USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 50301.17 - 50301.24 |
*Backpost- about a week after destruction of Defiant*
Sickbay was busy this morning and for that Ella was grateful. People had been tiptoeing around her for the past few days, not realizing that it was more of a comfort to be around sound than in complete silence. She liked listening to the hum of the machines, the varied voices of the complaining patients, and even the irritated voice of Doctor Malgin, as long at it wasn't directed at her. She did not like the quiet, where it was easier to lose herself.
Ella sighed and shifted a bit in the biobed. They would be releasing her soon from this safe little world. The wounds she had acquired on the Defiant had healed awhile ago, as before, but they had been keeping her for observation, probably at Karyn Dallas' request. The counselor had been by her bedside when she had awoken (sometime after destroying the Defiant and giving Victor a friendly hug, she had passed out) and had come to visit her everyday since. Ella had been annoyed at first but had come to see the counselor's visits as another comfort, not that she'd ever admit it to the woman. She wished her own parents had been as dedicated as Dallas seemed to be to the entire crew.
She didn't want to leave. For days now, she had awakened with dread knowing that she would have to. Ella knew that she needed to go, that she needed to get back to work (who knew what state Engineering was in now?) and into a routine that didn't have her laying around and contemplating how things could, should, or might have been, but she didn't want to. Dallas had been polite, slightly pushing every now and then about what had happened, but otherwise leaving her alone to work out her demons.
Of course, Ella didn't want to work out anything. What she wanted to do most these days was sleep. She had been lucky. No nightmares had plagued her throughout the night. Only the day.
She sighed again and picked up the computer PADD besides her bed. Dallas had suggested that she take a few more days off and Ella wanted them. Right now, she doubted her ability as an engineer and she wasn't sure she even wanted to be one anymore. That wasn't what Engineering needed. An engineer had to be on top of things, be ready to anticipate problems, know and understand their ship. Right now, Ella didn't even know herself. She sure as hell wasn't sure of anything. A few days more to recover would help her figure it out. She typed the short memo requesting the time off. It was short, sweet, and to the point, Ella decided as she sent it. Surely, they couldn't deny her just a few more days.
Ah the clarity of vision at seventeen, Ella thought. I knew how to pull myself out of this ...slump then. Of course her parents were a big help then. Nothing could have motivated Ella more than her parents complaints that she was going to miss her next concert. She remembered the disbelief she had felt. I've been attacked and you want me to go on like nothing has happened? She had decided then and there that she was never singing again and, to further ensure her control, she wasn't going to talk either. It was all too simple. Ella had decided to take back her life, her way. The rest of the world be damned. It was time to get what she wanted.
But what did she want now?
Sleep, a part of her yawned. Too much thinking, it complained. Get some rest and we'll discuss it later... Much later.
Ella yawned. She supposed it could wait a bit.
Lieutenant Tom Jordan, 4 year veteran of Starfleet’s Judge Advocate General
Corps, snapped shut the little brass fasteners to his patent leather briefcase,
and scanned his tiny desk one last time to see if he forgot
everything.
~~~Lets see. . . .Case briefings. . . .After action reports. . . .Appropriate Fleet bios. . . .what else do I . . .oh yeah.~~~
Smiling in chagrin he slid open his laptop drawer and removed a well dog-eared paperback novel and tucked it under his arm.
~~~Might as well have something to read while I’m waiting.~~~ he thought.
Much like the military, the judicial system was one of ‘hurry up and wait’. The wheels of progress alternatively spinning quickly, or not at all.
Today would no doubt be the same.
Exiting his office (translated: barely adequate hole in the wall), Jordan nodded in greeting to the bored looking Ensign stuck behind the Secretary’s desk. The poor lad was originally assigned as part of the lanjep Security detail, but had quickly been drafted by the JAG to shuffle papers in the understaffed office.
The recent lanjep trade agreement was still relatively new, so Starfleet’s presence was rather limited here in the Klingon Free Trade Zone. Less than 100 Federation personnel made up the current contingent, and everyone from Supply, to JAG, to the Diplomatic Corps was scrambling for warm bodies.
“Calling it a day already Lieutenant Jordan?” The Ensign inquired barely stifling a yawn. If the El-T cut-out prematurely, then the ersatz secretary could likewise hit the bar scene early.
“Don’t start ordering drinks yet Frank.” The Attorney smiled. “I’m heading down to the receiving bays to pick up our new client. We have a debriefing at 0800 tomorrow, and I need to get the preliminaries taken care of.”
Frank the Secretary let his hopes falter in disappointment. Debriefings usually meant a lot of filing work for him. Looks like another working weekend. "Sure thing boss." he said, "Good luck with this client by the way. I had a sister serve with her a year ago, and she told me she was a real Ice-Bitch. Cold as Breen and Twice as Mean."
"Lovely." Jordan sighed. "Don't worry I'll be a regular Mr. Personality."
= = = = = =
Leaving his dejected draftee behind, Tom Jordan made his way quickly through the station, hailing a passing turbolift for a quick ride down to the gigantic docking bays 50 levels below.
The slowly spinning orbital facility was one of many that hung in low orbit above the Klingon resort world of lanjep. With the new treaty, many governments had obtained license to maintain small orbital facilities in the area to serve as warehousing and administrative facilities for associated starships.
The Federation station, like most, was still in the stages of construction, but enough of the mid-sized base was operational to serve as an interim HQ for Starfleet affairs.
Housing for Federation Ambassadors, support staff, and facilities for visiting Starships were all available on the station.
With a soft ‘ping’ of arrival, Tom Jordan stepped from the turbolift in to a circular multi-windowed reception area that one side looked down upon lanjep’s swirling cloud patterns, and on the other, out into deep space.
Whistling idly to himself, the Attorney threaded his way through the ‘airport-style’ seating towards the latter. Glancing curiously out the huge floor to ceiling bay windows, Jordan scanned the deepness of space for any sign his prospective client’s ship. Nothing.
Not that he really expected anything. He had intended to arrive early anyhow, but it was a human habit to check anyways.
Glancing up at the conveniently placed Tele-monitor he noted that USS Galaxy was indeed on time for arrival not 10 minutes from now.
In his minds eye, Jordan could picture the star-going behemoth slipping down out of Warp Drive and re-entering the domain of Newton and Einstein. Sparkling showers of cosmic light reflecting off her pristine hull as the Warp bubble collapsed back into the tri-Nacelle design that had all of Starfleet talking. Jordan was no Engineer, but even JAG candidates had to take basic warp theory classes at the Academy, and the odd-numbered engine configuration was supposed to be impossible as far as he remembered.
~~~Oh well, maybe a knack for ‘bending the rules’ is something Engineers and we lawyers have in common.~~~ he mused, while idly whistling a random tune.
A rather grumpy looking Klingon Janitor glanced up from his cleaning, and glared at the whistling human.
Feeling the glaring eyes, Jordan gulped and swallowed his tune.
~~~Didn’t even know Klingons had janitors.~~~ he thought giving the craggy-foreheaded alien a small wave of apology. ~~~Probably see’s dirt as an enemy to be conquered.~~~
The waiting are was not very crowded for its size. Here and there a few clusters of people clustered about chatting softly, or reading holo-magazines. Off in the corner a lone gentleman reclined in a chair watching a ceiling mounted monitor broadcasting FNN (Federation News Network)
Just like airports all over the universe, intermittent overhead announcements would occasionally offer some useless advice, in a multitude of languages.
++ CHIS MICH’MEH POL POL’BE NEH ++
The announcement blared in guttural Klingon.
Jordan idly waited for the translation a few seconds later.
+++ THE WHITE ZONE IS FOR LOADING AND UNLOADING ONLY+++
Jordan chuckled. . . .
++ GALAXY’EJDO POH ’DAH ++
Jordan perked his ears up recognizing one key word out of that phrase.
~~~Galaxy. . . .What?~~~ he wondered waiting for the translation. ~~~Galaxy. . . is going to be late. . . Galaxy just blew up. . . .Galaxy is infested with tribbles?~~~
~~~Yay~~~
Moving back to the huge windows (along with a few small children who wanted to watch the ‘space-ships’ come in) Jordan could now see the gleaming bulk of the USS Galaxy banking in for final approach at one quarter impulse.
Spotlights for the station played over the bare-metal skin of the ship as it move closer, and Jordan was able to get his first real look at the new starship variation that everybody was talking about.
~~~Ye Gods that’s that thing’s a monster.~~~ he whistled low in appreciation.
First ship of her class, the Galaxy was already a large vessel, conceived and built in the mid 60’s when Starfleet was at the pinnacle of its age of exploration.
Now however after years of war and conflict, she was reborn, transcending from an angel of mercy to an angel of death. The bristling gun ports and torpedo bays proclaimed her status as one Starfleet’s newest Battleships rather loudly.
Idly Jordan wondered what he local Klingons thought of her.
~~~ What would I think of a Klingon Battle cruiser parked in orbit over my home town?~~ he reasoned.
As he watched, Galaxy pulled herself slowly into a smooth parking orbit 2000 meters away from the station. A veritable fleet of personnel and maintenance shuttles disengaged themselves from their respective cubby holes, and descended on the starship like a swarm of gnats.
Starfleet was no doubt anxious to get a quick once-over of its newest acquisition following her trials.
~~~Speaking of trials~~~ the JAG officer reminded himself, ~~~ I bet that’s my appointment right there.~~~
A solitary shuttle had disembarked from the Galaxy, and was now heading away from her, and towards the station.
Jordan traced its smooth route across the sky, and moved closer to the boarding gate to his left where it was scheduled to arrive.
++ OPAKA’DUJ POH ’DAH. WA’LOJMIT ++
Through the windows, Jordan watched shuttle settle neatly against the external hatch.
The hatches hissed open after a few moments, and a trio of Fleet personnel strode out.
Two burly security types wearing standard looks of disapproval were flanking a tiny little girl between them that Jordan at first mistook for a teenager.
A second glance revealed that the characteristic red hair, and freckled face did indeed match the holo he had been given of his prospective client.
“Commander von Ernst? “ He inquired stepping forward. “Lieutenant Tom Jordan, Starfleet JAG Corps at your service Ma’am.”
The Commander seemed to start slightly at his introduction, before avoiding his eyes and mumbling something that might have been an affirmative.
“Good to meet you Ma’am. I apologize for interrupting shore leave, but we have a few bureaucratic matter to take care of first.” He glanced at the two security officers. “You. . .ah . . .wont need a body guard here ma’am. . .the station is totally secure.”
The Girl blushed visibly, and the guard to her left spoke up. “We’re not bodyguards Lieutenant. We were ordered to keep an eye on the Commander and all her movements. She’s been restricted to quarters by order of Captain Brhode.”
Jordan gaped, “Restricted to. . . ? This is only a simple post Away Team Inquiry, not a criminal trial.”
The guard shrugged. “Nevertheless, Brhode’s orders.”
