By Lieutenant Commander Rose Isis MacAllen
Chief of Archaeology, USS Galaxy
And Lieutenant Cutter Kara'nin
Chief of Astrophysics, USS Galaxy
USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 50210.14 - 50210.21 |
Betty looked around her sic and span, spartan quarters and grimaced. One of the drawbacks to her profession, was that the Marines didn't really get too attached to places.
So the 'Marine Land' Barracks that had been installed abaord USS Galaxy featured the drab, Fleet Issue Grey on Grey non-decor that only the Klingons found 'somewhat pleasing, if you care about that sort of thing' in it's stark efficiency. And Pakleds loved it, if you used primary colours and rounded corners.
Still, being a Marine had it's advantages. She wasn't stuck back on the Mining Colony, with her dumbass brothers, for starters. And she'd seen a lot of planets... although most alien planets she'd visited in the Corps had featured someone trying to kill her. Funny how many planets are uncomfortable, too. Of course, you blow up Risa, and it'll look like Deneb Seven. Mud was Mud was Mud the Universe over.
Still... you got to shoot back at the Nerps, so that was another advantage.
AND, you got to prove to the Fleeties, what useless wastes of protoplasm they are. Distinct advantage there.
She settled her white Dress Beret on the waves of her lusterous black hair, and practiced a scowl in the mirror.
Perfect.
The chronometer showed 05:54:03 a.m. ship's time. Marine PT was done for the day... the youngest Marine, Rifleman Cletus Tanner III had drawn the 'Run the Fleeties' PT Instructor duty today. It wasn't a sought-after post for the Marines, physical Training was bread and butter to them, done as a group daily and in most cases, as the individuls' 'recreation' time as well. It was the sad state of affairs amongst the Fleeties Physical Condition, that drew Marine disgust and laughter. Still, Bhrode had ordered the Marines to whip his crew into shape. And orders are orders. And he had used the word 'whip' which led to all sorts of interesting regulations twists, in the Marine mind.
Betty exited her quarters, and stomped her way through the halls. With the upcoming meeting between the Orions, the Klingons and Bhrode, she had been forced into her Dress uniform by Major Log and Captain Bhrode's orders. MOST people saw the Midnight Blue jacket with the scarlet and yellow Three Chevrons, Fouled Anchor and Four Rockers on her sleeve, and cleared the way. You don't see many Gunnery Sergeant Majors around the Fleet, let alone a Master GSM. The scowl on her face made up the minds of those who didn't know who she was by the uniform.
There are.. always exceptions.
Betty almost slammed into a pimply faced Security Officer, who was goggling at something.
Ensigns eyes met the Sergents.' The Security officer sneered. It was the old battle.. Security versus Marine. Betty's calm, hard blue eyes met the kid's in challenge.
"Don't Marines know how to salute an officer?" the kid asked, clearly intent on making a scene.
"Sure we do. Sir." Betty answered, remaining at attention, arms locked down her sides.
"Well?" the kid demanded, clearly seeing a chance to score a 'point' on the Marines and going for it.
"I was waiting for you to do so first, sir." Betty replied, using a tone of voice that implied she thought the guy was dumb, perhaps even a cretin.
The Kid goggled. "What rank do I have here, Sergeant?" he asked, indicating his collar, where a tarnished single gold pip was marred dull by a fingerprint.
"I believe the oficer is an Ensign, if he is not sure. Sir." Betty replied.
"Darn straight I am! And you're not." the kid replied, hands on hips.
"No sir, I am not a Starfleet Ensign. I thank my stars daily, for that fact. Sir." Betty replied, deadpanned.
"Well! Where the HELL do you get off, asking me to salute YOU first? That is the most, gawwdamn ignorant FU*KIN thing I have ever heard! the Fragging NERVE! An Officer? Saluting a NCO? FU*K that SHI*!! " the kid began, tiny specks of spittle flying off his livid face.
"Ensign." said a cool voice over his shoulder.
The kid spun, to see the midnight black and Command Red uniform of a Fleet NCO. Even dim ensigns know the face of the Chief Boatswain aboard their duty post. The smart Junior Officers get along with the Enlisted crew, earning their respect. The Dumb ones usually find themselves carefully ushered out of the Fleet, if they'd made it that far.
"Chief Westwell. You look nice today." the kid said, carefully trying to feel his way through a potential career ballbuster here.
Elizabeth Westwell had been in the fleet longer than this kid had been alive. She was a 'legend,' having risen to the highest possible NCO Rank that the Fleet had. She knew her job in spades, and four other people's jobs as well... a lot of the guys who'd been HER ensigns over the years were wearing Admirals' stars now, if not having their own commands. And they tended to listen to her and her opinions. She was one of the few pople who had NOT been hand picked by Bhrode to serve here on this ship. She was one of the few who'd asked permission to come aboard, and she was the only one, for whom the question had been a mere formality.
"Thank you Ensign." the Chief said levelly. "May I explain something to you.. sir?" she asked, her face showing understanding of his awkwardness.
"Uhhhh... sure." the kid said.
"Look at the Gunny's decorations. The top row, that ribbon all by iteself." the Chief said.
The kid did so.. and his eyes widened as comprehension set in.
Starfleet protocol says that Junior Crew must salute their superior, and hold the salute until the superior acknowledges it. There are 2 exceptions to this rule. The first, is that the salute does not have to be rendered under combat, or if the Commanding Officer has declared it 'not necessary' outside of Dress Uniform Occasions. The second... is that any member of Starfleet regardless of rank, salutes a holder of the Medal of Valor FIRST, regardless of their rank.
And Betty's uniform had the tiny Federation Blue ribbon with it's distinctive scattering of white stars that indicated she hel 'The Medal.'
"Sorry Gunny! Carry on. Err.. you too.. Chief.... as you were ladies." The Kid said, firing off a redfaced salute and scurrying to escape the smirk Betty was wearing.
The Starfleet Master Chief Petty Officer eyed her younger Marine counterpart with amusement. "Just can't break down and wear the damn medal with the neckribbon, can you?" she asks goodnaturedly.
"Captain said to break out the Monkey suits, we break them out. Didn't say nothing about fruit salad decorations." Betty said.
"If the Captain said to break out the Armour, you'd have beaten him to it. I swear you sleep in that rig. But your decorations? Just hate to wear it, don't you?" the Chief asked, matching Betty's shorter strides as they progressed down the halls.
"Always be prepared." Betty shot back.
"That's the Young Space Scouts motto." the Chief returns.
"Dumb assed rules. Fine if you're sitting aboard some ship... get your ass shot down in the mud. Hey, why do all Commander Corgan's Nerps try to swear?" grumped Betty, pressing the turbolift buttons.
"Eternal Mystery. Young men seem to think it makes them tough. Which reminds me... you'll find your PT sadists on Deck 39. Maintance crews are complaining about 'pools of sweat' down there. If The Old Man wants you to run us ragged, at least mop up after yourselves." the Chief said, with a smile.
"I have to go 'liberate' one of your guys right now." Betty said with a smirk, tapping a PADD with her thumbnail. "See you around the NCO Mess, Boats." she added, as the doors closed.
=/\=
The main science officer's lounge wasn't the most happening place on the ship. The main reason for that was probably its clientele. Although other people weren't restricted, the lounge was pretty much scientists only. Many of the officer's would come here during their break and grab a bite to eat, play one of the various games, or sit and talk shop with their colleges.
Cutter visited the science lounge very infrequently. He preferred to eat alone and spent the remainder of his time on his work in his office. Today, however, the Chief of the Geology Department had asked Cutter to meet him for lunch. His excuse was that the department heads should get to know each other.
However, after ordering his food from the replicator, the geology chief hailed and said that he would be unable to make lunch and requested a rain check. Apparently, there was a bit of a geology emergency. It was unfathomable to Cutter as to what a 'geology emergency' could consist of, but he didn't complain.
Instead of sitting alone in such a populated place, Cutter scanned the room for an eating partner and quickly spotted Commander MacAllen. Perhaps it would be best to complete today's purpose, and get to know his fellow chief science officers better. He strolled over to her table, holding his tray in his hands, and asked, "May I sit here?"
Rose looked up from her PADDS with an smile at the young man while eating some spicy Betazoid chicken, her Asst Chief of Archology, Kay MacFarland was watching her one year old daughter Karyn Shinta. It was great to have alittle break from her only child since Karyn is an hand full.
"Tola. How are you?" Cutter asked, trying to make conversation.
"I have fine Cutter, how are you?"
"Lene. I'm fine. I've been spending a lot of my time working around the Quick virus. How about you, has it struck Anthropology at all?"
"Yes it did but my Asst. Chief fixed it right up, she very smart in that area of computer." the young woman said with an smile while playing with her wedding rings alittle, she misses him very much and there was no word from him.
*********************************************************
James was apprehensive about approaching the main science lounge. He was under strict order, from Brhode, not to do any murder investigation. He was also under strict orders from his own ethically sensitive conscience to investigate the murders anyway. He had to go past Brhode and talk to people with a direct ear towards him.
Science was his best bet. He had a friend, make it a friend and an acquaintance, who knew him there. He knew he could count on Lieutenant Commander MacAllen to help him out in his clandestine 'investigation'. But there were gambles as well. He still couldn't trust a telepath fully, and Rose could read his mind like a book, and later tell the captain. As for Cutter, he was loyal to the ship and had no reason not to tattle.
He had to take the plunge anyways. James entered the lounge, with a small petrii dish containing a sliver of wood.
"Well, I .... " Cutter began, trying to answer a question posed by Rose, before he was interrupted by the opening of the lounge door. He reflexively glanced over to see who had entered, and was surprised to see James Corgan.
"Well, I, uh ... " Cutter tried to finish his thought, while still watching Corgan, but the train had derailed. He gave up, when he noticed Corgan approach their table.
"Lieutenant," Cutter acknowledged, both a hello, and an offering of assistance.
James laughed half heartedly, "Commander actually." He touched his black and brass pip, "I'm the new Chief of Security. Who would have thunk it?"
The young Betazoid looked up with an gentle smile to one of her best friends and godfather..James.
"Hello James how are you this evening?" she asked the young human male in an sweet, gentle voice trying not to read his mind even though it was very hard.
He begrudgingly shrugged his shoulders, "I've been better. Exile to quarters until further notice. Marines are running my damn department. Can't go anywhere on this ship without one of those stupid buggers getting in my way. And then..." His voice took on a mournful tone, "There's the Princess. My god... i'll be glad when we reach Rigel III. But enough about me. How's Karyn?"
"She fine James, she also been asking for you."
After hearing from Rose, James moved on. "I'd hate to cut the conversation short," James abruptly changed the subject, "But I have something to give you."
He produced the petrii dish with the wood sample, handing it over to Lieutenant Commander MacAllen. He felt vulnerable at this point, because there was still his explanation behind the sample. He was visibly nervous by Betazoid standards, his feeling easily registering. Lying to her wasn't what he wanted to do.
~"Quick. Say something."~ He thought, and then he spoke. "I need to have this analyzed. It's a wood sample that I retrieved." ~"Please, for the love of God Rose, if you are mindscanning me, don't look surprised,"~ "I cannot say what it is from due to the sensitivity of the assignment handed out to me..." ~"Please Rose, don't give a hint that I'm hiding something... please, I can't say it outright,"~ "But it has to do with the safety of the Klingon delegation."
