from the Fairy Tale Chronicles
USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 50210.06 - 50210.13 |
Arel entered the holodeck, stepping out of the carpeted halls of the Miranda and into the world of fairy tales once more.
She had always been fascinated by fairy tales as a child and the young Samantha Widdlestein, her tormentor, trusted sidekick, and friend from the Galaxy, had sent her the holoprogram for her birthday a few weeks ago. She had not had the chance to run the program until today.
Awhile back, she and Samantha had entered the world of Cinderella. Today, it was 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.' Arel was sure she had read the story before but could not quite remember the outcome.
She found herself in a large room with black wood furniture, lots of dripping candles and old candlesticks, and large pieces of cloth hung over stone walls. The room was cold, freezing in fact, perhaps because of the woman who sat sewing beside a wide open window. Snow covered everything outside.
"Woman!" Arel snapped at her. "What are you stupid? It's the middle of winter. Close the damn window, for Kahless' sake."
The woman jerked and managed to stick the needle straight through her hand. She screamed, threw her hand around a bit, for some reason looked out the window and paused, considered, and then started screaming again and ran from the room.
A disgusted noise came from behind Arel. She turned and there was Samantha Widdlestein, older now but with the same bratty face she had always had, standing with her arms crossed, a tiny scowl on her ten year old face.
"Oops" Arel said.
Samantha scowled a bit more. "I am, of course, only a holographic representation of Samantha Widdlestein. Just wanted to get that straight before we begin, just in case you've lost any brain cells now that your another year older. I am an interactive character, your guide throughout this fairy tale. I'll correct you when you make a mistake. Like now, for example, when you made your mother skewer herself."
"It wasn't intentional." Arel argued.
Samantha trudged over to the window and Arel followed. They both looked down to where the woman's blood had made a nice little puddle on the pure white snow. "See, she was supposed to say 'I wish I had a daughter whose skin was white as snow, who's lips are as red as blood and who's hair is as dark as ebony'."
Arel thought about it, decided she like it. "Almost worthy of Klingon poetry."
Samantha rolled her eyes "Soooo glad you approve."
The scene faded away and Arel found herself in the same room, only now much more somber, if that was possible, and with brooms and mops by her side. She gave Samantha a look. "I have to be a servent wench again?"
Samantha opened her mouth to retort but was interrupted by an ugly skinny woman who swept into the room like she owned it. She had dark uneven hair, touched by gray, and heavily shadowed eyes. "Thou art going on thy walk today, my dear?" the ugly woman asked.
Arel looked at Samantha, who nodded. Arel nodded as well.
"Isn't that nice." The woman almost said to herself and then left.
"That's your stepmother." the holo-Samantha informed her. "She's planning on having you murdered in the woods today cause you're prettier than she is- "Targs are prettier than she is." Arel interrupted.
Samantha put her hands on her hips as the scene faded away again to a sparse woodsy area. "Does the word 'duh' mean anything to you?"
"Not particularly, no" Arel said, looking around for her would-be murderer.
The holo-Sam glared at her. "Did you fail a test or something before you programmed this?" Arel asked her "You seem awfully grumpy."
Samantha's lower lip stuck out. "That redheaded twit Rebecca is still after my lovely Lysander."
"Ah." Arel said, finding that she didn't have a more useful comment.
"You think I can just stick her with one of my knives." Samantha asked almost innocently.
"Sure." Arel commented as she watched the man come running towards them with knife in hand. "If you want to spend the rest of your life in a Federation Prison." Arel stepped to the side, stuck out her foot, and watched as the man went flying.
Samantha didn't even yell at her this time. "He wasn't really going to kill you." She commented. "He was going to have a change of heart."
"Bully for him." Arel said.
The man had landed face down on the floor. He turned over, his eyes wide with apparent grief "Mine heart cries out that this be an evil deed and I find that I must follow my heart in all things. The Queen, my queen, hath told me to kill ye, but I cannot. But she hath ordered ye dead and now I know not what to do. What am I to do?"
"Quit your dayjob." Arel told him. "Go back to acting school."
"Hey! I programmed him!" Samantha protested. "At least my real self did."
Arel shrugged at her. She remembered reading this part at least. "So, what if I take off for awhile." she said to the man. "You can just say that you killed me."
The man's eyes lighted up. "Yes! That is it! I must needs kill a boar and use its heart in place of thine. That plan will work. Yes! Now run, run little Arel..."
Arel rolled her eyes at that, made a note to yell at Sam for the 'little Arel' comment, and turned towards the heart of the forest.
Samantha walked beside her.
"Runnnnnnnn" the man cried after them.
The denseness of the forest faded away after a few steps to reveal a tiny cottage, underneath a sparkling gigantic rainbow, and every cuddly creature of the forrest gathered beside it. Birds, rabbits, and deer looked at them lovingly with big happy eyes.
"Sure you don't want to stick a big neon sign up that says 'Here I Am.'"
Arel snapped at the holo-Sam.
Samantha sniffed. "Mummy says there's nothing wrong with embelishment."
"Smeg your Mummy." Arel muttered as she made her way to the cottage, trampling a few daisies in the process. The holographic Samantha skipped along beside her.
The door to the cottage was painted a bright red and opened without hesitation when Arel pushed on it. The interior of the cottage was dark and musty, an assortment of odds and ends, seven of each, lying here and there.
Surprisingly enough, Arel felt sort of at home there. Except for the temples and weapon rooms, Klingons were usually a messy bunch.
"Now what?" Arel asked her.
"Well, you would traditionally get sleepy and fall asleep on their beds but that's boring so I just arranged for the dwarves to come home early. They'll be here soon, all sooty and grumpy."
"Don't suppose I could fight them." Arel said wistfully. So far this program left much to be desired.
"Not a chance" Samantha said sternly.
Soon whistling was heard and seven dwarves entered the cottage. The room became very crowded. The seven men came up to about her hip and Arel looked from one dwarf face to another first in astonishment and then in disbelif.
She shot Samantha a look. Wasn't one of them bad enough?
"Leo Streely piss you off lately then?" Arel asked mildly. All the dwarves had the face of Leo, the ex bartender of the Galaxy and annoying pervert.
The Leo's looked at the two in confusion, awaiting whatever prompt Samantha had selected for the program to continue. "I just thought Uncle Leo fit the part so well that there might as well be seven of him." Samantha explained patiently. "Now, say Hi, I'm Snow White."
Arel dutifully repeated the phrase.
"Hello Dollface!" The Seven Leo's responded. A couple winked.
Arel rolled her eyes. After further prompting from Samantha, Arel said "I'm looking for a place to stay for awhile. Can I sleep in your hovel?"
A happy, happier than the others at any rate, Leo looked Arel up and down.
"Sure, you can sleep on my bed *eyebrows waggling* with me."
All the Leo's snickered.
Arel reached over, grabbed the little man by his ear and tugged hard. "Where was that again, kind dwarf?" She snarled.
"I'll sleep on the floor! Owww! OUTSIDE! OUCH! OUTSIDE!" Happy Leo Dwarf yelped.
"You're sucking all the fun out of this holoprogram." Samantha pouted as Arel let the Leo go.
"What next?" Arel asked.
"You guys sing and dance around a bit."
"Pass." Arel replied.
"And then they go off to work, warning you not to open the door for anyone just in case your stepmother finds you." The seven Leo's faded as she spoke.
"Of course you do anyway and she puts you under an enchantment."
There was a knock on the door. Arel opened it, found her stepmother there looking the same except that she was dressed in a black cloak. "Great disguise." Arel said.
"Hello dearie." the old crone said. "Would you like an apple?"
Arel looked down at the slightly greenish apple being offered her. It looked sickening. "Not even a Ferrengi would fall for this." Arel stated to the holographs.
"Well, youre supposed to take it anyway." Sam said.
Arel reluctantly took the apple, took a bite, and the world faded once more into pink swirls and purple skies. Arel heard the faint sound of cackling somewhere. Some sheep leapt about. "What's this?" Arel asked confused.
"Well" Samantha began, a frown on her face. "When Snow White eats the apple she falls asleep until the prince kisses her-
"If you made Lysander Whats-his-bucket the prince again.." Arel began.
"And I didn't know what she dreamed of so I figured I'd make it up."
Samantha concluded.
The pink dissolved and in its place a battle hall stood with a roomfull of Klingon warriors. About six or so held Klingon painsticks and were obviously blocking the way of the festivities behind them.
Arel looked in amazement at the Klingon birthday ceremony.
"And afterwards I programmed some hand to hand combat." the holo Samantha informed her with a smirk.
Arel was almost speechless. It was one of the nicest presents she had ever gotten. "Thank you" she managed.
"Happy Birthday" Samantha grinned.
* * * * * * * * * *
"No. Smeggin' well not." Lysander grunted at the suggestion.
"Phullleeeeeeeeeezzzzeeeeeee? It's all running already.. I just need to refine it." Sam repeated for the 19938383th time (or so it seemed.)
"No." Lys repeated, idly flipping his PADD to a new 'page' of the Federation Mathematical Annual and trying to ponder the Sixth Dimensional aspects of Rottinger's Theorum as it applied in black holes.
"Phulleeeeezzzzzzeeeee?" Sam repeated.
"N-O. No. " Lysnder spelled out.
"Mummy said you would help me with my homework. Phulleeeeeezzzzzzeeeeeeee?"
Sam whined. This was getting embaressing. And boring.