“Ridiculous.” Jordan snapped, “The good Captains jurisdiction ends at this hatch Ensign. The Commander is free to come with me, and you may return to the Galaxy.”
“But. . .”
“That was not an option Ensign.”
Sighing the guard acquiesced. “Yes Sir. Seemed kinda silly to me anyhow.”
Not bothering to watch the shuttle leave, Jordan took his new charge in tow and headed swiftly off down the walkway.
Trotting awkwardly at his side, the small girl had difficulty matching his large strides, so he adjusted his gait.
“You’ll be surprised to see all the changes since your last visit to lanjep Commander.” He said conversationally. “The Station itself is about 80% complete, and there’s a new human recreational area in the works on the surface for those of us that are not fond of Klingon-traditional relaxations.”
Again she mumbled something inaudible. . . .her eyes watching outside the window as they walked.
“Pardon Ma’am?”
“I. . .uh. . .I w.w..w.wasn’t here last time. I. .I transferred to P. . .Prospero for a year.”
The soft stuttered voice at once surprised and dismayed the Attorney. ~~~This is the famous Ice Queen? Geez, that crack in her voice makes her sound guilty as hell. . . . . this isn't going to be fun.~~~
“Oh, my mistake,” he said aloud. “My secretary is still in the process of updating your Fleet Bio, so I must have missed that detail.”
The Commander shrugged awkwardly and blushed.
“So. . .in regards to the Defiant Away Mission,”
he began, “Any insights beyond your official log entries. . . .bad bit
of business there
apparently.”
Her stride faltered a bit and a shadow seemed to pass over her pale features.
~~~Yes~~~ he thought ~~~ Definitely a bad bit of business.~~~
The Commander’s jittery personality was worrying the Attorney. As a Starfleet Officer he was used to representing people who already possessed a strong sense of professionalism and self-confidence. He was spoiled in that respect perhaps.
This stuttering XO however looked to be a bit of a challenge.
~~~How the hell did she get a job like this?~~~ he wondered. ~~~And whatever happened to those file entries that listed her as some sort of Ice Bitch?~~~
Obviously his data was wrong on several levels.
Sighing he wished not for the first time, for a real Law-Assistant rather than some Security Draftee.
The Commander stopped dead in her tracks, causing Jordan to almost run into her.
“Oh no. . . .” she whispered softly.
If possible, the pale skinned girl turned even whiter, and Jordan wondered for a moment if she was gonna be sick.
“Ma’am? You okay?”
~~~The Sommersby?~~~ he wondered ~~~What does that name mean to her?~~~
“I. . .I. . .I. . .I” she stuttered crazily, her tiny fists clenched and shaking visibly.
“Geez, Commander what’s up?” Jordan worried, “What’s the Sommersby. . ..someone you know, or. . ..”
“HOTH!” she spat out.
“The S. . .Sommersby is Admiral Hoth’s p. . p. . p. . personal warp sh. . sh. . shuttle.”
Something in the way she said it made Jordan’s spine tingle.
~~~ An Admiral. . .uh-oh~~~
lanjep.
Klingon resort world.
A place where everyone can kick back and wind down on a targ hunt, or drink bloodwine they puke. Thus was the fates of the crew of the Galaxy. Save one. Well, perhaps save two.
"What do you mean we cant relax, Crom?" Curot whined at his Ferengi counterpart as Crom walked down the aisles of Curot's shop on the promenade. "This is lanjep! Everyone has a remotely good time..."
"Well not us this time, now shut up and pack. The Nagus wants me to do business with a very prominent klingon house hold. The house of..." Crom glanced at a padd in his hands as he spoke over a weapons rack. "....The house of K'alling. Our contact is a FEMALE named Av'on."
Curot perked up. "A.... FEMALE?"
"Yes, a female. They apparently are allowed to do business here. But it doesn't matter. Latinum is Latinum, and in the eyes of the Nagus, it doesn't matter where it comes from."
"I suppose. Well, what does she want?"
"I have no idea."
"Theeenn.....how do you expect to do business?"
"Just like any other Ferengi. Professionally." Crom gave Curot a curt smile.
"Soooo...if you're going to do all this business, why cant I go off and enjoy myself!!" he stamped his feet a number of times. "I wanna see the great Has'kirpa exotic show lounge!!! I want to drink bloodwine until I cant see!!! Well, maybe not the bloodwine bit, but......"
"I am making you my assistant." Crom said as Curot's eyes lit up brighter than a shiny piece of latinum. "Now before you get out of hand, lame brain, it's not by my choice i have you as an assistant. It was the Nagus' idea."
Curot was practically beaming. "You mean the Nagus wants ME, specifically ME, to be your assistant!?"
"Yes, that way there is someone to take the blame and fall in case things get ugly." Curot turned nearly pale. "But don't worry, They won't do anything to you! Well, not without my permission. The klingons wouldn't want to start problems with a Federation Liaison now would they?"
"They better not!" Curot called out from the back office amongst a clatter of merchandise. He came out a moment later with a large already packed bag. "So what is it the klingons want again?"
"You're an idiot."
TBC.....
ooc: sorry for the shortness, but i am at work as i am writing this.; Stay tuned for more Ferengi Frolics!
OOC: Since when did we loose the capital J and ' in lanJep', eh??
Screeching in annoyance at the Klingon official she was talking to over the comm channel, Brightspot snapped, "NOO! I did not give approval to your cargo handlers to start chopping branches and squish things in. And it was listed as a tree for the facility arboretum, not an impulse manifold. Why would a stationary geosynchronous station need an impulse engine??"
The Klingon shrugged, "Well, maybe you should label your cargo better, Lt."
"It was!! Do all Klingons have trouble distinguishing tree shaped objects from rectangles??"
"If you fill out the correct forms that I am sending you, the Klingon government will arrange for a replacement if possible or compensation if not. Good day, Lt."
Groaning when the large packet of documents arrived, Brightspot sighed and pressed delete. She quickly typed up a request to the Sivaoan council rep to have another tree shipped to lanJep' with strong warnings to not leave it to Klingon transports.
Her console beeped and she answered it, "Lt to-Srallansre here."
[ Long-range sensors have detected the USS Galaxy incoming. ]
"Thanks!"
Jumping up, Brightspot grabbed her duffel bag which she slung over her shoulder and raced out of the temporary quarters.
Arriving ahead of the ship, Brightspot was waiting inches from the airlock door when an ensign unlocked it from the inside. He jumped three feet in the air when he saw Brightspot's smiling face and she laughed.
After he checked her boarding passes, she hurried on in. She was pleased that her previous quarters had been empty and her request to have the same room was approved.
******************************
Entering the room, she noted that it had changed a bit, most likely due to previous occupants.
Shrugging, she murmured to herself, "Guess it won't be too hard to modify it back the way it had been. First thing that can go is that damn sofa. What kinda of sicko orders a wooly plaid sofa?? My claws will get caught in that."
Dumping her stuff on the table, she decided to head to the security office to check in with her new CO. She remembered James from her early time on the Galaxy, but wasn't really sure if he would remember her. In fact, she could remember ever one of the brief conversations she had with him, albeit a very small number. Mostly, she had stuck around Sanchez, who was quite unusual for a human and intrigued Brightspot, and some of the others though.
Reaching the turbolift quickly, she waited and entered. She was about to request the Security office when she stopped and decided a quick detour would be okay.
"Arboretum, Deck 19. Time to check if my tree is still there."
The moment the transporter beam put the two Ferengi down in the Bot'Jak district, they knew they were in a very unfriendly place.
"Uhhh Crom?" Curot mumbled behind a box of beetle snuff.
"What is it?" Crom said without looking at his counterpart. He was too busy orienting himself in the city. After a moment of no response, he turned and glared at Curot. "What?!"
"Do you think it's safe for us here? I know this is a resort and all, but..."
"It doesn't matter if we think it's safe or not. We are here to serve the Nagus. Whatever it is, you can be sure if the Nagus has anything to do with it, it has everything to do with profit and latinum." Crom smiled a toothy grin. "I think it's this way." he walked on in some direction leaving Curot standing by himself for a moment before he ran to catch up.
"So where is our contact, Crom? Nearby?"
"I honestly have no idea."
"You've never been honest!" Curot called out a little too loudly, and a few Klingons took a bit of notice.
"If you don't keep quite Curot, we will Both be skinned alive here." Crom told him matter of factly. Curot gulped loudly. "The house of K'alling is in the JipKaJooc district. We are not that far from it, only a few more minutes." Crom told his counterpart.
"Well, the sooner we're off these streets, the better in my opinion!"
"I know what you mean."
The JipKaJooc district was a rough place on the resort world where usually the dregs of society end up, either alive or dead. Anything could be found there from drugs to illegal arms, it was a regular black market mixed with a little 20th century Bronx. It was not a district most visitors to lanjep would even think of going near, unless they had a reason.
The two approached a modest shack that looked as daunting as a crystalline entity. They slowly made their way up to the front doors of the house, where a broken klingon Bat'leth was hanging. On the door was the head of a targ with a large metal ball hanging out of it's mouth. Crom pushed the ball against the door with a deafening crash.
"Well, looks like no one is home, time to go!" Curot said exaspirally and bolted for the furthest reaches of the district before Crom grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back. "I DON'T LIKE IT HERE!! I WANT MY MOOGIE!!!!!"
Suddenly the giant wooden doors creaked open to a dark maw of a room. A woman dressed in Klingon battle gear was standing there holding a terrifying blade. She glared holes through the two Ferengi without saying a word. There was a fire in her eyes that frightened Crom. He swallowed and spoke softly.
"Av'on K'alling?"
*You are late.* she spewed in Klingon.
*My apologies* Crom replied in Klingon, *but if it weren't for the idiocy of my colleague we would have arrived long ago.* He turned and smiled at Curot, who smiled back happily. *We understand you have a need for us.*
She strode over and spat some Klingon profanities into Curot's face before walking back into the depths of the House.
"Uh, Crom?" Curot asked under his breath as they entered after her. "What did she just say to me?"
"She's initiating a mating ritual." He said curtly.
"BUT SHES WEARING WAY TO MANY CLOTHES!!!" Curot blurted out, drawing the attention of Av'on and two male Klingons in the room. He tried to hide behind Crom, but Crom stepped forward into the room. Av'on took a seat in a lavish throne.
"So" she said. "You are the representatives of the Grande Nagus?"
"I am" Crom replied. "This is my aide and attaché, Curot. He will be assisting me in whatever it is you require of us. What that is, we are still curious to find out." He grinned. "My name is Crom, Ferengi Delegate of the FedLiason corps, and Alliance dealer extraordinare." He took a slight bow, not taking his eyes off the two male Klingons.
"I require three things." At least she was to the point. "First, there is a contact in the North section of the city named RuBla. He has a small package i need from him. He may not want to give it up, but i am sure your, diplomatic ability, can convince it from him." She smiled at Crom and played with her weapon. "Second, I require a barrel of bloodwine vintage 2288. There are only 3 barrels of this spirit on all of lanjep. Third....." she paused, "I require a XM31-22D5 Federation desk. They are superior computing components. When All three things have been finished you will be paid handsomely. As will your Nagus." She stood and pointed her blade at the two. "Failure means death."
