USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 50209.17 - 50209.24 |
The air in the room was somewhat stale, the product of several hours of evironmental systems fluctuations due to the power shut off. And for all the good it had done, they might as well have taken a pick-ax to the computer. Seated around the conference table was a motely crew of engineers who had all the signs of exhaustion. Most of them hadn't had showers either, and a generous radius of about 6 feet seperated the odor-enhanced crewmen. At the head of the table.
Curtis surveyed the gathering of engineers before him: These were his guys, his team, part of a greater body of small heros who kept the ship together....and good Lord did they smell bad.
But displeasing smells aside, he would have to endure it, for he had called a meeting of the utmost importance.
"Alright guys, this is the deal." Curtis address the engineers. "You all know that the computer re-boot was pretty much a failure. Rather than erase the Quick-Bug, it simply spread it out to random systems on board."
Random grunts of acknowledgement came from the sleep-deprived discussion group.
"Yes, I know you're tired, we all are, but we have a minor problem that could turn into a huge emergency." Curtis continued.
"I've been analyzing this bug, and although I have yet to find a solution, I have come upon an interesting property that could lead to a major problem. The way this bug is behaving, we don't want it in the warp core." Curtis concluded.
The collective looks on the faces of the engineers suddenly went from a calm catatonic stupor to an intense mild awareness.
"Sir?" asked Ensign Prescott. "What exactly could the bug DO to the core?"
"Well, that's the problem, it may do something, but then again, it may not. There's no way to know for sure." said Curtis.
"So, assuming a worst case senario, what could happen Chief?" Lt. Matthews asked.
"Worst case?" Curtis began, "Complete core shut down, possible breach, Brhode ridding our butts, Marines dislocating our vital organs, and a partridge in a pear tree. But on the other hand, the bug could just pop in, say hi, and head off to some other system.
That being the case, we need to find a way to ensure that the bug cannot get into the core. Start brainstorming, I'll be in a meeting with the Chief about the problem. Hopefully, one of you will have a solution by the time I get back."
A collective groan passed through the room and several heads hit the table, causing a thundering *thud* to ressonate throughout the area like, I don't know, thunder or something.
"Come on guys, we need to get this done. I'll be back as soon as I can. The last thing we want is a visit from the Captain and his Marine Death Squad should this problem manifest itself. Meeting dismissed, get to work people." said Curtis, who promptly turned and exited the room to try and find the Chief.
”And how did this made you feel?”
Edith Monaghan hated that question, especially to ask it to others.
But the crewman seemed ready to talk, finally! She tucked a stray golden hair from her eyes and looked at the man with a kind expression. She could do kind. Kind was never a problem.
The young man frowned slightly and shrugged, something he too often did. “Helpless”
She nodded and sat back. “Because you couldn’t save him?”
“Because I wasn’t killed! he died and I lived!” the crewman shouted, tears springing to his eyes. “He died…he and the others but *I* lived! Why? Why!?”
She sat there as if she was frozen, just looked at him. “And why not?” she finally said, letting it hang in the air. “Why shouldn’t you have survived?”
He bit his lower lip and lowered his gaze. She stood up and walked to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as she felt his body trembling.
Her heart reached out for him as she witnessed him break down, reduced to a sobbing mess of flesh. She hated doing this to people…to be the one to break them down only to heal them.
“Its okay, Michael…just breathe…” she said and knelt down beside the chair, touching his hair. “It wasn’t your fault that you survived. It was just how it went. Leave the guilt behind and move on, before this claims another victim.”
He looked at her and his big blue eyes seemed to cry out to her. She touched his chin and he nodded slowly. “I…I can try…I…but…he loved him”
So it was there it was, after all this time it had been there unvoiced. The guilt of a lover’s death, the sorrow and pent-up anger.
And she pulled him towards her and allowed him to cry on her shoulder. “He’s still with you, in your heart, Michael. Don’t mourn him, celebrate him. And don’t punish yourself…”
Maybe it had helped and maybe not, but Edith watched him leave her office half an hour later. She sighed as she watched him go before turning and going into her office. She stared into the air for a while and then reached for her padd. She wrote a short message.
‘Hugo. I’m making dinner today.’
"Sir! those sensor flickers?" an ensign called out to Bhrode from the Sciences station.
"What damned sensor readings?" Bhrode barked "uhhmm.. we didn't say anything.. because.. umm.. we thought they might be artifacts...?" the Ensign offered.
Bhrode rolled his eyes. "What is it about this ship, that NO ONE reports things on the sensors? You'd think I were some unreasoning bastard of a prick, ready to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. WELL? SAY SOMETHING!" He asked a room that couldn't answer him.
"Umm...theyarebackand..." the nervous young human barely began when... "Klingon Vor'Cha class Battlecruiser de-cloaking off the Port bow!" sang out Tim O'Connell from Tactical.
Electra Reece beat him to sounding the Red Alert at Bhrode's order.
"Helm! Back us up at full Reverse Impulse." Bhrode snapped at Jeremy Savoie.
"Receiving. Hail." Electra Reece ground out between her teeth. The slim and tall young woman seemed to be swaying at her station, clenching the console with a hand that was white knuckled.
The face of a bejewelled and arrogant Klingon Warrior filled the screen. "I am yo''ajHod Kalinor of the Imperial Deep Space Fleet. You may address me as Thought Admiral." the Klingon bellowed.
"Captain! More Klingons ships decloaking! Collision Courses!" Reported O'Connell.
"Evasive Action!" Barked Bhrode, glaring at the back of Savoie's head as the Helmsman scrambeled to find a Reverse Course that would permit the ship to escape damage.
++PROXIMITY ALERT! COLLISION IMMINENT! ALL HANDS BRACE FOR IMPACT IN FIVE... FOUR... THREE... ++ the computer began to warn, as warning Klaxxons screamed.
The Klingon Admiral grinned. "Is this a bad time?" he asked in a mocking and insincere tone.
Only by Jeremy Savoie's deft handling of the Reaction Control System did the Galaxy avoid the two K'Tinga class cruisers that brushed shields with her.