"Your Mummy is a terrible gossip and liar. And you already admitted this is not homework. I remember the LAST time I ended up letting you talk me into something like this. I married a hologram." Lys replied, swinging a foot over the arm of the chair in his quarters and bobbing it in agitation.
"Really?" Sam asked. She already knew that, but perhaps some fake sympathy would get Lys off his ass.
"Really. Why do I have bother with this all again?" Lys asked, wondering if Rebecca had caught the publishers error in this issue's "Formula Frenzy" on page 318 and if he could mock her solution if she hadn't.
"Because you can shut off the Holodeck Safety Protocols. And because you made these stupid Hologram Personality Matrices. I want to make something for Arel's birthday." Sam pouted.
"Make her a new personality, something less hostile to men. Or buy her something phallic." Lys mused, having looked the word up after Rebecca's query.
"LYSANDER!" a shocked Sam replied.
"Okay... firstly... I don't know if you noticed this Bugface... but the Aussie Guy is gone, and therefore his Draconian Safety Protocols are off the holodecks. Anyone with clearance can disable them...so go bug whoever they pay to watch you snotnoses..." Lys nattered.
"Auntie Lieutenant Grant-Greene is dead." Sam coldly reminded Lys.
Actualy, Amy Grant-Greene wasn't dead... but Miss Widdlestein had taken a dislike to the Education Specialists' on-off again relationship with Lys aboard the old Galaxy... and a simple form sent off to Starfleet BuPers after the Hirogen debacle had ensnarled Amy in enough red tape to wish she WAS dead for real, not just reported 'Killed in Combat' as Starfleet persisted in believing.
"Errr..." replied a worried looking Lys, who was starting to feel an emotion here and becoming panicky at the thought of dealing with that.
"And I KNOW you only own the company that makes those new Hologram Personality Routines. . .I was there when you were researching them!
Although I COULD forget the fact you MADE me code those Fleet Psychological Profiles of Commander Whassit... that redheaded little lady; into the stupid things." Sam reminded Lys, going for the blackmail approach.
"It's against Starfleet Regulations to encode the personality matrice of a sentinent citizen without their permission. Infirngement on Copyright of Personality and Existance and all that rot." Lys replied primly, forgetting that his doing exactly that had led to the new laws, and almost a courtmartial for him. He'd had a close call with that fleeting emotion there, and wary of further complications.
"We could try out your latest version of HER... that little redheaded..."
Sam pouted again, dangling her last carrot in front of her future husband (HER IDEA!).
"I really don't know WHAT you're talking about." Lys replied, not knowing Sam had already gotten into his personal Datafiles and found the Holo-Rebecca Von Ernst (ver. 2.8a) A boy in love has to practice 'being nice' to a psychopathic Ice Queen.
Sam stamped her foor again and considered her options. Her eyes lit up as she remembered what Arel Smith would do in this sort of situation. . .
"Are you SURE?" she asked three seconds later.
"I'd would LOVE to go to the holodeck with you. Please remove that pigsticker of a knife from my groin now." replied a very nervous Lysander, from whom all thought of the variables of Sixth Dimensional Calculus in regards to Black Holes and Redheads had fled.
* * * * * * * * *
"oops" was what Sam said, that caught Lysander's attention.
"oops?" he asked, with a puzzled expression on his face, from where he was examining the leaning stone tower, from which Rapunzel was leaning, frozen with her hair cascading down the ivy covered Ivory walls.
Naturally, Lys had insisted that Rapunzel was a redhead.
Didn't really matter... Sam was recording the Prince, and Arel would play the protagonist herself.
"Nothing... nothing..." Sam replied, mumbling some choice Klingon expletives under her breath as she laboured on the LCARS terminal on the Arch of the Holodeck...looking out of place in the midst of the Enchanted Fairy Forest around the Tower of Rapunzel.
"How many times do I have to say this?" Lys demanded.
". . . until you quit flubbing the line." Sam muttered to herself.. studying the flow matrices of her 'script.'
"Arel Arel... let down your... errrr...." Lys flubbed around.
"HAIR!" yelled an irate Sam. "The word is HAIR! Very easy to remember!"
"Look Bugface.. I remember Smith. If some Hologram goes tugging on her hair, they're going to eat about three feet of steel and get their holo-reproductive organs handed back to them." Lys grumped.
"True. Maybe I should pick something with a more feminine theme. This story is a lot of sitting around, waiting. Arel hates doing that. " Sam mused.
"There you go. Make something with action and fighting, and write it so she has to watch it all, where she has to wear a dress. Do Terrans have any stories where Smith would have to suck up to some toad, be totally humiliated with no one in sight to punch? Muck about as a servant, cleaning cesspools? Something like that?" Lys demanded.
"No. We did Cinderella." Sam replied, her pug nose scrunched up in thought. "End Program."
Everything flickered out of existance, leaving the duo alone on the black and yellow grid of the Holodeck.
Alone, except the crumpled form of a crewmember, where an outcropping of boulders had been.
"Errr..." Lys replied, his eyes on the corpse.
"Lysander...." Sam answered, her foot long Hirogen Stiletto appearing in her hands like magic.
Lysander tapped the combadge on his chest.
"Hawksley to Security. And Medical. And Engineering. Send teams to Holodeck Four ASAP."
"Mummy always says that. . . actually... she's been pretty silent about what to do with dead people." Sam commented. "Arel says to just kick them once, to see if they can respond. Or just shoot them again, depending if you wanted them dead in the first place or not."
Lys eyed the pool of blood surrounding the corpse, dried to black at its edges.
"Err.. Hawksley to Medical... no rush for you smeggers. Take your time." he added as an afterthought.
"Why did you ask for an engineer?" Sam demanded.
"I'm asuming this smeggger wasn't here when you fired up your program?" Lys demanded.
"Duh." Sam shot back.
"So... you left it running to come find me, when you needed help with the NPC Personality Matrices..." Lys began.
"Did not need help. I just needed to record your voice for The Prince."
Sam replied. ~~and to record your Security Over-ride codes, those might come in handy around here later~~ she added mentally.
"Whatever. Either way.. I'm hoping this happened while the holoprogram was recording. We may have caught the murder on holo, as part of your Birthday Present for Smith here." Lys replied.
The pair considered the dead body a bit longer.
"I don't think even Arel would like a murder mystery as a Birthday Present." Sam ventured.
"Not the mystery part anyways." muttered Lys.
=/\=
It was boring. By god, it was all so boring.
Wallowing through a field of endless statistics, Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan was trying to make sense of all the information he was seeing.
There was information. So much information, in fact, that he thought he would never escape the constant digging and searching.
Whenever he wasn’t pulling a double duty with the Princess’s bodyguards, he was investigating a murder on board the starship. A murder, of all things,
in his own backyard. Of course, James had to take the whole investigation personally. It was impossible not to, considering the crewmen killed. Two of the crew were part of his security department. In fact, before one of them was bounced out by Captain Brhode, he was part of Corgan’s crew, a squad he assigned to himself in case of emergencies. Therefore, James had much at stake in this investigation. After all, he had to avenge one of his own, on top of the half dozen already slain.
Working through the endless sea of reports, analyses, statistics and pure drudgery that was a murder investigation, James had to contend with the constant demands of Princess DeV’oraH and her Klingon retinue. Then there was the irritation of a Federation diplomatic officer who saw every sneeze, wave, and toe tap as a sign of offense by the other side that would thereby lead to war. Added, there was a security department in disarray because he had NO direct authority at the moment, marines who had authority that was supposed to be HIS, and a Captain who loved to treat James like a proverbial mouse, always dangling the poor squealing, protesting rodent by the tail and threatening him with a mousetrap in front of the face.
As for her personal life, if he had time for it, he asked himself, ~“Was it being smashed and tossed like a ship in the sea?”~ He didn’t know what happened with him and his friend Rebecca. Lexa, his girlfriend, hasn’t been heard from in such a long time that James was starting to wonder if they even HAD a relationship. Then there was Brhode, again, who exiled him to quarters, and for honor’s sake, James only broke the exile rule for the sake of the investigation he wasn’t supposed to be doing.
And on top of it all, he was tired too.
He stopped for a second to breathe a sigh of relief. All the hours of work was just about ready. He was going to start… the program.
‘The Program’, as it was called by the forensics experts at the Federation College of Forensics Sciences, was an LCARS powered marvel of modern Federation programming. It was called The Program for one reason, and that was because in theory, it was all someone needed to give clues for a physical and psychological profile of the murderer in question. In reality, there was nothing much The Program could do for James’s case, but it was worth looking into. It was, after all, standard on all security investigation packages on board any ship.
The purpose of the program was to gather all information on a murder (or in this case, multiple murders), do the number crunching, find any similarities from a biological, physical, methodical and technological point of view.
Then it would try to find psychological profiles to match (it was warned, however, that nobody can really predict the murderer’s personality, but some methods of slaying do lead in the right direction).
“Computer.” Corgan rubbed his dry, scratchy eyes. He blinked experimentally at his screen. The amber, purple and white lines sometimes whirled, blended and imposed themselves on their neighboring color’s borders. James stopped momentarily, quite aware that it was very late and that he was very tired.
He picked up where he left off, by saying, “Computer, give me an analysis of the murders and find comparisons.”