"Not with that!" Curot blurted out with his characteristic good timing. "That's a fake!"
The sound of blades being drawn around the room came from all directions. "What?"
"That Rutarian Blade in your hands is a fake. I'm a weapons dealer and i have one in my store. That one is a fake. The knuckle spikes are far too short and the blade looks flimsy!"
"This blade has been in this household for generations....." she swore in klingon. "MAKE IT FOUR THINGS!!!! KILL THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE OF DU'PONT!! THEY ARE THE SLIME THAT HAVE WRONGED US WITH THIS PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A BLADE!!! I WANT HIS HEAD!!! NOW GET OUT!!" The two Ferengi were more than happy to oblige the last request.
As they were walking down an unnamed street, Curot turned to Crom. "You do know that there is only one XM31-22D5 Federation desk on the whole USS Galaxy."
"I am aware of that Curot."
"Well, I don't think Mr. Bhrode is going to GIVE us his desk."
NOTE!!!!!:::::BACKPOST! Occurs right after 'Ghosts of a Galaxy Past' during the DEFIANT Mission.:::::
* * * * * * * *
Bhrode sniffed his disgust and spat on the floor next to Price's hoverchair.
"So you show me some damn party from years ago?" Bhrode sneered. "Big fricking deal. I saved them. Whoopde doo!"
Price remained silhouetted and silent against the otherworldly light that streamed into the counseling office from behind him.
"Robert?" Karyn asked, nervous around her former friend and commander. She had not spoken to Price since the return from lan'Jep and her retirement from the Fleet.
"What are you doing on my ship? What does the Brass want with my people? Tell me or I'll shoot you where you sit!" Bhrode demanded.
Silence.
"I saved the asses of the crew of USS YUKON, Commander Dallas got her dolly. Big goddamn deal. I suppose this is where you show us 'what if we had never existed now...' ??" Bhrode continued.
"Fuggedabout it." came a familiar voice from the hoverchair.
Leo Streely, dressed in the uniform of an Admiral, popped out of the chair to his pudgy feet.
"Didja think I was Price? Didja?" he crowed to Bhrode, who recoiled in disgust (and at the odor of feet and cheap cologne that washed over he and Karyn.)
"No." Bhrode declared with great feeling.
"Yes you did! you thought I was Price! All I had to do was say 'Crikey' and 'No worries' and you bought it! Whadda Schmuck!" Leo crowed.
"In the Human tradition, the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future represent the collective longing ..." Karyn began.
"Yah yah yah. Hey toots. Looking good red! Want Uncle Leo to sit on your lap and tell you what he wants for Xmas?" Leo leered.
"You fat little pervert! I should shoot you!" Bhrode raged.
Leo held up one pudgy hand. Suddenly, John Q. Bhrode was behind a cage of steel, that had materialized around him.
"I said fuggedaboutid! In this future, I kept my Q powers. I can see everything... nice panties by the way, Red." Leo announced, with a leer. "I know everything. I do what I want! You gotts to respect mah authoritaty!"
"So we should call you 'Q-Leo?'" Karyn asked, brow creasing in thought.
"If you want , Red. HEY! Like Coolio! Rollin wit' mah homiez..." Leo bopped and jived for a moment his Admiral's uniform changing to an oversized rap star outfit in denim. Gold chains draped his neck and Bling Bling rings adorned his pudgy fingers.
"Where mah beeytoches at, yo?" he demanded.
Suddenly, Raven Darkstar pops into view, dressed in a breech-cloth and a layer of bear fat over his muscles.
"How." Raven says.
"How? HOW! Sheeessssshhh! Getoudda here! Errrr... you didn't see that." Leo says, making Raven disappear with a snap. Bhrode and Karyn forget the entire exchange.
"You believe that guy?" Leo demands.
"What guy? Who?" Karyn asks, looking more puzzled.
"NO! How!" Leo screeches.
"I see omniscience doesn't make you any more understandable." Bhrode declares rom his cell.
"What? Was that something about my mother?" Leo demanded.
"No, he said..." Karyn begins to try and soothe over each of the two men.
"Never mind. I knew that." Leo announces.
"Are you sure you're a Q?" Bhrode demands.
Leo rolls his eyes to the readers.
"You believe this guy? It's ME! Leo!" he announces.
"Don't remind me." Bhrode announces.
"GEEZE! Okay look. it is simple. You and the GALAXY get sucked into this Rift thing. Right? So the Tholains go apeshit. They don't want GALAXY, they just don't Want DEFIANT coming out and confusing their thoughts. Because you know, like when I'm thinking during sex, and wondering "is the midget tired' or "how many licks to get to the middle of..." " Leo nattered.
"So Galaxy is in the Rift." Karyn prompts, seeing Bhrode's forehead vein start to throb.
"What? Oh yeah! And the Klingons go nuts and go to war against the Romulans. And they catch you napping, and the Federation is fighting on two fronts now. THEN the Borg go nuts. No more GALAXY means no more treaty with them...so they beat up on everyone. THEN the Dominion comes back and... The rift awakens my Q powers, and the Continuum goes nuts. So I'm like, saving ALL the dimensions, see?" Leo chatters.
"No." Bhrode announces.
"Oh fer chrissake! Do I godda do EVERYTHING myself? You are all NUTS! Really! Even this conversation is only happening because you're nuts and I am a Q! All you godda do is: Get oudda here, don't shoot the Tholians and push Defiant back into the Rift before it eats everyone's brains! Is that So HARD????" Leo screeches.
"Why aren't you insane and seeing things, then?" Bhrode demands.
"Hey! this is ME! Leo! " the fat man announces.
"Why do I feel cold? Why can't I tell what is real and what is merely..." Karyn demands.
"Maybe a lil Leo Lovin will help that.. and the legs. HEY! Can you like, move them behind your ears?" Leo demands as Karyn looks green.
Bhrode rattles the bars of the cage.
"Oh geeeze... you people are hopeless! I only am here for the fans! MY fans! You're not gonna remember any of this, and I'm going back to the Continuum. The other me, this time-space-event me will be in the hot tub, if anyone needs me. Him. Whatever. " Leo announces, disappearing with a "poof."
Moments later, his head re-appears.
"Forgot the cage and the chair." he announces, as those objects blink out with the balding head.
Bhrode looks at Karyn.
"I don't know why we are immune to this, but I want to take command back of MY ship and get out of here, before anything happens to the rest of MY crew." He announces.
"I'll find someone else immune, and we'll get started on recovering our people from Defiant. Sickbay should be mobilized, and my staff will be ready to help with the psychological scarring that surely will result." She says.
Bhrode eyes her for a long moment.
Karyn, digging deep to find the strength to deal with his caustic criticism again, eyes him back.
"I know I don't say this enough... but damn good work Dallas. I'm proud to have you here." Bhrode admits.
Karyn starts in her hover chair, almost leaping.
"Is it THAT surprising I have respect for someone who does their job well, and that I'd tell them? I am NOT an Ogre! I simply want people to realize this is the STARFLEET and the only line of defence for BILLIONS of sentients!" Bhrode began to yell at her.
"I..."
"My crew is MY business! I like them all, which is why I don't want to see them die! I would stack THIS crew, which I hand-picked, over ANY on the Fleet!"
"It is not that, Captain...I... It...did someone just...goose you?" she asked, eying her chair and numb legs warily.
Both heard a distinct replicator rumble, almost like a Streely chuckle.
=/\=
OOC: from some rough notes between lori and I...the end of GHOSTS got confusing...and this helps wrap SOME of those ends. And of course.. it is NOT a GALAXY Mission without Streely showing up ONCE!
Lanjepi wilderness. Breathtakingly beautiful. So pristine you could even drink the water without dropping a single decontaminant tablet into the trickling streamlets. Although the saber toothed gar-Pikes would like you to try.
The skies were crystalline blue, and the clouds were sporadic and rare, whispy little white lumps drifting lazily in a wind kissed sky. The sun beamed down on them in an unalien yellow, warming Lanjep at a comfortable spring temperature similar to Earth. Forest creatures chirped and bellowed softly in the distant forest. Besides the insects and the occasional wild targgoth shambling past, it was dreadfully quiet.
So nice and beautiful. Pastural. Serene.
Not for long.
"PULL!!!!!!!!" James L. Corgan boomed, into the wilderness scene.
*P-CHAM!!!!!!!............* Went the skeet drone launcher to his left...
*Fffffffsssssssssswwwwwwww...* Went the saucer like clay skeet (Made with Lanjepi clay, so that the environmental nitpickers at Starfleet wouldn't b*tch)
*FRAAAAKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!* Went the phaser rifle in Corgan's hands...
*POOF!* Went the skeet drone.
So far, James was enjoying the new day. This was the first time he had an opportunity to try out the new ARGO all terrain assault vehicle outside the simulator. Taking the Argo for a light drive out in the country was not easy, considering Klingon Inperial alien vehicle regulations, the antsiness Starfleet felt whenever one of their new toys was taken on foreign soil, and the time it took to craft a perfectly logical excuse to go out and kill some time with one of the toys.
Plus, Log and the Marines seemed to take a totally un-needed proprietary view of the ARGOS weapons platforms.
So...according to James, he was taking the ARGOS out for a test. He wanted to try its off road capabilities, so he had to go out on lanjep to do so. And because Lanjep was the closest planet and the ARGOS wasn't modified yet to run in space vacuum, Lanjep was the logical choice (though it was a Klingon world, and Starfleet didn't like the idea of the Klingons checking out their new toys)
And the phasers? James was merely testing out the new updates on the type 3-D Fleet phaser rifle. Sure, they were minor changes, but it did give him an excuse to pack some heat. As long as he was in the wilderness (and not a populated center), the weapons were allowed. Although the Klingon snooper-drones and spy satellites were surely soaring overhead, watching everything, James' scattering signal could take care of any privacy concerns.
Everything was taken care of. James didn't disclose his exact location, but everyone knew he was on the surface. The equipment was made legit to take to Lanjep. Hell, the skeet shooter he replicated and modified to fit on the pintle mount where the photon grenade launcher was supposed to be was ready, and his lunch and a six pack of synthale were cooling in a ice packed cooler, nestled deep between the hydrogen fuel cells.
He went through a lot of hoops to get his moment of relaxation on the planet, and he was enjoying every minute of venting he could get!
"PULL!" James ordered the voice activated launcher. Another saucer of clay was sprung out of the skeet shooter, where it whistled into the distance. Corgan took careful aim with his rifle, and pulled the trigger.
To his satisfaction, a red phaser beam turned the unfortunate skeet into dust, hitting dead center, again.
"Hell yeah..." He muttered in satisfaction. This is the kind of moment James felt should be put in the recruitment videos. Shooting skeets in the wilderness, with a six pack of beer and some tunes playing on the Argo's speaker system. This was the life.
