If you have any questions, see that woman over there with the Vulcan?" He pointed to Rose MacAllen, the Acting Assistant Chief Science Officer, who was running tests of a sort on some piece of rock. They were treating it like it was some priceless artifact. Amazing how scientists can have have more love for a hunk of inorganic matter than for others.
"Oh! She's running eneuromagenacardioregutuitionalistiology scans on....."
He rambled on about some technobabble he couldn't care less about.
"Yes, yes. That is the labs supervisor and acting Assistant Chief Science Officer. Her name is Rose MacAllen. You have any questions? Ask her. I'm sure she'd be happy to help you out." He nodded to Corgan, signaling urgency to get out.
~"Thank god..."~ James felt the Kelvan's urgency, "You may, Mr. Rotar, visit the science lab. Krieghoff? This is normally your crew. Who would you like to assign?" Corgan looked over at the security detail.
Reluctantly, Victor swallowed the protest he wanted to make and nodded. With a glance at the remaining team members, he waved the next most senior of the additional men over towards Rotar. "Same thing - you yell for help at the first sign of trouble and stick to him like you were vacuum welded - understand?"
The NCO nodded, taking up a position behind and to the side of the Klingon scientist.
"This officer," Corgan continued, "will accompany you. If you need any help just ask him or any other security officer in the area." James let the happy Klingon go. He immediately rushed over to the chemistry lab, where he continued his discussion with Ensign Kotobuki and Rose on the proper combination of chemical components to create a moss defoliating agent and whatever else made the rock.... a rock.
****
TBC
*****
The Princess and the General rejoined the group. "Rotar is a strange one. He treats science as a warrior treats a battle. I see no such similarities... but it is what he enjoys, and he is a good advisor. Unfortunately, I do not share his interests in the sciences. When do we depart?"
"Right now, in fact." James said.
Victor allowed himself a momentary instant of relief. ~ Not a damn minute too soon, either... ~ A sound on the other side of the room attracted his attention, interrupting his thoughts and he looked up. ~ Oh Hell, what is that idiot doing? ~
Crossing the room in three steps, Victor swung around a tall bank of equipment and grabbed the shoulder of a Klingon that had a crewman with a suspicious wet stain on the front of his trousers pinned to the wall, spinning the alien around. "Stand down, mister," he hissed. "The boy didn't mean to run into you."
"You will not tell me what to do, human," the Klingon, one of the bodyguards by his dress, returned, slapping Victor's hand away as he reached for his weapon. "No coward from a coward's race may tell me... hurk!"
Victor dropped his knee and watched the bodyguard's hands as the Klingon doubled over from the low blow. ~ He'll go for it... now. ~
Straightening up, the Klingon got his d'k tagh half out before Victor stomped once with his right foot, moved in as the warrior shifted to avoid another blow, and hit him cleanly in the throat. Gagging, the Klingon started to go down, but Victor was there to catch him and pin him against the wall before the fight drew the notice of the Princess or the Legate.
"S-scum," the warrior wheezed, his hand still working to draw the dagger.
"I'll."
"You'll stop, right now," Victor hissed, face close to the bodyguard's. His hand moved, jabbing the smooth casing of the Type 1 phaser he'd just drawn from under his tunic into the same spot he'd driven his knee a moment before.
The Klingon looked down, started to snarl, then looked again and froze.
"Smart move." Victor's voice was a low growl. "I see you know your Federation phaser design - and what the 'Heavy Thermal' setting is. Here's how this is going to work: the boy walks away - do it now, son - and you forget about this, you understand?"
The ensign nodded and moved off with a creditable form as the Klingon snarled. "I'll.."
"Do nothing," Victor countered. "You can get the knife out - I can't stop you. But no matter what happens then, no matter who gets killed. I'm going to cook your manhood so well it'll turn to charcoal and fall off. If you're smart, you can walk away and still make the ladies happy - if not.." He left the rest of the threat unvoiced.
The Klingon opened his mouth to reply eyes flashing angrily - then stopped as he looked into Victor's eyes and realized what he saw there. "I... understand," the alien forced out reluctantly.
"Good - things are always much easier when people understand each other."
Victor kept the small phaser right where it was despite the Klingon's unconscious attempts to shift his hips to remove himself from the danger.
"Put the knife away, walk back around the corner, and tell your friends all about how you made an ensign pee in his pants. No one has to know about this part - understand?"
"I. will say nothing," the bodyguard agreed, his eyes looking away for the first time.
"Then get out of here," Victor growled, thumbing the power setting up on the phaser as he shifted position to let the Klingon past. "Go on."
The bodyguard took a step, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. "I will remember this - and you," he promised. "There will be a day when I will make you remember it as well."
"Go." Victor shifted the aiming point of the phaser up to the Klingon's midsection.
Without another word, the Klingon stepped back into the main lab and moved away. Unbeknownst to Victor and the Klingon during their argument, every security officer and bodyguard drew had a weapon drawn out; the Klingons at Victor, and the Security Officers at the Klingon. Corgan's deadeye aim was right between the vulnerable underside of the forehead plate, between the plate and the ridge of the Klingon's nose.
"Princess, I thought your guards were briefed in Federation etiquette. You can't just rough up crew for minor infractions." James scolded, his eyes narrowed and cold, "Everyone drop your weapons. Stay cool, this was all a big misunderstanding."
The Klingon guard objected, "You dare point a..."
"Stow it, peanut gallery." Corgan coldly snapped, "You don't push around my men, or any other crewmember. Our duty to protect the crew is as important as our duty to protect this envoy. We do what we must."