Energy eddies swirled and sparked, as the Klingon ships blew past the Galaxy with mere meters to spare, and a groan was heard from the screen as the Klingon Admiral was appraised of the fact by his own crew. One junior officer was backhanded, trying to claim a bet from another.
Bhrode tugged his tunic lower and leaned nonchalantly back in his chair. "No, yo''aj, this is a super time for my crew to practice avoiding your fools' clumsy shiphandling. I am Fleet Captain John Q Bhrode of USS Galaxy. Did you want something or are you all lost?"
Bhrode replied.
The Klingon snarled.
"We are to transport the Living Sword of Kahless to her Father. You will transfer the Princess and her retinue to us." he demanded. Bhrode eyed the Klingon a moment. Then he sighed.
Thumbing the Ship's intercomm, he snapped out "Legate Curran! Your presence is requested on the Bridge. Now!"
The Klingon's sneer deepened. "I have heard they have put 'Protocol Officers' aboard your ships. Shame...that some honourless p'taq of a clanless coward should sit in judgement of true warriors."
Bhrode's glare got darker.
"Suppose The Imperial Princess does not wish to go with you?" he asked the Klingon Admiral.
"Bah. Tell me, do ALL humans spend your time fretting over hypothetical worries, like toothless women huddled in a corner?" the Klingon waved a hand in dismissal.
"Be back in a moment, hold that thought." Bhrode said, cutting the line.
"More like hold your ass and kiss it bye-bye...Someone go get Dr. Quick.
QUUUUUUUUIIIIIIIICK! (Ooc: think of Kirk yelling 'Khaaaaaaaannnn!' in ST:II) Mister O'Connell, start the warm-up procedure for the PPC Cannon and target that battlecruiser. I have an urge to see it in action and I have this feeling the Princess may not like this change in her travel itenerary."
tbc...
The tour with the Princess and her entourage was a near disaster.
Thankfully, and against all principles of diplomacy, the tender hours spent on fire-control were saved in the end by 'Commander Corgan and his security staff.
Kylar did not enjoy losing that sense of control over a moment, even one that spiralled out of his authoritative jurisdiction. He did not enjoy tasting defeat, and it left a rather rotten sensation on his palate.
He sat alone in his quarters, lights darkened. The veloured seat he used for his work was warm and well-used. His fists clenched so hard the well-manicured nails bit into his flesh drawing fine rivulets of blood. He wasn't used to the emotions his human body evoked from him. Anger and hate surged throughout him as he vainly tried to balance his thoughts.
His heart pounded, and his pores seeped sweat. His skin was coated with a fine glistening layer of perspiration as he fought to keep his emotions under tightly-reined discipline. He was his own master! He.. will... not... give... in...!
His eyes forced themselves closed, clenching so hard his eyes ached.
Knuckles went white as he forced down the bile rising in his throat. He slammed down on his oak table with both fists concurrently, shaking the terminal and spilling finely stacked padds to the floor as they bounced away in the aftershock.
His eyes flew open and spewed hatefulness and ire, then settled into the usual analytical gaze that came with his attitude. His heart fluttered down to a normal pulse-rate. His pores slowed down the hasty retreat of his fluids, and closed as he blinked away the aftereffects of the frailties of the human nature that forever haunted him.
"I accept my hatred, and make it a part of me. I absorb it, recycle it, and return it to the body for more productive uses of its energy. I will not become a victim to the failings that brought about the first defeat of Kelva. I will not suffer the humiliation of Rojan. I will not be broken by the inanity of the human species."
He focussed on a point 6 feet straight ahead, at a seam where the new wallpanels met. A shroud of cohesion settled over him, restoring equilibrium. The red haze left, to be replaced by the fine greys of the sparse room around him.
The terminal beeped. He turned his gaze to it, hardly moving his head. An incoming transmission from Earth. A symbol of the Liaision Office appeared on the screen and awaited his response. He reached a blood-tipped finger over to accept the signal.
Ambassador-General Natasha Mol's porcelain features appeared on the screen, her blond locks hanging loose behind her oval features. He glanced at the chronometer at the lower half of the terminal screen. It was morning on Earth. She had just arrived at her office, and he must have been the first item on her agenda. He could see the flush in her cheeks, and the redness of her lips. Winter had settled into San Francisco.
"Yes, Ambassador? I take it you are looking into my progress with the Klingon Princess?" He avoided the morning pleasantries. They were a waste of time.
"You look like hell, Kylar." He knew his beard had grown out somewhat.
What humans called a five o'clock shadow. He probably had rings under his eyes, what with the lack of sleep in the activity the Galaxy had seen over the last 3 days.
"Thank you for the observation, Ambassador-General. Not that I noticed."
She felt rather than saw the irritability in his tone, and dropped the subject. She knew better than to debate trivialties with a Kelvan. If she wanted his respect, she would need to get to the point.
"How has the attending of Kahless daughter been, Legate?" If he were a true human, he'd find the Ambassador-General to be truly beautiful, and being Kelvan didn't make a difference to notice that. The exception being that if he were human, he'd be intimidated by it. Being Kelvan, he doesn't get intimidated by the lower levels of the evolutionary process. Yet, she had that movie-star look this morning.... he shook it off.
"Difficult, but manageable. There was an incident with a power-down of the computer core that happened to coincide with Security's failing in preventing the Klingons from getting out of hand in Ten-Forward."
'What happened?" Her baby-blue eyes widened slightly in fear of a fallout with Kahless and the Klingon Empire.
"Somebody failed to prevent the Klingons from becoming inebriated on fermented Chile Sauce." She barely suppressed a smile, but her eyes betrayed the laughter within. She quickly bounced back though, even if her dimples didn't. They shone out of her flushed cheeks.
"I've just returned from a tour of the vessel with the Princess and 'Commander Corgan, the ships Security Chief." He ground out Corgan's name with resentment.
"How did that go, Kylar? Was she impressed?" He was about to respond when the lights dropped to the familiar shade of Red, and the klaxons went off.
Natasha's terrified look beyond him was cut off as the security protocols kicked in during a Red Alert and severed all transmissions.
He spun around in his seat to the scene of a Klingon K'Tinga class vessel swooping in towards him. The Galaxy's gravity and motion-control systems fell behind a notch as he felt the great vessel swoop in evasive maneuver.