A transporter signal broke his twisted Norman Rockwell fantasy, killing any idea of him being alone. The beam solidified, formed up a body, then disappeared as a sparkle of bluish energy.
Lt. Commander Electra Reece was re-formed, the tall brunettes Ops Chief looking more peeved than she normally let on to the rest of the Universe. She strolled up to James, then passed him, and climbed into the back of the ARGOS.
"Mind if..." She stuttered, "I... join you?"
James surrendered in defeat. There was no way he could be alone now! "Knock yourself out. There's synthale and sandwiches in the cooler. There's another rifle in the back if you want to join me."
"Expecting... company?" Lexa opened the cooler and grabbed herself a can of beer. She then picked up a phaser rifle and gracefully leapt off the ARGOS and landed catlike, right next to James.
"Yeah. Could say that. Everyone wants to see the ARGOS. Finally had to make a schedule for my staff to take turns. By the way... did you approve of the requisition schedule?" He asked, a mischievous grin on his face.
Lexa cracked open the flip top on her beer can, with a satisfying fizz. She drank deeply, then set the drink on the Argo's rear bumper. "Yes... but... you owe me. The marines... wanted to use it too. They won't... use the ARGOS... until the last few days on Lanjep. And the Federation Embassy was... reluctant.. to...l.l.let it go."
Laughing unconcerned, James commented, "Yeah... well they suck my..."
"PULL TIMES 5!!!!"
Loud enough for James' ears to ring, Lexa commanded the skeet shooter. Tensing up, she cracked shot after shot at the flying skeets. Five flew, and four were brought down by ten rapid fire pulses of her rifle.
"Damn..." She curses as the last skeet crashed into the tall grass, interrupting a stalking sleen in pursuit of a jik'jiK bird. The predator lashed it's dual tails in frustration, mirroring that of Lexa, who stared it down.
"Scat!" she told the dusty coloured predator, which started and slunk away.
"Pull!" James yelled, the skeet shooter firing off a drone disc. He lined the rifle up for a shot, "Can't help but notice..." His rifle tracked the disk, his finger closed around the trigger, "You seem annoyed today. Want to tell me about it?"
The skeet exploded from James' shot.
"Brhode...He... I... PULL!" Her expressionless sigh when mentioning the Captain's name then turned into an explosion of frustration, the skeet hurrying out of the shooter out of fear. Lexa pulled the trigger, then sent another skeet to its timely death. "He is so... critical!"
"Touche. Can't breathe without him pointing out a mistake. Hell, if he's going to scream at me... might as well give him an excuse. PULL!!!" Another skeet shot out, and the shot missed worse than before, "Dammit! I can't shoot as well with my left eye ever since the right was buggered up by that damn Hirogen. Maybe I should just cave and get an ocular implant."
"I... don't know. The glasses... look nice..." Lexa grinned, then ordered, "PULL!" She blew away the skeet a second later.
"You think so?"
"Yes... I think so."
"Thanks. That was nice of you to say that. So... we're friends?"
"Yes..."
"Excellent. PULL!"
A sizzling disruptor bolt came out of nowhere, smashing the drone into atoms.
"Oh for f**k sakes..." James groaned, dreading new arrivals, as he turned slowly
A shimmer of cloaking energy revealed the Klingon KR-3400 ARGOS Assault vehicle, a sleek, bug appearing roadster in a garish disruptor-resistant purple paint job. Major Laughing Horse Log was coolly handing an Assault Disruptor back to grinning Klingons, as Bhrode glared at Corgan through the open top gunners hatch hatch of the Klingon vehicle.
"I was looking for my ARGOS. Embassy said it might be here." Log deadpanned, the matte black Feddie Assault Armor looking out of place in the warm pastoral sunshine.
"That shot was nothing! Do you all shoot at clay discs? How do they fight back?" sneered a Klingon Marine in full regalia.
"YOUR ARGOS?!?!" James yelled, exasperated and offended, "We called them first. Nest time, try to get there before we call them!"
"It belongs to the Marines, not your people, Little One. Unless you enlisted in the Corps?" Log replied, looming and casting a long shadow over Lexa.
"The Argo belongs to the ship, not the marine department." Corgan flatly argued, telling the truth.
"CORGAN! It is MY ship!" came the cry of Bhrode, through the Klingon vehicles open hatch.
Just when James couldn't imagine the situation getting worse, Brhode had to prove Murphy's law right and appear. Sporting his infamous and scarred Starfleet Marine battle helmet, and smoking a cigar, Brhode had a sneer locked on Corgan that could peel his skin to the bone. Identical cigars were in the mouths of the Klingons present... and the sneers they sported looked a lot like Bhrode's too.
But since James actually knew what being skinned alive FELT LIKE during the last mission, he wasn't as easily intimidated.
~"Ohhh... for Christ sakes...."~ James groaned.
"We are... in trouble..." Lexa pointed out.
"No kidding, Lex. Are you sure that paperwork went through. My request to use the ARGOS did go through... just like you said. Right?" He begged for a yes to get out of trouble.
"Ummmmm... maybe." She responded, shakily and unsure.
"Maybe?"
"Maybe...Umm...I don't really... umm.. have anything to do with... ummm.."
"Oh for f..."
"CORGAN!" Bhrode bellowed again. "If you're done chit-chatting with the girls over there....I wanted to show the Klingons the new ARGOS, with Log's people in full kit. Imagine my surprise, when I find the ARGOS was transported down here, for a picnic, under your orders." Bhrode declared, scanning the horizon. A Federation Battle Armor helmet sat perched squarely on Bhrode's bullet-shaped head. A dent showed where the helmet had saved the Old Man once before.
"I love the smell of phaser fire in the Morning!" Bhrode told the Klingons, who all nodded.
James asked for clarification, "So what your saying is that testing some phaser modifications on the rifles by shooting skeets if purely entertainment? You're saying that testing the Argo to evaluate the uses for my department is also not good? And you're also saying that I can't bring down a lunch if i'm going to be testing the new equipment for the afternoon? So... i'm not supposed to use the Argo, even though i'm authorized to do so, and even when the schedule for use of the Argo was clear for the entire week?"
"Exactly Son. No more Pickey-Nicks, no more playing with Marine stuff. You can't HANDLE the Marines!" Bhrode scowled. "Glad to see you talking sense, instead of to some touchy-feely shrink crapola. You should get skinned more often, toughens you up."
Log scowled, his usually impassive face looking mightily pissed off.
"A warrior who fletches another's' arrows, usually ends up farting feathers." Log declared.
"And a warrior who doesn't know his tools doesn't know his job. A quote from Kahless's Chronicles. I can quote the page if you like." James countered. ~"Got any more timeless classics?"~ he thought to himself, half expecting Death to make a reply.
"This is your assault vehicle, Bhrode? Why does this worm quote Kahless? And it was K'Tank who said that, Human! HE was skinned alive by Kahless the Unforgettable." Sneered the Klingon General next to Bhrode.
~"For christ sakes... I did the report and learned freaking KLINGON to find that out!!!!!!!!"~ Corgan was tempted to scream.
"Never rub another man's rhubarb." Bhrode told James, with a smirk.
~"Was that a masturbation crack?"~
There was no way out of the argument now. James was used to the idea of being wrong no matter how right he was. Being under Brhode's command was like taking a daily serving of humiliation, pain, and hardship, and being right was irrelevant. So finally, James decided it was time to give up, hand the ARGOS over, and let it be.
But then, he came up with a foolish idea.
"Excuse me... great General K'taga." The security chief called out, "I know a couple of officers doing target practice is not as impressive as a squad of our elite marine detachment.." He said, while thinking ~"like the Klingons would be impressed by a bunch of armored goons anyways..."~, ...but for the lack of a great show of martial prowess, I apologize. But I do think you will be suitably impressed by the Argo's performance. With your permission... Captain... I would like demonstrate the Argo's abilities to you all..."
"Why does this mewling peon babble at me, still? Flog it." declared the Klingon General with a nonchalant wave.
~"Great... this isn't looking good."~ James dreaded, thinking about taking Brhode up on his skinning offer instead.
"You cannot, H'OdAram... the Chancellor has invoked the Diplomacy acts here on lan'Jep and..." an under-officer declared.
"Oh. Well... flog him then." The General pointed at the correcting Under-Officer, who was dragged into the interior of the KR-3400, up the ramp that would normally spew a company of Imperial Marines.
"Denied Corgan. LOG! Let's take this back to the Embassy Compound, load up your Marines, and then you and the Generals boys here will...." Bhrode said, around his cigar.
"Captain, Perhaps Corgan has a ...point." Log said, his normally impassive face sporting an evil smirk through the open visor of the Armour.
Bhrode eyed the group before him. He beckoned Corgan closer to him.
"See those Klingons? You make me look bad in front of them, Son, and You're gonna wish that whassit on DEFIANT had kept your ass. You UNDERSTAND me Corgan? I'm pissed. ARGOS is Marine property. You don't test weapons or vehicles on alien territory with your little girlfriend. If you wanted it to screw in, you should have said so. Everything out of your mouth is pure ass-polish. Play nookie-cookie on your own time. Screw up again, and I'll make boots out of both your guts and hers."
Then, a voice James knew and hated came pipsqueaking from the Klingon ARGOS...
"Smeg! I thought that was the lighter.... damn near set off the smeggin' flamethrower...oh.. Little Jimmy." Lysander VanderPuls-Hawksley piped up with.
~"OH FOR F**K SAKES!!!!!!!!!!! DOES GOD HATE ME OR WHAT?!?!?!?!?!"~ James screamed in his head at the heavens, his face turning a bright red, his mouth permanently etched in a dissatisfied scowl.
"THERE is a human who knows Warrior ways! Come and join us... we found your ARGOS.... although our KR-3400 is bigger...." bellowed the Klingon General around his cigar, pointing at Lysander VanderPuls-Hawksley.
"Smeg. Me?" Lysander asked, looking lost in his Federation BDU's.
"You served as Gunnery Officer on an Imperial Cruiser. You were rated on the KR-3400! BHRODE! If I cannot flog your insolent puppy, I would have you pit your ARGOS against ours! I am so sure of victory, I will even put two HUMANS into the KR-3400! This one as driver and the big one as Infantry!" The General bellowed, slapping Lysander and Log on their shoulders. Log just swayed with the buffet, still glaring at Corgan. Lys ended up on the ground in an explosion of dust.
"Smeg me! Drag racing Little Jimmy..." Lys declared to no one, from the ground.
"The girl drives. Corgan as Infantry." Log grated out, hate oozing off him like the heat shimmers on the Lan'Jepi desert.
"WHAT?!?!" Lexa spat out in shock.
"General... I know I have offended you..." James tried to be as understanding as he could without whipping out a phaser, "But she..."