Slowly, the Federation officers lowered their phaser arms, holstered their weapons, and went back to duty. A second later, the Klingon bodyguards strapped their pistol like disruptors to their belts. The Princess smiled foxlike, her hand slowly tracing away from her neckline, where she concealed an interestingly hidden weapon.
For a long drawn-out moment, the two sides faced each other down in a battle of wills. A tug-of-war of tension hung thick in the air and everything moved in slow motion, until Corgan's security staff made the first move and lowered their arms. Bad move, in Curran's eyes. What is with this Federation and their strange ideals that making the first move towards peace meant lowering their only form of defense?
Luckily, the Klingons ceded as well, possibly for the sole reason that even if they took down the Starfleet officers, there were over a thousand others who would rise in defense of their families on board against these one time enemies who thirst for blood.
The Kelvan ignored the Princess. She was but a wanton, undisciplined child who saw fit to ignore everything and everyone in the belief that since she was the daughter of the Klingon Emperor, Kahless, she was exempt from the complex life duties of the masses.
She needed to be spanked like one of these Terran children who disrespected their suitors.
"General Kragg." The grizzled Klingon, after berating one of the younger officers of his ilk, spun around on a creaky boot and walked with the Liaison Officer.
"I grow tired of the lack of discipline!" He growled at the last officer to holster his disruptor. "I must apologize for the elevation of hostilities, Legate. My officers are on edge. They too, do not enjoy playing babysitter to the Princess. They are in need of some bloodletting."
"Must I remind you, General, of the agreement we all signed?" He glanced ahead at the Princess, and felt contempt. He simply could not believe this was the same woman who single-handedly maintained the cohesiveness of the lanjep conference and established a charter of trade amongst the more powerful races of the Federation and its borders.
"I do NOT need to be reminded, Legate!" He sneered, and drew a clenched fist up, shaking it between them. "This journey has been taxing on all of us! If she were anyone other than Kahless' daughter, I would have killed her myself! I am a General, a decorated warrior of the Klingon Defense force, but I did not have the honor of dying in battle like so many others, and for that, I have been delegated as hand-holder for a child! g'RaqH!"
After bellowing out his tirade, his visage suddeny rippled into something aged, wizened. He opened the mottled fist, and extended it to Kylar's shoulder, of which he grasped it firmly. The Kelvan winced inwardly.
"I thank you, Kelvan." He grinned a toothy, glittered smile. Several of his teeth were missing, but at least the stench of aromatic herbs didn't float his way. "Yes, I know you are not Terran. I read your file before coming aboard. We do still have intelligence of virtue." He drew his full height up, a full head above Curran, who did not show any hint of surprise.
He knew the Klingons had operatives in the Federation still. They may be allies now, but in war, as in life, trust no one. "I forget that you are in the same position as I. Brhode is a sort not akin to your Federation. He would make an excellent Klingon, but his ways are lost to your organization."
"He is efficient, but he is a like a.... bull in a china shop? I believe that is the Terran saying. He and the Princess are more alike than he'd venture to believe."
"He doesn't have that air of superiority of being the daughter of a God, my friend. I am belittled by the Princess each and every day. I only wish to die honorably and walk the grand halls of Sto'Vo'Kor, singing songs of great battles and praising the honor of the enemies who have fallen before me! This duty is dishonorable, even if they speak of guarding the Princess being the highest honor one can attain! We all know better."
"He doesn't have the air, for the simple observation that Captain Brhode believes he IS God, Kragg. His arrogance will be his downfall, for he has no honor. He lives to serve his own needs, and not the Federation's. At the least, you are serving the needs of the Klingon Empire. If you should die protecting your charge, you die honorably. Brhode's actions on record do not state death with honor. He did not even stand up to the Hirogen, and for that weakness, he sent over a three hundred people to their deaths. That is not honorable. His only desire was for himself in an emotional standoff with the Pack Leader. He sacrificed many to get that. He only holds sway over others with his charisma in identifying moments when he could play on his crew's emotions to make his decisions seem sound. He needs to be tested. Changing the parameters of the environment to belay his control would attain that."
"You have a challenge, Legate! How stimulating! Maybe these alleged murders will accomplish that? Crimes of such a nature do not happen on Federation vessels, I take it? On a Klingon ship, we do not kill our own except in ritualistic honor trials. There is no honor in killing without showing yourself. Coward!"
"The murders, if that is what they are, would certainly put an unknown equation into the Captain's daily routines. Spontaneity and unpredictability are not the Captain's strong points, nor are they my own. If an individual is performing these crimes to antagonize the Captain, they are doing a fine job of it. The person or persons doing it may have an issue with Brhode and how he is handling the crew. I wonder if they have a suspect list amassed...." His voice trailed off in thought.
He and Kragg discussed possible scenarios and methods in what the killer was possibly contemplating. The Princess' actions as well as the incidents of a few minutes past largely forgotten. What the Klingon and Kelvan saw past was that if there was a killer on board, they haughtily believed that neither one of them could have done it.
Honor only goes so far, especially if you have been disrespected and forgotten by your own, or transferred from high levels of office to babysitting in the auspice of what they were doing was 'important' when anyone could've done the job...
~ Okay, that went better than I had any reason to expect it to. ~ Victor carefully stowed the small phaser away and shook himself once, the blood pounding in his ears like a drum. ~ One of the bodyguards wants to catch me in a dark alley now, but that's hardly anything new. I'll just have to watch myself, that's all. At least no one heard what I said, and he's not repeating it - no witness, no incident. ~ He started to move back into the main lab after the Klingon - and froze as his eyes met those of the Attendant, K'vala, from across the room where she stood, watching, her position giving her a clear line of sight on the whole incident.
~ Damn. ~ Victor hesitated an instant. ~ She'll... oh to hell with it.