**************
Lexa woke up from her shallow sleep with a gasp of cold, sharp fear. Her heart galloped uncontrollably. The panic inside her threatened to enfold her. The panic itself was in her body and even on her sheets. She felt the sheets pull tighter, begging, pleading to drag her back down into the darkness. With all her strength, she ripped the sheets out of the bedding and threw them to the side. Her momentary vacation from reality was frightening. The dream was still haunting her, as she quivered and shook like a petrified china doll under the illumination of the flickering star lights outside her portholes.
~”What happened?”~ She tried to comprehend, but like a frightened animal, she was too scared to dig deeper and find out. The answers she was trying to find were back there, in that darkness she left behind after she awoke. The loneliness, the wailing, the constant visions of blood, death, darkness, decay and madness were not worth going through to find what she was looking for.
She hurriedly pulled a cotton bathrobe over her silk pajamas, tying the rope of it together with trembling, half co-ordinated hands. The dream, or was it a vision, was still strong in her mind, and it was so similar to the visions he had seen before. It was the blood, always the blood, coming out of those pips.
It was then felt that she needed to see James more than ever. She promptly left her quarters for his.
*************
=/=”Processing…”=/=
James cursed the damn computer and the Quick Virus for eating up a majority of the processing power. The computer chugged and grunted, then came up with an answer,
=/=Complete. Three comparisons found.
First comparison, murder methodology, similar wounds on all murder victims, similar causes of death. Death caused by blood loss and shock due to deep slash to the throat and neck, from tracia to a quarter centimeter away from spinal column. Second comparison, species, all murder victims are Human. No similarities between race, gender, and Terran subtypes.
=/=
“Pause.” James wearily croaked. The similarities in species was unnerving. Maybe somebody on the ship had something against humans? It wasn’t surprising if that was the case. Some races still had ancesteral grudges against humans, even members and allies of the Federation. Klingons still had a war with the Federation a few years ago fresh on their minds.
Could the Klingons be responsible? James asked. “Terran subtypes?”
=/=“Space born, earth born and colony born.”=/=
Not bad, James clucked. The Program could even detect the subtle differences of Terrans based on environment. He continued to probe, “Continue with third similarity. What else have you found?”
=/=”Processing,=/=
The computer then answered,
=/=All wounds show no sign of cauterization due to energy weapons, nor signs of tearing of the flesh due to vibroblades, solid ammunition, or flechette rifle rounds from archaic weaponry. Most likely instruments are as follows… bladed weapons. Lethality rating 5. All weapons under this search are under standard Federation weapons licensing laws, including non energy based bladed weapons and antiques, standard knifes and industrial particle disintegration cutting equipment.”=/=
“What about illegal weapons?” James dug deep, “What kind of weapons banned in the federation could do this?”
=/=”Processing…. no long to medium range weapons exist under this search that match victim’s wounds. Over one thousand close combat weapons, found under search.”=/=
“Name the distinct types of weapons.”
=/=”Processing. Weapon types found.”=/=
“List them.”
=/=”Standard bladed weaponry, estimated size classifications from ‘large knife’ to ‘greatsword’ grade close combat weaponry. Monofiliment bladed weaponry, estimated size classifications from…”=/=
“Computer… I don’t have much time for this.” James groaned impatiently, “Would you say that all weapons would be between the size of a knife and a large close combat weapon, and that any weapons causing these wounds would use muscle power for it’s lethality.”
=/=”Affirmative.”=/= The computer predictably belched out.
“Fine. So, it’s just standard blades and monofilament blades?”
=/=”Affirmative. Also, chance of laser scalpels and blades are ten percent due to lack of cauterization.=/=
“Any chance of narrowing the weapons list more?”
=/=Negative, unless more input is found.=/=
“Damn… I was afraid of that. Ok, we have the weapons narrowed down. What about the race of the killer. What can you tell me about the potential race of the murderer?”
=/=”Processing”=/=
The computer lazily hacked through the jungle of statistics, then came up with a quick answer,
=/=”Species unknown. All sentient races hold the potential to wound in such a manner.”=/=
James argued with the computer, “You know that can’t be right. No human could cut up a neck like that so cleanly, even with a laser powered blade! The cauterization isn’t there, and even if it was, a human would need to cut slowly to compensate for the slower cut time of the laser knife. It has to be bladed. Tell me computer, estimate strength of the murderer in relation of the wounds, putting into consideration the cleanness of the cut. Estimate that the victim was hit with one swiping slash. Now, do a strength curve, with the lowest range set as the weakest strength index number needed to inflict the wounds in question with a monofilament small knife, the maximum range being the strongest strength needed to do the same wound with a standard great weapon, and show the mean, median and mode. Also put into account a little room for error, in case of weapon velocity.”
The computer instantly brought up the desired statistics on his LCARS screen. The statistical chart showed the strength index, which was the standard measurement of strength used to compare alien race physiology. The bright amber line showed the weakest strength needed to inflict the wounds to the strongest in a sort of bell like curve. The numbers were startling.
According to the chart, a being had to have a very strong strength curve in order to be able to do what he did!
“Computer, how many species of sentients fall under the strength curve that qualifies as the proper strength needed? Cross reference that with the races on the USS Galaxy, subtract any races not present on the ship, and give me the results.”
=/=Processing…. =/= The computer churned.
=/=”Search complete. Eight alien species found. Species narrowed down to five, due to comparison of the ship’s manifest. Murder suspect estimated! Murder suspect is Dr. Jebediah Quick. Chance of error… .00001 percent.”=/=
“Disregard Dr. Quick!” James snapped, throwing an old isolinear chip at the monitor, “stupid Quick git…. What races qualify on this ship as the potential murder suspects.”
The computer showed the list on the screen:
Klingon (Probability 43.121%)
Vulcan (Probability 23.462%)
Byzari (Probability 0.48222%)
Naussican (Probability 55.32828%)
Kelvan (Probability 89.2827% ?)
“Excuse me?” James couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Klingons were on the list all right, but it wasn’t surprising. But he knew that the Klingons were kept under constant watch. There was also honor to be lost if one was found as a murderer. He kept the possibility in mind. A Vulcan, Byzari, or Naussican could have a chance, but James knew the Byzari serving in his department, as well as the Naussican intelligence officer under Lieutenant Black’s watch. The Byzari, Ensign So’ka, was with James during a couple of the murders, serving his duty at his security post. The Naussican might be more difficult, but there was a chance. However, he too would be closely watched.
But the Vulcans? May be possible. There were plenty of Vulcans on the ship.
But Vulcans detested violence, and rarely did they ever go crazy enough to murder.
It was the Kelvans that worried him the most. What would a Kelvan be doing in the search? The Klingons he could understand. Even the Vulcans could have a reason. Nevertheless, a Kelvan? A serious, placid, downright cold race that was, for most of the time, indifferent towards people?
“Computer, scratch Byzari and Naussican. How many Vulcans, Klingons and Kelvans are on board the ship?” He said, all the while wondering what he stumbled on.
The answer came out cold and calculating, with that ever so infuriating
=/=Processing.=/= message.
=/=”Search found. Twenty four Vulcans, twelve Klingons, and one Kelvan currently on board the Galaxy.=/=
“What the…” He paused. One Kelvan on the ship. CURRAN? Curran’s a suspect? How could it be? “Pull up species profile, Kelvan.” James hurredly snapped out of his trance, watching the screen dance with Kelvan physiological and psychological statistics. And what he found was alarming. Arrogant, possessing a mean streak towards other sentients, the Kelvans were actually tendril like beings of incredible strength, but in human form they were mostly stone like and somewhat weakened. “Explains a lot about Curran…”
James whistled. The Kelvans were an intelligent and highly advanced race from the Andromeda galaxy. The idea of aliens from another galaxy was almost impossible, but the facts were there in front of his face. The Enterprise, THEE one and only Enterprise, encountered these beings and had trouble with them, but they were able to find a colony for the Kelvans. Later on, they were even admitted into the Federation.
It fit so well. Kelvans could manipulate their tendrils independently, with a skill that humans couldn’t do with their arms and legs. They were strong, smart, and the idea of being at the mercies of the humans may have been enough of a reason. The Kelvan psychological profile showed potential for bigotry more than anything.
Curran, a murderer?
Before James could wrap his mind around the latest findings, the doorbell chimed intrusively in his ear, jarring his overworked mind and stressed body out of the world of statistics and into reality. He quickly made his way to the door, annoyed by the intrusion, but excited to see who it was. He didn’t mind the break, though worried that he had work to do. He was too tired to conceal his investigative materials, and though his pet tribble Mudball piped out a cute, cuddly squeak from underneath the bed, James ignored what was behind him and opened the door.
He frowned as soon as he saw the sight set on him.
Flanked by two stern faced Klingon guards and a quartet of Starfleet Security, Princess DeV’oraH was rapping her sharp nailed fingers on the side panels of the walls.
~”F**k. I was hoping it was Lexa.”~ James groaned, looking at the Klingon princess yet again. She still wore her hair in the traditional Klingon style, fuzzy and uncombed. Her bosoms were nearly popping out of her breastplate. Her tanned skin glared in his eyes, or was it the shininess of her battle dress? Whatever it was, the Princess looked like she was dressed to impress someone. James held no illusions. She was coming for him.
Dressing for him. Impressing for… him. Her sharp toothed smile and glaring, yet adoring eyes, were more than he could stand without feeling a twinge of fright.
“How may I help you?” James yawned once, then waited for her response.
She replied, in a tone that was part snobbishness, yet part affection. She talked like a spoiled brat who couldn’t quite find the way to say “I… love you,” without looking weak and powerless. “I wish to speak with you, Commander. We must discuss our current security arrangements?”