The huge vessel's port nacelle just grazed the shields that fizzled just meters from him. The shield reaction systems had compressed the shield density to protect the vessel at its closest proximity. The ship still shook with the close impact, and the Kelvan had to grasp the edge of his desk for support.
When his eyes had finally turned back to the viewport, there appeared, floating in space about the ship a triad of Klingon Heavy Cruisers.
[Legate Curran! Your presence is requested on the Bridge. Now!]
He jumped from his chair, stepped on the Padd's on the floor, crunching them under his leather boots as he exited the VIP quarters and ran all the way to the Bridge. He had to know what the hell just happened! What kind of mess did Brhode get them into now?
The triad of Klingons just hung outside the ship, prowling like hungry cats after cornering the mouse.
***
He flew out of the Bridge doors to find the appearance of the heavily jewelled Klingon gazing out, mouthing something as Brhode strutted about the Bridge feeding orders to the crew. The Klingon did not appear to know what was happening, as he was barking orders at his own crew behind him in silence and glancing back to the coomscreen on his own vessel as if expecting something from it. He suspected Brhode had severed the transmission from the Galaxy's side.
He marched down the walkway and down to the Command pit amidst the casual glances from various other members of the crew working under pressure from Captain Brhode. Something serious had just happened.
"Captain Brhode! I demand an explanation! What has happened? Why are the Klingons taking up offensive posture against the Galaxy?"
*****
This was the day that James L. Corgan, son of a Starfleet couple, descended from generations of musicians, entertainers, rogues and vagabonds, dreaded.
Sure, he was a musician, meaning he could keep people entertained, a trait needed in his latest assignment. He was an entertainer... enough said. And as a rogue and vagabond, he was also crafty enough to slip out of trouble whenever it started.
But so far, his luck has soured. He was far from entertaining nowadays, and for some reason he was getting caught with all sorts of infractions, whether it was his fault or not. To say that he was ill prepared for an assignment was misleading. One could easily prepare with papers, training, talking to a mirror... all those he had done ahead of time. But his magical touch, born from years of making people happy, was just about gone.
And without his ability to charm and put people at ease, what was he going to do with the Klingons?
Across the room, the Legate pondered his earlier delivery of the thirteen blatant disregards for the policies set out by the Princess' father - the Emperor Kahless - and his own superior - Ambassador-General Natasha Mol - and how it had been an experience in itself. Nobody had ever been present during a morning hangover born of a concoction of fermented Chili sauce and Bloodwine, and Kylar could understand why. He barely made it out alive.
Upon informing Princess De'VoraH of the considerable penalties if things had gotten out of hand, she had succinctly and matter-of-factly sent her new Klingon sofa crashing into the wall behind him. When she resorted to a series of low growls and serrated grunting, the Kelvan knew his time was being wasted. He laid the padd down on the vanity nearest him and backed out the door slowly, to avoid being attacked by the Princess, as her fangs and upraised talons had suggested. Shrieks and a snap of what could only be the padd could be heard as the door swished shut in front of him.
"Keep your phasers on stun, but do NOT use them unless provoked, and only in self-defense," he'd whispered once outside, the leader of the Starfleet guard detail who still protected the Princess until her sentries returned nodding in acknowledgement.
The Kelvan had arrived at the Meeting room shortly before the Klingons.
Commander Corgan was gazing aft out the viewport watching the stars streak past. A nebula, orange in primary colours, swathed with a broad spectrum on the outset, hung to the starboard of the Galaxy. He could feel the steady thrum of the engines toiling far below through his heightened senses.
Corgan tore his eyes away from the nebula. Being a spacer, he appreciated the sight of spacial phenomena decorating an otherwise bleak and plain expanse. "Shall we?" he invited.
While being ringed by a detail of Starfleet security officers, the Klingon bodyguards and diplomats entered the large meeting room. The Klingons were sourly complaining about indigestion and hangovers. Some clutched their small flasks of bloodwine as if they were elixirs of healing, sipping generously to stave off their piercing head pains. The bodyguards, as professional as ever, braved the hangovers stoically where their diplomatic cousins did not. Their ragged hair was the only indication of a wild night out.
Kylar was somewhat satisfied to see the Princess had survived her hangover undamaged. If not by her own hand, than by the hands of the security officers who were defending their own positions outside her personal quarters.
The princess and her head bodyguard, a general that Corgan had yet to be introduced to, were the only ones whom didn't look like they were in a drunken stupor. The General was white haired and grizzled with hundreds of small and large battle scars. His armor was worn and nicked, yet well polished and decorated with many badges of honor. The way the General surveyed his staff and the Starfleet officers was like any General surveying a battlefield. Methodical, swift, and thorough, assessing his battle group and their own. Dangerous man, but an ally nonetheless. James felt strangely at ease already.
But that feeling flew faster than a runabout at warp 7. Princess DeV'oraH was at the General's flank. She was strangely beautiful for a Klingon, with perfectly tanned cinnamon legs, a head full of long, curly hair, form fitting Klingon dress armor, bountiful cleavage showing in the 'traditional' fashion, and a face, sharp and intelligent, hiding below a craggy forehead plate. She was a beautiful woman, and James found beautiful women intimidating (especially when they sported some very unattractive, snaggly teeth), but the worse was not in her looks, but her... look. Like she was staring at something she wanted, and she was staring at him.
It sent a shudder up and down James' spine, and out of his throat, low enough to be avoided by the most sensitive ears.
Curran noticed the less than vicious gaze of the Princess at the Chief, and was puzzled. What possible interest could a warrior such as herself have in a puny human, let alone a human with the mentality and reliability of a Reman? He even lacked the saving graces of the superior strength and endurance of the Romulan miners. He knew that look in the Klingon face.
Desire and predicatibility were not their saving graces.
"Shall we start the tour?" Corgan politely bowed, keeping a sharp and detestful eye on the Legate, in case the seasoned diplomat spotted any invisible mistake that could lead to intergalactic war. (Hey, it has been known to happen.)