She'll say something or she won't. She's already got plenty of ammunition if she needs it, what's one more? ~ He nodded curtly to the woman, the gesture almost a dare, then moved into the room to rejoin the party as it filed out into the corridor, ignoring the angry looks directed at him by the Klingon guards. ~ If she says anything, she'll go down in flames too - she'd have to admit that I took her out in the hallway if the finger-pointing gets started. Maybe that'll keep her off my ass this time. ~
******
James would have never guessed that the science lab was going to be their last stop. Nobody else guessed it either, but when they left the lab, almost everything else was closed off. The battle bridge, torpedo room (Mirapoints makes an excellent presentation), almost anything of interest to the Klingons (always involving things that go 'boom') were all closed off. Ten Forward was farther away, and the arboretum and salon didn't hold their interests for longer than a few seconds, before a chorus of requests to see something else shot down those ideas.
The Klingons patience was being tested to the breaking point. Something had to be done quickly, before they stormed off to their quarters, which in itself would be a protective nightmare.
"Find us something to do, or else..." Princess DeV'oraH warned dangerously. This was her test on Corgan. A warning that she was losing interest, and as much as James wanted the Princess to leave him alone, he also didn't want her to tear him to ribbons.
What would Bhrode do? Never mind, bad suggestion...
James replied, "Princess, I don't know what to say except... everything's closed off, and until we correct this error, they'll stay closed off. Legate, help me with this, will you?"
"Princess, until we can ascertain, detain, and remove the source of the computer breach, we are severely limited in our approach towards this tour." They just took any direction, and followed Commander Corgan to whatever destination he was leading them to.
"As to the areas of interest such as the Bridge, Torpedo Room, Hangar Deck, and any other location of potentially high alert areas, we have been diverted as a consequence of the rash of criminal attacks that have been taking place on the Galaxy. We do not want to put you in a position where an assassin may have the advantage and cause the most damage to both your party and the ship itself. I am sure Commander Corgan can locate a suitable final stop for us to complete our tour judiciously and give you an idea on just how capable this ship is, Princess."
She huffed, but did not reply for once. The Princess was more concentrated on the next insult on the USS Galaxy, and the suave form of the Security Chief further ahead.
The answer came quickly, like a rapid succession of hammer blows directed to the backside of his head. They were walking, in the general direction, of the one thing that could save this tour from a total disaster. It was a room, a literal party in a can, where anything could be possible.
They stumbled upon a holodeck. Its beige sliding doors were unguarded by any marines. For that matter, there were no security personnel in the area. The holodecks were deserted. James then checked Holodeck 1 to see if it was running, and to his luck, it was completely empty.
"Princess..." James interrupted the conversation between the Princess and the Legate, "Perhaps now would be a great time to check out that Jem'Hadar program I talked about."
Curran had had enough. He had no desire to watch the others battle out their emotional failings to prove who was more 'manly' than the other. "Another idea perhaps, 'Commander, is to maybe display holographic representations of those areas we were restricted from? Or would you rather end the tour on a grunt?"
"Holograms of the ship's tour?!?!" Princess DeV'oraH bellowed in protest, "You dare buy us off with a shoddy facsimile of the ship?!?!"
~"Oh sh*t, you've really done it now Legate."~ Corgan took the diplomat aside, whispering urgently into his ear, "I don't think that would be a great idea. Klingons prefer reality whenever possible. Besides, this gives the Klingons the opportunity to blow off some steam. Maybe when they're content and mellowed out, they'll be less likely to repeat events such as the Science Lab. Trust me for once. I've worked with Klingons. They'll enjoy some fighting programs a lot more than a fake tour."
"Fine, Commander. This whole tour has come to an end for myself, then. I have no desire to witness the scene of this 'realism' that you say the Klingons can accept, rather than of realistic representations of those areas we could not visit. This whole diorama is unproductive and defeating of the purpose...." He and the Chief carried on with the perceived notions of one sort over another.
He said flatly, as if insulted, "I know the fighting's fake, but look at them. They're royally pissed. Either I save this tour from disaster, or we'll have painsticks shoved in places normally impossible to cram. Catch my drift?"
As the two men talked, Victor tried to keep his eyes on the Klingons milling around the empty holodeck floor. With the ship's internal translation database down as a 'non-essential' system, and not speaking Klingon himself, he was left with no way of knowing what they were saying except what he could interpret from body language, inflection, and the glances that they were casting at him and the other security personnel - and he didn't like what he was seeing. ~ Either the Legate and the Commander get their act together, or we're going to be fighting our way out of the room. ~
"...Do what you will. I have more important things to attend to." Kylar waved his hands from side to side after Corgan's rebuttal, and turned on a heel, exiting in a hurry.
James pivoted away from the commander, approaching a few of his security guards. ~"Geezzz... why do I get the impossible people?"~ James sighed deeply. He was starting to miss the old days. The trench fighting in Cardassian space, the dangers of deep space exploration, even his somewhat boring stint as a liason officer on a border patrol cutter left him wistful for the past. At least in those days, people were easier to manage.
As soon as he approached Krieghoff, he told him something he noticed, and told him straight out, "Be careful, but at the same time, give them room to breath. They are our guests, not prisoners. It may be more difficult to execute our job this way, but... that's how it goes."