Bhrode smiled and took the cigar from his mouth, silencing James. "I don't think they like you, Son. GENERAL! You're on! You ride in your ARGOS.. I'll ride in mine! Loser's people walk back, and the winner gets a bottle of hooch. Better not lose, son. I'll be breathing right down your neck." He told Corgan with relish.
"What? You expected me to lose, sir?" James boasted falsely, "We're going to win it. To prove my point, if I lose... not only will my department leave the ARGOS alone, i'll swallow my rank pips in front of the entire marine detachment and the Captain. Deal?"
"Don't... dig yourself... deeper." Lexa stuttered.
"I'm only giving them what they want, and they want me to go through utter humiliation." James said, off to the side.
"Stop babbling, Son. Makes you look dumb. Klingons eat dummies for breakfast." Bhrode muttered.
"Alright then." James flicked on his glasses. A tap of a button on the side, and the shades instantly darkened. "Let's do this. Oh, and Log..."
Log looked over from the ramp to the Klingon vehicle. The General and his staff officers were clustered around the area between the two vehicles.
"If I win, i'm formerly requesting that security gets their turn on the ARGO. If we have to train like you, we should get the same perks too."
Log considered it a moment. Then he grinned again. It was NOT a Pretty Sight at all.
"Agreed. But if I win, you will have to train EXACTLY like my people. We go easy on you already, and this breech of discipline and honor is our reward." Log grated out, his chiseled muscles making the armor seem swelling to contain him.
"Shocking... I think he should flog the losers." The General commented, to great growling approval from his staff.
Confidently, James saddled up in the rear end of the ARGOS. He detached the skeet shooter, threw it in the back, and then re-attached the Argo's rear energy weapon. He tried the pintle mount with a few experimental turns and twists. Working to his satisfaction, James grinned at Brhode, and gave him the thumbs up.
Bhrode was webbed into the Rear Gunenr's chair. A few traverses of the weapon by Bhrode, and he gave James a nod of approval. He pointed silently at the Standard Issue Marine Combat Rig in the Locker. James started to wriggle into it.
"Lex, start the ignition sequence." James hollered from the back. He went back to checking the suit, setting it to neutral standards. The Argo had yet to make its bestial engine roar for well over a minute.
"Lex..." James hollered again, "Crank that motherf**ker up! I'm feeling very lucky today!" As he was running a power check on the Armour's internal power systems.
Another pause. Still, the Argo didn't start.
"Gaddamit...." Bhrode announced from his perch in the Gunner's platform.
"Lex?" James asked, this time very worried.
"James?" Lexa stammered. Her arms were shaking, the micro-electronic ID keys to the Argo in the ignition, in her hands, but not turned to start the engine. She looked very nervous.
"What? What's the matter?" He ventured to ask, feeling his luck drop exponentially down.
But then again, he had no idea how far it could really go. Finally, Lexa gave him the answer he didn't want. "James... I can't drive...."
"What?!?"
"I can drive a hopper... but this... is different. I can't drive... the Argo...I don't know HOW!"
Commander Rebecca von Ernst. . . . the so called Ice-Queen of the USS Prospero. . . .the infamous killer at the Battle of Nar Hallas. . . . .and the rumored developer of Starfleet's new blood-thirsty anti-Borg tactics. . . . .
. . . . .was literally shaking with fear in her little size 5’s.
Lieutenant Thomas Jordan, representative of Starfleet's JAG Corps was having a hard time reconciling everything he had heard about the famed ‘Red haired she-devil’ with the freckle-faced little kid in front of him.
To be sure he’s heard rumors of some new up and coming Tactical hot-shot, before he had gotten assigned to her case, but he couldn’t possibly see how this skittish girl was the same person mentioned in all those rumors.
“Ms. . .ah. . .von Ernst,” he offered gently, “Are you quite alright? Is there something I can do for you?”
The young Commander seemed to ignore the question, instead focusing on the newly arrived Warp Shuttle now in the process of final Docking directly outside the great floor to ceiling bay window.
“S. ..s. .s.s. .sommersby.” she stuttered in a soft whispery voice that was barely audible. “W. . .w. ..whats it doing here.?”
Frowning, Lieutenant Jordan glanced out the window himself, trying to assertion the significance of the shuttle and its relationship to his clients sudden anxiety.
~~~Warp Shuttle USS SOMMERSBY.~~~ He read the name off the side.
~~~Whats
the bid deal?~~~ He had to admit the Shuttle looked impressive as hell. It looked
like a sleek stylized Runabout with an amazing four-nacelle design. Much too
small to be of practical everyday use, it probably made one heck of a fast courier,
handy for zipping VIP’s back and forth from the border at high Warp.
~~~She did say that this was the personnel ship of Admiral. . . Hoth was it?~~~ he thought. The name didn’t sound familiar, but then again he wasn’t too aware of the upper Starfleet echelons unless it pertained to the JAG.
As it turned out, Jordan did NOT get an opportunity to meet with Hoth, for the only person who stepped off the Sommersby was a very disgruntled looking Starfleet Commander.
The 40-ish human male halted just outside the airlock frowning, and took a moment to gather his bearings.
Instantly his eyes lighted on the shivering young redhead, and if he was surprised to find the object of his search waiting for him at the door his face didn’t betray it.
Eyebrows narrowing he strode over and planted himself imposingly over Rebecca.
“Commander von Ernst.” He sneered the title as if loathe to share the same rank as the tiny girl.
“C. .c. .c.commander Zaletta. . ..sir.” she replied. The added ‘sir’ was in recognition of the fact that despite the fact they were of the same grade, Commander Zalletta had many many years seniority over poor Rebecca. “M. . . .m may I introduce. . . um. . . .” she fumbled with the name.
“Lieutenant Tom Jordan, “ the attorney stepped in offering his hand, “Pleased to meet you sir.”
Zaletta shook his hand, but didn’t offer a similar sentiment focusing his apparent ire on Jordan’s client alone.
“Um. . . .Admiral Hoth isn't. . .he’s not here with you?” she trying to nonchalantly peer around Zaletta’s shoulders.
“The Admiral is otherwise occupied, Commander.” Again with the sneer. “Despite what you think, you are not the darling of Starfleet, nor the only thing of importance in the Federation.”
~~~And yet. . .obviously important enough to get YOU on a cramped warp sled all the way out to Klingon space. . . ~~~~ Jordan thought silently. It was his job to spot inconsistencies.
“The Admiral is very busy with other projects, and for that matter I should be as well. . . . except for your recent rather poor performance.”
Gulping, Rebecca sought to explain things to Jordan. “See. . .. uh. . . Commander Zaletta here administers the day to day functioning of the new 359 Tactical school. . . .”
~~~And yet he had time to zip way out here.~~~Jordan nodded smiling innocently.
“How interesting ,” he said aloud, “Well you are in luck Commander, for Ms. Von Ernst and I were about to discuss the particulars of her Away Team debriefing tomorrow and. . .. “
Zaletta interrupted with a wave. “Yes yes, that’s all fine and good. Look Lieutenant, you just handle the details and make this as smooth as possible for von Ernst here. “
He turned to Rebecca, “YOU on the other hand Miss have been severely negligent in your duties to the School. “ he chided. “The top Federation tacticians work hard to provide you with almost daily tactical briefings, and special computer-aided learning opportunities, but its OBVIOUS that you have been neglecting them!”
Rebecca shrunk back. It was true that recently she had allowed a huge stack of PADDS to pile up on her desk untouched. She was supposed to review them all for tactical consideration and training, but found that the glowing displays typically gave her a splitting headache.
“I. .. I’m sorry, but. .. . “
“I thought so.” Zaletta was on a role for interrupting people. “Well that is a situation that will be remedied as of this instance. Come along with me Commander.”
And cruelly taking the girl by the arm he started to march off with her before Jordan protested.
“Hey, wait a second Commander, I need to debrief her. . .what about the hearing?”
“That’s your problem Lieutenant.” Zaletta tossed over his shoulder not breaking his stride. “Do your Lawyer stuff and get her past this mess.”
The attorney could only watch open-mouthed as the brisk Commander dragged the redhead off like a child, leaving him all alone in the corridor.
~~~What the Hell was that all about?~~~ he wondered.
The Major examined the data. Since he had that unfortunate accident with the Klingon ship, and finding out that in Klingons mak'tah herb mimics a massive coronary and doesn't show up on an autopsy he pretty much decided not to see the sites, mainly to avoid pissed off relatives.
He examined the communication intercepts when an enlisted crewman brought in a letter.
An honest to god old fashioned written in ink on paper letter.
It meant something official, and sent by messenger meant one thing, Family business.
Nietzchean clans always sent letters, on paper, less trouble that way. Plus it was back from the days of clan wars hand messengered letters couldn't be intercepted. This one was short brisk and to the point.
"Report to the NDV Rights of Man tomorrow for luncheon."
From his father, Charlemagne Bolivar, something was up....
What could it be...
*Backpost
Ella stared at the door across from her. Granted, it wasn't much more interesting than the ceiling she had stared for a few hours but she figured a change in scenery might help a bit. So she had climbed down from her bunk and had sat on the chair by the little table/desk area and was now engaged in deep contemplation of the door.
It was utterly un-fascinating.
But she couldn't really think of anything better to do. She didn't want to go to the gym, library, or arboretum, didn't like the holodecks to begin with, had been kicked out of Sickbay, didn't feel like going to Engineering- from which she was on temporary leave anyway- and they wouldn't arrive at lanjep for a few more days. Not that she really wanted to go. Dallas thought it would be a good idea but Ella wasn't sure.
And so she watched to door, hoping some inspiration would come.
It wasn't inspiration but instead a call over the comm that ultimately came. =Yeoman Angelene to Ensign Grey. The Captain would like to see you in his ready room=
A slight irritation was felt but otherwise blocked by the feeling of being weighted to the chair. The door looked so far away now.
=The Captain would like to add that if if takes you longer than five minutes to get up here...he'll be forced to send you on a permanent vacation to Breen, as well as have several Marines drag you to the Breen shuttle wearing only a blue towel...=
It was a pink towel, you ass, Ella thought dully.
There was some noise in the background, which sounded like Bhrode barking at his yeoman before she got back on =Belay that. He says he'll kick your ass there himself , wearing a pink towel. Err... Your towel...not that he'll be wearing it...errrr...you will... yes Sir.. I am Sir... err... hurry!= she amended, as the barking noise increased in the background of the com link.
Ella sighed, then got up from her chair. She walked slowly, as if in a slight daze, but managed to make it up to the bridge with twenty seconds to spare. Not surprisingly, the ever-odd Commander Hawksley was perched on the Command Chair.
"Who the smeg are you? Are you Commander K'Etlaynna's replacement?" he demanded, seeing her Engineering Yellow.
~~No~~ she replied in sign, without realizing it. She hadn't even been aware that K'Etlaynna was being replaced. ~~I'm here to see the Captain.~~
"What?" he demanded, not having seen her finger-talk before.
The ensign sighed, whipped out the PADD, and typed the message for him. He took the offered PADD and studied it for a moment.