James, now vaguely aware that he still had equipment strewn across his quarters, tiredly said, “Now? At this hour?”
“Yes.” She insisted sharply, “At this hour. A warrior must always be ready for battle.”
There it was. Ready for battle. A foreshadow of things to come. James wasn’t looking forward to whatever uphill struggle she planned.
James led the Klingon Princess into his quarters. With a wave of the hand, the Klingon bodyguards did not follow. The security guards almost followed, but James ordered them to stand down. He wished the guards could come in, but etiquette demanded otherwise.
However, etiquette for what purpose? James didn’t want to lead the Princess on. He didn’t want to be alone with a crazed Klingon woman in… did they call it heat? It sure seemed like it. But he had to be kind, had to be the person with the savoir faire. The doors closed behind him, locking him inside his cell.
“Princess, how can I help you? And please, make it quick. I have lots of work to do.” James impatiently said.
“Lots of work to do?” The Princess, took a seat suspiciously glanced at the pile of pads and activated computer, “How does paper work apply to… protection duties? I heard your Federation beaurocracy was inefficient, but I never would have guessed. Unless… you are doing something else.”
James didn’t have the energy to lie. He said with a fatigue weighting down his tongue, “I believe you and your staff are in danger from within. The murderer may track you sooner or later. I’m going to find him before he strikes you.”
She chuckled merrily, enjoying the delicious irony of James’s rebellious act. It was so… Klingon of him, she thought, that it was almost an attractive quality. Anything to make up for the poor forehead ridges and herbivorous teeth. “Against your Captain’s orders?”
“As much as I respect him.” James explained, “He’s acting… as you Klingons would say, without an honor of thought. I’m the most qualified to investigate, but due to circumstances that were my fault, I’m stuck here, doing it behind his back.”
She chuckled again, “Well said… a dishonor meet with another dishonor.”
James snapped defensively, “Like I have that luxury anymore! The murderer killed my men, and killed my comrades! I want to put it to a stop before it gets worse… before… you and your men are killed. Do you know the implications of that?!?! We’re talking about a galactic f**king war here! So sorry if I don’t give a flying wingnut’s f**k about losing some honor. Hell, I’ll lose my job if this comes out! But you know what? I don’t f**king care! There’s more to worry about than my career! So what if I get court martialled?!?! I’m sure a lot of people won’t mind my so called… dishonor. Catch my drift, Princess?”
She processed James points for a minute, then replied, “I see. You do it for a greater honor.”
Princess DeV’oraH slid herself off the chair and inspected the LCARS screen momentarily. She then slowly walked the room, pacing back and forth as if in deep contemplation. Then, she broke the silence, “Did you know that your selflessness is what appeals to me? You are an honorable man, Commander. An eccentric, but honorable man. We Klingons… revel in self glory. We love to obtain what is ours and keep it to ourselves. But you humans are different, and you more so. You think of a greater good instead of personal glory. How strange, yet how… shall you say it… refreshing?”
“That would work.” He agreed instinctively.
“Yes… but what disturbs me is that you humans play no favorites. What is this I see on your computer?” She spun the screen around for him to view, “Are my subjects suspects in your murder investigation?”
“As a matter of fact,” James spun the screen forcefully away, “YES YOU ARE! You people have been on board this ship, and already there are murders. You Klingons have already incited a barfight, two aggressive engagements with my staff, and one incident with a science officer. And you tell me you and your men shouldn’t be suspected of more violence? What the f**k are you thinking?
Are you that deluded, that high and mighty that you think you shouldn’t be suspected of doing any wrong?”
“We did not murder any individuals! By our honor, we stand by this claim!”
She shouted at the top of her lungs, hoping that the human would cower, and cave.
But that wasn’t the case. James stood firm, nose to nose, his ice eyes freezing her own. He said, “I believe you. We’ve watched you and your staff closely. The odds of you people being the murderers are slim, despite what my evidence says. You people are strong enough, but too well watched. And besides, during the time of the murders, you people were most likely with me and my detail. Don’t worry.”
She backed down, a snarl still in her lips, the love/hate feelings towards James battering into each other like charging targgoths. It was a begrudging defeat, but she finally backed down.
“So, you believe that we are innocent?” She asked.
“According to Federation law, you are innocent until proven guilty. You and your staff are innocent, but I believe you and your staff are still suspect. Princess, do me a favor. If you find that one of your staff is responsible, don’t take the law into your own hands. The last thing I need is more blood spilt on this ship.”
The princess grimaced, like she took his request like a bad batch of bloodwine, “I will do as you ask.”
“Thanks. That’s all I ask.”
She looked at the chief of security, puzzled, “Commander, why?”
Equally puzzled, James replied, “Why what?”
“Why, when you asked me not to dispense justice on my staff, why did you say it as if you didn’t suspect me of the murders?”
The question was difficult, but from out of a lump in his throat, James answered, “Because, I trust you. Face it, you get under my skin. You constantly harass my detail and myself. I’ve put up with nothing but abuse from you.” The Princess braced herself for each harsh word, but James was done with the criticism, ”And yet, I can’t see you as a murderer. You’re too… honor driven for that. It doesn’t fit you.”
She looked at him as if awe struck, “Why, I am surprised. You humans aren’t known for being frank.”
“Well, that’s me lady. I’m telling it like it is. You’re spoiled, but strong and passionate. And you are not a murderer, though you’re a lot of things. Consider yourself off the hook.”
James left the safety of his chair, and went to the replicator. The fatigue and adrenaline were running swiftly out of steam. He needed something to stimulate the senses.
“Rakdegeno?” James asked, with no energy left in his voice to eloquent.
“Yes, please.” She replied.
“Good. I need a cup before we discuss anything further.” He tiredly moaned, turning away from the princess as she lounged herself on his loveseat, all the while complaining about the softness of the couch.
James trudged to the replicator, ~”What else could she possibly want at this time of night? Dammit, can’t she see that I am tired? I haven’t slept in hours and I have work at the crack of Alpha. What does she want that’s so important?”~
The ever so wise conscience had the answer. He replied like a shrill drill sergeant on parade march, causing his headache to worsen, “You’re such a gullible moron, aren’t you?” Conscience mocked, “You should be ashamed of yourself, Broken Head. You put her off the hook, even though she’s as guilty as any other suspect? My god, you’re not thinking private eye here, buddy. You’re thinking with Private Dick.”~
~”Shut up brain.”~
James heard the rustling of movement. Cloth, or battle dress, on the couch? She was probably shifting her weight, he told himself. Shifting her weight to get more uncomfortable on his impossibly hard furniture. Then, he heard something lift, then something heavy drop. ~”Now what was that?”~ He groaned. Too tired to function properly, he decided he needed a cup of coffee before he could see straight.
“Coffee, double strong, extra bitter, Corgan’s blend.” He requested. A swirl of energy brought the drink moments later, “And one Rakdegeno… how would you like it?” He leaned his head to the side to spot the Princess. She wasn’t around, but then again, his blurry peripheral vision could only see half the couch.
“Sweeten it with G’kak.” Another thump hit the floor.
“Ok then, Computer… with G’kak.” He requested, and another mug of dark brown fluid materialized beside his pitch black coffee. He took a sip of the thick viscous liquid and recoiled his tongue. Black coffee, his own doctored blend, powerful as a mule and as horrible as engine degreaser spirits. It did wake him up effectively.
But as he turned around, he started to question the potency of his brew.
~”Does caffeine have a hallucinatory effect?”~ Was the question that immediately came to mind.
The Princess was still in his room. In fact, she was standing upright, and was in front of him in all her royal glory. James looked back at his coffee.
Something was definitely wrong with the brew. He tossed the cup aside, allowing it to slosh helplessly on the floor.
Maybe it was the fatigue, or that the coffee was brewed too strong by any legal and ethical standards, but he could swear that the Princess was standing in front of him, a little bit more naked than before. Scratch that, she had some clothes on, though James never saw anything the like that he had seen before on her. Her fur robe and battle armor was in a heavy heap on the floor, and instead she was wearing what looked like a form fitting, skimpy, and very ceremonial black latex two piece suit. No, James looked again, it wasn’t two piece, it was one pieces joined together by two frontal pieces of combat webbing, from bra down to hips. The suit didn’t cover much of her cinnamon skin. The bottom part of the suit could barely cover what was supposed to be covered underneath, and as for the top, it was best said that there was barely an inch of cleavage not exposed, and whatever else was being crushed by cold and tension.
There was more to her than her battle dress. No Klingon went in to battle without their trusted weapons. Held by the webbing attached the bottom and top sections of her suit was a small, orange rod attached to a high tech handle. In the other piece of webbing were strange looking canisters labeled in Klingon, the contents even James didn’t want to comprehend, though he swore one bottle looked like it was labeled ‘Kh’hay Whie’. Meanwhile, strapped on her back was something huge and paddle like, with small studs attached. On her hip was a length of rope that looked like stitched, flexible metal, with the composition and the fearsome potential of razor wire.
In addition, on top of it all, she had her smile. That same smile that seemed to say ‘I’ve got you now.’
~”Whoa…”~ James looked in fear and wonderment. A part of him, that rock star personality that didn’t mind a little kink in his love life, was so tempted to try right there and then. But the other part, the rest of him, didn’tlike the prospect of being dominated by a Klingon woman. Oh, and somewhere in the corner of his mind, he was reminded that he already had a girlfriend.