Victor took another headcount, and satisfied himself that the extra three security personnel Commander Corgan had detailed to accompany the tour were all present and in position. ~ Got to remember to watch Hanley if something starts - that arm was in an osteoregenerator for an hour last night when he finally got to Sickbay, and he doesn't need to overstress it until everything settles. ~ He went over the itinerary again in his head, trying to make certain that all the trouble spots were already noted. ~ I think we got everything. As long as the Klingons aren't carrying a grudge from last night - especially that woman who knows I was the one that took out her companions - then we ought to make out okay. If they want to be difficult about it, or if she's made a stink about my starting things... well, it'll be a damn short trip. ~ He checked again, looking at faces this time. ~She's not here, good. Maybe I'll catch a break... Damn. ~
As he watched, the inner door to the diplomatic suite slid open and the woman from the night before walked in. In better light, she was taller than he'd thought, easily several inches taller than he was, and had a lean, powerful physique that was still unmistakably feminine under her armor. She moved into the room, head turning and exposing the bruise on the left side of her jaw as she noted each of the Starfleet personnel present, then moved on - until she reached Victor and stopped.
~ Crap. Here it comes ~ Victor braced himself for the inevitable.
The woman's face darkened, her features twisting into something half sneer and half snarl as she started to move towards Victor. She stopped, spat once, looking directly at him, and then turned away when one of the other members of the entourage addressed her in low, warning tones. Whatever was whispered to her, the Klingon woman didn't appear to like it, but stayed where she was, contenting herself with casting venomous looks in Victor's direction.
Perplexed, Victor studied the woman for a moment before he returned to watching the group as a whole. ~ Hunh. She doesn't like not being able to do what she wanted to there. Maybe the Princess passed down orders to behave themselves after that mess last night." He glanced towards the Princess. ~
Hard to tell - I can't read Klingons well... but I guess the way she's watching the Commander doesn't need much translation. Maybe she thinks she'll have less trouble getting what she wants from him if her people stop giving him trouble? ~
Inwardly, Kylar chuckled at the security officer from the night before getting his rewards for a job well-done. Outwardly, he couldn't show his satisfaction, but had his own ideas on how to make the dominoes tumble. "May I suggest we start at the Bridge first? I believe Captain Brhode is about to begin his shift. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to entertain the Living Sword of Kahless." He crossed his arms, the creaseless sleeves of his black uniform stretching against his lithe frame. He rather enjoyed the banter and tense moments being on display in the small room.
~ Oh God. ~ Victor restrained himself, but two of the additional officers paled, and Ensign Hanley crossed himself when he thought no one was looking.
~ I can't believe this guy wants to get into a pissing contest with the Captain that badly - is he stupid, or psychotic? ~
"I do not suggest that we take our tour to the Bridge first, Legate Curran." Corgan cut in warningly, "Captain Brhode is a very busy man, and from what I've heard, we are going to be close to the badlands today, which means he won't appreciate any distractions. Not to mention that his mood is usually sour..."
"We will go to the Bridge." Princess DeV'oraH announced stubbornly.
Corgan snapped around, "Beg your pardon?"
General Kragg stepped in, his voice as gravelly as a Tholian's gizzard sack, "I would like to assess the Bridge crew's capabilities. I too wish to see the bridge first."
"And I would like to confront Captain Brhode about the ship's conditions. Computer errors and frequent blackouts are of great concern, which must be addressed to the Captain immediately." Princess DeV'oraH snarled indignantly. "As well, we must settle why I was locked in my quarters like a child last night. An Imperial Princess does not hide from battle, or anything else!"
James sighed dispairingly. Wasn't the battle with her last night enough? "Yup... sounds like loads of fun, ma'am." He stated, "But you are our guests, and it's our duty to protect you. Therefore, we had to keep you in quarters. But don't worry... if there was a battle, they would most likely beam over to your quarters for a fight."
~"Don't get her started, Corgan."~ His conscience cut in.
The Princess made a low growl, "Fighting in a cage like a beast... not worthy of the Living Sword of Kahless."
"Well, if you're still peckish for a little ass kicking, may I suggest the holodeck?" James rattled off like a travel brochure, "We have an excellent Jem'Hadar fighting program."
Sourly, the royal princess replied, "It will have to do..." Her general nodded. Some of the younger Klingons, familiar with the reputation of Federation holotechnology, grunted excitedly. Surprisingly, the princess brought up, "But I want to see you in combat with the Jem'Hadar. You will join us, Commander Corgan, after the tour."
"Excuse me?" He peeped, aware of the dangers involved. But before Corgan could raise up a rebuttal, they were swept along as the meeting continued.
~ I should have gone on and taken something for a headache before this shift even started. I knew I should have. ~ Victor eyed the mood among the Klingon party. ~ There's no way they won't all be in the holodeck fighting Jem'Hadar by lunch - at least it'll be quieter for the rest of the ship that way. ~ He cut his eyes towards Commander Corgan. ~ Not quieter for the Commander though - poor guy. ~
To one side, the Klingon woman, who had not stopped glaring at Victor, leaned over and whispered something to the person next to her, prompting some grunts of laughter and more glances in Victor's direction.
~ Oh this duty is going to be a load of fun. ~ Victor tried to ignore the looks and whispers, even though that only appeared to egg the woman and those around her on. ~ I wonder if this qualifies for 'hazardous duty?' ~
James whispered to Victor's ear, "My Klingon is rusty, but I think she was commenting about your ass."
Victor nodded without looking away from the diplomatic party. "More likely she was calling me one, sir." He glanced at the Princess. "I think you need to get this started before the Princess loses her temper again, sir. We don't need that after last night."
"Well then..." Corgan impatiently clapped his hands together, "I believe the Legate has your itinerary set. Legate Curran..." The Chief of Security winked, "It's the Bridge first, correct? After you - you are, after all, the ranking official here."
With a haughty glare and a single curt nod, the Legate turned and started for the door, the General behind him. Victor shifted position to cover the rear of the party, motioning Hanley and So'ka to cover the other side of the delegation. James moved up to supervise the transition to the corridor and the turbolifts, one eye on the Princess and both of hers on him.
There was a certain amount of jockeying for position within the delegation as the party started to form up around the Princess, with her bodyguards moving up to the front and various diplomatic personnel and attendants moving back to be nearer to her. Position in the entourage reflected - and granted - status, so mixed in with the movements were not a few momentary status struggles that were settled with a look, a sneer, or a single shove as the Klingons settled into their marching order.