~"Please Rose, don't blow my cover..."~
Rose understood then took the wood with an nod, "I will look over it, this will take me about an hour or two come by my lab then. 'Commander is there anything else?"
The young Betazoid knew what was going on, she would never betrayed James or any of her loyal friends who been with her though the good times and bad.
~"Good, she understands."~ James thought, breathing a sigh of relief. The hardest part was over. He won the understanding and trust of the Betazoid. But as for Cutter, whom he didn't know on a personal level, would be more difficult to keep in the dark. At least with Rose, he could tell the truth and worry less about her selling him out to Captain Brhode. But Cutter was different. He was as perfect an officer as they would come. Cutter was more likely to consider James' clandestine investigation as a violation and threat, and thereby report it to Brhode.
But then again, Cutter once worked with James, and he knew that Cutter wasn't one to sell people out easily.
"What is it?" Cutter asked, grabbing the container from the anthropologist, his wings fluttering in curiousity. "Splinters? Is this for the Security investigation?"
James didn't flinch, didn't show any outward sign of annoyance, but if he was allowed the luxury, he would have slapped his hand on his forehead and groaned loudly. ~"Dammit Cutter... will you please shut up?"~ He thought dejectedly, ~"Bad enough that I have to sneak around like this, but I have to worry about you trying to blow my cover too? Great...."~
"It is sensitive in nature, and all I can tell you is that it may involve the safety of the Klingon delegation. For their safety, I have to have this piece of wood analysed, and that is all I'm going to release." James answered like a statue of ice, the tone that implied, no, demanded that Cutter not dig any deeper.
"We can at least start the analysis for you now, if you would like. The determination of the species of wood should be relatively easy," Cutter offered. "We can take it to one of the general scanning labs, down the hall."
"I would greatly appreciate it." James spoke frankly.
Rose walked towards the door with James right behind her as the young senior officers walked towards the lab.
Cutter followed suit, and took several quick large bites of his food before he carried his lunch tray over to the disposal area. He followed Rose and James out of the lounge and a short distance down the hall to a general scanning lab.
The scanning lab was designed for nonscientists. People could come to this lab with some material and get a rudimentary analysis, whether it be a child analyzing a stone for a school geology project or a security officer trying to get an analysis on some splinters of mysterious wood for a crime investigation. The lab was a small room, about three meters by three meters. In the center was a large table; inside the table and above were several types of sensors. And there were a couple terminals for scanning results and computer access for comparison.
"Thanks for taking the time to scan this material." James watched in facination as the blue light of the scanner engulfed the tiny wood bit, probing it's biological material for clues. He then addressed Rose, "Sorry I couldn't visit lately. Been tied up with work, guarding the Princess and whatnot. And when I do have an hour off, I have to stay in my quarters. Like i'm in a prison or something... Brhode's prison ship. But no worries. In a few months, i'll be free and all this nastiness will be a memory."
"It no problem both Karyn and I understand, we can't wait to see you again outside of work." Rose told him while trying to hide some saddness about not hearing from her husband who is on an deep-space mission.
Cutter half-listened to the conversation. They weren't talking to or about him, so he had little interest. He was more curious about the wood sample. Although Corgan wouldn't say, Cutter suspected that they were from one of the murders. Like any other crewman, he was interested in who the culprit was; no one was safe while they were on the loose.
"The wood is Risan," Cutter read as the results were coming up. "Carapa guanisiro, is the Risan species name."
"Carapa guanisiro? Should I have heard of it?" The Chief of Security inquisited.
Rose stepped over and looked at the screen, too. "Its a deciduous hard wood, with nocturnal blumes."
"You can access the computer from there, to see where that wood is used on the ship," Cutter said to Corgan, gestering to the terminal next to where James stood.
James accessed the terminal. His fingers deftly flew over the controls and accessed the information he needed. He first started with the manifests, followed by replicator patterns (in case it was replicated Carapa), orders, and a biolog from the waste reclaimators.
What he found was startling. There was a ninety nine percent jump in the amount of carapa guanisiro thrown into the waste recycling systems, according to the waste logs, all at different times during the Galaxy's mission. According to supply manifests, orders for huge amounts of replicated carapa showed up in Cargo Bay 5, but was later taken away and recycled. Logs from the cargo bay noted that the Risean wood was to be used for wall panels. Most of the goods were signed by Dr. Jebediah Quick.
~"Christ no... not another Quick Virus error..."~ James sighed deeply. He ignored the replicated carapa for a minute and tried to focus on some genuine samples of the hard wood.
Past records of bioscans revealed that there was still a Carapa Guanisiro source that came from Ten Forward and from the arboretum, but according to the mass estimates, the arboretum had only a sapling. The real big sample was at Ten Forward. Upon further inspection of the manifest list, he found another piece of the puzzle. There was a shipment that included wood door panels for Ten Forward.
"Those big gawdy things..." James clicked his tongue, "The Ten Forward doors are made of the same wood. Everything else was replicated. This wood splinter either came from a replicated source, or from those doors. And with all the deconstruction of those wood panels, there could be a number of sources. How can we narrow this?"
Cutter shrugged. "The analysis shows that there are traces of paint finish on the sample. That doesn't nessecarilly narrow it down, but you can download the atomic structure of the paint. Perhaps you can compare it to a sample from the doors? But, haven't they been dismantled, destroyed, and reassembled a few times? I suppose, if thats the case, that there's no garuntee that the current paint finish is going to match the sample."
"I'll see what I can do." The scanner was flicked off. James gathered up his wood sample and placed it back into the petrii dish with a pair of tweezers. In his haste, he slid the dish back in a small case, closed it up, and tucked it under his arm.
"I wish I could tell you more, but right now I have to keep quiet as much as possible. I thank you for your co-operation. Without futher adieu... I must be going."
When the lab doors shut behind Corgan, Cutter turned silently towards Rose, his facial _expression casually asking, 'what now?'
"We will wait and watch our backs my friend." the young Betaziod replied then looked back at Cutter with her dark eyes.
The line of Fleet officers were clad in a motley assortment of sweatsuits and tee shirts. All the members of this group were here, because the Marines had deemed them 'needing physical or attitudinal re-adjustment.' They pounded around the curve of the boring, grey Deck 39 corridor. Basically an oblong corridor, running aournd the massive Cargo Storage bays and Supply Nodes that littered the deck. Isolated from the rest of the ship, down here in the bowels... it was a perfect running track.
If deadly boring.
To alleviate the boredom, the Marines took turns supplying their more rabid members as PT Instructors to the Fleet.
Today, was Rifleman Cleatus Tanner the Third... a backwoods member of the Colonial Human race, who hailed from the rural backwoods of some interstellar swamp-planet. He sported piggish eyes, copious nasal hair, and a neck that existed only in rumour buried between the massive sloping shoulders. He currently was indicating to Lieutenant Curtis Geluf,his desire that Geluf accelerate his movements.
"SIR! If the Lieutenant could MOVE HIS ASS in time with everyone ELSE? Maybe the Lieutenant would FIND THE TIME to stay out of the Captain's Ready Room if he HUSTLED? Not to sound DISRESPECTUFL, but you RUN like a Horta! I've seen Flows of Lava that move faster!" the Rifleman screamed, his florid face micrometers from Geluf's sensitive ears.
Curtis cracked a slight smile. In reality, Curtis could easily outrun the Jarhead, but he didn't want to cause a stir. The yelling was not helping, though, and Curtis had quite a headache. Still, he didn't want to show it, and if the Rifleman felt he needed to move faster....
"Yeah, sure thing there pal." Said Curtis who suddenly picked up his pace considerably, passing the crowd and moving out in front, away from the ear-piercing noise of the Rifleman.
"SEE? If the Engineer can move, the rest of you wastes of perfectly good protoplasm can HUSTLE YOURSLEVES! You people want an ENGINEER showing you up? Maybe a little-girl Deltan can come along and MOVE IT HERSELF?" The Gyrene was screaming at the rest of them
The ragged and huffing group rounded the curve for the fifteenth time today... and found a small, solid figure in Marine Dress Uniform waiting by the turbolift.
"Take a breather... before some of you die." Curtis' nemesis observed, eyeing a wheezing Tellurite sporting a "Corgan LIVE! Interplanetary Tour '70" tee shirt streched tight over its' portly tummy.
Groans accompanied the collapse of bodies to the bare deckplates. As one of the few 'non-wheezers', Curtis squatted on his heels, away from the dissarray.
"Everything okay Tanner?" Lady Deathstrike asked, eyes moving over the bodies with clinical amusement.
"Yes Gunny. Got some slackers, one Tac-Weenie who puked and wanted to go to sickbay. Got a few hotshots, think they can outrun me and everyone else." Rifleman Cleatus reported.
Betty looked over the bodily wreckage with a smirk. Her eyes came to Geluf's and froze. She was obviously trying to place Curtis.
Curtis didn't move, praying that whatever it was Lady Deathstrike wanted it, had nothing to do with him.
"Well... you know how to motivate slackers, Tanner. And as for the hotshots. . ." Stepping daintily over the bodies sprawled in the corridor, she stalked closer to Curtis.
~~awwwww HELL~~ he thought.
"Didn't recognize you, what with your not being outlined in a rifle scope. Do you know.. I'm beginning to REALLY dislike searching for you?" she asked airly, waving a PADD at Curtis.
"Funny," said Curtis, hiding his fear, "I'm beginning to dislike being found."
"Whatever. I should have recognized the name. If it involves the Captain telling me to go track some idiot down, I should KNOW you're involved in it somehow." She cut into his speech with, as she handed him the PADD.
Curtis sported an inquizative look, took the PADD and read:
From: JQ Bhrode, Commanding, USS Galaxy
To: C. Geluf, Lt. USS Galaxy Engineering
CC: CMDR Hawksley, CMDR VonErnst, LtCMDR K'Etylanna,
LtCMDY Reece,Starfleet BUPERS
By my order, you are hereby transfered to the position of Assistant Chief Officer of Operations, USS Galaxy. No promotion accrues with this transfer. Report to LtCMDR Reece at 0700 hours today in the OPS complex.
"Gee, it's 0640 hours. Better get moving, cleaned up and report in. Wouldn't want the Captain to find out you were late, get fidgety and send ME after you, would you?" Betty said with a smirk, clearly hoping just such a thing happened.
"I'll make sure you don't have to waste your time." answered Curtis. ~~~'Don't let her get to you'~~~ he thought to himself.
"Yeah, You do that. Sir." Betty replied, clearly thinking he'd already wasted quite a bit of her time already, and that she wished him off the ship (preferably in small pieces) as a result.
"Sorry pal!" Curtis yelled to the Rifleman, "Wish I could stick around, but duty calls you know. Try not to miss me ok?"
"Miss you? Yeah, I miss you, pallie...Every phaser bolt or bullet so far..." muttered the Gyrene, chivvying his groaning charges up, for the remaining twenty laps on the deck.
"Rifleman? Add another klick to these fine folks' total for today, courtesy of Lieutenant Geluf, who won't be joining them. And another fifty reps of each of the Calisthentics" Betty announced.