Sure, one that was unaffectionate, but one he loved much more than this beastly woman set before him.
“Look… I don’t want to disappoint you…” James stepped away, throwing the Klingon coffee to the side in sheer panic, “But really, I don’t think this is appropriate.” He was now rattling off words at a mile a minute, as if he forgot that he was ever asleep, “I have a girlfriend, a beautiful, kind, and caring girlfriend. This would be wrong…” He backed away after seeing her stroke the rope at her side, “… on so many levels…”
Conscience was less bashful, ~”Damn, this woman’s kinky. Let’s f**k.”~
“What is the matter?” Princess DeV’oraH activated a small device on her hand. It spat out a string of thin wire. The touch of another button activated something gruesome. A weak electric current ran across the whip, glowing it a nimbus white. She then approached faster than the startled James Corgan could flee to the corner of the room. Her hips swayed seductively as she walked forward, the whip crackling with each move.
“Didn’t you want to know what was so important that I had to come here at this hour?”
She cracked the whip to illustrate her point, making the most hideous electric whistling sound.
“I don’t want to know…” James begged, “I don’t want to know… I don’t want to know…”
Feeling fear that rivaled the Borg nightmares, a combination of dread for being dominated, guilt for the part of him wanting to give in to her lusty demands, and fear of betraying Lexa’s trust, James was too caught up in fear to realize that the Princess dropped her electric whip and make a mad grab for his throat. His hands came up to block the Princess’s advances just in time, as her hands were within inches away from his vulnerable neck. Another one of his professor’s lessons came to light. She was trying to mate! This was no one night stand. She was going for the power struggle to see who would be the dominant one, and by god, she was playing seriously! Her arms were like unyielding iron, her strength that of a titan. She couldn’t be moved. Those arms were halted momentarily by James’ feeble Terran strength, but inevitably those same arms would declare that James would be Princess DeV’oraH’s b*tch.
“You fight well for a human!” She howled with glee, “You stand up to me and my men without showing fear! Look at you, you even show a brave front when you’re confronted by the breathtaking beauty of the LIVING SWORD OF KAHLESS!”
“What the f**k are you talking about?!?! LET ME GO!!!!!!” James gurgles as his arms gave way. Her weight collapsed onto his. With a chest pounding slam to the floor, DeV’oraH had the Chief of Security pinned.
~”Well, now that you’re her b*tch… let’s get on with the hot, dirty sex, shall we?”~ Conscience salivated.
“I’m…” He breathed in great gulps of air. Her musky scent was everywhere.
Her flesh was everywhere he tried to look. Her curves, her form, it was all being drunk in by his eyes. He was paralyzed by fear and beauty, disgust and horniness. “…not giving…” It had been so long since he had a woman that he felt starved. The blood in his head was boiling. Chill met with hot blooded passion. Arousal met derousal. His body and mind were in a power struggle over their impulses. He wanted it, he didn’t want it, he couldn’t make up his mind. “DAMMIT! GET OFF!!!!!!!!!”
“Heeeeheehehehee… That’s what I want from my little tera’ngan (translated: Terran).” She seductively leaned her body over, her cheek rubbing up against his.
“How can you do this?!?!” James hollered.
“vltlv” She responded (translated: ‘I enjoy it’).
It was then that her teeth sank directly into his cheek. The pain made his eyes water, the blood trickled like a sickly sticky mass down his cheek and uncomfortably over his ears, matting up in his hair. She let go, growled like a horny targ in heat, and licked her lips satisfactory.
The professor’s pearl of wisdom stated that a bite on the cheek was the equivalent of getting to third base.
~”CRAP!”~ His mind screamed out.
**********
“What do you…. mean… I can’t… get in?” Lexa helplessly asked the attending Klingon and Starfleet bodyguards found flanked outside James’ quarters. None of them moved from their spot, especially the Klingons.
“We told you before.” The Klingon guards disrespectfully snarled at the Terran woman that was more than equal his height, “The Chief of Security and the Living Sword of Kahless are having a private meeting. The Princess wishes us not to be disturbed.”
A few times before during her argument with the Klingons, Lexa heard a bump or a rattle from James quarters, through the sound absorbent walls. ~”What in the devil is going on in there?”~ She thought, fearfully anticipating all sorts of adulterous scenarios. ~”Why is James and the Princess alone together in a meeting? What are they doing in there? Oh no, is James… and the Princess… are they doing what I think they’re doing? Why else would they station guards at his quarters? Why else did she request that she didn’t want to be disturbed? Oh James, please don’t…”~
An ear rattling screech of a wild animal preceded another bang and thump on the floor. The Klingons ears perked like bloodhounds on a scent. The color rose in their cheeks and a fire lit in their eyes. The Starfleet personnel,
Lexa included, was more confused than before. What could perked the Klingons like this?
One of the bodyguards signaled to the door and barked in Klingon. Weapons were drawn out of their holsters as another high pitched shrill permeated the room. The federation officers drew weapons. Lexa drew her bathrobe closer. She was afraid of what was happening.
But the next moment, she was angry, and rightfully so. A third shrill whistle, brought a Klingon fist smashing through a panel, and another one yanking on the door’s manual release. The door slid open after a few pumps of a Klingon’s powerful forearms, and the others aimed disrupter pistols into the room.
What they saw was a queer sight. Their Princess DeV’oraH was brandishing a whip that crackled with electricity, giving a few warning flicks to get whatever it was to back off. She was wearing an unmistakably sexy suit by Lexa’s standards, and her real clothes were in a pile beside James’ couch.
On the other side of the room, James was standing like a frightened, cornered targ, clutching a springing, snapping, squealing tribble in both his arms like a phaser. His check was oozing crimson blood and his pants were torn at the midriff, revealing some semi-muscular leg and some very tight Starfleet logo briefs.
“Come any closer Princess,” James gasped and threatened, “And I’ll sick this f**king tribble…..” This was when he realized the door was open, and that there were a half dozen armed guards, both Starfleet and Klingon, aiming weapons at him and the princess, “…on…you…….” His voice died down. Just when he thought it was worse, worse than a Klingon with the urge to kill and the fear of tribbles, but the sight of Lexa Reece in a bathrobe outside his quarters.
Everyone was silent, even the tribble. “Lex…” James calmly spoke, “I know this looks bad, and I know this is cliché… but I can explain.”
~”I knew it!”~ Lexa fumed. She raged off in a huff. Soon after, Princess DeV’oraH slinked off, her eye on the tribble, her hand away from the whip.
Her guards then recoiled away, grumbling about the tribble all the time.
“We leave… now!” Princess snapped with even more anger and authority than before, all the while muttering, “F**king tribble.” With each step. Then, his security detail backed away, their sympathy un-vocally passed on, and their astonishment hard to wipe off their faces.
James was left alone. The stuffing was flying out of his bed, with a studded paddle buried deep in the mattress like a harpoon on a whale. His Pink Floyd ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ poster frame was shattered and the poster was fortunate not to be broken. Everywhere his items were scattered, broken, and discarded.
“What the f**k just happened?” He sighed helplessly.
Ella Grey stopped a few feet short of the Holodeck entrance thought about giving a deep sigh.
There was always the nagging fear, lying not so deeply in the back of her mind, that she could become trapped inside, that the arch, which she always made sure was in place, would dissapear or that the computer PADD that she used to control the program would get lost among whatever imaginary world she was interacting with.
It had happened once at the Academy. She had been careless and had become trapped in the Holodeck, having to wait four long hours in a boring program which demonstrated ship design and function. Finally, someone had grown impatient and had interrupted the program.
Ella gripped her PADD tightly in her hand, assuring herself that it was still there, and then felt silly and relaxed her hand. She moved to the small screen beside the door and checked the status of the Holodeck, found it inactive. She relaxed further and made herself calmly entered the room.
The black and yellow grid, however cold and impersonal, of the Holodeck was a welcome sight. Inside were four people, a father and daughter, Ella assumed that they had found the body, and two security guards.
Oh, and the body of course. That made it five.
At least I'm prepared for it this time, Ella thought. Even though it was never easy to look on death, it was *easier* when you knew it would be there. Being called in to fix a program, knowing there was a dead guy there, was easier than rounding a corner and unexpectadly finding a rotting corpse.
She looked with detachment at the dead man, wondering what he had done to deserve to die. Wondering if there was any type of master plan.
In her short exsistance she only understood three reasons why people killed each other, for revenge, for money, and because the murderer was a complete basketcase. She wondered if any applied here.
Ella looked at the pips on all their uniforms, was mildly surprised to find that the man was the ranking officer, and handed him her prepared computer PADD.
*ENSIGN GREY. SOMEONE CALLED FOR AN ENGINEER?"
OOC: where we left off... Bhrode just got everyone's opinions about the Klingons and made some decisions... which he may or may not share with us... and the 'report' about the murders.
* * * * * * * * * *
"SHUT YOUR FESTERING GOB OR I"LL SHOOT YOU MYSELF!!" Bhrode thundered at Leo.
Leo crossed his arms and sank back into his chair, looking around the table and getting no glances of sympathy.
". . .Bhrode is a. . . ing pil. . .of Mon. . .op. Dontcha think?" Leo muttered to Lysander on his other side. Lysander made an overly elaborate show of pretending not to hear anything.
"ENGINEERING!" Bhrode thundered. "What are you doing to get my Security Sensors back up and working to make sure we catch this killer?"
Kay looked up before replying, "Currently, we have damage control working on it as a priority, and knows that they are to use whatever resources neccessary, Captain."