Following Corgan's departure to speak to the Princess, Victor made a small gesture to Ensign So'ka and shifted position to loosen up coverage but still provide himself with a better field of fire, knowing that the Klingon guards would see the motion and understand what it was for. ~ They don't have to like it, just understand that they're in a tactically unsound position. If that's what it'll take to get them back under control and restrained, then that's what it'll take. Hell, I'll put them in manacles and walk them through the hall if I have to - they get to choose. ~
The Klingons glared menacingly at the Security personnel after the shift in position - especially the bodyguard Victor had humiliated earlier and Attendant K'vala, who were standing together and talking in low tones - but no one made an overtly threatening move as Corgan approached the Princess and the General and spoke to them privately. One of the other Attendants made yet another insulting joke at the Captain's expense, with only the punch line - something to do with Bhrode's needing the extra nacelle o 'get it up' at his age - spoken in Standard for the benefit of the ship's personnel present, but even that sterling bit of wit failed to draw the laughs similar jokes had earlier.
Unable to take his eyes off the main body of the Klingon party to check on Corgan's progress, Victor suppressed yet another frown as the level of muttering and dark glances at the Security team continued to rise. ~ Please, God, let the Commander get this damn show on the road and start the program. If this goes on much longer, I'm going to have to stun the lot of them just to reduce the tension levels in here to the point that we can breathe. ~
Finally, mercifully before anyone had to be restrained, Corgan turned back and announced that he was activating the holodeck's programming so the party could enjoy some combat practice.
~ Thank God. ~ Victor relaxed as the Klingon's mood changed abruptly in an almost palpable sense. ~ We can let them wear themselves out killing everything in the archives, and by the time they're tired of that, it'll have eaten up the rest of the day and we'll be headed for their evening meal. ~ He signaled the Security teams to split up and stay with the clumps of Klingons that were breaking apart as the holodeck shimmered and trees started to surround them. ~ Okay, who's left for me to... oh, great. I get Attendant K'vala *and* the bodyguard from Sciences. Life just doesn't get any better than this! ~
It was all the fault of the Doors.
Lysander and Rebecca tried to go through it at the same time. They bumped into contact with each other.
Although neither would admit it, even to jeering Klingon Inquisitors with Pain Sticks and Sharp Nasty Thingies, neither REALLY hated the other. But the mid-door collission of 2379 would not feature prominantly amongst ther 'favourite moments spent with the other' memories.
Okay, they most likely REALLY HATE each other.
~~~Noodles! Icky Boy off the Port Bow! Collision Imminent!~~ her mind was no doubt screaming to her.
~~Princess Phaserbanks attempting Broadside Attack! Prepare to repell boarders! ~~ Lysander's mind -was- screaming to him.
Despite the combinded tactical genius of the Duo, and the ability to figure out Multi-Dimensional Modality Mapping of Vectors of Attack without using a computer... they still hadn't learned both could not occupy the same space at the same time.
No one EVER accused Math Genuises of having common sense!
"OOF!" Rebecca excalaimd, as her boney side met an long Centaurian side in collission.
"OOOOFFFFFF!" exclaimed Lysander as his lanky flank met skinny Terran flank in midair.
"...noodle licker..." muttered Rebecca as her boney butt met the deck carpet.
"...smegger sucker..." muttered Lys as a Centaurian ass met the deckplates nearby.
Without a word, the Kelvan Legate stepped over the pair and disappeared into the Observation Lounge.
Glaring dark and foreboding glares at each other, the Dynamic Duo picked up their spilled PADDS and traded the ones that had gotten mixed up. Fate is a fickle bitch, but she is not without a sense of humnour.
"Sorry." Lysander mumbled, not admitting that he'd been so busy trying to figure her out, he'd ignored the fact her infuriating little red head had been right next to his heart (literally!) mere moments before.
"Mmmmmph" Was all Rebecca could think of to say.
They glared at each other in mutual dislike and distrust for another long moment.
"Really! Sorry! I didn't see you..." Lysander began again.
"Was that some short crack?" Flared Rebecca, breaking her Ice Queen Mask for a moment.
"Errr.... No?" ventured Lysander.
"HUUUUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm......" Rebecca responded, just to hear him grate his teeth at the noise.
Of course, they jammed up at the door again, a moment later.
"Err... ladies first?" Lysander backed off and indicated the door with a sweeping flourish, one that didn't mask that he was rubbing just above his hip, where her bony little elbow had connected with a resounding 'THWACK.'
Rebecca just glared her assent and swept into the room.
The reached the Chair to the Captain's Left, simultaneously.
Fleet protocol dictated the XO usually sat here. Lysander was halfway into it, when Rebecca cleared her throat.
He looked up to see her standing, waiting patiently, arms full of PADDS, one tiny red eyebrow arched in smug assertation of the fact it was HER chair.
Various high powered Mathematical Probablily Statistical Matrices flashed through Lys' head, as he pondered this fact. Flow trees of "if/then" outcomes were ponered and sorted by mathematical value. Instinctive grasps of Social Psychology were converted into linear data form and added to the arrays of computations flashing through his neurons.
The anser of all this lightning fast computation?
BAD MOVE LYS.
Half rising from his half-seated position, Lysander indicated the seat. Rebecca dumped her PADDS onto the table with a clatter and an ungainly movement. Then, still pointedly ignoring Lys, she sat carefully down.
Fate let out a breath.
Lysander squealched the sudden desire to boot the chair away at the last moment "Just to see what happened."
Lys took a seat opposite. Sun Tzu always advocated keeping the 'Death Grounds' between you and certain enemies hell-bent on rapine and destruction. This conferece table certainly fit the role. The Kelvan was still ignoring then. They returned the favour. Silence reigned in the Observation Lounge, broken only by Lysanders observation that it 'Was sure smeggin' quiet!'
A disdainfull 'sniff' was his answer. He wasn't sure if it was from the icy Kelvan or Rebecca.