"Aye Aye Gunny!" an overly bright and chipper Rifleman Tanner crowed out, clearly relishing the thought.
Groans and muttered curses came from the huddled masses, as they plip-plopped down the hall.
"O642 hours. I hope you got a personal transporter to get back to quarters, shower, change and get to the OPS center in time." The Marine NCO observed, checking a wall display.
Curtis, without another word, shot down the hallway and out of sight.
*I CAN'T BE LATE THIS TIME!!!!!* he thought.
James was in too much of a hurry to bother with any quaint introductions, attempts at niceties, or anything else involving a gentler touch. Armed with his investigative PADD, a type two phaser on his hip, and a scowl that could disarm a Naussican, James went back to his duty station, keeping guard of the Klingons in their quarters. But what he approached the bodyguard for was not to relieve, but to question.
There was a murderer loose, and he narrowed down his suspects.
One of the men was Curran, and for good reason. Curran was part of the Kelvan species, discovered by the legendary Captain James Kirk (Corgan's mom was a huge admirerer), was reputed for being bigoted. They were also capable of so much more outside their humanoid form. Powerful attacks, both physical and telepathic, were in their repertoire.
Perfect for immobilizing and slaying victims. But James couldn't be sure. The Kelvan had a reason, that being the contempt they may hold for humans for accepting their mercy, but other than that, it was speculative.
Curran had been addressing some concerns with the Brigadier General attending the Princess' party, listing off a multitude of infractions that was noticeably irritating the General. The Klingon was tapping his foot in consternation, looking for all intents and purposes about to rend the smaller framed Kelvan apart chunks at a time to toss the pieces to the Targ he had tied down in the cargo hold assigned to the entourage.
"Excuse me, Legate Curran." James asked stately, "I'd hate to cut it short, but I have to talk to you about something important. May we speak in private?"
The Legate stopped mid-sentence listing infraction number 47. The General's face lit up, slapped Corgan hard on the shoulders and grunted something incoherent as he grinned a huge toothy smile, then walked away to join the rest of his crew.
"What is it, 'Commander? State it with haste. We are only hours from Rigel VII, I have much work that has to be done before then. Brhode has made a mess of things once again, and it needs to be cleaned up before the Princess disembarks."
"Follow me, sir." James spoke grimly, leading the Ambassador away from the halls, "So'ka, take my position until the Legate and I return."
"Yes sir." So'ka complied.
This made Kylar rather curious. The Security Chief was armed, and had a hardened look upon his boyish features, save for the scar. He accompanied the Chief through the attaching corridor into a quiet secluded alcove.
James led the Legate to the adjoining hall. Careful to watch if anyone was around, James then took the Legate aside to talk. "Legate Curran, I believe that you're a suspect for those murders."
~"This ought to work."~ James thought connivingly.
Ask the questions, pretend
to ask in the Legate's best interests, and then move on. That way, he didn't
look like he was pointing the finger.
"Really, 'Commander? Of course you would assume it was myself." Snide oozed from his words. "I do fit the profile of the criminal in attaining the degree of physical damage discovered on the bodies." He hesitated and held the stare of the Security Chief. Kylar had thought the human may have been testing him, making a joke. How could he assume the Kelvan would make his own personal issues more prevalent than those of the Liaison Corps?
"You must have me mistaken, 'Commander." He voice grew cold at the accusation. "I have better things to do than kill humans. It is my duty to defend the Federation and its standards, not defeat them." Inwardly he laughed at the half-truth. In time the Federation would fall to the Kelvans from the inside. Eventually. Along the way, obstacles would have to be removed to achieve the grand scheme. Those pawns have already been moved into position and sacrificed in many arenas.
"Sir, I believe that you may be innocent, however, you're still a suspect, and quite frankly, I can't be lax when it comes to the security of the Klingons. I believe that they are next, and I want to prevent it. And to do so, I have to keep an eye on the investigation. But if you're so innocent, why not try to prove it? Nothing to hide, right?"
"Of course not! What do you take me for? Get on with your questions."
"Right o..." James whipped out his padd in rapid order, "According to the forensics reports of all murder victims, they died at random times during the day, with a slight tilt towards Beta and Gamma shift attacks. Legate, where were you on Stardate 50307.21, at 21:00 hours?"
"I was in my quarters, incinerating my uniform and preparing the itinerary for the Princess activities of the following morning."
"There are a few other dates that can be cleared up. Let's see... Stardate 50307.22, 12:00 to 4:00 hours?"
"I was resting in my quarters. Sleeping. Such a weakness on you humans part. Makes for an easy kill by a merciless opponent."
"I bet. Stardate 50307.25, 18:00 hours?"
"In my office. I was analyzing potential candidates for the Attaché positions that have been approved."
"Stardate 50308.01, 22:00 hours?"
"I was participating in a fencing training session. Invigorating, it is."
"I bet." James joked, "Must relieve the stress and frustration of hanging out with us limited humans, eh?"
Curran sharp blue eyes searched Corgan for any signs of what he was thinking, but he either was simply observing character traits of the Kelvan or he was hiding his true thoughts very well. He couldn't pierce the veil of suspicion being cast by the Security Chief.
"Humans are not so limited as you would have me imagine, 'Commander. There are aspects of the human physiology that still defeat my logic." The stoic visage on Kylar softened somewhat, a rare occasion for one who did not share his emotions.
"In fact, the instinct for preserving the lives of others is admirable, but lacks reason. Why would a stranger give up his life for another they do not know? There is no logical procession of thought. To save the life of one against many is a dangerous emotion." He grew silent as he considered his words.
"The Klingons..." He glanced down the dimly lit corrider separating the two parties. "...they may be emotional, but they do not hesitate when lives are in danger. They would leave the one behind to save the many, no matter the importance of the individual. It is honorable to die in battle. To stop the goal to come to the aid of a single individual could put the whole situation at risk.
"Have you questioned the Klingons when it comes to the murders? They fit the profile as well. Strong, efficient, cold. They have shown contempt for humans openly, and the Princess has desired to see areas of the ship that are strictly off-limits, such as the security brig." Unlike himself, who kept his contemptuous thoughts to himself lest he betray himself.
"Finally, the last one. Stardate 50308.08, 14:00 hours?"
"You had mentioned the crimes had taken place during the Beta and Gamma shifts. This took place during Alpha shift." Corgan had the look of 'get to the point'. "I was exercising in the Zero-G gyms on Deck 11." He sighed, casting a glance back to the other quarters. "Are we done here, 'Commander? Or do you have any more interrogation techniques to attempt on me? If I do not take my leave soon, I may just confess to the murders just to finish this line of senseless questioning."
"I apologize for the time it took, but it looks like everything here is clear. I'll double check to confirm these times. All the other times... it looks like the times we were on duty... so I think you're in the clear."
In reality, James thought, ~"What a nutjob. I can't confirm many of these. This doesn't really answer anything. But what it does do is make me more suspicious. Jeez, couldn't he be a bit more descriptive about weaknesses and killing?"
~"Curran's a bigot."~ Conscience blurted out clearly.
~"Excuse me?"~
~"You heard me? The way he talks about humans. This guy's a full blown bigot! Who ever let him into the diplomatic corp with that kind of attitude? Seem a little suspicious?"~
~"How so?"~
~"DO I HAVE TO SPELL IT OUT?!?! He takes an unhealthy interest in fencing. He talks about human weaknesses and how they will get someone killed. And not to mention, he's stronger than he looks. Face it, this guy's the killer."~
~"We don't have enough proof. So sit down, boy!"~
"Hmmm... of course, 'Commander. Now go find someone else to irritate." Kylar tucked the padd under his freshly changed uniform, still starchy from its conception in the replicator earlier that morning, and went on his way.
"Alright then..." James watched helplessly as the potential suspect walked out of the way, "See ya..."
After being subtly interrogated by the Galaxy's Security Chief, Kylar had returned to the Klingons to complete his tally of reparations being demanded of from the Klingons. The protocols and contract signed by Martok and his own supervisor, Ambassador-General Natasha Mol, had specifically stated that any damages caused by the Klingons would be repaid in full either through repayment of credit, confiscation of goods, or replacement of damaged parts.
The problem was, Klingon currency was seriously lacking in value on the Federation unless you were purchasing from the Empire. Since anything valued in Klingon nature was unnecessary in the Federation, or could be easily replicated, that option was unavailable. The Klingons did not carry replacement parts either. Therefore, that left the Kelvan no choice but to scour their goods for anything equivocal in value.
Kylar really didn't care much for material goods, and nothing in the cargo manifests of the Klingons dictated anything of any true value, so instead of confiscating anything in value to what was damaged by the Klingons, he instead took items of extreme value to the Klingons themselves.
Down in the deeper holds of Deck Four was where the Klingons had their cargo stored. It was a tad chill, as the cooling systems were protecting the perishable goods stored here. A shipment of crystallized tetrachlorizine was stored here, en route to Rigel VII for the next leg of its precarious journey. A mean temperature of 46 degrees centrigrade was required or the product would become unstable with possibility of implosion. It was stored several levels up closer to the cooling vents to retain this.
Barrels, crates, and storage bins littered the huge expanse of the hold, arrangd in neat stacks inside their marked grids. Kylar glanced at his manifest Padd as it guided him towards the Klingon stores. The map glowed in the soft light of the bay, its crisp colours sharply contrasted against the black of the padd face. In the lower section of the unit was the listed stores of the Klingon goods.
Around the corners of the jutting husks of Rigellian modulars. He felt a strange sensation fall over him..... he snapped a quick look out from around the edge of the bulky modular, and saw something flit between two units. Curiously, rather than calling out as a stupid human would do, he climbed atop the modular discretely.
Standing above most of the units, he had to bend down somewhat to avoid bashing his head on the cooling conduits passing above. He crouched, and walked across the top of the unit, tucking his padd into a sidepocket of the trousers. He peeked down over the cargo husk... and saw nothing. He did this with the one he stood upon, and crossed to others where he had seen the shadow move to. Nothing.
He swiftly clamoured down to a pair of crates stored beside this unit. He focussed on his hearing, knowing the sharpness of it could pick up the slight shuffle of human trudging. He searched for anything out of place with his hearing. He sought out smells that did not belong.
He was at a disadvantage though. The hold was filled with the thrum of shuttlecrafts warming their engines below to maintain peak efficiency. The phaser ranges were in use as well nearby. The soundproofing in here was slight as there was no need for it. The only extras they put in here were reinforced cargo bay doors, but those were far away, and he was in an inner hold detached from the main dropoff area, which he could not see from this vantage.
The Klingon Targs growling somewhere behind and to his left also interfered with his sense of smell as they had a wretched odor of death and sweat to them. It made the cargo area smell of rotting waste. He half expected to see flies scattering about.
The murders on board the Galaxy had set everyone in a nervous pinch. This had not concerned him, up until he'd been outrightly told he was a suspect in the murders. This had told him his thoughts were not being hidden from the chaotic eyes of humans. He wondered if Corgan truly knew the events he'd set in motion shortly after coming on board the ship.
He kept his eyes sharp as he progressed towards the Klingon stores.