Victor watched the shifting with a certain amount of amusement for a second, before he turned his attention towards the doors and the corridor beyond. ~
Out the door, turn left, and back the way we came last night. Once we get to the turbolifts... ~ "Unh." He stifled the curse that followed his grunt as something slammed into his ribs with the force of a hammer, snapping him back to the real world. Turning, he started to bring a hand up - and froze, his eyes locked with the dark brown, almost black, ones of the Klingon woman from the night before, the reinforced elbow of her sleeve still digging into his side. ~ Crap. ~
The woman hissed at Victor, her face still twisted angrily, and drew back her arm, only to drive it into him again in the same spot, making no attempt to disguise the gesture as accidental. "Coward," she growled in a low, husky voice that he remembered from the corridor. "Worthless coward."
She drew her arm back again, and Victor braced himself for the blow, seeing in her eyes that it would be harder than the first two. ~ I'll be damned if I let you goad me into swinging on you. ~ He met her eyes coldly, refusing to flinch.
The elbow started forward - and stopped instantly as the Princess snapped, "K'vala!"
The woman turned, her arm dropping to her side. "Yes, my Princess?"
"What," the Princess growled, looming suddenly beside Victor and the other Klingon - or as much as she could considering that both Victor and K'vala were taller than she was, "did I tell you - tell all of you - about goading the guards? Are you deliberately disobeying me? You wouldn't do that, would you? In front of all these people, make me a liar after I gave the Commander my word there would be no more incidents?"
~ Dammit I do not believe this. ~ Victor eyed the Princess, then the other Klingon. ~ She did it, and she's going to tell the Princess why, I can see it in her eyes. If she does, then everything from last night is getting dragged out in the open again... ~ "It was my fault, ma'am," he said, hatingthe words as they came out of his mouth. ~ I'm lying to cover up for another lie. ~
"What?" the Princess turned, frowning. Beside her, K'vala's frown deepened and she glared at Victor even harder.
"It was my fault, ma'am," Victor repeated. "I was the one that bumped into her first - she just reacted like a warrior and returned the blow out of reflex. There's no harm done." ~ Beside the cracked rib she gave me, anyway.~
The Princess looked penetratingly at Victor for a moment, then K'vala, then back to Victor, and finally cut her eyes towards Corgan. "Very well then Lieutenant, you have no reason to lie - I must have been mistaken." She nodded at the taller woman. "I cannot fault your training, K'vala, but try to restrain yourself in the future until you know your target. Now come, attend me while the Commander shows us the Bridge of this great ship - and we are told why she has so many problems."
K'vala favored Victor with another harsh glare; anger filling her eyes, then followed the Princess back into the entourage.
Victor watched them leave, refusing to wince as he breathed evenly. ~ Great, just great. That's twice now I've had a run in with what's her name - K'vala. Judging from the look in her eyes she'll kill me if there's a third time, and we aren't even halfway to where they are going. ~ He nodded to Hanley and started forward as the pack moved out of the room. ~ Look at the bright side - at least she's taking it out on you instead of the kids over there. It could be a lot worse. ~
******
Victor waited for the turbolift to arrive, thinking about what he'd realized a week before when the meeting with Commander Corgan had been put off so they could concentrate on the Klingon security detail. ~ I don't want to leave the Galaxy. I'm tired of leaving. Even if they all hate me here - and they don't, or at least a few of them don't - I'd rather stay in one place and make a difference rather than keep bouncing around the fleet like an unwanted stepchild. I don't want to move any more, I want... I want a home. ~
"Hey! Wait up!" yelled a voice from behind him, interrupting his thoughts. Lieutenant Commander Corgan tried his best to flag down the older Lieutenant and fellow bodyguard. He was fresh off his shift when all the sudden he remembered to finish one task: to talk to the promising veteran. Corgan had time to look over the man's file, and seeing that a few documented incidents were a little bit questionable, he had a few questions to clear up these minor infractions.
With a sinking feeling, Victor turned. ~ He couldn't even wait for the meeting - he's going to do it right here in the corridor.... ~ "Yes, sir?" he responded, determined to be civil to the end.
"Lieutenant, may I walk with you for a minute?" James asked politely. Despite his higher rank, he still had respect for Lieutenant Krieghoff.
"Of course, sir. I was just headed down to Security Main for our meeting - we can go together." Victor cocked his head to the side and smiled. "Can't very well start without you, now can I?" ~ That's right, I'm going to be pleasant. You're going to have to work for it, sir - I'm not going to make it easy for you to kick me off the ship. ~
"Lieutenant," James cut to the point, "I was impressed with your performance with the Klingons. It takes a man with brass balls to take on drunken Klingons in the dark. You handled the situation well, and you showed leadership potential out there. I'd hate to have that ignored."
~ I screwed things up from start to finish. I was the reason that whole mess started, and now you're complimenting me on it? Why...? Is this the 'promote you and send you away' thing again? ~ "Thank you, sir - but I wasn't there by myself. Ensigns Hanley and So'ka had a lot to do with things working out as well as they did."
The Commander nodded. "I've already noted that in their files - but your mentioning that is exactly the sort of thing I meant about potential. However... would you explain a few incidents to me?" James drew out a PADD, activated the electronic device, and scanned the materials therein, "I noticed a pattern in your career. The best I can explain it is a series of mishaps... not too fatal, none were enough for a court martial, but enough to set your career back at least a few years and resulting in a lot of transfers. Care to explain a few?"
~ I knew it was coming. I knew it. It always does. ~ Victor sighed and tried to will the turbolift to respond faster, as if that would get things over with sooner. "If you've read my file, sir, you've got the data there. I'd be glad to go over it with you, though. Is there one in particular you wanted to ask about?" ~ The Com Officer on the Leonidas, or the Orion smugglers, it'll be one of those. Everyone wants to know about them. ~
James tore his eyes away from Victor's report. My god, where there a lot of infractions. A misinterpreted order here, lone ranger justice being sought out elsewhere. There wasn't a year in his record where he wasn't in trouble for something or the other.