* * * * *
"So glad you all could make it. I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't. So disappointed. . .I may have foregone courtmartials to shoot people, myself." Bhrode barked, his eyes raking the assembled table like he wished they were lasers and burning all he found arrayed before him.
Lysander jumped. Rebecca had alternated betwen glaring at him with he Icy Mask of Doom and Gloom, and glaring at him with her 'Resistance is Futile" MAsk of Certain Death. He hadn't even noticed Bhrode come in.
(Ls spends a LOT of time in this state, if you haven't already noticed.)
Bhrode made his way to his seat and settled in. Rebecca Von Ernst sat to his left, her face expresionless and seemingly intent on burning dispassionate holes into Lysander, who sat in squirming insolance opposite her to Bhrode's right whislt looking everywhere but at Rebecca.
"Number One!" Bhrode barked, staring down the table and daring anyone to meet his eye.
VonErnst broke off from her torture of her peer to begin 'reporting' in that damned monotone, uninflicted voice of hers that made a computer seem warm and chatty.
"We are blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah."
~~Cute little butt... ~~ Lysander mused... his eyes drifting to that body part and tuning out of her report, shich was most likely on some PADD somewhere and readable at a time later.
It was minutes later, when his eyes drifted up to meet Rebecca's... which were glaring at him as one tiny red eyebrow lifted in a condescending and superior interrrogatory. Almost as if to say 'Why aren't you doing what you're supposed to?' and 'I'm bettteerrr than youuuuuu...' that he remembered the holos' he'd asked Cutter to bring with him.
With a blush, Lysander fumbled around, activating the Holoscreen behind Bhrode, showing the Stellar Cartographic map, and then a close up of the Rigel Systems, and the sweeping arc of GALAXY'S course to date projected into the graphic.
Lysadner setteld back into his seat and let the nattering wash over him.
Like HE cared about some Klingons? He'd already laid in a battle plot that would destroy them. And without the 54% casualties Rebecca's similar Alpha Plan would incurr. Sure, the ship may lose a nacelle in his simulation runs... but she HAD three of them...not like they didn't BUILD ships to lose a nacelle... and why would Becs intentionally send Marines in a Suicide Shuttle run against a K'Tinga? They'd die horrible gruesome deaths for no real strategic value, other than a momentary distraction as her PRECIOUS MATH numbers aligned themselves up to her satisfaction. What made her such a butthead, anyways? it's not like Rebecca had suffered some gruesome childhood...quite the opposite. She sure was cute when she wrinkled her nose while peering over some messy math formula and simply announced her results....
"ONE PROBLEM AT A TIME!" thundered Bhrode, ending all discussion and waking Lysander up again.
Bhrode stabbed a finger at Leo like he wished it was a knife.
"YOU. Sit your ass down and stop with the pre-holo movie reviews or I boot your buttocks into the nearest sun."
"WHAT? that was a joke... right?" Challenged Leo, hands on his hips.
"Think so? Wanna see the Brig again?" grated Bhrode through clenched teeth, the vein on his forehead throbbing like a boa constrictor.
At his second finger=knife stab, Leo sat down and shut up.
~~ Too bad. I'd like to see that guy in the Brig. Especially if they're cutting their throats in there! ~~ mused Lys.
Corgan[stab]
"YOU. Sit your ass down and shut your mouth. The NEXT word out of you
and you're an Engineer's Mate siphoning Deuteronium by hand."
Lysander briefly mused learning ventroliquism, JUST to be able to throw his voice in moments like this and get Corgan taken out of his plans. The Ship's Grapevine was a-buzz with the FACT that Rebecca had visited James in hsi quarters earlier today AND the FACT that James was making goo-goo eyes at her again. Dirty Smegger.
Princess[stab]
"YOU. Your Highness. Sit your royal ass down and tell us why you're REALLY here and why there's a flotilla of Imperial ships out there wanting to take you with them."
Lys gave a jump.
Klingons?
When had THEY popped up?
=/\=
With a noisy clatter of PADDS, Rebecca von Ernst was brutally shoved to the floor by Lysander van der Jerk as she innocently tried to walk through the briefing room door.
~~OUCH!! Get your noodling paws off me you cow poopie!~~ Rebecca thought angrily to herself as she picked herself off the plush briefing room carpeting.
~~~He tripped me on purpose!!~~ She decided as she scrambled up her scattered PADDS. That noodle-head Lysander had tried to grab her butt or something while she was walking through the doorway, and somehow managed to trip her in the process causing injury both to her pride as well as bruising her tush. (The thin girl didn’t have didn’t have a lot of padding back there.)
Even now it was obvious that he knew he had been caught in the act despite the sheepish apologetic look on Lysanders face as he clumsily helped her collect her reports.
~~~The bubble-brain will probably try to blame it on the door or something.
~~~ she grumped pushing back an errant strand of hair that had sprung loose from her hairband. Her scarlet locks were getting more and more unmanageable as they grew in length. Not for the first time Rebecca wondered if she should call her mother and ask about her hair-care secrets.
Squaring her fragile shoulders, Rebecca turned back to the door, only to narrowly avoid the jerk trying to ‘accidentally’ bump her again.
~~~Watch it Buck-O!~~~ she glared wordlessly which seemed to convince Lysander to allow her to proceed first as was due her rank. ~~~Honestly, the depths that boy will sink to.~~~
There was another minor skirmish to decide who was going to sit where, and Rebecca suspected that the Alpha-Centaurian was trying to sabotage her chair in some manner, but luckily she was too observant for that.
Taking the seat at last, Rebecca turned her attention to re-shuffling her PADDS back into proper order, enjoying for the moment the relative peace and solitude of the lounge.