Had he been discovered? All his efforts in being discrete in his movements were at risk now. Had Corgan's suspicions travelled among the ship's crew? Everyone was pointing fingers, and now that six crew members have died, paranoia was beginning to run rampant.
He stopped in front of a Klingon unit, and glanced at his manifest to compare the contents against the serial number contained on the identifying panel.
This was the Princess' personal stores and foodstuffs. The giant 6 X 9 unit allegedly contained several cases of Bloodwine, a library of original Klingon opera, several valises of garb, and various artifacts for personal reasons.
He'd been down here earlier in the journey to retrieve some Bloodwine, but this unit hadn't been here before. The Galaxy had made several stops along the way to pick up shipments bound for other ports and had caused some movement around in the bay for some objects. This unit had now been batched in with the other pieces of cargo.
The stench was livid now. Targs growled nearby, smelling the scent of fresh meat on the air.
Kylar keyed in the unlocking sequence to the cargo module. The lights flashed red, then green signifying over-ride. The latch clicked open, revealing a gap as the lid lifted slightly.
He turned around and placed his padd on the crate behind him. Lifting the module lid up and over, it crashed against the bulkhead behind it, blocking the small emergency light behind it casting a shadow over the corner of the hold he now occupied.
The hair raised on the back of his neck as he was basked in the soft glow of refracted light casting its prismatic effect around the metallic crates several feet away. This was all the light he had as he craned his neck to peer inside the unit.
Wishing he had a light with him, he dug through the packing material searching for anything of value. He rushed something rough, wooden, and heavy when he tried to lift it. Instead, he pulled it closer to him, shifting the fabrics aside to make space for it. Something hard was in the fabric; it wasn't pliable. He lifted the small rug up and out into whatever light he had to work with and unwrapped the heavy canvas-like material from around it.
His eyes nearly bulged out when he recognized what he saw laying on the canvas in his hands and wondered how it got there, for its silvery sheen led to the grains of the sharpened edge ..... then everything went spotty red in his vision as pain rippled through the back of his head.
The object clattered to the floor as Kylar reached up behind him as he dropped to his knees. His hand came away clotted with blood when he instinctively brought his hand to his wound. He turned to face what had taken him so easily by surprise to find the blunt end of something large fill his vision as it rammed into his face, with all the cold efficiency of a Kelvan in sending him into oblivion.
"What goes around, comes around, Kelvan. You shall pay for your sins in blood."
* * * * * * * * * *
(occurs after the Lys-Sam post, and after the Leo-Vic
post)
Samantha Widdlestein (Aged 10) had wandered off to the Holodeck
Control Room with some Engineer named Gray or Grey, to try and re-verse decompile
the Holodeck's recorder functions, leaving Lysander alone for a while.
Malgin's technicians waited for the Security guys to finish their 'evidence'
sweeps and let them move the body out.
Lys' brain had pretty much been occupied lately. Aside from
the usual mind-twisting task of trying to decipher one Runty Redhead's behaviour
into anything that resembled sanity... Lys had also had Bhrode in a rampage
over
his 'secret' Anti-Klingon Allies and these pesky murders of some crewmembers.
Of course, not having Samantha tell Lys what her Mummy thought of everything
was a blessed relief.
He was engaged in rapt examination of the holoprogram Sam Widdlestein had been coding. Lys' brain could handle the complex personality Algorithims as they scrolled in hard-data form... and he was chuckling at a few 'tweaks' Ensign Arel Smith was going to get when she ran her birthday present.
~~Wait until she and the Bug Face fight their way through eight Klingons in this Snow White Dream sequence, to find out she was to wear a silly pink paper hat, and a frilly dress and blow candles out and...~~~ Lys was cackling in his mind, as his fingers flew over the PADD and encoded his changes onto Sam's isolinear chip.
This he was only slightly surprised when the top of a blonde head, barely the height of his elbow which it was standing next to, sqeaked up to him "Hey, umm...Lysol my darling? Wow, thatsa lotta blood! You didn't kill that guy when I wasn't looking, did you? You can tell me."
"Nope. told you already.. and don't leave holoprograms running if you've turned the safety protocols off. Maybe this guy got killed when you came looking for me." Lys muttered, wondering if Arel would notice that all the Klingons were going to bear a resemblance to Kahless himself. Lys glanced down at Sam.. and did a double take.
"Yeah. Okay. Gotcha Hot Stuff. Pookie Pie. But. . . if you wanted to kill this guy... wouldn't you . . . tell me? Schnookums? " Sam Widdlestein (Aged 10) muttered right back at him.
"And Leo, no ten year old girl needs a shave. Slap some depilatory cream on next time, will you? That is almost as bad as your 'Horta' disquise, when you lit parts of Starbase 412 on fire...." Lys muttered, frowning at the program. It needed 'something.'
"LEO? Imma dainty young girl! Not some impossibly buff and sexy guy! That Leo guy SURE is irrestiable to the ladies! I know I wanna do him myself... when I get legal and all." the blonde head screeched at him, still in a ludicrious falsetto.
"Ummm humm.. . " Lys muttered.
"Hey hey HEY! Cute kid! Hehehe.. run along lil girl. Just got here! What's going on?" Leo grumbled, sticking the blonde wig into his back pocket in an irritated manner.
"Another murder. Isn't someone going to be mad you stole a mop out of some closet and..." Lys began, still peering at the holoprogram.
"WHAT MOP? Mop? Moi? Leo? Sheesh.. whaddya think? I'm in a closet or something? I ain't like that! I heard all about it on my commbadge. My DEPUTY Com Badge!" Leo screeched.
Lys glanced at the flashy looking star-shaped chunk of metal Leo was waving around.
"Is that a Young Space Scout-Ranger badge? I had one of those when I was ten.." Lys started, attention still on the program.
"NO! Back to the murder. Or should I say murder-S?" Leo demanded, eyes rolling, as he stuffed his badge back out of sight.
"You should. Plural and all." muttered Lys.
"A-HA!" Leo shouted
"errr.. smeg. Ah-HA what?" asked Lys, feeling a migraine coming on.
"You admit them then!" Leo shouted.
"Err... me? Admit they happened or admit TO them? Smegging well not. Look, I'm rather busy here." Lys muttered.
"Killing people!" Leo crowed.
"No, actually, doing this holoprogram for a friend. And then I have to get ready for the Summit that Bhrode set up for the Orions and Klingons tomorrow. And there's these murders too." Lys nattered.
"But... damn. Okay tough guy.. you want it like that?" Leo demanded.
"Err... unless 'that' involves your being over there and
quiet...I'd really rather smegging well not." Lys began, waving a hand
at the blood soaked
crimescene.
"Hell NO! This is Leo Streeley! I have people to do that
stuff for me!"
Leo crowed.
"Do what? Don't they need help?" asked Lys.
"All the dames need some of the Big Hoss!" Leo boasted, hiking up his Sans-a-Belt perma-prest trousers and leering grossly.
"Do you ever feel.. like you're talking in a conversation, and people are having a different one around you?" asked a visibly confused Lysander.
"Alla the time. What's with them goofballs? Crimping my style! It's like a conspiracy!" replied Leo.
"Is there a point in here anywhere?" Asked Lys, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers, feeling a migraine coming on.
"yeah. yeah yeah.. gimmie a second..." Leo rummaged around in his pockets, finally producing a dog-eared and pencilled piece of flimsy paper.
"Right o...Buy deodorant and foot powder and a FLEET enema kit and go to the clinic... wait...wrong list...that's ALL for Raven, by the way! okay... right...where were you on Stardate 50307.21, at 21:00 hours?" Leo demanded.
"Sleeping." Lys replied.
"And can the Red Headed chickie confirm that?" Leo demanded.
"Nope. I was alone. More's the pity." Lys muttered , staring at the Holoprogram PADD.
"Damn! What's with that? I still got -that- pool open from the OLD ship! Just stuff it to her! Grab her and show her who is the Daddy! Give her the old Mojo Magic one day in some dark..." Leo began.
"Errr.. rather. Anything else?" Lys demanded.
"There are a few other dates that can be cleared up. Let's see... Stardate 50307.22, 12:00 to 4:00 hours?"
"On the Bridge with Captain Bhrode."
"I bet. That Steaming Pile of....Stardate 50307.25, 18:00 hours?"
"In my office. I was going over the Tactical Roster and several reports. Well, actually.. I was going over Tactical Analysis Reports about that damned Vor'Cha and shoveling the rest into Rebecca's mailque. Smegging stupid reports." Lys grunted.
"Stardate 50308.01, 22:00 hours?"
"I was teaching a fencing training session. Have to keep the old spring in the old steel, you know? I think there were three crewmembers, all girls... and the Legate there." Lys quipped.
"I get it..'Spring in the Steel.' Hehehehee...errrrr... I don't get it. How's that gonna get you the Red Head? Look, when you DO score her, can you at least do your old pal Leo a fave? Make sure it's on Tuesday, 50310.22? Because that guy died on the Hirogen mission and if he wins, I get to keep the whole pool."
"Anything else?" asked Lys.
"Finally, the last one. Stardate 50308.08, 14:00 hours?"
"Bridge. With Bhrode."
"DAMN! I was hoping you was gonna say Bhrode had slipped away, come back all coverd in blodd and stuff." Leo chattered.
"Think it's the Old Man?" Lys asked, a little too alertly to be casual.
"Sort of. You ain't noticed any members of the crew, espicially Bhrode... with like... metal whoosits coming out of their butts and plugging into the electrical systems at night, have you?" Leo asked.
"I think there's a few with metal whositts going *into* their bu..." began Lys.
"RIGHT! Enough of that! HEY! Can you get me a phaser?" declared Leo in a rush.
"Errr... I suppose so. Why?" Lys demanded.
"There's all these suicides, and now a buncha murders too! I gotta watch out for me AND Raven! That big lug won't USE a phaser! Can you imagine it? Running around with a stone tomahawk is all right, if someone is behind you packing a Big Gun in thier pants at the same time." Leo insisted.
"Errr...was that a simile or a metaphor?" began Lys,
clearly confused at
the comparesion
"Analogy, I think." Murmered a pensive Leo.
"stress is on the middle syllable, not the first, Leo." Lysander corrected.
"I knew that. Forget my gun, I gotts the hookup there. Who do YOU think the killer is?" Leo demanded.
"The Princess." Lys replied, in a markedly mournfull manner.
"No WAY! I was scoring her every way but sideways! Every night this week!" Leo proclaimed. "No... wait... we did it sideways too, over the weekend." he added with a worried frown.
"You and Rebecca? You laid a grubby finger on MY SMEGGIN' PRINCESS PHASERBANKS Rebecca???" demanded Lys, several rumours he'd heard from the crew about Rebecca wandering around the ship during the wee hours, springing to his over-active mind.
"Rebecca? Which one was she? Is she the Orion babe in OPS? No.. the PRINCESS! DeV'oraH! Or whatever her name is...I usually love them and leave them before I find out their names. But this dame is different.... The biting! The Screaming! The whips!" Leo raved.
"Too much information" moaned a whitefaced Lysander.