'I love how you act like a big shot when I'm not watching you, Commander, and then try to smooch my nether regions when we're face to face..Pay attention to my wisdom here, and you just may learn something." Bhrode sneered at the Half-feline, Half Bajoran, Half-Klingon hybrid. Bhrode made a near-imperceptable gesture to Geluf.
Curtis, who had once again fallen into a state of non-cohearance, snapped back to reality.
"Sir, Ensign Grey and I were working on that subsystem relay an hour ago in one of the Jefferies tubes. Almost got the thing functioning, but we had a rather unpleasant visit from our resident pychopathic homoside artist. Once we shook 'em, I noticed they had completely destroyed a power relay. We're on it now, I estimate another two hours before these sensors are back up."
Bhrode let out a long suffering sigh. "Thank you Mister Geluf, for doing the job of your superior while she re-decorates the carpeting my ship and tries to do my job for me."
"Yeah! And she tried to steal those nice carvings in the Lounge! Probably tried to sell them to that Wooden Monkey-Penis Grubbbing Counselor guy on the USS Miranda! BOY I hate that Perv! It could be HER killing people! She's got that Knife! She's a Fruit Loop! She could be like.. all strung out on Cat-Nip and whakking people right and left! Maybe she stole them carvings to feed her Junkie Habit! " Leo grumped.
Before Kay could reply even, and the rest of the room was in slackjawed silence at the ODDNESS of Leo's latest theory... Bhrode replied.
"Thank You DEPUTY. But you're wrong. The Commander was in the Brig, trying to get her officer out of custody after the initial weapons sweeps, when the first victim was killed."
"Oh. Well.... she scratched an Nymphs ass, taking them down. IS she gonna pay for THAT? That's like.. almost sacriligious! She scratched it bad! looks like she sanded it.. or licked that ass with her rough tongue...
or...." Leo nattered on.
"THANK YOU DEPUTY! Now shut up." Bhrode ordered.
"Yeah, but that ass...that nice carved wood ass! It's ruined I tell you... "
Leo pressed.
"THANK YOU DEPUTY! Now shut up." Bhrode ordered.
"Nice report, Nerp. You're gonna run another six Klicks for blowing up that relay and upsetting the Captain." The Marine NCO was hissing in Curtis' ear.
"You." Bhrode pointed a finger at Karyn, like he wished it was a Plasma Cannon. "Tell me again what you think is going through this whakko's head?
Why THESE five people? Why not all my Engineers, like they so richley deserve?"
Before Karyn could answer, her 'aides' in the form of Jay and Silent Bob cut her off.
"WHoah! This [BLEEP]er is like, totally whakking people at random! He's like...killing these [BLEEP]ing people at [BLEEP]ing random. [BLEEP] this is --so sweet--!!!! You [BLEEP]ing don't know who's next, and everyone is like.. [BLEEP]ing all paranoid and thinking it's the [BLEEP]er next to them! Tubby! Hold me!" Jay crowed, as Silent Bob shook his head 'no' and backed away from his friend.
'[BLEEP]! I said HOLD ME you fat chubbster! Don't make me get all Tekken 25 on your fat-ass! I know it's not you an [BLEEP]ing me, becaue we're Lovers and not Fighters! HOLD ME you fat [BLEEP] You pile of Monkey Poop!" Jay demanded.
Legate Kylar had remained silent all through Brhode's thundering tirades. He was such a blundering fool! He was worse than a festering wart on your buttocks, oozing useless pus as it became infected with neglect of the real reason how it came to be. [ed. note: Now come ON Ian.. Kylar's not all -that- bad! ;) ]
Now, Bhrode was asking the Counselor for her advice. How can a woman who dallies in people's FEELINGS know what is going on in a killer's mind?
Brhode was surrounding himself with idiots. Two XO's who argue back and forth like a stalker and his prey who knows she has the upper hand on him.
A Mongoloid for a Security investigator. Time for the Kelvan to speak: "This killer is coldly efficient and no psychopath. Not one who is medically certified. Planting suppositions only diffuses the real situation and takes the investigation off track by not following the facts. Keep to what we know, Captain." He felt like he was in a day-care center. All he needed was Leo firing spitballs at the others.
Bhrode glared at the one person he felt had NO position aboard the ship.
Then, with a sacchrine smile and an extremely patronizing tone, he addressed the Legate.
"Here's the facts. You know shit about humans, let alone psychopaths. We don't have them anymore, and if someone like.. say.. Garth of Izar shows signs of turning into one, we stick them on a rehab asteroid, like we did with all your Kelvan asses when you came crying for a new home. So, dazzle us Legate, since the Princess informs me that she finds your attempts at doing your own job lacking. Tell me all about your knowledge of Security, since you can't even handle the Diplomatic aspects of your job."
He'd be reading through the autopsy reports Malgin had put together. All the victims were killed with the same methods, with the exception of the one who'd be ravaged.
"Sounds like the perpetrator is searching for certain victims. He quickly kills some, absolutely maims others. If this person or persons are enjoying the killings, it is not through the severing of the necks of some of these.
Those are sudden and efficient, like a Marine raid... and the target is elsewhere. Killing the sentries quickly and quietly so as not to alert others. Maybe the killer had come close to being captured and that is why we have only seen slit carotids. Who discovered the bodies? Had they heard or seen something that seemed out-of-place at the time?"
"You have access to the same data we have. The first victim was killed right after the sensor net went down. In that lifeboat, the killer had all the time in the world, to do whatever to the corpse. Commander Corgan could tell you more about that area. One was discovered by Security responding to an alarm of 'Unauthorized Presence in a Lifeboat' Victims two and three were killed right under the noses of Security, in the Brig. Victims four and five were killed in their quarters. Despite your, and Corgan's, more lurid and depraved wished, there have been no 'maiming' or other actions on the corpses. All the bodies have been discovered by Security, as a result of the stepped up patrols." Bhrode settled back into his chair and continued glaring at the Legate.
'Hey ... YO! get a room you two! You know... It could be Her! The hottie in the wheelchair!" Leo crowed, pointing a pudgy finger at Karyn.
"Why?" asked Lys.
'Because she's a red-head! All redheads are Man hating, Love Killing Lesbians. Everyone knows that. You'd have to be a loon to love a Redhead, sorry Mister Pants-Are-Pulled-Rocksley. But it's like the old saying "Fire on top, Sailors delight in the morning." or something." Leo replied.
"Commander Dallas is in a Hover chair. She is physically incapeable of performing any of the murders, as Dr. O'Connell's simulations proved. She has no feeling from the waist down."Rebecca replied, in a flat uncaring tone that implied she knew how Karyn would take the statement, and didn't care if she hurt Karyn's feelings or not.
"Really? I seen her with them leg thingies! Numb from the waist down? I bet, that me and her could..." Leo began, leering at the Counselor.
"Malgin." Bhrode purred, cutting off Leo. "Tell me, anything link these five people together? Anything standing out as common or odd in all of them?"
Vladimir yawned and said in a very self-confident tone, trying to keep annoyance away, because he was telling the same words for fourth time in last days... "Well, I'd say that there were very few things connecting murdered people.Method of death - all with one same kind of mortal wound with almost same penetration - almost to the point of decapitation. Then... These victims all showed no signs of resistance, as if they were either caught by surprise or knew the murderer. Nothing else - age is different, sex is different, murder scene is different... All is different on all murders. Nothing more ties them together. Only the finding by Security, and the method of death."
"Thank you, Doctor Malgin. Nice to see that someone in Medical can stay awake long enough to bother doing their jobs. Ever consider transferring to the Liasion Corps? I hear you don't need to be a Diplomat there." Bhrode sneered.
"And they were all virgins." Leo added in an airy manner.
"They were?" Bhrode demanded.
"Well... I dunno about the guys... but that chick? I never did her. Never got around to it before the Fruit Loop Killer offed her." Leo boasted.
"Malgin. Go back and find out of that's correct. Deputy, you SHARE your findings with the rest of us in the future." Bhrode ordered.
"HEY! I had an undercover sting operation going on for WEEKS before that first guy committed suicide! I was dressed up like a Ferengi, hiding in the bathrooms..see..." Leo began.
"Shut up Deputy. Doctor, find out if his claim is true. [ed. note, it IS! All WERE Virgins! Point for Leo! Coincidence... or not?] Bhrode ordered.
From a wall where he had leaned Maj Bolivar stared at the chief Medical officer like a lion examining a tasty gazelle, "Aside from the fact that they are all dead, and the fact that it obviously wasn't suicide because counseling hasn't had us all in for a group huggie-squeezie session."
"WAS THAT A JOKE? Who is this idiot, that he dares to joke in my presence?" Bhrode thundered from his seat, whirling to glare at the offending officer.
"Major Bolivar. If Black is the new CTO replacing O'Connell... that would make this Exchange Officer the new..." Rebecca began to recite from memory, as Lysander scrabbled to put a name to the figure.
"Can it Number One. I know who my crew is. Bolivar, sit your ass down before I kick it all the way down into the Brig. Leave the funny to me. The next jokester is going to get their punchline back as an anal suppository."
Bhrode snapped out.
"Shit! Old Bhrode laying it [BLEEP]ing down, Tubby!" Jay crowed to Silent Bob.
Bolivar grinned as he sauntered to the sole empty seat. then focused his laser vision on Leo, "And your investigation right now makes me wonder if your brain has been replaced by a vacume. The only reason you're heading this up is the current chief of security has a history of corpse love."