Of course Noodle-head had to go and spoil that too by loudly announcing, “Sure is smegging quiet in here!” every few minutes. It was not unlike the annoying mantra of children inquiring “Are we there yet.” From the confines of the back seat.
“Yup. . . . very very quiet.”
It was not the first time Rebecca found startling similarities between Lysander and snot-nosed kiddos.
“Smeg its quiet in here.”
The only other occupant of the lounge was the Legate who deigned to ignore the obvious social flubs on Lysanders part.
~~~Momma always said it was impolite to point out the mistakes of others.~~~
Rebecca recalled, and figured the Protocol Officer was merely sparing Lysander’s feelings.
Things were just about settled down when the large winged figure of the starship’s Frunarian Stellar Cartographer squeezed his way through the relatively tiny doorway and settled into a nearby chair.
As per usual Lysander couldn’t pass up an opportunity to say something stupid.
“Lieutenant, errrrr......Killer? Slicer? Cutter!" Hawklsey fumbled for the name. Obviously he hadn’t spent the time to memorize the crew roster like Rebecca had.
~~~Probably spent the time playing kissy-face to some holo-girl.~~~ she decided with a frown.
“Its name is Cutter." She deadpanned.
"It's a he!" retorted Lysnder, always eager to argue. (The mean old nerd-head)
The two aliens (Lys WAS from another planet wasn’t he) took to chatting amongst themselves leaving Rebecca feeling quite ignored and snubbed.
~~~Mean old nasty alien noodle-brains.~~~ she fumed. ~~~We should have never discovered their planet for them.~~~
(Math whiz she may be, but the farmgirl’s grasp on Galactic History was decidedly fuzzy)
Fortunately the arrival of the enigmatic Doctor Quick on the heels of the flamboyant Leo Streely served to distract Rebecca from Lysanders blatant ‘icky-ness’. Quick settled his lanky form neatly into an empty seat, while the latter launched into a lengthy discussion of the current murder investigation.
Watching the pudgy little Investigator flail his hands about as he talked in his whiny high pitched voice, Rebecca wondered offhand if Leo was. . . ‘of the other persuasion’ as her Momma used to describe the more dainty men in the world.
~~~Ick.~~~ Rebecca wrinkled her freckled nose at the thought.
Across the table Quick seemed to be having problems of his own. A strange worried look passed over the scientist’s face and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair a bit. Grasping the arms of the chair he wiggled it back and forth experimentally. With a distinct look of distress, he announced (to nobody in particular) “ These are not the chairs I designed . . . . this wont do.”
He didn’t seem to care that really nobody heard or cared, but continued to mumble to himself about how the chairs were ‘all wrong’. Every now and then he jiggled the chair again to confirm this to himself.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><>
"So glad you all could make it.” Bhrode growled to the assembled staff minutes later, “I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't. So disappointed. . .I may have foregone court-martials to shoot people, myself."
On his left Rebecca patiently took mental minutes of the meetings as had been her practice for the past year aboard PROSPERO. Though she didn’t allow any outward sign to show, the young redhead had by now decided that Brhode’s idea of staff-meetings were decidedly unproductive in general.
They usually boiled down the CO verbally belittling anybody who dared to offer up a suggestion. She supposed it boosted Bhrode’s ego to do so, but other than that seemed to serve no purpose. She took notes nonetheless.
"Number One!" Bhrode barked, interrupting her thoughts. He gestured angrily for her to begin her prepared briefing, and with a small nod she began:
“We are five hours from Federation Trade Base Alpha. . . . . .etc etc. . . .“
The details spilled out quickly in the XO’s typical soft whispery voice that those at the end of the table had to strain a bit to hear. Regardless, none dared to ask her to repeat herself or speak up. While she spoke however, she kept finding herself being distracted by Dr. Quick’s persistent fiddling with his chair. The scientist was even rotating it experimentally from side to side as much as he could without drawing undue attention.
Fortunately she failed to notice how Lyander was surreptitiously scoping out her tiny derriere as she spoke.
At length she finished her memorized speech and daintily settled herself back in her own chair refusing to be distracted by the Doctors wiggling, or the high pitched whistle Lysander made when he breathed through his nose.
~~~He does that on purpose.~~~ she thought.
To her left the Intelligence Chief, Black was launching into a lengthy analysis of the various geo-political ramifications a conflict in this region of space would incur.
Rebecca ignored this for the most part. Her job was to figure out how to win battles. . . . the politics of the situation was quite beyond her capacity. She had nearly flunked Interstellar Relations back at the Academy.
Idly she pinched the bridge of her nose again. The headache from earlier was still present and becoming quite annoying.
Snapping back to the present, she looked up in time to note the arrival of the Klingon Princess DeV'oraH flanked by Lieutenant Commander Corgan, and their associated escorts. Unconsciously Rebecca wrinkled her nose in disgust as she considered the aliens. ~~~Klingon’s. . . Ick!~~~ she had never been fond of the bumpy headed warriors, and hated every time she was forced to deal with them.
Doctor Quick however had an entirely different reaction, as he forgot about fiddling with his chair for a moment and stared intently at the Princess as she entered. A wide goofy grin was slowly spreading across his pale face, and he nudged the officer next to him with a whisper. Intrigued, Rebecca leaned in a bit to try and overhear. While the majority of those present were listening to a rather heated disagreement between Corgan and Brhode over the state of the Murder investigation, Rebecca was more interested in what Quick was giggling about. She was surprised to note that the Klingon Princess’s eyes flicked about the room until they came to rest on the grinning Scientist.
Instantly the Klingon’s nostrils flared with a sudden inspiration of breath and her eyes narrowed in recognition. For himself the Doctor gave a toothy smile and waved a nonchalant ‘howdy’ in return.