"This isn't the Deuterium Fuel report I asked for." He announced, several agonizing moments later. "What the smeg sort of Engineering report is this?" he demanded, not aware that she couldn't type her reply into the PADD if he still held it.
She stared at him. ~~You're a moron~~ she signed.
The stalemate was finally broken by the harried looking Yeoman, scurrying from the Briefing room to the Ready Room. The Human female was back in a moment, looking even more frazzled.
"I'll take it from here Commander." the Yeoman announced, steering Ella towards the Ready Room.
"Fine... but I'm still looking for the smegging Fuel report! Someone tell the new Chief Engineer that..." Lysander was telling, as the Ready Room door cut him off. Blessedly.
What was this about a new chief, Ella wondered.
The yeoman announced her and Ella walked into the room and stood before him, although she eyed the chair enviously.
Bhrode looked up from the Desk, Commanding Officer (model XF-345983) he was behind and eyed the slight girl in the Yellow and black uniform before him.
"Who're you?" he demanded.
She wasn't in the mood for this. Ordinarily, she wouldn't mind being unknown to all but twice in under five minutes was a little annoying. She stood there silently. If he wanted to know who she was, he could check his damn schedule. He had called HER after all.
"Well, I can see you're an engineer... don't act as dumb as the others... say something!"
~~I don't speak sir.~~ Ella signed to him with barely suppressed annoyance. She remembered he could sign as well as she could.
~~Oh, you're the one who won't talk, aren't you? Still playing sulkie-wulkies?~~ Bhrode snapped, in his surprisingly fluid Uni-Sign.
She frowned. The man was on the verge of ruining a perfectly good depression. In fact, she felt the beginnings of anger, even more so than her feelings towards the Defiant before they had destroyed it. What right did John Bhrode have to insult her?
Bhrode glared back. Why did this pipsqueak of a girl insist that her personal battles were SO much more important than saving the Universe?
"Wake up and smell the caffeine drink. SO you're feeling put upon since DEFIANT? Big deal. Grow the Hell up." Bhrode snapped.
That did it. ~~How dare you?!~~ Ella interrupted, her eyes flashing ~~How dare you sit there and presume to.. You have NO idea what it was like.....you CANT understand...but you can sit there in your stupid little chair and say these horrible things at me just because you have never known fear or felt...weak. Well, I'm sorry. I'm not like you...I have feelings and...and~~
Where the hell did that come from?
Ella's fingers ached, probably the protests her brain was sending that were finally catching up to her hands. Her face paled. She had been contemplating earlier about not returning to Engineering. Well, it looked like she had just guaranteed that option. It was strange. It wasn't until she had kissed her career goodbye that she realized that she still wanted it. Oh well, Ella thought tiredly. It's too late now, you have to sign-
~~Go to hell, Captain.~~
Bhrode fixed her to the spot with eyes that seemed capable and able to peel paint from a starship's hull.
Oh God, she thought. He's going to kill me.
~~Sit your ass down.~~ he signed, indicating the chair bolted to the bare deck in front of his desk. Ella sat down.
~~ Let me tell you about fear, about feeling weak...~~ he signed. ~~Have you ever had people's lives entrusted to you....had to write a letter to someone's parents or siblings or family, that they would not be coming home to them? Have you ever known the feeling, that ONE little mistake is going to not only kill you, but possibly lots and lots and lots of others?"~~ he signed, his fingers sharp and brisk...as annoyingly precise as his barking manner of speech.
~~ I and other Fleet officers have to feel that way every day. What we all went through the last few weeks made us ALL feel that way. So this one time, I'm not kicking your narrow ass back to Breen. I had a reason for calling you in here, and it's not to recruit you for Breen service.~~
Ella rolled her eyes. ~~Well, what then?~~ her fingers snapped.
Bhrode seemed almost human, as he spun a small black velvet box across his 'Desk, Command' at her.
She watched suspiciously, then felt her eyes widen as she got a good look inside. Nestled on the black velvet insert was a gold rimmed black pip, denoting a Lieutenant Junior Grade. She involuntarily felt the pip she already had at her neck.
"I hereby promote you one grade, for meritous services rendered in neutralizing the threat from the USS DEFIANT. I'm also telling Commander Corinna to leave you the hell alone in Engineering. You'll talk when you're ready, although I don't know why the blazing nebulas you keep up this act." Bhrode announced.
~~I don't expect you to, Captain~~ Ella signed, her calm returning. Confusion took its place however. ~~Why?~~
~~ I want you promoted, you're promoted. I get pissed with you and Daddy can't save the Little Princess. You're on your own, for most likely the first time in your life. THIS promotion isn't being given to you for being cute, or for patting my cheek and smiling those dimples... it's for you doing what had to be done, even if you were pissing your pants when you did it. I'll deny I ever said this, but nice work. ~~ Bhrode signed.
~~I...~~ Ella's fingers began. What could she say to THAT? Here she thought that he wasn't capable of thanking anyone.
"Dismissed. Oh, Lieutenant? The next time I waste my time seeing you, leave the chip on your shoulder outside. You tell me 'Go to Hell' again, and I'll make sure you're waiting for me at the door to the place, with one of my boots up your ass."
Now that was the Bhrode she knew.
Bhrode bent his head back to the paperwork, effectively shutting out the woman before him. He didn't want her to see him smile.
Ella stared at him a second, shook her head. ~~Thank you, Captain.~~ she signed and then left.
"SONNVABITCHING GADDAMN WHOREMONGER!" screamed Victor Wilson, a.k.a. Rashid Ibn Al Corrina as his glass decanter flew across the room to shatter into thousands of pieces.
He stalked from one end of the tiny cabin to the other, rubbing the still tender scars on his face.
"It was the perfect plan... the perfect plan. So where did it go wrong?" he demanded of the thin air.
##Not Wrong...Not Logical## the ethereal fingers tickled his brain gently, as his Medusan partner made its presence known again.
"It was logical. Kill her pathetic husband... take his face and his place at her side... it was PERFECT! Damn Raven Darkstar to the pits of hell! " he screamed again, his hold on sanity periously close to descending into the red rage again. The last time he'd gotten this worked up over something ( a perceived insult from a hovertaxi driver) ten prostitutes had been sliced to death on Nova Secundus.
##Not Logical## continued the energy being, cape able of bending sentient minds to its will. A rogue Medusean was a dangerous thing, and this one had almost satiated itself on the DEFIANT. Now, it was content to do Victor Wilson's bidding... for the moment.
"SCREW your logic! I will have Rose! I will kill Raven!" Victor screamed.
One of the two Nausicaans in the room made a derisive noise. Victor smiled a tight lipped smile, almost a smirk.
The blood soaked the walls, before the red haze left him this time.
##Not Logical## repeated the Medusean in Victor's twisted mind, as he hunched over the bloody body of the Nausicaan.
The ships Sensor Net was still offline (THANKS LEO!) and no one had any idea he was squatting in the almost-empty Diplomatic Quarters. Of course, now, he'd have to leave this room. It was a abattoir of blood.
The Medusean could clean it up, and remove the memory from the minds of any who encountered the mess... but the Medusean could NOT give him his Precious Rose.
"I should have eaten his body, instead of tearing his face off for that plastic surgeon to duplicate... damn Rashid..." Victor ranted, eyeing the box that held Rashid's mummified head.
Then, pure genius struck him. Again. As it so often did after he'd killed someone.
"Is there a plastic surgeon aboard?" he asked the Medusean.
## Your Physical Shell IS Nothing.## he was told.
"GADDAMN IT, is there one with that skill aboard?" He shrieked at empty air.
## Yes. One NAmed Anna Haggerty.##
"She will change my face again... to something new... and I will use Rashid's name still... and You will have Rose forget that her husband is dead... because I will be the Chief Engineer here.... and woo my Precious Rose all Over again..." Victor promised himself.
"And I will have her." He promised the flat, cold stars in the wide porthole before him.
Then he cackled for an hour.
Daniel pressed the large button on the small pad next to the door, causing a loud chirping sound to ring inside the room. He withdrew his hand, and waited for a response. When none came, he pushed again, this time folding his arms. Again no response. He sighed and turned away, but then changed his mind and faced the door once more. He brought his knuckle up to his face and began tapping it against his chin, thinking about what he should do.
He pressed the door chime once more and waited again. After another moment of silent waiting, he brought his hand up to the pad next to the door, his fingers dancing back and forth in indecision. Finally, he pressed a button and held it, "Lieutenant? I, uh, I know you're, uh, in there. I need to talk to you. Uh ... hello? This is Daniel Scarborough."
"Fine!" was the response, and the doors opened. The room Daniel entered was dark, almost black, except for the dim light reflecting off the planet Ianjep below. Daniel stood while his eyes adjusted to the dark. The room was a mess, clothes covered all the chairs in the small living area. PADDs were strewn about the floor, thier displays shining like stars in the dark. Plates of less than half eaten food were also scattered about the chamber, some of it clearly beginning to rot, and the odor of an unwashed male pervaded the room. After a bit of searching, Daniel found who he was looking for, huddled over a desk covered in computers and PADDs, with his head buried in his arms.
"Uh .... sir?" Daniel asked, approaching the figure. It did not move, only muttered, "What do you want?" under its breath. It was wearing a very wrinkled Starfleet uniform, without the jacket. The feathers on its wings were ruffled, twisted and split.
"Captain Bhrode came by today," Daniel began, pulling out a handkerchief and covering his nose. The musk and dirt in the room were beginning to fight with his sinuses. "He asked, um, where you've been. He, uh, he, he didn't say anything about the reports that, um, you haven't been filing. I ... don't think he cares, but noticed that you haven't been reporting for duty, and, uh, well, made several threats to you."
Cutter raised his head from the table, and stared off into the distance, giving no sign that he was listening to Daniel's words. "I, uh, I told him that you were ... sick, and he asked why you hadn't gone to see a doctor ... uh, that damn Russian of a doctor, in, uh, in his words. I tried to explain that, uh, eh, that, uh, well, that it wasn't a, a, uh, a physical problem, and he asked why you hadn't gone to see a, uh, why you hadn't gone to 'get a hug from a hippie head doctor?'"
Daniel paused, spitting out a few more half sounds as he contemplated his words. "Why haven't you gone to see Counselor Dallas?" Cutter did not respond, he did not even move. "We, uh, we've kept your experiments set up for you, and we can probably get along without you ... I mean, well, there have been, you know, a few problems that would have been easier to solve if you were there, but we've solved, uh .... them. Look, sir, uh, Cutter ... Lieutenant, you should really go talk to Counselor Dallas. I, uh, I can set up an appointment for you ... if you want?"
Cutter sat there, like stone, causing Daniel to become afraid his words and requests had fallen on deaf ears. He stood silently, fidgeting only slightly, giving Cutter ample time to speak, to respond in anyway. Finally, Daniel gave up, not knowing what else to do, and left the room.