The Chief of Security didn't want to know the messy details of all the incidents. What he saw was a strange, yet predictable, pattern. "Lieutenant Krieghoff... why?"
"Excuse me, sir?" Victor looked at him with a hint of confusion. ~What is he talking about? Why 'what?' ~
"Perhaps I should make it clearer." James cleared his throat, "From what I gather, you have disobeyed orders, and then half of the time you're booted off the ship with a commendation and a warning label attached to you. How in the fraggin' hell does someone manage to both piss off and satisfy their commanding officers at the same time?"
"Ah." Victor thought about the request for a moment. ~Hell, tell him the truth. He's going to transfer you anyway. ~ "Two reasons, sir. First, because while I got the results they wanted, they didn't like the way I got them. It wasn't always the same reason every time - though most of the time it was - but that's what it boiled down to. Or," he continued, spreading his hands, "that's what it looked like from my perspective anyway." ~ Am I really having this conversation? It's all in the files there, he has to know what I did. ~ "Second... I don't know if you've noticed, sir, but I'm not the most popular man on the ship. I'm not even the most popular man in the department. I... people are uncomfortable around me, very uncomfortable. I frighten them just by walking in the room. It makes it hard for most people to consider giving me any slack when in comes to situations where I do things they don't like." ~ Hell, maybe he *hasn't* noticed. It doesn't seem to happen to him, so maybe he hasn't noticed it with others. ~
"Relax..." James chuckled, "I was an outcast myself. They used to call me 'Crazy Corgan'. I was stone cold back in the day. Used to kill in the trenches without so much as a blink... or sometimes I would fly off the handle and hurt someone badly. Used to be a marksman as well." He traced the scar tissue over his eye, "Until the Hirogen took out my good eye. People made fun of me because I was quiet or strange, but they feared me as well because... I was dangerous and creepy. I know how you feel. But don't worry about it. You're new on this ship. You'll gain the crew's respect soon."
Victor blinked once. ~ I don't think you really understand, sir. This doesn't 'wear off' after I'm no longer the new guy, this is my life. ~ The turbolift doors slid open, giving Victor a moment to consider his response as they stepped in and the Commander announced their destination. "I hope it works out like that, sir." ~ It won't though. It never does, that's just the way things are. ~
"Lieutenant," The chief of security asked to change the subject, "I was wondering... have you heard of Vietnam?"
"Vietnam?" Victor frowned. "One of the communist-containment wars that America fought in the mid-Twentieth Century, correct, sir?" ~ What does that have to do with what we've been talking about? ~
"Ahhh... you know about it! I mentioned it because it reminded me of my history report during my time at the Advanced Tactical and Security Training Program. Vietnam was a precursor to the Eugenics Wars, and some of it's tactics were carried over to World War Three, which was why we had to study it. But what I found interesting was the relationship between the enlisted and the commissioned officers."
"Their... relationship, sir?" ~ Okay, I am totally lost now. ~ Victor shook his head as the turbolift hummed down the shaft. "I'm afraid I don't see where you're going, sir." ~ Is this some weird way of leading up to a transfer? ~
"Well, you see, during those days, commissioned officers were not experienced in the arts of war. Any kid with a college education could become a Lieutenant or a Captain. When the Vietnam War started, these young, inexperienced leaders were sent out with enlisted men to fight, but what they found was that the commissioned officers were lacking in leadership skills. Enlisted men would, later experienced due to fights with the Vietnamese, hated being led by a newly minted Lieutenant who didn't know how to fight. Resentment bred in some units, and there were even reports of some Officers being 'fragged'... killed in layman's terms, while out in the front lines due to bad orders, bad attitude, all that stuff..."
James paused momentarily, "My point is that I'm in the position of the Lieutenant. Though I have fought on the front lines, I am rather new at being a leader. Quite frankly, I'm far from impressing anyone with my dazzling skills." He remarked sarcastically, then continued, "Therefore, I need to learn from others that are more experienced. You're one of these people. You have more experience than me and you have confidence in your abilities as a leader. If I'm going to become a better Department Chief, I need to learn from by best men, and from what I saw, you're one of them. So... I'm going to bump you up as a squad leader. Just a step below assistant chief. You'll lead a group of six others and will lead them in patrols and operations."
Victor's world stopped. Even though the turbolift kept moving, that single moment of time was frozen within the car as everything he'd expected, everything he'd braced himself for was suddenly knocked aside as the world shifted out from under him, swung him around, and deposited him back where he'd been, leaving him without any clue as to what he should do. "A... squad leader, sir?" ~ He's not... he's not transferring me? I'm not leaving? I don't have to... I'm not leaving? ~
James laughed. He knew he caught the lower officer off guard. "Yeah. A squad leader. Is there an echo?"
Victor blinked, unable to reply for a moment. ~ Say something, you idiot! Anything! ~ "No, sir, no echo."
"You know, I could gladly change it... put you on waste reclaimator detail if you want..."
~ Waste reclaim.... ~ "Ah, no, sir. I don't think that will be necessary." ~ He's making me a squad leader? I'm not... I'm not leaving! ~ The weight Victor had been carrying for a week lifted away, and he felt like the turbolift had just gone into freefall. ~ I don't have to leave! ~
"Well, you'll have to wait awhile. Technically, I'm relieved of my duties as chief of security. However, I should be back in my position soon, and then I will bump up your status. Or at the least, I can send a recommendation to whatever Marine lackey they posted in my spot." James paused, then added, "Don't ask why... I don't know either."
Again the turbolift doors saved Victor from having to make an immediate response. Even so, by the time the two men were out in the corridor and moving towards security Main, all he'd come up with was, "That's all right, sir. Even if it doesn't happen at all, I appreciate the confidence."
James heard the commotions of his fellow crewmate coming from the brig area. When James and Victor approached the brig, they saw a massed bunch of officers. Starfleet marines, silent as statues and standing stoically with their compression phaser rifles, guarded the milling security and medical officers.
"Jesus Christ, what the fragging hell is going on here?" James barked at the nearest security officer. The commotion had him worried, but it wasn't until he saw Lieutenant O'Rourke set up the crime scene containment fields that he knew how severe the situation had become.