"Yeah. Me? I think it was one of her Klingon Buddies. Went into Ponn Farr and got all horny and started whakking folks right and left. 'Hi, what's your sign?' WHAKK!...'Come here often?' WHAKK 'You know what would look good on you? ME!' WHAKK WHAKK..." Leo began, waving his hands in what he fondly believed were martial arts 'expert' Kung Fu moves.
"You thought it was me five minutes ago. And Vulcans have Ponn Farr, not Klingons. And people of both genders have been killed." Lys commented, interrupting Leo (It's pretty much the only way to slow Leo's mouth down).
"ME? Leo thought it was YOU? You're my buddy! My rich buddy from wherever you-are-from-again! No way was it you! Rich people NEVER get caught whakking people! Maybe it's one of them Vulcans. One of THEM Vulcans. Know-whudd-I-mean?" Leo winked at Lysander.
"No. We have only ten or so aboard." Lys replied honestly,
with a confused
expression.
"Sheeesh! One of THEM VULCANS! Do I gotta draw a picture here?" Leo repeated, waving his hands in some fluttering mysterious gesture.
"No, I've seen Vulcans before. Have you? Because if it's got smeggin' forehead ridges, it's not a Vulcan." Lys replied.
"I've done Vulcan Chicks before. They say my logic 'dazzles' them into a stupor, and my loving 'reduces' them into..." Leo began.
"What happened to the robot theory?" Lysander asked, cutting off THAT most-likely-false story.
"What robots? Yours? It blew up. Or Crazy Corgan got to it." Leo replied.
"Not mine... your theory that some battle-android was killing people and that..." Lys began.
"Oh THAT!" Leo replied airly. "I gave it up. Too hard to prove. You'd have to jump on EVRYONE on the ship and push all over them, looking for a button to turn them on." Leo paused and considered his words. "Or off." he added a moment later.
"Isn't that what you already do?" Lys asked, with a smirk.
"Sheesh! Imma trained observer! I watch all kinds of stuff!" Leo screeched.
"That reminds me, LtCommander Darkstar mentioned he'd like you to stay out of the gym showers when he's in there. And you can consider this a ship-wide ban on 'towel-snapping' as well. And peeping through the sensor net at different species mating is not 'observing' by any..." Lysander began.
"It's BROKEN! Like Crazy Head Corgan's...head! Which reminds me, when are you people gonna fix that?" Leo demanded.
"Corgan or the net?" Lys let the joke hang in the air a moment. Leo chorteled "GOOD one!" to it.
"Neither is really my department. I can only read the reports and pass them on to Bhrode." Lys said, to empty air.
"Hello? Leo?" Lys whirled around. Only the lingering stench of cheap cologne and feet, indicated Special Chief Deputy Investigative Security Deputy Leo Streeley had ever been there. The two lingering stinks, and a nagging headache in anyone who'd been forced to hear him.
With a puzzled glance around the now-empty Holodeck, Lys finished re-coding the Seven Dwarves and slipped the isolinear chip from the PADD and into his pocket. He thought Arel was going to REALLY like his 'changes' But where had Leo Streeley disappeared to, so fast? And why?
~~why is it always the SHORT people who are so smegging confusing?~~ Lys grumped to himself, as he tried to think of a way to blame it all on Rebecca, when exiting the Holodeck and nodding at the Security Officer sealing it off behind him.
Ella frowned as she fiddled with the computer's memory banks. So far she was having no luck in retrieving any visual record of the killer. What she had found instead was an enchanted forrest, a wicked stepmother, a bunch of Klingons, and several copies of that little man who Ella had flipped the bird to awhile back. Strange, what some people did in their off hours.
She tucked her hair behind her ear, cracked a few knuckles, and prepared to go through the whole program again. Maybe she had missed something. That annoying little girl, Samantha Widdlestein, had been distracting her, asking all sorts of questions from her love life to why she didn't speak (What do you have an ugly man-voice or something?) until Ella had finally sent her on an errand. Maybe now she would be able to finally get some- Ella's eyes narrowed.
Was someone grabbing her ass?
She spun around and stared into the hairy face of Leo Streeley, who was twidling his thumbs and whistling innocently.
~~Hands off, you ugly little mutant~~ Ella signed to him angrily.
Leo grinned, having no idea of what she was saying, assumed the best and winked saying "Don't worry, Toots. I like a girl that can't speak her mind. So whatdaya say? You. Me. Holo-bed? "
Ella rolled her eyes. ~~Like you can handle me, sweetie~~ she scoffed. She rolled her eyes again and then pulled out the computer PADD, hoping the moron knew how to read. She entered her message and handed it to him, giving an arched eyebrow as she regarded his cheap looking cracker-jack box deputy badge.
*WHAT DO YOU WANT, DIRTBAG?* it read.
Leo's face turned red. "DIRTBAG! DIRTBAG!" He howled. "Show a girl a little compassion and you get called names! Well, you ain't no prize either, Baby Doll. Lucky I even took the time to say HELLO to you, CHICAS lined down up and down these halls to get a piece of THIS, and I can call you names too, what are you? Some friend of Sansky's, batting for the..."
Ella turned back to her work, trying to tune him and whatever he was babbling about out. Perhaps, the killer had been disguised as one of the holo-Klingons? Could have even been a real Klingon...seemed a bit too much trouble. Probably more likely the record had been tampered with...
"HEY! THAT'S TOTALLY RUDE LADY! I'm talking to you! You just don't turn your back on someone when they're talking to you!" Leo suddenly paused, drew in a sharp breath, and made a strange face like he was constipated even though it was actually the face of DEEP-THOUGHT. "Why, I bet YOU'RE the killer. Yeah, I can see that. It's always the quiet one's you have to look out for. They look so innocent and then suddenly you find yourself with your throat all slit and missing out on this weeks re-run of Melrose Place, er..Yeah, I bet it was you!"
She turned back to him, hand on hip. Ella seriously hoped the investigation did not rely on this man's sleuthing skills. She could think of several ways to get rid of him but only one that would probably satisfy her. She just stared at him, coldly assessing the deputy as if he were the next meal at her supper.
Leo gulped. "Well..." He said as he began to back up. "I'll be watching you...so no funny business and all...yeah, um, bye."
He ran from the room.
Ella grinned and went back to work.
Deep down in the bowels of the creature known as Galaxy, the cargo holds reeked of something fetid. Death had come this corner, its twisted fingers grasping the life that had existed down here and rending it from the physical world.
This corner of the hold rankled stronger than any other, the ship's systems fighting a losing battle in sanitizing the scents of the locale. Drawing in closer, the symbols of the Klingon cargo grew brighter to the eyes that see without being seen. Around the bends of fallen crates, toppled over in random sense, until coming to an end before a larger crate. Pools of spattered blood dribbled across the base of the hold, streaks ending at the face of the crate. Others were creased along the seams of the floor towards the Klingon pets housed nearby.
Targs growled and whimpered, sensing the fresh blood that had been spilled recently. In their deuterium cages, chunks of a rotting carcass were sprawled about between the freshly fed animals. Pale meat was strewn between them, bones protruding from the limbs, like a ghastly symbol of a grim ritual.
Tap... tap... tap.
Tap... tap... tap.
A rhythmic resonation echoed from beyond the unsated creatures so recently stuffed on fresh flesh. The sniffed the air, the leathery jaws flaking off the dried blood that still resided there, to fall like snowflakes to the cage bottoms under them.
Tap... tap... tap.
Tap... tap... tap.
We move past the cages with their snarling occupants, who'd risen on their haunches in anticipation of their next meal. The scene pans over them, around a stack of tied barrells, and around to come to a halt before a large cargo unit.
Tap... tap... tap.
Tap... tap... tap... Pop!
The upper casing of the crate flew open as the lock was broken from the inside.
Peering into the darkness, it is gloomy. We can't see anything. Then, a hand comes out of the darkness and grasps the side of the crate where the hexagonal front panel met the upper half as it curves upward. Streaked in blood, the well-manicured nails grimed the greyed surface of the unit, leaving its own grisly trail of plasma.
Another hand comes out of the darkness, still holding the Klingon shiv that had picked his way out of the entrapment, followed by the matted features of a dark-haired humanoid, face smashed into almost no recognition could be identified. One eye was swollen shut, and it was obvious the jaw was broken due to the sickly unsymmetrical jut to the left.
Kylar Curran, the superior species to humans had been defeated; beaten, bloody, and broken, as he crawled out of the place of his imprisonment to fall to the floor in a heap, biting back the pains when he landed on a dislocated shoulder.
He quickly took survey of the damage that had been done to him now that he had light.
His jaw had been broken cleanly, the purple bruises already welled up dictating such. His left eye was caked in blood and sealed shut in its swelling healing process. His nose was shattered. He felt the back of his head, and felt the goose-egg.
His neck had a slash to it, but not deep enough to cause any life-threatening damage. Dislocated shoulder and a pair of broken fingers. He felt his ribs were fractured, maybe broken. He may have internal bleeding. He struggled to rise, and almost cried out in pain as his knees buckled under his slight weight. He squinted his one good eye shut and wrapped his bad arm around his belly as he pulled himself up with his good arm, still holding the blade.
He forced himself to walk, even though his eyes were swimming in red and spotty, with one destination in mind.
He had to find Corgan.
How dare this individual interfere in his endeavours! As he stumbled through the cargohold, pausing only to catch his breath when his vision swam, it came to him that he was attacked for no other reason than this person or creature knew something about him or his actions that he'd thought to keep discrete. His heart beat harder now, pulsing blood through his veins, making his head throb more.
Had he been discovered?
For more than an hour, Jeremy reveled in not being under Bhrode's barking shadow. It was also nice to feel some relief from the pain of a recently-separated shoulder, and having survived an encounter with 'Doctor Weird' in the process. And, he was looking forward to a date with Erin tonight.
In fact, you might even say that probably for the first time since this bucket of bolts launched, Jeremy was actually -happy-.
It must have been the drugs Malgin gave him.
Sporting a freshly-pressed pair of black pants, white shirt, black bowtie and a crisp, white dinner jacket, the dashing helmsman almost danced across his quarters, giving himself a wink and a side click of the tongue as he passed his reflection in the mirror. Now, just a couple special touches . . . .
"One pink carnation and a Terran orchid corsage," he said to his replicator with an uncharacteristic lilt in his voice.
It had to be the drugs.
Affixing the carnation to his own lapel and snatching up the orchid, he headed for his best girl's quarters.
Jeremy moved quickly through the corridor, paying little notice to those he passed along the way. But they sure noticed him. It wasn't every day that a guy in a white dinner jacket whistled his way down the hall while God-only-knows what was going on with a standoff with several other ships. But Jeremy didn't care. He was off duty, lovin' life and feelin' fine.
Yep, definitely the drugs.
Finally arriving at Erin's quarters, he gave the door chime a poke as if he were playing cutesy with the tip of a baby's nose. He had told Erin to 'dress up' for tonight and had never been so wracked with wonderful anticipation as he was now, waiting for her to answer her door.
What greeted him when the door slid open was a vision any man would have gladly shot his own grandmother for the chance to behold. Standing in the center of the doorway, Erin flashed a dazzling smile, her luxurious red hair flowing halfway down the open back of a sleeveless, low-cut, ankle-length black velvet dress. The form-fitting garment and black pumps exquisitely accented every curvaceous millimeter of her body, and a simple diamond pendant dangled unobtrusively just below her neck.