Again the signs were subtle, but Rebecca was amazed to see the Princess actually take an involuntary step AWAY from the Doctor and her eyes blazed an intense hatred. Even more amazing (and Rebecca had to blink at this) there seemed to be a subtle blush rising in the cheeks of the otherwise ruddy Klingon skin.
~~~Well how about that?~~~ Rebecca mused, ~~~The Sword of Kahless KNOWS the Doc!~~~
"YOU!!” Brhode snapped causing Rebecca to jump, and bringing the Klingon’s attention back to the meting as a whole. “Your Highness. Sit your royal ass down and tell us why you're REALLY here and why there's a flotilla of Imperial ships out there wanting to take you with them."
In spite of herself Rebecca leaned forward to rest her chin on her palm in rapt attention. Unnoticed in the background, Quick was still making goo-goo eyes at the Klingon, and Rebecca was dying to know how the Princess was going to reply.
--------------------------------------------------------
When K'Eytyanna entered Main Engineering, she was glad to see at least that some people were actually still doing working.
Stopping suddeny when her senses detected something that wasn't right, she turned slowly as she looked around the large room and stopped when she saw the person who was out of place. Over near one of the terminals was a stately youngish- looking Klingon male, dressed in some sort of worker's uniform, who was talking to some of the engineers.
Fuming silently for a few moments, she quickly headed over and squeezing the Klingon's shoulder tightly with her hand, baring her teeth as she growled out, "Who are you, and what in Kahless's name are you doing here? This is a restricted area."
The Klingon turned around and looked her up and down, "I am K'raka, son of K'ooki, the Princess's technical advisor. Legate Curran and Lt Commander Corgan have allowed me to stay here and ask questions. Lt Geluf said it was okay."
"Screw them. I don't care if you are the High Chancellor of the High Council or Kahless himself reincarnated, you are out of here NOW."
Spinning around to two of the Marine guards, she called out, "Marines, if you would please help, I need this man expelled from Engineering pronto."
One of the Marines grinned and cracked his knuckles as they walked over, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Personally, I prefer the hard way, but it is up to you."
K'raka growled softly, "You do not have the authority. I have been given permissiont to be here."
Kay snapped out loudly, "I am Chief Engineer of this ship and you are in a restricted area. If you do not leave now, I would be well within the regs to have these marines escort you to the brig, where I am sure some psychopathic nutcase would be to help explain it to you."
With the unwelcome encouragement of the Marines, K'raka left Engineering, heading to where he expected the rest of the entourage would be.
Wiping her hands, K'Eytyanna barked out, "You there, go find Lt Geluf and tell him I want to see him ASAP in my office. Inform him that I am also quite pissed off at the moment."
OOC: As of now, no non-Starfleet personnel are allowed in Engineering without authorization from Kay or someone who can override her orders, capiche?
--------------------------------------------------------
OOC: As of now, no non-Starfleet personnel are allowed in Engineering without authorization from Kay or someone who can override her orders, capiche?
OOC2: Hurm.....and that would be....??? OH YEAH! Hehehehe Moral of the story: If we ALL start forbidding each other what we can and cannot write about, we have nothing to write about. These guys didn't do anything other than what I dumped on them, which was "Take these dopey NPC's and go explore the ship." So therefore...Kay's edict is overruled by old Ironballs Bhrode hisself. -Liam
* * * * * * * * * *
Wiping her hands, K'Eytyanna barked out, "You there, go find Lt Geluf and tell him I want to see him ASAP in my office. Inform him that I am also quite pissed off at the moment."
"Belay all that..." came the voice from the shadows.
"What?" K'et demanded, whirling from where she was barking out orders to her crew.
It was THE VOICE. The one voice that caused the Marines to let go of the Klingon and salute instinctively. The Voice that caused the Klingon to look around for something else to do, preferably far away... and the one voice that K'etyanna REALLY didn't like to hear in her Engine Room.
With his hands clasped behind his back, Fleet Captain John Q. Bhrode strolled out from behind a Warp Plasma Injector, where he had been observing the little drama.
Just like his last time on Galaxy, you never knew when you might feel a cold gaze RIGHT on the back of your head, and turn to find Bhrode or Von Ernst glaring at you, just DARING you to do something half-assed or sloppy, so they could find fifty regulations to accuse you of breaking. They had an uncanny knack of knowing JUST when you were praying they'd ignore you...to come looking for you. Hell, scuttlebut in the Fleet had it that JQB had once observed another Engineer getting in his XO's face, and had broken that person's neck with his bare hands. AND that he'd never even stood before a Court Martial Board for doing so. Dang Scuttlebutt...never right.
"Commander. This Department is looking better than it did last month, when the Yard Dogs were crawling all over the place." Bhrode observed.
"Uhhh.. thank you...sir" replied the Chief Engineer, clearly at a loss at to why Bhrode wasn't yelling about SOMETHING. Her eyes raked the comaprtment for dead bodies, or screaming alien hordes waving weapons of mayhem and destruction. WHAT was he DOING down here?
Bhrode nudged a pile of sonic spanners and ripped out bulkhead covers with one boot, and raised an eyebrow.
"WEWEREJUSTCLEANINGTHATUPSIRASTEHCHIEFENGINEERHADORDEREDPREVIOUSLY!!" shouted a rating, as he flung himself bodily onto the pile and began pushing it towards the reclaimation chute in blind panicked haste.
"Carry on." Bhrode told the man.
Bhrode's hand reached out and ran across a console. The Engineer nearest began sweating profusely, as his eyes bulged and his throat spasamed in terrified gulps.