Outside, Daniel noticed someone leave the neighboring quarters. "Excuse me," he called out.
Curtis was going out for a walk to try and enjoy his last day without the command duty shift assignment that came with his promotion to Chief Ops. Which effectively meant he was serving from 3:00 in the morning to 3:30 in the afternoon. He didn't mind too much, the command experience would be useful, but he knew his home life would suffer, especially his time with Kiora.
The lieutenant was thinking about all these things when he heard the weak voice of someone calling after him. Swinging around, he addressed the man.
"Can I help you lieutenant?"
"Um, I'm Daniel Scarborough. I, uh, I work with Cutter Kara'nin ... your neighbor. He's not ... he got, um ... he's been f-- ... he was on the Defiant" Daniel finally said, and understanding fell across Curtis's face. "Would, uhh, would you happen to be friends with him?"
"Cutter?" Curtis asked. "Well, I suppose you could say that. He really keeps to himself a lot though so I wouldn't say that 'friend' is quite the right word."
"Oh," Daniel replied, a little disappointed. "I, uh ... I'm only really a colleague of his. We, we've only had, like, uh, five conversations that didn't pertain to work, since, well, since the Galaxy left space dock. He, uh, hasn't been coming to work; he, uh, really needs help. I've tried to get him to go see a psychiatrist, but I haven't been successful. Could you try?"
"Hmm..." began Curtis, "It's not really my business, but I certainly don't want him getting in trouble with the Captain over his absence. I guess I can take a minute to talk to him, Mr. Scarborough."
"Thank you," Daniel nodded. He stood for a moment, distracted, before spitting out a couple sounds and nodding again, then turned to leave.
"What a strange man." Curtis said to himself as he watched Daniel walk down the hall.
Turning toward the door, Curtis stopped for a moment to compose himself, then rang the chime.
No response.
Waiting a few more moments, he decided to give it another try. This time, from within the room, came a rather irritated voice.
"What now?"
Curtis tugged on his uniform and stepped into the room.
Inside, he was greeted by darkness. The entire room was pitch black but for the glow given off by the window.
Approaching Cutter, Curtis put forth his best diplomatic speak.
"Cutter? This may be a bad time, but I was just talking
with your friend Mr. Scarborough and he's a bit worried about you. I hear the
Captain has noticed your absences. Don't you think you should get back to work?
You're killing your career Cutter. You have a responsibility to this ship, to
Captain Brhode, to the fleet. Yeah, so maybe Brhode isn't the greatest guy in
the universe to work under, but it's you JOB for tri-tones sake! Take some pride
in it! You used to be really dedicated. Now I don't know what the hell happened,
but you'd better figure it out quick."
Cutter stood suddenly, after remaining still during Cutis's speech, shoving
his chair away from him. "Ka ist chanit! Is that all you people can say?!
Come to work! Do your thekh-ing job! Look at this desk!" he screamed. There
must have been fifteen PADDs on the desk, each lit up with a different display,
some running programs, animating a continually evolving picture on the screen.
All were filled with equations and charts Curtis couldn't even begin to decipher.
"I have been working, chanit!" Cutter cursed, picking up the closest device and flashing it to Curtis before he hurled it across the room. It spun across the small space before smashing into a pitcher of red liquid with shocking force. The pitcher shattered, letting loose the beverage to flood across the table and run onto the carpeted floor. The broken PADD sparked and popped as it drowned in the blood red drink.
"I have been working," Cutter repeated, defeated, "but nothing's coming. I can't figure out anything."
"Well for the love of Cressendo man, take some time off!" Curtis said. "Some LEGAL time off I might add. When is the last time you really had a vacation? When's the last time you had some fun? You can't keep yourself in here all the time, banging away at whatever it is your doing. It'll drive you mad!"
Cutter stared at his neighbor, silently. His jaw began to twitch, but he didn't speak. He turned and walked across the room, away from Curtis, and leaned against the wall, with his head hung low.
Shifting his attention for a moment, Curtis looked upon the cluttered desk of the science officer. Scattered PADDs and broken glass abounded. In the middle of it all, Curtis noticed a holopicture of what seemed to be Cutter with another of his species. Picking it up, he showed it to Cutter.
"Who is this here next to you?" he asked.
It took several minutes before Cutter responded, Curtis was about to give up when Cutter turned to glanced at the picture from across the room. His head returned to its former position before he began to speak, "That's Zan. She came to visit when I was posted back home, on Fruna ... between the two Galaxy missions."
A broad smile crossed Curtis' face.
"You never did show me your planet like you said. You know, I do have some holo time later today. I was going to take in Mozart's 'Magic Flute' but that could change easily."
Slowly, Cutter's head lifted from the floor to look out his window. His eyes were focused on the planet below, but weren't looking at anything. "I have work," he spit out, quietly, almost inaudibly.
"Unacceptable Mr. Kara'nin." Curtis stated, matter of factly. "I am the operations officer on board this ship and I allocate the resources, INCLUDING personnel. You're taking time off. I assure you I have just as much authority in this matter as any medical officer, and I would hate to have to find Dr. Malgin to confirm my observation. My time is in about 90 minutes. I'm going to go get a shower and clean up a bit, I suggest you do the same."
Then, glancing about the room, he added, "As for all these PADDs, I'm taking them with me for now. You are not to do any sort of work for the next few hours at least."
With that, Curtis gathered all the PADDs and any other sign of work he could find.
"I'll see you in a little while." Curtis said, smiling again as he walked out the door.
Cutter seemed to pay him no heed.
OOC: I hope people are getting a kick outta this little
side story
"Rule 203. New customers are like razor-backed Greeworms--they can be succulent, but sometimes they bite back! Never was a rule more true!"
"Shut up, Curot. We need to concentrate right now. I am guessing this RuBla isn't a friendly sort." Crom scolded over his shoulder at Curot. "The last klingon i spoke to claimed that he could be found in the Duk MaH'nyf, some bar just up the road here." Crom stopped in his tracks. Rule #111. Treat people in your debt like family--exploit them (ruthlessly).
Curot bumped into his shoulder and stumbled around the front of Crom. Crom smiled. "Curot?" he queried.
"Uuuhh yes Crom?"
"I am going to entrust the success of this negotiation to you. I think it would be a good test of your negotiating skills." He smiled again and dusted Curot off a bit.
"You really think I can?"
"ABSOLUTELY." Crom ensured. "Tell you what, i'll even be just outside the bar here, just in case things get a little out of hand." Curot smiled with glee, Crom smiled with success.
Curot handed the three bags he was carrying to Crom and grinned. "I won't let you down, Sir!" and scampered off into the bar. Crom sat down a rock and leaned against the side of the establishment and waited. He didn't expect Curot to take very long.
He popped open his beetlesnuff container and took in the scenery of lanjep, a place he wished to never return to again already. Too many klingons, too many bad attitudes and not nearly enough profit. Well, there must be vast profit, if the Nagus wants anything to do with it.
Curot came bursting out the front door, being hurled through it, and landed six feet into the street. A number of klingons boiled out of the bar after him and Curot took off like the Galaxy at maximum warp. One lone klingon stepped out of the bar after the mob, and Crom approached him from the side.
"RuBla?" he stopped as the Klingon whirled on him. "I understand you have something that a client of mine requires."
Crom could hear Curot scream all the way out of the city. He assumed a Ferengi on a Klingon planet wouldn't be too hard to find, so he tapped his comm badge with the ship. "Transporter Room, ProConsul Crom requesting transport."
=/\= Right away ProConsul =/\= came the reply and moments later Crom was standing in the transporter room. "Welcome aboard."
"I seem to have lost my Attaché somewhere in the North section of the city. If you could find him and transport him back to the ship, it would be most helpful. Just send him to my quarters." He placed a small slip of latinum on the console and the man smiled as Crom left for his quarters.
***
When Curot arrived at Crom's quarters, he was a tattered individual. Having nearly all of his clothing stripped from him, Crom could see Cuirot was in a bad mood. "Curot," he said. "I have a spare set of clothing in my quarters, go change into something suitable for business. We aren't finished yet."
Curot huffed at him and stomped off into the next room as Crom went over the ship's personnel files. "Curot?" he called out. "Do you still have that medical duplication algorithm in your master files at the store?"
Curot came running back in half dressed. "How do you kn....."
"Never mind, found it." Crom took a double-take at Curot. "Well, go finish getting dressed. Chop Chop." Curot walked back into the next room muttering something in Alpha Centaurian. Crom shrugged and activated the algorithm. He matched a personnel file with a medical file and copied some figures into a Ferengi Oscelobioduplicator, a very expensive and rare piece of equipment. When Curot came back, Crom was ready.
"So what is the plan, Crom?"
"You still have that old equipment transporter you got from Brunt?"
"Yeah, it's in the back of my storage room." Curot's face lit up. "Oooo good idea...."
***
Over an hour had passed since they got to Curot's shop, and Crom's rear end was getting sore from sitting on it for too long. "Come on Curot, I thought you knew where it was? This is taking forever!"
"Well, if I wasn't doing this ALL BY MYSELF it would happen faster!"
"Curot! How could you say that?" Crom said, mocking pain. "Would YOU trust ME to go through your storeroom on randomly searching?"
"Well, no....ah here it is!" Curot pulled out a rolled up mat and two attachable components. He rolled the mat out flat on the floor and fumbled with the buttons at the edge. After a few moments he stood up and looked at Crom. "It's ready." He smiled. He attached one of the Accentuators to the mat. "These will keep a lock on each other and will transport to each other, so we need to attach this one to Mr. Bhrode's desk and it will come back here. As long as you are still touching the Accentuator while it is on the desk, you will be transported with it."
"That seems simple enough. I'll go, just to make sure nothing goes wrong. You stay here and make sure that thing keeps working." Crom made sure he had the Oscelobioduplicator stepped onto the mat. "Send me away."
Curot punched a couple of buttons and as Crom was vanishing, called out "Good Luck!"
***
Crom appeared in the bleak office of John Q. Bhrode. He quickly fumbled with the Oscelobioduplicator to mask his biosigns from the sensors. A green light came on as the piece of equipment kicked in. He placed the Accuntuator on the desk and glanced around. Taking the Oscelobioduplicator, he flipped a switch and a small button popped up. He walked around the room and sprayed a clear mist onto a few surfaces in the room. He chuckled to himself.
He held onto the Accentuator and tapped a blue button on the top.
Both he and the desk vanished.
"So now what?"
"Well, Curot," Crom said in a proud tone. "Now we go find this bloodwine she wants. How we are going to get the head of the Head of the House of Du'Pont, I don't know."
"How long until Mr. Bhrode gets back and finds his desk missing?"
"It doesn't matter Curot. We already have someone to take the fall. Or as the Hoo-mans would say, "We got a Stooge."
TBC.......
*backpost, takes place after Bhrode or the Tiger*
Ella ran her fingers over it again, finding it difficult to believe that the new pip was actually there. She'd been rude, told Captain Bhrode off, and he had given her a promotion. He's insane, she decided. Hasn't recovered from the past mission either. Certifiable.