Jeremy didn't need drugs anymore. A piano could have dropped out of the sky on him and he wouldn't have felt a thing.
"Hi," Erin said almost shyly, her head slightly bowed as she admired Jeremy from the tops of her eyes.
Jeremy swallowed hard. He opened his mouth but instead of words, could only produce a strange rasping, breathy sound. Tongue-tied, he brought the corsage from behind his back and handed it to Erin, his eyes oblivious what his hands were doing.
"Oh, thank you," she replied gratefully. Her years of working bars and lounges rarely afforded Erin the chance to meet the kind of guy who would bring her a corsage. This was truly a special evening. "Would you come in and help me pin it on?"
"Iyuh . . . I don't think I should," Jeremy stammered, his hands gesturing nervously. "I'd probably stick you with the pin and pop your, uh, I mean, prick your . . . UHH, not that I'm thinking about sticking you with my prick or . . . oh shit," he trailed off, covering his eyes with his hand in total embarrassment. Erin had to cover her mouth to keep from bursting out in hysterical laughter. Of course she knew Jeremy was attracted to her, but she'd never seen him like this.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," she managed, holding back all but a few snickers.
After a few minutes, Erin had the corsage secured to the left strap of her dress, Jeremy's awkwardness had subsided -- even though he still felt like he was walking with a goddess -- and the two headed to a nice restaurant on the promenade. They had talked several times about going there and tonight were looking forward to finally having the chance.
Arriving at the door, the handsome couple was greeted by an Andorian maître-de, who eagerly escorted them to a secluded, candle-lit table. Apologizing for the relative emptiness of the place -- due to the latest diplomatic 'tensions', they were one of only three couples in the restaurant tonight -- the Andorian hastily presented them with menus, filled their glasses with water, and then disappeared to tend to other things.
"This place is fabulous!" Erin squealed under her breath. "I'm so glad we had the chance to be here."
"Me too," Jeremy agreed softly, reaching across the table to gently take her hand.
Erin looked into his eyes with her bright smile. "You sure are in a 'special' mood tonight," she quietly observed, enjoying a side of Jeremy she had really never seen before.
He met her gaze with an uncharacteristically-wide grin of his own. "How could I not be?" he replied. "I'm sitting in a great restaurant with the most beautiful woman in the galaxy instead of on the bridge of a broken-down ship with Attila the Hun breathing down my neck. What more could a man ask for?"
"How about an appetizer?" the Andorian maître-de inadvertently replied, re-appearing as suddenly as he had vanished earlier. Erin snickered at his timing. Surprisingly, Jeremy just smiled with amusement instead of swearing at the blue man as he would more typically have done under different circumstances.
"What do you recommend?" he asked calmly.
"Ah, we have THE most AMAZING Ligonian mushroom caps stuffed with Terran chèvre and . . ." the Andorian raved excitedly.
Jeremy held up his hand, smiling and shaking his head in a gesture of surrender to the man's rush of words. "We'll take it," he chuckled, looking over to Erin, who found the exchange equally entertaining. "And a bottle of your best red wine."
"Very good sir!" the Andorian replied, and with a turn on his heels, was gone again.
Leaning over to Erin, Jeremy whispered conspiratorially, "Did he say -Ligonian- mushroom caps? I hope they're not using the same chili sauce you gave the Klingons in Ten-Forward."
[A little more than an hour later . . . .]
The meal had progressed through successive courses of appetizer, salad, soup, entree, and now, next to their table in splendorous flaming glory, Bananas Foster awaited Erin and Jeremy for dessert.
Quite full from the meal's previous courses, it was all the two could do not to refuse the eagerly-awaited dessert. When they finally managed to finish the generous portions that were prepared for them, they were more than ready to call it a night.
"What a fantastic meal," Erin declared as the two walked arm-in-arm back to her quarters. "But -oh- am I stuffed."
"Yeah, I'm right with you," Jeremy agreed. "But if I die tonight, it'll be as the happiest man in the quadrant," he added, a smile and squeeze of his hand indicating to Erin that not just the fabulous meal, but her company, would have had everything to do with it.
"Speaking of dying," she responded, shifting to a different topic, "what's going on with all these killings on the ship I've been hearing about? It's kinda creepy," she said, pulling a little closer to Jeremy. Their conversation throughout the evening had encompassed a variety of subjects, but so far, consciously or unconsciously, they had avoided this one.
"Damn if I know, but whatever's going on, it's sure got Bhrode raving like a mad man. You should have heard him at the senior staff meeting."
"Who do you think's behind it?" Erin asked, a hint of intrigue in her voice. "Do you think it's one of those Klingons?"
"I seriously doubt it," Jeremy replied. "They'd be risking an interstellar incident . . . unless that's what they want," he suddenly thought.
"Oh . . . or what about that creepy little deputy guy or whatever he was?" Erin asked. "You know, the one who came in and blew up at us in Ten-Forward before we launched?"
"That little freak?" Jeremy asked incredulously. "I don't think he could kill a hamster without running out of breath. Nah, if you ask me it's that big totem pole's marine twin brother who's been lurking around. The Indian's bad enough, the way the captain uses him as a human wrecking-ball, but at least we know he's on Bhrode's leash. I've only seen his twin once but from what I overheard from a couple of guys in security, he's at least as spooky and pretty much answers to no one."
"Maybe it's Bhrode, maybe he's finally burst a vessel in that head of his from yelling so much," Erin said jokingly now, as they arrived at her door.
"Maybe it's me," Jeremy suggested in a thick, Bela Lugosi-like accent, pulling Erin around and nibbling on her neck.
"Stop that!" she squealed with laughter as she slapped him lightly on the chest. "You're gonna scare me."
Jeremy feigned remorse. "Oh, well I don't want to do that."
"And why not?" she said, standing in her now open doorway, her tone suddenly becoming much more suggestive.
"Huh?"
"Don't you know we scared girls need big, strong men to stay and protect us through the night?" And with that, she pulled the smiling helmsman into her quarters and closed the door.
* * * * * * * * * *
The Divine One stood in the old fashioned water shower and let the blood swirl off the Divine Body in looping coils of pink.
Idly, the Divine eyes considered the remnants of the blood, mixing with the water these monkeys so adored.
One of the chattering little monkeys had ventured too close. The amusement that only a divine wit could understand, watching them chatter and scurry trying to predict where the next blow would fall; even that paled.
Compared with the fun of actually gutting one of the meat-bags.
One of those chattering monkeys had possessed the GALL to question the Divine one? Was it fluke chance? Or perhaps the thing possessed even a glimmer of intelligence?
The Divine one studied the gleaming, fresh crimson scars on the Divine Torso. Spilling Divine blood kept the rages in check. Spilling Monkey Blood fueled them.
But the last one... the crawling pathetic thing with delusions of grandeur that named itself 'Legate'... that monkey had ventured too close to the Divine One. And for that, it would have been next.
But for the intervention of time... it would have died then and there. No doubt it was laying in the dark right now...the rest if its blood pooling out. Too bad that one swipe of the Divine Knife would have ended it's mewling existance, if the Divine one had expected to take the thing.
But, the monkeys were agitated. They sensed that Divine Death walked amidst them.
Six have died already. Seven if you counted the Kelvan.
It is time to end this charade.
It was time for Divinity to reveal itself.
And Bhrode's Summit Meeting was just the place to do it.
A divine chuckle breaks the shower stall.
More monkey blood to flow.
=/\=
OOC: Bhrode's meeting gets posted Saturday! So get your posts wrapped or start marking them as 'backstories' now! For the 'Summit' it'll be the same lot as the 'Staff Meeting'... only in your Dress Uniforms. only THIS time.. Bhrode's gonna do all the talking! You're welcome to post your reaction posts, because when the killer gets fingered (Not like THAT Joe! Kelly!) they're going to make a break for it.
The room was filled with everyone in their best dress uniforms. Other than the sea of white and the splashes of color of each decoration... the only new things in the room were the Three Orion 'merchants' lounging in black leather aginst the one wall, smirking at the Klingon Delegation. The room was very quiet.. tensions were runnign high and no one wanted to be the one to explain to Bhrode why THEY were the one who'd started anything.
Most of the smaller tables had been cleared and the large Conference Table had been broken out of Ships Stores. The Klingons sat on each side, the two camps facing each other, surrounded by the Federation Crew.
The Thought Admiral and his Aide sat in armoured, stoney silence, across from the Princess, Geberal Kragg looming behind her in silent support. The rest of her Honor Guard lined the portholes behind her, interspersed with the Security and Marines that protocol demanded. Bared Bak'leThs and phaser III's were much in evidence between the three 'Honor' Guards. Behind the Thought Admiral, the Orions snickered and muttered comments to each other.. their Leader Deth O'key seeming to bore holes into Karyn Dallas with the intensity of his stare.
The door swooped open. Only a few were missing... most of the crew had enough sense to be there when Bhrode had told them to be. Even Curtis Geluf had slid into his seat with mere moments to spare, after his conversation with his OPS Chief.
Of course, the newest arrival has NEVER been accused of having any sense.
"Hey! Whaddya! Nice doors, huh! SOMEONE around here has class and taste!" Leo Streely's voice broke the silence like someone breaking wind in an elevator. He paused to carress the nude and wooden bottom of a carved Nymph, beaming at the crowd.
Appalled silence reigned, as Leo's 'Dress Uniform' was being taken in.
A white polyester jumpsuit, slit open to the top of a round and hairy little potbelly had lapels that jutted out past his shoulders. Not surprisingly, the deep Vee neck showed more hair on the belly than on the chest. On one collar point, a ludicrously over-sized 'star' proclaimed "SPECIAL DEPUTY" to anyone caring to read it. On the other side, the rhinestones spelled out the words "Big Hoss Leo" A golden belt buckle, easily almost the size of Leo's beaming head strained its way around his tummy and bore the legend 'Made you look! If you can read this, you'd better be a dame! Rent this space, 50 credits.' picked out in rhinestone chips, to the discerning eye.
Leo smirked and did a half-pirouette, his rhinestone studded Green half-cape flying out behind him, revealing the Rhinestoned words 'Federation Bureau of Investigation' on the back of the jumpsuit, and a rhinestone arrow pointing at his ample backside boasting the legend 'Check THESE Buns of Dura-Steel!'. He paused to adjust the gold toned anti-flare shades with 'Mack Daddy Deputy Leo' engraved on each arm, and to shoot a saucy look over his shoulder at the room.
"You like?" he asked the room.
The appalled silence continued.
"You think the boots are a bit much?" Leo asked, gesturing to the thigh-high yellow boots with the leopard skin turn-downs at their tops. Leo used his walking stick, which was apparently carved fom the ivory of a Risean Rhino (now extinct) and topped with a flashy version of his Deputy's Badge to kame the gesture. Both the boots and the cane had the words 'El Leo Magnifico, the BIG Daddy-o' in rhinestones down their lengths. The cane started playing a curious 'theme song' which sounded suspiciously like Leo playing a kazoo to the tune of 'Pomp and Circumstance.' Several thumps of the cane on the floor silenced it.