Bhrode's frown into the appalled silence silence spoke volumes.
"Number One, prepare a short list of officers to fill the Chief Intelligence slot, if I decide to shoot Major Bolivar out the torpedo tubes at the Klingons." Bhrode mjuttered, drumming his fingers on the table top and glaring at the Exchange Officer.
"What did he say?" Leo nattered to Lysander.
"That Rebecca has to prepare a list of officers to be the Chief Intelligence Officer if..." Lysander whispered back.
"No! Not Bhrode! People on Starbase fitty-five heard HIM! That other guy! Who is he and what did he say?" Leo hissed back "He's Major Saladin Bolivar, our Chief Intelligence Officer and an Exchange Officer from the Nietzchean Lancer corps." Lysander hissed back.
"No Way! Saladin? 'Tossing a Salad!' Get it?" Leo chortled to himself.
'No." Lys replied, honestly.
"See.. 'Tossing a salad' means.... ohhh.. forget it. My best stuff is wasted on you people. What did we get in Exchange for him? I hope it was a blondie named 'Helga' with a rack you can..." Leo pressed.
"We sent an officer there, to get HIM." Lys hissed back, pinching the bridge of his nose like he felt a headache coming on..
"Really? And that Corgan guy is still wandering around? Why didn't we ship HIS silly ass over there? Old Broken Head wouldn't be horning in on your honey. Wheezing on your Kool-aide. rubbing your Rhubarb, if he was wherever this guy comes from, would he?" Leo demanded.
Lys stared at Leo like he was a genius. Obviously the thought had never entered Lysander's head.
"What did he say?" asked Leo, again in a stage whisper that carried to everyone else.
"That you have space between your ears, and that Commander Darkstar loves Corpses and that..." Lysander began to explain.
"What? Did he say something about my Mother?" Leo screeched, rising to point a finger at Bolivar. "I saw 'The Boys From Brazil!' I know -all- about how you blonde haired Eugenics freaks LOVE the little blonde boys! You're the murderer! You! You killed all them people, trying to raise some Dead God! Some Hideious Force from the Forgotten Age when the fish flopped in the mud and Mankind had yet to walk the Earth! All You Nazi-Nuttsies messed with Forces Beyond the Power of Man to Understand! Indiana Streely and the Lost Ark! I know..."
"SIT DOWN DEPUTY!" Bhrode ordered. Unfortunatly, he didn't add 'Shut up' to his order.
Leo's fat butt hit the chair with an audible 'plop' but his mouth continued moving in one of his finest 'Hysterical Rants' yet.
"... STUFF. Believe you me, buddy, I KNOW STUFF! Nietzchean? Nazi-Ian is more like it! We got --that-- guy to go around sneering and trying to be all superior! [ ed. note, here Leo is pointing at the Kelvan sitting opposite him] I SEE STUFF! I see them black spaceships out there! I know this guy, whose cousin's-friends'-hairdressers'-sisters'-neighbor once even SAW one of them Grey Aliens! She said it was shopping for Jikka Jikka nuts on the Promenade on Sirettia Six! So you and your Neo-Nazi,mumbo-jumbo don't scare me! I watched 'Mein Krauthead: The Musical' ten times! It was a Streeley who helped fight the Germans when they bombed Pearl Harbor and blew up the USS Maine!! AND WE KISSED...e rr.. KICKED your ASS back then Buddy! You and your Facist Leader, Ross Perot! AND ANOTHER THING! Raven likes them moving!"
"Errr..." Lysander tried to interject.
"He called Raven a Necrophiliac! Raven! The guy I single handedly let tag along with me when I saved THIS SHIP on hundreds of occasions! The guy I TAUGHT 'How to Be a Hero' the Streeley Way! Like Raven was some sicko Perverted Freak, this guy comes here and says THAT! Well Mister Salad Tossing Bolivian...My ...err.. OUR Raven is NO pervert! Why, I've seen dames, dames who even --I-- have scored, toss themselves at Raven! Fine looking women, with hooters and everything! I can't believe this Fruit Loop thinks, like, -Raven- is as Whakky as Corgan! Believe me, buddy! I KNOW how Raven Darkstar likes his Sexual Partners! And Raven likes them warm! And Moving! And he likes his sexual partners wearing those little fur hats like..... hey... where IS the Big Guy?" Leo ranted on.
An appalled silence reigned in the room. Raven Darkstar was -not- at the meeting?
"My people have a saying." Major Log announced into the Raven Darkstar-less silence, his gravelly voice booming out and making even Rebecca start at the suddeness and unexpected souce.
Every eye in the room turned to the near-identical copy of Raven, sitting glaring at the Klingon General. The hostility that flowed between the two behemoths was near-palpable.
"The buffalo that is wounded, bleeds the most and the guilty eagle will fly crooked." Log intoned.
" whoah ... whoah... WHOAH! WHAT THE HECK DOES THAT MEAN?" Leo exploded.
Log shrugged his broad, mighty shoulders.
"I dunno. Every time you'd ask a question, the Tribal Elders would look all shifty and say that, back when I was a kid on the Reservation. Crazy old coots. One of the reasons I left as soon as I could. Raven was the only kid I knew who listened to the Elders and all their crazy talk. My buddies used to beat him up a lot, until he turned five and grew bigger than they were."
"Hey.. you know WHAT! It could be YOU killing people! For all WE know, you killed Raven already and are some kind of Alien Whassit, trying to get up our butts to control our minds and make us think you're Raven, so you can take over the Federation! If you're Raven's brother, how come your name is different?" Leo screeched, pointing at the Marine Commander.
"My people have the tradition, that they name their children after the first two things the mother sees after the birth." Log replied. "So my name is Laughing Horse-Log and my younger brothers' name is Croaking Raven-Darkstar." the Major replied.
"Wow... If I'd been born there... I'd have been Half EmptyGin Bottle-Dirty Underwear Streeley! Hey! Raven's REAL name is Croaking Raven! HAHAHAHAHAAHAaaa! Where --is-- that lug? " Leo mused.
"Most likely.. in his room. Sulking. He did that a lot as a kid. Mom always liked him best, and she spoiled him. He's most likely in there, sitting in the dark with a sharp rock, slitting open his..." Log replied.
"ohhhh.. I gotto go there later to fill him in!" Leo moaned, cutting off the Marine.
"THIS is how your vaunted Starfleet operates?" sniffed the Klingon Brigadier, from his post behind the Princess DeVo'rAh.
'Silence, General." she waved a hand in airy dismissal, her eyes still fastened on Quick and burning with a smouldering lust.
"I will NOT be silent. First... they assign some...'bahtag [derogatory curse, unspecified] to your security! In the form of this Mak'daR [coward] Corgan! Then the t'ooom'M'IraH [useless things, derogatory] sit here and insult us more! No Klingon ship would be run in this manner." he sneered.
"Errr... rather! Smeggin' well would have had the Pain-Sticks out by now."
Lys nattered, clearly having seen Meetings like that during his stint with the Klingon Deep Space Fleet. Rebecca raised one tiny, red arched eyebrow, clearly indicating that SHE for one would welcome that particular addition to this meeting.
"Enough! Yin'taGh! [unspecified curse..'cut your tongue out!'] --I-- am of the House of Kahless. I sit at the side of the Emperor Reborn. Your House Tukagath pledged to follow my father..." she retorted, her attractive features set in a scowl.
"ba'Qa! [expletive indicting disgust with oneself] An oath made in error can be rectified by Battle Blood. I will speak later, Your Highness. Away from these rotting piles of 'forshak [derogatory comparesion, exact item unknown] Our words are not for these kor'Tal [derogatory description]" the General snorted.
"Why don't I just hand you and the Princess over to that Nice Thought Admiral?" Bhrode challenged.
"Dor'sho'ga! [curse of great frustration] You see? These humans are weak!" The Brigadier General spat out, returning to galring at Major Log.
"That would be...unwise. For the reasons I told you before. Much is at stake here, Fleet Captain." The Princess replied.
'Well.. don't worry. I have a plan." Bhrode anounced, looking around the table with a smirk, to see who would ask him about his plan.
No takers.
BIG surprise there.
At the door, Victor tried suppressed his nod, Unfortunatly, Bhrode noticed the Security officer.
"YOU!" Bhrode snapped, pointing at Kreighoff by the door. "Aren't you some Big Game Hunting expert? Give me YOUR opinion about the murders, since Mister Corgan seems intent on playing with something under the table and can't be bothered."
Leo guffawed. "Geeeeezeee.. you just MENTION a corpse and Old Broken Head is going at it! There's your pervert necrophiliac! " as Leo removed HIS hands from HIS pockets, with a start.
Victor began reciting what he'd figured out in his head to see how it compared to the opinions of the others.
"Of course, Sir. They. . . .the kill sites, were convenient, isolated.
The killer could afford to spend the time to do their ritualized killing system because of that. Killing that way makes a mess - a big mess - even standing behind them the killer stands a good chance of getting blood on them. They need that isolation to make certain that they can get in, kill, and get out without being seen in case that happens. As for selection of the victims... either they all interacted with the killer in some way, all did something that fixed the killer's attention on them and were chosen based on that, or there's a pattern I haven't seen yet. It is not classic stalking behaviour, he's not selecting them for any one specific reason, maybe they were just all 'vicitems of opportunity'. I know why he's leaving them the way he is though - fear. The killer wants us to be scared. They're poking the anthill and watching the ants run this way and that." ~ That's okay - as long as they're watching the ants, they'll never see me coming for them. ~ the Security oficer added internally.