~ Marines... forensics techs - someone's dead. ~ Victor watched the movements of the Security personnel as they approached, noting the stiff jerky movements and angry, shocked looks. ~ It's one of ours - I know it. They're too upset for it not to be. ~ Something inside him started to do a slow burn, and he crushed it ruthlessly. ~ Whoever it is, they're already dead - getting mad just helps the killer - and from the way these people are acting, they don't have him. Study what's happened, look for the pattern - it doesn't matter if I'm assigned to this or not now. They killed one of us, and I can't let that stand. ~
"Lieutenant O'Rourke, what happened?" Corgan urgently requested a teary eyed Shelly O'Rourke. Her eyes were red where tears threatened to flood outwards. She was barely containing the sadness in her soul, as she latched the containment fields firmly into place.
She looked eye to eye at her superior officer. Wracked with muffled despair, she answered sorrowfully, "Sir... the murderer killed Copperpot and Brenton."
"What?" James' heart plummeted to his bowels, "For real?"
"Yes sir. They killed Chuck and Jody." She sobbed, "Dammit, sir... Jody was my friend. He was the nicest guy in our staff. Who would want to kill him?"
James couldn't answer his sub-ordinate, or say anything for that matter. In the mood that was creeping slowly into his system, he couldn't give a straight answer without flying into a fit of rage. First it was Copperpot. He was the quietest member of the security department. Always in the brig. Always reading a book to pass the time. He was a fixture, an institution on the ship, something that was meant to stay there forever.
Then there was Jody Brenton. James specifically picked the gentle-hearted Midwesterner for his diplomatic skills and kind nature. He was a model officer, always following order, always trying to calm situations before they got worse. But the mother of all ironies was that Jody was disgraced, because his patience broke due to a marine's chiding, and Bhrode's draconian punishment sent him off. James believed in his heart that O'Rourke was right. Jody was a good kid. He didn't deserve to end like this. Neither did Copperpot.
Somebody was going to receive the mother of all punishments. A nice, bold thought, but useless for a caged animal.
Victor stood by silently and watched his commander talk, following along as he paced down the hall to the brig cells. ~ They killed Brenton while he was in the brig? If he was the target, then Copperpot was killed to let them gain access to Brenton. If it was Copperpot they were after... ~ Victor stopped as Corgan reached the cell, shifting to the side so he could see into it.
James stepped into the crime scene, observing every gory detail he could find. Copperpot was dead on the floor, his throat cleanly cut from jugular to jugular. His blood created a dark, crimson pool spreading and soaking into the surrounding carpet. In his hand was paperback novel, his bloody fingerprints pressed on the pages. In the brig, Ensign Jody Brenton was stabbed and slashed wildly, like a mad animal attack. His eyes were fiery and defiant, his muscles taunt as if he was in his last struggle. His cowboy hat, a light gray Stetson, was covered in one of Jody's huge red handprint and crumpled up.
"Oh my god..." Corgan recoiled in horror and hatred for the murderer, "Copperpot was taken by surprise. Somebody slashed him up. One clean slash... and it was done. But Jody... my god... he was trapped in there. He couldn't have escaped to get help if he tried."
Victor frowned, trying to concentrate with the distractions all around him. ~ No, it wasn't Copperpot - he was killed cleanly. It was Brenton they wanted, they took their time with him. ~ Victor studied the security fields and the settings on the monitor by the wall where one of the forensics techs had called them up. ~ The fields haven't been dropped all day. That means the killer either got past them in some way - maybe a field diverter of some kind - or they altered the readings to make it look like they didn't drop the field. ~ He looked at the scene again. ~ What is that... a handprint? I need to see what the forensics guys get on that, make sure it's Jody's and not a plant to throw us off. ~
James shook his head in despair, "That f**king bastard... f**king butcher..."
~"OH YEAH?!?! WHAT CAN YOU DO ABOUT IT?!?!"~
The voice in his head was correct. He was trapped. No longer the master of his department, he was assigned to Klingon duty while the marines took over security, including the murder investigation, which was headed by Leo Streely. As much as he didn't like it, James was stuck. He had nowhere to go.
"I can't do a thing about it..." James looked up to the ceiling covered sky for the answers he couldn't' find. "Truth is, Victor, Bhrode threw me into Klingon duty as a punishment. If I could, I would spearhead this investigation. But now my men are dead and I can't do a thing about it! F**k!"
"Why not, sir?" Victor surprised himself with the quiet words. "It's obvious that the people in charge of this don't know what they're doing. The Marines aren't trained for it - but we are."
"Sorry, Lieutenant..." He hung his head down in shame, looking down at the body of Lieutenant Copperpot, "I pissed off Bhrode one too many times, therefore he took me off security. That's why I'm guarding the Klingons and not investigating. He turned over all security matters to the Marines, and the investigation over to Inspector Leo Streely. Dammit... if I go vigilante on this investigation, Bhrode will have my balls for supper."
~ This is going to be a lot easier if the Commander signs on.... ~ Victor shook his head and pulled his superior to the side. "That depends, sir. What's more important to you: making sure that the Captain doesn't have your ass, or making sure that the bastard doing this gets stopped hard? Sometimes you don't get to follow the rules, because doing that means the bad guys win." He paused, then added, "You don't have to help, Commander, I understand. But whether you're along for the ride or not, I'm making sure that this bastard doesn't see the finish line... sir."
Corgan looked down again at Copperpot's lifeless, crimson soaked body. Something had to be done, but what? He was tied. Didn't Victor understand what was going on? Corgan was more than in trouble with the Command Staff. Bhrode sniffed him out as a weak link in his command chain. It was obvious to James that he wasn't cut out for the job handed to him. No amount of security and tactical training could save him from his one weakness; leadership. Bhrode knew this, and pulled the Chief of Security off this murder investigation not as a punishment, but as a precaution to save lives. James caused enough trouble, and was sent away on a cake assignment to prevent any mishaps.
But looking at Brenton's horrific corpse jarred his senses back to life, and Victor's impassioned statement flooded more common sense into him than a thousand Bhrode rants. Who the hell was he, John Q. Bhrode, to tell James to stay out of security. This was his yard, his domain, and a crime was committed on his watch! Orders or not, James wasn't planning on being more negligent while a killer was on the loose.