The image of Bhrode prowling the decks, slobbering and talking in gibberish, made her mouth twitch into a sort of smile.
Moving into the bathroom, she stopped as she saw her reflection in the mirror. While the new pip at her neck looked good, the rest of her was looking pretty horrible. Her face was still pale, with slight shadows under dull blue eyes. Her hair hung in limp curls on her shoulders. She looked shell-shocked.
Well, that would never do, she thought.
She carefully removed the pips and then the uniform, stepping into the sonic shower.
When she was clean, she stepped out. Ella did not feel like being in deep contemplation while in the shower. She grabbed her bathrobe- another pink bathroom accessory that she would eventually have to get rid of- and tied it securely. She stood there for a moment, eyed the improved appearance, and walked out to her drawers to find something to wear.
Her drawers, as always, were overflowing with clothes. Daddy's little girl indeed. She frowned at them and then scooped them out and threw them on the floor. What better way to contemplate change than to re-arrange one's wardrobe? Sitting on her knees, she began to sort through them, casually flinging apparel she knew she was never going to wear over her shoulder. Like the pink sweater her mother had given her last year. When was she EVER going to wear that again. Perhaps Indigo would have some use for her old clothes. She'd probably shred them though or at least stick them full of pins and such.
This felt better. For the past week and a half, Ella had been suffering. And the captain was right. What good was it to sit in misery? She wasn't the authority on fear. There were people out there who were, or had been, worse off than she was. It would be better to shut it all away again.
Ella set aside a strappy blue dress she adored and flung over her head a white silk blouse that she had worn only twice. Still....she paused over a pair of black slacks. The promotion helped, that was for sure. It made her believe that it was possible to go on with her life again, to take it back. Again. But she couldn't help but feel that she couldn't continue until the past was buried. For good. The Defiant had been destroyed, she'd had her revenge there.
But somewhere on Earth there was a man still probably obsessed with the perfect record.
Still obsessed because she'd let him live.
Ella bit her lower lip. It had seemed the right choice at the time but now she mentally kicked herself. If she had just gotten it over with then, it wouldn't be so difficult now. Daro Cole had told her as much but she had not listened to him.
Perhaps she could make an inquiry into his whereabouts, at least. That wouldn't be too expensive. It would have to be done carefully though, and through Daro if possible. If Mr. Daro could be found, and he could find her kidnapper, she would decide what to do then. That sounded reasonable.
She looked over at the substantial pile behind her. Too bad that if she did decide to go down to lanJep she'd probably go shopping for more clothes.
OOC: BACKPOST. BEFORE ELLA'S PROMOTION
The hustle and bustle of sick-bay was quite a sight for those who happened to walk through it. Defiant survivors were scattered all over in various states of health. Though the activity had died down a bit, there was still quite a bit of noise.
Curtis used this opportunity to sneak through the area, hoping that Dr. Malgin didn't detect him. He didn't want to face a lecture from the already grumpy physician, especially considering the current situation.
Maneuvering through the crowd, Curtis spotted the object of his visit. Over in a far corner was Ella, laying on a bed, eyes open, in seemingly deep thought.
"Ella?" he whispered, not wishing to startle her.
It was a moment before she drew her attention away from whatever she was thinking and turned to Curtis. She looked pale, tired, but her eyes suddenly came to life as she recognized her visitor. Ella moved to grab the PADD from the side table.
"Wait, wait!" said Curtis, who then began to wave his hands in a somewhat sloppy manner. He was signing. But his inexperience in the area was obvious. He was TRYING to say *how are you feeling* but Ella's amused expression afterward suggested that he had not quite hit the mark.
"Hmm...I guess I need to work at it a bit, I only just started learning a few days ago." he said, slightly embarrassed.
Ella smiled, the first real smile she'd had in days and slowly showed him how to sign *how are you feeling* correctly. Curtis followed patiently, mimicking the gesture. Then she answered him. ~~I am good~~ she lied. She reached for her computer PADD again, keyed in a quick note that would have been difficult for him to follow in sign, and handed it to him.
*IT'S SWEET OF YOU TO TRY TO LEARN :) ARE YOU LEARNING BY HOLOPROGRAM OR FROM SOMEONE?*
"Holoprogram. So I'm afraid its a bit impersonal, and not too forgiving when you mess up I might add." Curtis replied, noticing that although Ella claimed to be ok, she looked anything but.
"Ella, are you sure your OK?" he asked.
Ella nodded her head slightly. ~~I am okay~~ her hands insisted. She took up the PADD again. *GLAD TO SEE YOU WERENT HURT. I HEARD THAT GALAXY WAS NEARLY AS BONKERS, PROBABLY MORE SO, THAN ON THE DEFIANT*
"Well, things *were* a bit nuts over here, but the worst thing that happened to me was suddenly giving the whole bridge crew a musical interlude. Felt kind of good to start singing like that." he said, smirking a bit.
Ell felt her cheer begin to falter as she was reminded of her own singing onboard the Defiant but she was determined not to let Curtis see that.
"And I might add, it was a very GOOD rendition." He quipped.
*YOU'LL HAVE TO DO AN ENCORE SOMEDAY*
"But what happened over here is nothing compared to what you went through. At least none of our hallucinations turned out to be....well, real." he said, looking concerned.
Ella looked away, unsure of what to say. As much as she liked Curtis, who was probably the closest thing she had ever had to a best friend, besides her maid Laura, she wasn't about to go into a lengthy explanation of what had happened. Finally, she picked up the machine again and typed *IT WASNT REAL. IT WAS AN ECHO, NOTHING MORE.*
"Well, maybe. But I've seen the report, something doesn't have to be real to inflict real wounds." said Curtis, still concerned.
*WOUNDS HEAL, SEE?* Ella crossed her eyes and made a silly grin
to
prove her point.
"Very cute Ella." Curtis said, smiling slightly. "Look, you've been through a lot I'm sure. You're made of some pretty tough stuff. I'm not a counselor and I know you probably don't want anybody prying into anything, so I won't pester you about it. But you know, I'm here for you if you want to talk about it."
~~Thank you~~ she signed.
"Hey, its nothing, don't mention it." he answered.
She smiled at him, then grabbed the computer PADD again.
*SO, ABOUT THIS BRIDGE INTERLUDE OF YOURS....*
Curtis laughed, "Well, I'll have to give that to you another time I think. I'd better get going before Dr. Malgin notices I'm here. I'll see you later."
Waving goodbye, Curtis began to make his way, stealthily, out of sick-bay.
****
Victor stopped at the bow of the second shuttle, noticing that the remaining
engineers had drafted one of the Marines into helping them bring a third shuttle
up from storage and were trying to prep it on the pad in case it was needed.
At the moment, it wasn't looking likely as the craft had exterior maintenance
hatches open all over it and the Marine was arguing with the engineers about
some type of power coupling. ~ Doubt we'll need it. From the looks of things,
everyone that's going to make it is either already here, or out of luck. ~
Slipping the improvised bandoleer off his shoulder, he settled down into a crouch and started to work on the phaser he'd gotten from So'ka. ~ Okay, disable the audible overload warning... check. Now to set the overload to start on receipt of a signal... check. ~
A shadow occluded his light. "You get a better blast if you scrape the contacts at J7 and B2 and cross wire the phase synchronizer."
~ Log. No one else sounds like that except Raven - and Raven wouldn't give me advice on making a better bomb. ~ "Thank you, sir," Victor replied, following the advice and setting the channel for the incoming signal before looking up. "I appreciate it."
The huge Marine looked down at him, saying nothing.
"Something I can do for you, sir?" Victor asked pleasantly, his hands closing the phaser's case and threading it on the bandoleer.
"No." Log looked at him for a moment longer. "Not your job."
"I'm making it mine." Victor took up one of the other phasers and started making the modification Log had suggested to it. "Someone has to."
Log frowned darkly. "The mouse does not challenge the eagle."
"You know someone has to do this," Victor continued, ignoring the expression on the Major's face. "You'll never get away without it. If it can open doors, it can fire phasers, and anything we leave it'll just make stop working." He nodded towards the shuttle behind him. "These shuttles aren't shielded for even the output this antique has in its phasers."
Log's expression never changed.
Victor looked up then, hands still busy on the phaser, his eyes cold and feral. "It told me it couldn't die, but it was wrong, it's just forgotten how." He smiled, a wolf about to go down and meet the hunters that had him at bay, knowing the outcome and not caring. "I'm going to help it remember."
"Don't screw it up." Log grunted before he turned away and moved off, feet soundless despite the battledress he was wearing.
~ Well, that went easier than I expected. Maybe I can get this done before anyone else figures it out and gets someone to order me to stop~ He finished the last of the rewiring, slung the phasers back on the bandoleer, and stood up. ~ Already have my communicator wired to send the signal, I just need a rifle and I'm set. ~
Walking back towards the two engineers and the Marine, still ensconced in their argument, he stopped, picked up one of the plasma grenades attached to the kit the Marine had removed to work on the shuttle, and smiled. ~ Might as well shoot for the biggest bang I can. I wonder if this thing can be set to detonate on a timer after a signal? ~ He moved a few meters away, opening the grenade's actuator up and looking at the wiring. "~ Looks like it can. Let's see, the overload cycle takes.... ~
****
~ Didn't turn out perfect," Victor made his was down the corridor, stopping
to check each doorway for possible attackers, phaser rifle sweeping the way,
its movements synched to his eyes. ~ It turned out good enough, though. O'Rourke
hates me, the others think I'm psychotic and are scared of me... but they're
all alive to do it. That's all that matters. ~
He checked a branching corridor, decided it was as clear as it was going to get, and crossed it in a single movement. ~ Maybe not all that matters. That thing has to die - and if it was right, if it's the ship, or has fused itself with the ship... then the ship has to die too. ~
~ If only Log hadn't come up with that last-minute revision... ~ Victor paused to check the time. ~ Got to make certain that I meet the timetable that I gave the Gunny - at least as far as I intended to. She's a solid soldier, she'll leave when she's supposed to whether I'm there or not... which is a good thing. ~ He checked the time again. ~ A damn good thing. ~
Running his hand over the collection of hand phasers he'd accumulated from the rest of the security team and the lone grenade he'd lifted from one of the Marines back in the Shuttlebay, he nodded. ~ Four Phaser 2's wired to overload on timers and a plasma grenade. Not the best choice for the job, but you work with what you have. Maybe it'll work, and maybe it won't - but I have to try. If I can get them to go off at all, it'll know that something happened, anyway. No way is this thing walking away from this. Not after what its done to us... and to the original crew. No way. ~
He frowned, identifying an uneasy feeling that had crept up on him. ~ The Gunny. I wish she'd had gone back with Log and the rest. She's as stubborn as they come - she might be tempted to wait just a little longer than she's supposed to for me... ~ His frown deepened. ~ This would've been so much easier if sh