"The horse that shits a lot, always walks in front of the blind man." Log replied.
"How?" asked Leo.
"Was that some stereotypical racist crack?" demanded the huge Indian Marine.
"No... Not 'How' like in some Indian 'How you DOING?' way. 'How' like in 'How the hell does that horse thing have anything to do with this?' " Leo replied.
"The Security Officer missed one thing. You don't hunt a grizzly with only a knife. Whoever is killing all those people... they don't LIKE Humans, they view them as dirt. It's not a hunt of something dangerous, like the Hirogen do, going after it with all the weapons you have appropiate to the threat to yourself, this is a slaughter." Log observed.
"I knew I'd like you, Log. That's the most insightful thing anyone's said here yet." Bhrode crowed.
The Big Indian's face remained impassive. He continued staring down the Klingion General. Bhrode might as well have never spoken, for all thereaction Major Log showed.
"Yeah well.. that's all fine and dandy. Let's all clap and cheer the Big Guy! But maybe the Killer is... YOU!" And Leo shot out of his seat, pointing right at Rebecca Von Ernst.
"Me?" Even the Ice Queen's famous 'stone face' broke into puzzlement for 5.98 seconds.
"YEAH! You're one of them man-hating, killer Red Heads! you got lots of blood on YOUR hands! I looked at your record. Mister Lysterine left it out in his office! Nar Hallas ring a bell? AND you were on K-4 with Corgan and a load of deadies! Come on... how'd you guys DO it in EVA suits? Do they have connectors for that sort of thing?" Leo chortled, managing to leer at his last implication..
"Commander Hawksley left -my- personnel record out in -his- office?"
Rebecca asked, with clear undertones that someone would be flayed alive for THAT breach of regulations. She , true to form, ignored everything but that which her mind had filed as 'urgent, deal with NOW, Regulations Violation.'
'Yeah! Except... damn.. can't be her. Not strong enough or tall enough.
Too short. And she's just a girl.... I think she's a girl, it's hard to tell. You are a girl, right?" Leo pestered, ignoring the fact that his toupee came to Rebecca's already tiny eyebrow level. He was leering at her flat chest as he asked the last part of his demand.
"Enough. Commander Von Ernst is the killer when I tell her to be the killer. Not in this instance. You all have your orders. Go find the killer. I'll go take care of our uninvited Klingon guests." Bhrode snapped.
"Okay... okay...okay... now...we done talking about them five new murders?
Back to the original five suicides!" Leo pressed, to a chorus of groans.
"Dismissed." Bhrode snapped to the room, as he stalked out of the Lounge.
NEXT POST: "Diplomacy, the Bhrode way!"
OOC: This wraps up the 'Staff Meeting' Saga. moral of the Story?: 'Never invite Leo!' The clues are 'Out There Scully' for the search of the killer! Let's see some IC interaction of those OOC theories I see! Grill your personal fave in a Joint Post! Post a solo post of your own "leo-esque' ranting!
Establish YOUR OWN Alibi! (You may need it!)
OOC: Let's see... Bhrode had his meeting, got the opinions of some people about what to do with the Klingons... Bhrode fired up the PPC intending to kill him some pesky Klingons, but the PPC is a Dr.Quick invention... and not only won't shoot BUT drained power from all other combat systems. So we have the ship in a tight spot, and JQB is NOT ranting away?? It's ALL in his plan, kiddykins!
* * * * * * * * * *
Four starships hang in the ebon void... surrounding the fifth. The fifth looking deadly and sleek compared to her captors. It looks like the cat-and-mouse seduction of interstellar combat just turned into an ugly gang-rape.
Aboard the largest, a Klingon Thought Admiral taunts his helpless opponent...
You'd think Bad Guys would learn something...you NEVER taunt the Good Guys before you kill them.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Tachyon pulse away Captain." Black's quiet words punctuated the raging rant from the Klingon Commander.
"...and if the Princess is not surrended, we will WHIP you into compliance! We will then march in victory through the smoking rubble of the halls of your ship and suck the marrow from your worthless bones, as they lay cracking under our bootheels! We will smash your...what? QI'yah![foul disgust]" the Thought Admiral raged, as he noticed developments.
For... at Bhrode's calm command, the Tachyon pulse had been set up in the Main Deflector Dish arrays of USS Galaxy. The specific were harmonics repeated through every Shield Generator node aboard Galaxy, and at his 'mark' the pulse had lept our from USS Galaxy, a shimmering 'bubble' of invisible tachyons, racing away from USS Galaxy at the Speed of light. It was a mark of the level of professionalism in the Sciences and Tactical Departments, that they didn't whine or question their commander... they simply heard his order for a tachyon Pulse.. and made it happen.
The first thing those Tachyons hit was the feeble bubble of GALAXY's degraded Shields. The drain of power to the PPC had reduced shields to Combat Effeciency slightly above that of standard cruising mode. The Tachyon pulse hit the shileds and made them wildly courusce in a molten glow of energy, for one flickering nanosecond.
Pretty.
Mere nanoseconds later, the Tachyon Pulse did the same thing to the shields of the Klingon Flotilla, casting the lean sinister ships in the midst of flickering lights.
Pretty, but hardly worthy of one of the most vile Klingon curses to be flung. And not worth a whit tactically. Aboard Galaxy, even Rebecca Von Ernst, perched on the edge of her Command Chair showed the faintest signs of puzzlement. Lysander was babbling on the other side of Bhrode.. as he had no idea what the hell was going on either. Her dispassionate brown eyes met his electricly vibrant blue-green ones over Bhrode's chuckling chest, trading an uncomprehending gaze of bewilderment.
It wasn't until the Tachon Pulse lit up the other twelve ships present, that Rebecca beat Lysander to the realization of what 'Bhrode's Game' had been.
The Tachyon Pulse hit the cloaking screens of the twelve Orion Raiders who had been silently flanking Galaxy, throwing the ships into detection by the ambushers and abushees.
Eleven of the ships were behind the Klingon Flotilla, the four Klingons caught in a web of overlapping firezones and crossfires that they had zero chance from escaping from alive. The Twelvth Orion ship was holding a position UNDER the USS Galaxy... mere meters seperating her stealth field from Galaxy's defelctor shields.
The very moment that shocked Klingon brains were registering the presence of the interlopers... the Orion ships dropped the Cloaks and powered up weapons. Weapons that had been presighted and ranged.
But it wasn't even the unconventional deployment that rankled deep in the Klingon breast. It was WHO had done it.
For the ship that Galaxy held close to her breast.. the one currently locking disruptors on the Vor'cha was known to any Klingon Commander. It was a ship that was hated and despised.
"Oh DRAT. Captain Bhrode... your shiphandler almost ruined my surprise!" came the mocking voice over the channel between Galaxy and the Klingons.
"Mister Savoie... my compliments to you, for rectifying the problem Ensign Whassit caused. And make a note, Mister Savoie... the next time I order 'hold THIS position' I mean THIS specific position.. not 'give or take 5 decimal places.'" Bhrode actually smiled, tugging down his tunic front.
"Aye Captain." replied a bewilderwed looking Savoie, pale faced at HOW close the Orion was to the stationary USS Galaxy.
"YOU!" snarled the Klingon Admiral in disgust.
"Me?" replied the puzzled voice of Captain-General Deth O'key IV, of the Orion 'Merchant' O'Key Cartel.
"Portions of that ship are property of the Emperor!" The Thought Admiral raged, staring at the apparition of the Orion ship with the boom section of a Klingon D-7 cruiser somehow attached to it in an ungainly looking addition.
"Great Granpa O'Key FOUND that thing derelict!" the Orion blazed.
"Ahem." Bhrode interrupted the two hundred year old arguement.
"Captain-General O'Key, Admiral... perhaps you would join myself, the Princess and our...Legate aboard Galaxy? To dicuss this little impasse?"
Bhrode suggested, his lip sneering at mention of the Liasion Officer his ship had been saddled with.
"Of course, I would be delighted to partake of the glorious hospitality the Federation is known to lavish upon visitors to their ships. Berhaps a tour of your Engine room and..." Began O'Key, before the Klingon agreed with a curt bark and closed channel. Bhrode motioned to Reece, to cut the Comm channel on the long winded Orion privateer 'merchant.'
Bhrode looked around his bridge and his lips compressed in a rictus of displeasure.
"Is this a Federation Starship or a cruise liner? Tactical! Report on the damn Orions and lay in a plot to destroy them if the urge takes me." Bhrode barked, cutting short any feelings of elation the crew might show, having been saved from certain death mere sconds before.
"Aye Sir!" replied Black.
"Helm! Get us further away from those damned pirates before they steal the fillings from our teeth. OPS and Engineering! Get me that PPC on line and centered right on Thought Admiral Wahssisname's forehead. Number One, with Black on that Tactical plot. Number Two, you had a request for some personal time? take it now because you'll be with me for the negotiations."
Bhrode was barking, as people began to fly around the Bridge.
"Oh.. Mister Reece? Turn that damn Red Alert Klaxxon off. No one aboard seems to listen to it anyways.WHERE IS MY GADDAMN STATUS REPORT?..."
Lysander heard, as he scurried off the bridge.
Bhrode looked around and chuckled. "I love a good plan." he announced to no one in particular.
Even Rebecca, bossing Black around the Tac Arch raised an eyebrow at that one.