"I was going for subtle. . .dames think subtle is sexy." a smiling Leo chattered to Lysander, as he squeezed his pudgy way into an open seat next to the Alpha Centaurian.
"You seen the Kelvan?" Lys whispered to Leo, drawing yet another glare from Rebecca across from him. Like it was HIS fault she had to wear her dreaded Dress Uniform?
Leo was staring at Rebecca with his mouth open. He pointed at her negligible chest.
"You ARE a dame! I knew it! Hehehehe! All those guys who bet you were some freaky hermaphodrite just LOST big! Lookit that, Mister Listerine! She's getting boobies! Keep trying,Tootsie, they're almost there. Who's Kevin?" Leo's attention veered back to the question, leaving Rebecca blinking and obviously re-paying her photographic memory for proof that the outrage had just occured.
"The Kelvan. The Legate?" Lys hissed.
Leo turned to Cutter Karanin and rolled his eyes, a gesture lost behind his hades. "Yo! Wings. You Calvin? Kevin? And lay off the beans...sheesh!" Leo waved a be-ringed hand in front of his nose and turned back to Lys with a smirk.
"Somebody's baking brownies." Leo muttered. His eyes swept the room.
" He's the only one not here...You'd better be ready to do what we talked about..." Lys hissed.
"Relax! This is me. ME! Leo here!" Leo replied, still searching for Raven.
"Don't remind me. If you screw this up..." Lys moaned. Rebecca was staring at the pair with an arched eyebrow, plainly wanting to know what was going on. The expression on her face showed that she thought it was Non-Regulation, and therefore Entirely Suspect.
"Me? ME screw something UP!? I may screw the ladies... I may screw you in a business deal (but only that way, because I'm not LIKE that!) but I never ..ever ... screw... RAVEN!" Leo shouted, waving at the silent Indian who loomed in a dark corner, a clear area around him kept clear by his glower and scowl.
"Don't wave at him, you'll ruin everything!" Lysander hissed.
"Oh. Yeah." Leo muttered, making 'call me' gestures at Raven, who merely scowled deeper and pretended not to see Leo. A nervous looking Klingon glanced to his right, only to have the Indian fix him with a black eyed stare that left even that Warrior gulping, before looking away, and shuffling himself further away from the corner the Big Indian had staked out.
In the opposite Corner, Major Log loomed. Leo considered the Marine a moment. The Marine also looked Leo's way, seemingly as big and silent as Raven. Leo flashed him a quick smile. No response. Leo bobbled his head in a nod. The Marine visibly exhaled and went back to his impassive looming at his younger brother. Turning back to Lysander, Leo shook his head. "I dunno how them two are related. Raven's so warm and friendly, and that guys' -sooooo- anti-social. They're like some weirdo cloning experiment gone bad."
Dr Quick looked up from the smiling and rapt attention he'd been paying to teh Princess.
"Cloning? Did someone say 'cloning?' Rightous talk little guy! But you can't really have a true clone, because that's like all the physical! You have to totally get past the physical, petty bougeois hang ups with the body, and implant the phsyce of the original too. Or else you'd have, like, just this body of the person. It's all in the mind." Quick nodded his head, his hair flying.
"Hey! Did he just call my mother 'little?'" Leo demanded.
But Quick's gaze and fervid imagination had settled back on the Princess. "Cloning.... groovy..." he was head to mutter, as he dumped two PADDS, a slide rule and a kazoo ontot he table top and started on one of his projects, referencing the computer LCARS before his seat often.
The Door Swooshed open. JQB was here.
"Atten-HUT!" the Marines barked, offering the Rifle Salute. Even a few of the Fleet Officers came up out of their seats. The Klingons even rose, at the Princess' example and scowled at everyone, to show they only did it because it was 'diplomatic' and therefore suspect.
Bhrode went to his seat and sat, tugging his jacket lower and twisting his neck at the sky blue ribbon of his Medal of Valor.
"Princess. Admiral. Captain-General. General." Bhrode nodded at each individual in turn. His eyes swept his crew... and settled on Leo Streeley.
"Heyas! I been wondering John...can I call you John?" Leo ventured.
"No." Bhrode grated out.
"Good, because it sounds like the toilet. I been wondering..." Leo began again.
"Shut up!" Lys hissed at Leo.
"No one in this room told me a damn thing about what was going on." Bhrode snapped out.
Slipping unobtrusively into Ten-Forward, Erin moved toward the relative safety and isolation afforded behind the bar. Her bar.
Shortly after waking, she had checked her messages while Jeremy remained asleep in her bed, and came across a ship-wide notice that all senior staff were to report to Ten-Forward in dress whites per Himself, John Q. Bhrode. She hastily woke Jeremy out of his slumber and as he stumbled out the door to his own quarters to change, she had gotten herself ready and went down to Ten-Forward to see for herself what was going on.
Quickly scanning the see of white-clad officers seated in the center of the room, Erin saw that Jeremy hadn't made it yet.
A few more officers quietly arrived, but for one, 'quiet' was a foreign language.
"Hey! Whaddya! Nice doors, huh! SOMEONE around here has class and taste!"
~Oh my God,~ Erin thought to herself, her skin crawling as Leo screeched on.
As the scene unfurled itself in all its hideous glory, the doors slid open again and Jeremy slipped in unnoticed. Except by Erin, that is. It was the only time she had been happy that Leo was in Ten Forward causing a commotion. It distracted everyone from Jeremy's late arrival.
Finding an unoccupied chair very near the corner where Raven's twin has positioned himself, the helmsman seated himself. Generally not too easily intimidated, Jeremy couldn't shake the odd feeling of unease he had around this guy. This was only the second time he had laid eyes on the warm-blooded (he assumed) totem pole, but he felt like he knew him in a creepy sort of way. It was as if an unspoken reputation had preceded him, at least in Jeremy's mind. A reputation that involved killing, perhaps?
Strangely, Jeremy didn't have the same uneasy feelings toward Raven. His first encounter with the glowering security officer had been back in the holding cell at Utopia Planetia when Bhrode made his grand tour. Like a faithful pit bull, Darkstar had given Jeremy 'the look', but it had had little effect on the cocky lieutenant, except to make him reflexively more defiant.
Yet even though he was Darkstar's twin, the marine seemed more like something out of Jeremy's nightmares, even though he had never so much as blinked at Savoie, let alone stared him down.
Catching sight of Erin looking over to him from behind the bar, Jeremy winked to let her know that he had made it here and everything was fine.
"Atten-HUT!" some Marine bellowed as people began standing all around the room. From his relatively remote seat, Jeremy didn't bother. It was bad enough he had to -be- here in this monkey suit.
With a nod, Bhrode acknowledged the dignitaries assembled before him. "Princess. Admiral. Captain-General. General."
"Heyas! I been wondering John . . . can I call you John?" Jeremy heard from somewhere in the sea of white. It was that little freak ball security guy, he could tell from the grating tone of his voice.
"No."
Jeremy was actually surprised that Bhrode didn't have the little creep instantly hauled out of the room by a security mob. First the staff meeting, now this . . . Bhrode surprisingly tolerated a lot more from that guy than he would have expected. Whatever the creep said next, Jeremy missed it, but he could tell from Bhrode's glare that it wasn't something nice.
Then things got down to business.
"No one in this room told me a damn thing about what was going on." . . . .
Phaser Chief Tim “Terror” Mirapoints stared at the bewildering scribble of wiring schematics and allowed an expression of complete befuddlement pass over his grizzled old face.
“Dag-Nabbit Doctor, I’ve been crawling in and around phaser-housings since the days they still arrayed them in single banks, and I’ve never seen anything like this mess you’ve designed here.”
Doctor Jebediah Quick looked wounded. The display PADD he held lovingly in his bony fingers was the result of several weeks of feverish (and possibly drug-induced) labor. The Pulsed Phaser Cannon was the pinnacle of Quick’s reputation as both a scientist, as well as an artist.
The fact that a grubby little enlisted man like Mirapoints couldn’t see the sheer aesthetic beauty of the whole design was. . . .well. . . . .insulting.
“No, no, no, “ Quick chastised the Chief, “You’re blocking again. Tear down the walls of preconception little phaser-dude. Look beyond the notions of mere phased light energy and see the beauty within. Try to see the design as a whole.”
Mirapoints scowled at the PADD, and then back a t the mass of smoking, half-melted machinery behind him. The beleaguered Phaser Chief had invited the enigmatic Doctor down to the central core of the Galaxy’s new massive PPC cannon, to try to make sense out of this cavernous computer-filled bay slung underneath the Primary Saucer.
It was a mess to say the least. Instead of the familiar, well-known pieces of equipment that the Chief had spent several decades becoming an expert in. . . .instead there was a virtual maze of crude lump metal blobs that in many ways looked random and half-melted. In addition to that, the entire bay was filled from top to bottom with an annoying array of twirling red lights, hissing geysers of hot steam, and an eerie array of diffuse shadows transforming everything into a surreal nightmare.
Still in the back of his mind, the Chief prayed the designer could make some sense out of this hellish mess and explain it to him.
So far however, the Chief had received little in the way of clear explanations and too much in the way of humanistic psycho-babble from the Doc.
“Look Quick,” Mirapoints growled, “I don’t really care what political statement you were trying to make with this cannon, but right now we got a whole gaggle of Klingon’s breathing down our necks and the Captain needs this thing WORKING!!”
“Herd.” Replied Quick simply.
“Excuse me Doc, but what?”
“Herd.” Quick repeated, “Swarm of bees, gaggle of geese, Flock of Birds . . . . . Klingons come in Herds.”
Tim blinked for a few moments at the utterly serious face of the Doctor wondering if shoving the damn hippie’s bloody corpse into the phase couplers might fix the problems with the cannon.
~~~Probably not.~~~ he figured unhappily.
“Whatever,” Mirapoints said at last, “I don’t care if it’s a herd of Klingons or a Flock of Romulans. The point is your big Wonder-Cannon here isn’t working, and you seem to be the only person on this ship that might have a clue why!”
“Really?” Quick sounded mildly impressed, “Hunh. . . “ he mused to himself looking about the huge bay as if noticing the mass of red-hot equipment for the first time. For a horrible moment it seemed to “Terror” that the scientist had a look of unfamiliarity as he took it all in.
“You DO know about this equipment right?” he had to ask.
“Allay your fears little worrisome dude.” Quick said dismissivly as he experimentally tapped at a nearby LCARS display. “After all its only been about 15 years or so since I made this stuff up. . . . . “ ~~~I’m sure it will come back to me. . . .~~~ he finished the sentence silently.
“So then,” The Doc turned back to the Chief and rubbed his hands together eagerly, the picture of perfect cooperation, “What seems to be the trouble?”
The Chief had a list a half mile long, but he decided to start with some of the basic stuff. “Well hell Doc, the whole thing is a mystery. Take this hardware for instance. . .” he gestured to an odd lumpy-looking piece of metal that sat innocently in the middle of the deck. “We think this is an Regulator for the Pre-Phaser Chamber Injector, but. . . . . well. . .. but we cant seem to find a way to prime the charge. What’s its problem?”
Shrugging Quick leaned against a random strut, “Search me Chief-y. . . Have you tried asking it?”