Bhrode rubbed the fingers together and stared at the man. The Engineer looked ready to pass out. Finally Bhrode nodded his acceptance to the absence of grime and strolled away...leaving the Engineer mentally promising that he was going to quit and join the Merchant Marine fleet...tomorrow.
Bhrode's steely gaze finally fell on his Chief Engineer.
"I don't like having that smart-assed arrogant little twerp of a Kelvan Liasion Officer aboard any more than you do. However, if -I- have to smile and let his damned Klingon buddies run around my ship, I expect YOU to do the same. So if it's Klingons in your engine compartments and Jeffries tubes, or Ferringi's hiding in the toilet in your quarters...if it comes from the Legate, you can consider it having a big old shit-eating "JQB" smile of approval on it." Bhrode commented over his shoulder.
He stopped for a moment to consider the Marines.
'Corporal Punikment! 442nd FIST, Platoon Alpha!' the first shouted.
'Private Parts, 442nd FIST, Platoon Charlie!' shouted the other.
"Either of you two Cochranes ever try and take out a Klingon before?" Bhrode asked in a low voice.
"SIR, NEGATORY SIR!" they chorused.
"Well, don't. By the time you figure out you'll need another three of you, you'll be in the Sickbay. Oh, and that highly illegal and forbidden knife the Chief Engineer is wearing...be sure and have it put back in the Armoury. I'd hate to think what would happen to anyone that Major Log found out, had been lax in thier duties regarding my latest 'Weapons Edict.' Especially at a time we have some maniac killing crew. With a Knife." Bhrode said, his face so close to the Marines' that they could smell his aftershave "SIR! The Major would first grab such an individual by the scruff of their neck in the regulation manner,and then he would forcibly remove the offending weapon from..." Began Private Parts.
The corporal rolled his eyes . "You're a moron, Parts. The Captain was asking about what would happen to the person who missed collecting the weapon on their patrols! NOT the person holding the weapon!"
"Oh. He'd kill THEM. Deader than noon." the Private flushed in embarassment.
"If anyone needs me, I'll be on this Promenade I hear so much about.
Shopping. Carry on." Bhrode indicated the Engineers with a small nod and walked out.
The Marines looked at each other in puzzlement.
"They have a gun shop down there?" The Private asked the Corporal.
"Dunno. I can't quite picture him buying Picnic Baskets down there.
Hey.. YOU go ask the Engineer for her knife."
"No, YOU go.."
"No..you.."
=/\=
James was impatient, due to his long wait in sickbay's waiting room. He sat urgently in his chair, flipping through the virtual pages of the current week's Federation News Dispatch. Though an article on the amalgomation of a messload of Federation organizations to create a force equal to that of Starfleet piqued his interests, the dryness of the article (written by Jake Sisko) turned him off. He would save it for later. He was still interested, having served as a Liason officer in the Border Patrol.
~"Now is not the time to read. I have to get those autopsy reports. Where the hell is the doctor."~ James glanced at his wrist crono. It was getting late. If he wasn't restricted to quarters or busy on this murder investigation, he would have went out for dinner with Lexa. He made a note to himself to apologize to her later on, but lost it as somebody entered the room.
His face fell and his heart sank halfway through the deckplates on the deck.
~"Sh*t..."~ James looked back into the sadistic eyes of his arch nemesis.
Russian doctor stared at James with some kind of amazement. Which, however, almost immediately turned into evil smirk. Ha clapped his hands and spoke "Well, well, well... I see that you forgot my advices not to appear here, in my private county of sickbay, which I gave you when we met last time on the ye olde Price's Galaxy, lieutenant? I hope you came here not to ask for excuse for all previous deeds of yours, 'cause you'll end up torn apart heap of meat on the floor even if I accept excuses..."
Vladimir knew that he was sometimes sadistic. It was the part of him which awoke only when he saw three men. The one and only Lysander with infinitely-longing-surname... He was on the third place on his own internal shitmeter. Second place was firmly holded by three letters in red - JQB. Why only second? Because there was one more irritator... The One (from capital 'O'), who made him boil in all times. Audience, greet Ja-a-a-ames! C-c-c-o-o-o-o-o-rgan!
"So, pal, I wait for the reason, worthy enough for me not to shove you on the operating table." Cute blue eyes of Vladimir already showed, that his hands were itching to make an autopsy on THIS particular subject.
~"I might as well say it now... tell him to cut the crap and give me what I want, or else I will pulp that skinny little @$$f**ker until he has a half dozen more orifices to f**k himself with."~ James thought delightedly, then felt ashamed of what kind of childish mentality he allowed himself to sink into, ~"But that would be wrong, wouldn't it? I can't sink to his level. I have to play this cool and smooth, get what I want, and leave in short order. Besides, what could be possibly do to me that hasn't already been done better?"~
"Whoa!" Corgan snapped attention like, stopping Vladimir from gaining the opportunity to speak any more, "Stop! Before you die of asphixiation, would you please allow me to speak and give your voice a rest? Much appreciate it."
~"Oh yeah... that's gonna win him over."~ He thought.
"Well then, now that you're through verbally harrasing me," James leapt to the subject, "I have some important business to take care of. I have reason to believe that the Klingons may be targeted in this recent rash of murders, and I want to acquire any available information on the victims. For that, I need access to your autopy reports, and I would like to see the bodies for myself." He then added a slim, foxlike smile, and a distinct curl in his tongue, and said, "I hope that is good enough for you. If you're not satisfied... try and mangle me. I've been though hell and back, and that's just with the bloody Princess. Anything you would do would be mercy killing."
Corgan walked past the enraged Russian medic, "Oh, nice pip." He said as an afterthought after noticing the rise in rank. ~"Sh*t, he's the chief medical officer? What th