“ASKING IT?”
“Sure,” Quick bobbed his head crazily, “Its been sitting here in this room the whole time. I just got here 15 minutes ago, and cant have any possible idea what it’s upset about.”
The Chief paused wondering whether to address the ‘chief-y’ comment first or not. “What it’s upset about? What the hell?”
“Tsk tsk vulgarity is the poison of the soul.” Quick waggled his finger at the gruff old spacer, “You did ask me what it’s problem was. Maybe its upset about something. Maybe you set it on overload in another life. . . maybe its just having a bad-wire day. You should ask it. “
The “Terror” didn’t know what to say.
“Oh go on you big galoot!” Quick urged with a friendly shove. “Show it you care about how it feels. You two are going to be working together for a long time, and you may as well break down the walls. Say something Cheerful. “
“CHEERFUL!!”
“Sure,” Quick grinned goofily, “Don’t you want Happy-little-phasers?”
HAPPY-PHASERS!??!!!” Mirapoints sputtered, point of fact but he wanted mean, pissy-little phasers with bad attitudes, but that was besides the point. . . . “I meant tell me why its not functioning you long-haired baboon!!! Not to psychoanalyze the blasted thing!!” Mirapoints was sputtering.
“Oh,” Quick seemed saddened, “Pity, Phaser-Psychoanalysis could have been a fascinating new field of study.”
“Okay, okay. . . . Forget the blasted Chamber Injector, “ Tim waved his hands, “How about this piece of equipment here? What is it? The Focus Aperture?”
“Oh don’t be silly Chief-y.” Quick chortled, “Remember if it Looks like a Phaser and Quacks like a Phaser. . . . Then it must be a Duck!”
~~~I see only one QUACK in this room.~~~ the Chief grit his teeth silently.
“A Duck.” He repeated. “ No really?”
“Totally honest-injun!” The Doc was bobbing his head again grinning madly. “ I call it. . . . Mating Flight of the Mallard.”
Tim looked back at the lump of misshapen metal and cocked his head to one side. . . . .Sonuvagun but if it didn’t actually look like a . . . . ~~~Crap!!~~~ “You put a Metal-sculpture of a DUCK where my Focus Aperture is supposed to be!!??!!!” he screamed.
“Yah, Free form ironwork.” Quick replied, “I got the scars from the welding torch to prove it. . . . . . ahhh to suffer for the art.”
“Where the hell is my Aperture then?” Mirapoints was glancing around the rest of the bay wondering how many other of these ‘machines’ were actually art-projects in disguise.
“The Focus Aperture?” Quick repeated, “Oh I put that dirty old thing behind the panel there. . . ugly little piece of machinery. . . no sense of aesthetics at all.”
Sure enough, when the Chief pulled out a large monkey wrench and peeled back a section of innocent looking wall paneling. . . .there was his precious Focus humming and blinking innocently.
“Sonuva. . . .So the Power Relays? Behind the wall panels?”
“Behind the panels.” Quick confirmed.
“The Charger Coils?”
“Them too.”
“The Phase Inducers. . . .The Circuit Breakers. . . .all of it?”
“Yes Chief-y” Quick replied, “Why? Are you upset?”
~~~Upset?~~~ Mirapoints opened his arms wide to indicate the huge PPC bay filled with hissing half-melted lumps of metal. None of which. . . .it seemed. . . . had anything to do with Phaser function.
“You put all the necessary equipment behind hidden paneling, and filled the rest of the area with. . . with THIS? What the hell for!?!”
Quick considered the bay and furrowed his brows. “Why for atmosphere of course, haven’t you been listening?” He gestured at the ominous hissing and steaming pipes. “I went for a sort of Dante’s Inferno meets Techno-Babble look. Fitting don’t you think for such a weapon of mass destruction?”
~~~Dante’s—flipping—Inferno~~~ the Chief didn’t know whether to scream or giggle insanely. Instead he contented himself with busily tearing open wall partitions to reveal the TRUE inner workings of the Galaxy’s Pulse Phaser Cannon. It was all there. . . . all there and easy to understand.
Sighing he tapped his Comm Badge wearily, “Mirapoints to Bridge.”
=/\= BRIDGE HERE. . .GO AHEAD CHIEF. =/\=
“Reporting in, on the PPC. We . . .uh. . .straightened out a few problems down here. I should have full phaser power for you in about a half hour.”
=/\= GOOD JOB CHIEF, GIVE DR. QUICK A BIG PAT ON THE BACK FOR US, AND LKET HIM KNOW HIS PRESENCE IS REQUESTED IN TEN FORWARD ASAP. DRESS IS FORMAL IF HE DOESN’T MIND. =/\=
“Copy that” Tim growled, wondering what ‘formal’ attire for the bewildering scientist would entail, “Mirapoints out.”
“. . . .and this one here. . . “Quick was busily referring to another of his metal monstrosities, “. . .I call this one. . .Flight of the Pink Snow Bunny.”
****
~ I don't believe it! ~ Victor stared at the readout on the screen in front of him in shock. ~ I do not believe it! The little weasel wasn't lying after all! ~
He dropped back into his chair, still staring at the screen. ~ Okay, could this have been faked? Is it possible that he.? ~ Hands starting to move over the LCARS panel inset in his desk, he leaned forward, watching the screen as he checked sensor readings for the time in question. ~ All right, there she is. there he is coming in the door. there they. ~ He blinked, cross-referenced the room's climate control sensors, displaying them next to the sensor readings and speeding the playback up. ~ Individual heat levels rising. joint activity.~
It took only a few seconds before Victor leaned back, flicking the search off. ~ I can't decide if I want to be ill, or what. He wasn't lying. He really was there, with her, and they really.. Twice. ~ Victor shook his head. "Unbelievable," he sighed out loud. "He really did it; he really did sleep with her. I thought for sure he'd just faked the logs, but the climate control logs. no, he wasn't faking those. No one thinks about those. Leo really did."
"No," he said firmly, pressing his palms down on the desk and standing up, glad that his latest session with Dr. Malgin had ended with him free from pain for the first time in days. "I am not going to think about this. Bad enough that my personal life as been in the toilet since Risa and I broke up a year ago, I do not want to think about Streeley having more of one than I do on top of everything else."
Scooping up his PADD, Victor moved through the bathroom to the empty adjoining quarters and set about bringing up the holographic master list he' d programmed to track the ship's crew as he cleared them - all the while trying to think of anything *but* the brief glimpses of what the thermal images had shown. Once the list was up and running, he called up his cleared suspects for the day and started to tap them over to green, checking them off verbally as he did so. "Leo Streeley - clear. Lt. Commander Samara - clear." He snorted. "I suppose I ought to clear the targ too - at least he's one suspect I don't need to check the alibi for."
He created an entry for the animal and tapped it over to green. "The three ratings from Operations down in Waste Management - check. First Marine Platoon - check. Got to hand it to the Marines, arrogant or not, at least they know where their people are at all times. The enlisted ones, anyway, their command staff is as big a pain to lock down as the ship's. I still haven't cleared Major Log or Gunny Goldstein, or three of the pilots." He stopped. "Didn't Hanley say something about taking a pilot to dinner today? I'll have to ask him in the morning and see if she's one of the ones on my list."
He worked his way down the list, clearing off crewmen until he reached the bottom. ~ That's it for today, then. Not bad, but still a long way to go - looks like. about five hundred names left, mostly thanks to the Marines keeping such good records ~ He made a note on his PADD for delivery to himself in the morning to take the bottle of 50-year old, unreplicated Glenlivit he'd promised the Master Sergeant in Marine Records in return for his help in clearing out the Marine enlisted personnel. ~ Not like I'm going to be drinking it, anyway - and Chief Galdo wouldn't mind the Marine having it as long as it was in a good cause. ~
Looking up from the PADD, he ran his eyes over the list for a minute, trying to see some pattern, something that might have eluded him so far. ~ Nothing, nothing that I can see, anyway. The victims have to fit some kind of a pattern, but I can't see it. ~ Under a sudden inspiration, he switched the hologram to a graphic map of the Galaxy in profile and plotted the sites of the killings on it, then checked for a pattern match. ~ Nothing. ~ A few keystrokes altered the view to a top-down orientation and he replotted the killing sites and checked again for a pattern match. ~ Nothing. ~
Frowning, Victor studied the hologram. ~ I guess that's a good thing. At least the killer isn't like that guy they caught on Markev-6, the one that was picking out a historical constellation pattern as seen from the southern continent of Alpha Centauri on a map of the capitol city, and then writing out a classical Tellarite musical score using the heights of the victim's residences in the buildings for a scale. The only reason they ever caught him was a Betazoid tourist in the right place at the right time - no one would have ever figured his pattern out otherwise. ~ He sighed tiredly. ~ And I don't think I'm going to get any help from a Betazoid aboard ship - the last one I was in a turbolift with ran into the doorframe in his haste to get out. ~
"Okay," he told himself. "Forget the Betazoids and their dislike for you. One more time tonight - what is there left that I can clear off?" He clicked the hologram back over to the master list and stared at it, hoping for inspiration. "Besides a couple of people on the Command Staff that need to be cleared there isn't anything. wait." He opened up a display window. ".the Klingons. I still need to clear General Kragg, Attendant K'vala, and. no, not the Princess anymore." He paused, "No - Streeley only clears the Princess for a single killing. That doesn't mean she's alibied for the rest. Hell, she could have sent K'vala out to do it if she wanted to - the woman's good with a knife."
Unbidden, the image of K'vala backed into the corner of Dargha's quarters, fending him off with a chair and one of her sleeve knives came to mind. ~ Tough woman - got to respect that, even if she does want to kill me. What was that she said to me then? '.I do not wish to harm you tonight?' ~ He smiled suddenly, an odd sense of anticipation slipping over him. ~ I wonder if tonight's the night? ~
Shutting down the hologram, he cleaned up the empty quarters, secured things to make it look like he'd never been there, and moved back to his quarters. ~ I really shouldn't do this without telling the Commander - but I know he's going to refuse permission when he realizes there isn't any way to do this but just accuse them out in the open and see what happens. ~ As he slipped his hold-out phaser into the hiding spot of the day - the left sleeve this time - he mulled over the pros and cons. ~ no, better that I say nothing. That way, it'll just look like me being my normal self - no sense dragging Corgan down with me if it all goes bad. ~
Decision reached, Victor checked the charge in his Phaser 2, slipped it into the holster and clipped it to his uniform. ~ Be nice if I had some body armor if it comes down to knives, but it'd just slow me down - and let them know that I was onto them if the Princess or K'vala are the killer. ~ That same sense of anticipation was back as he checked his tricorder to make certain that it was performing the constant low-level scan of him as programmed and that the preset locations to broadcast if it detected a change in his condition were still in place. ~ Corgan and the Security Main crowd will be expecting it, but I bet the Captain and Dr. Malgin won't. ~
He stopped, looked at the settings, and on a whim added another broadcast point to the list. ~ Bet the Marines will be surprised, too. Corgan will want to catch the killer himself if they get me, and he'll wait too long to call in the Marines. ~ He smiled wolfishly. ~ But if they get me, I want them dead - and the Marines will do that. ~
With a final look around the room, Victo