There was just the matter of getting past his restriction to quarters during his off duty hours, but before he could finish the though that addressed this worry, he already had a plan. Or more exactly, a plan already fell into his lap.
"Computer... who am I?" He asked.
=/\="You are Dr. Jebediah Quick."=/\= The computer answered.
"Hear that Victor." Corgan let off a sly grin, "I'm Dr. Quick. Computer! Is Dr. Quick currently in the crew quarters of the Chief of Security?"
=/\=Searching...=/\= Mere moments later, the computer replied, =/\="Affirmative.=/\=
"What do you know... apparently I'm in my quarters." Corgan hummed. ~"My god... I was free all along, and Bhrode wouldn't have even known until the sensors were repaired! HAH! IN YOUR FACE OLD MAN!"~
<RE: How is there a lifesign in his quarters?>
"Well... you see..." James came up with the answer, "Apparently, Dr. Quick is every living, breathing being on this ship. And that... includes all the animals on the pet registry..."
****
Curled up in a secluded corner of James Corgan's quarters, a small puff of fur curled itself for another lonely night's dinner. She munched on her quadrotriticale grains, trilling softly in hopes of somebody coming by to keep her company. Such was the lonely life of Mudball the tribble, James Corgan's only pet. She didn't know about her human companion's busy schedule, nor did she know that she was Dr. Quick. All she knew was that she was alone, purring out her calls for attention.
****
"...Thank god..." James whistled, "As long as Mudball stays in my quarters, I can move around wherever I please. So..." He turned away from the dead bodies, "Shall we start investigating?"
~ I'll be damned, he's in. ~ Victor smiled, a grim, predator's smile. ~ It's hunting time. ~ "Yes, sir. The first thing we need to do is have you...."
"Don't worry about me." James replied, a fox like grin appearing on his face, "We'll clear out of here. Let forensics collect their information. Later on, we can ask for information on their deaths. Lieutenant, Leo Streely and I are on unhappy terms, and if he catches me out of confinement... the investigation ends. You try to gather any security information on the investigation. I'll talk to medical and retrieve any information on the autopsies. Then, we'll get back together after our shift with the Klingons to compare. Oh... and if anyone asks," he stated carefully, "we have reason to believe that the murderer is a threat to the Klingon delegation - but I assume you treat the situation as such anyways."
"Aye-aye, sir," Victor nodded. "I do - and I will." As the men turned to leave, he eyed the forensics techs going about their tasks. ~ Probably ought to try talking to O'Rourke later. She doesn't like me, but as upset as she is, she may want to get the one that did this more than she dislikes me.... ~
****
I wonder why I actually do this. It's not like I'm a Kirk or Picard, some iconic figure whose personal logs will be studied for centuries to gain insights into my thoughts. I'm just me, and 'iconic' is a word that no one has ever used to describe me.
They've used a lot of other ones, some to my face and others not, but I think I'd remember 'iconic' if it'd shown up. I know I would, now that I think of it. I remember all the other ones.
So why *do* I do this? Why am I bothering to sit here and talk to a soulless machine that can't do more than parrot pre-programmed words and phrases back at me? Hell, it isn't even a smart system like the ones they've programmed into the EMH's and other holographic assistants; it's just a glorified recorder. If it were like one of the holographic assistants, it'd almost be like talking to a real person, like a friend, or something....
I guess I do this because... because I don't have anyone else to talk to.
Now *there's* a sad commentary for you.
Whatever the reasons, sad or not, this log is it. If I made a call, I'm sure there's some nice person over in Counseling that would be perfectly happy to talk to me about my troubles and how to integrate into the ship's 'society' better. Right up to the point they were alone in a room with me, anyway. Then they'd understand why I don't bother to try any more - it just isn't worth the trouble I'll cause trying to get people that want to run away from me as fast as they can to stick around and be my friend.
A tiger is a tiger, and sheep are sheep. Whether they know what they are or not, I know what I am - and so do they, even if only instinctually - and no sheep ever wanted to be in the same room with a tiger, much less be friends with one. Or something more.
Well, this is turning maudlin faster than usual.
The point of all this, back before the self-pity session started was... Hell, I'm wallowing so much I don't even remember what the point was. Oh, yes I do, the damned meeting with Commander Corgan.
He left a message putting the meeting off for a few days, maybe as much as a week because of the tours and extra shifts we're both pulling with the Klingons here; it was waiting for me when I got back from the Armory with my rifle. I guess he figures to wait until things are closer to being finished with the Klingon delegation and then pin all the problems on me as a reason for transferring me out. Not a bad plan, really. Better than the ones most of my supervisors have used in the past, if I had to admit it.
That doesn't mean I have to like it though.
I don't want to go, dammit. He's going to transfer me, and I don't want to go. The Klingons aren't mad - except for that one girl, K'vala, that wants to kill me, and even she isn't saying why to the others - no one got seriously hurt. The worst thing that happened was the Princess getting a bad case of the hots for the Commander... Oh. Damn. It makes sense now. *That's* what the real problem is. The Princess.
He's blaming me for her wanting to drag him into the sack because she thinks he was the one that laid her out in the hallway. Dammit, of all the things to... I don't even know if I was the one that hit her! I'd have owned up to it if I had - there wasn't any reason not to. They would've killed Hanley or So'ka, maybe both of them, if I hadn't come in - what was I supposed to do, let them kill them?
So he's going to pin everything on me, then drop me off on some ship headed for... hell, I don't know, I've been to about all of the rotten spots they could send me. Maybe Gorn space. That'd be close enough to the Klingon Empire that the Princess could spend her time chasing *me* and not him.
That'd be different - someone chasing *me,* trying to get close to me deliberately. That's happened all of what, twice in my life? Risa and that Transporter Chief on the Delaware... Melinda Something. Travers, that was it, Melinda Travers. One of them wanted a relationship with me for the wrong reasons, and the other just wanted the adrenaline rush of sleeping with 'the bad man' to add spice to her love life. Hell of a track record there. Maybe it'd be different with the Princess. At least she'd be up front about what she wanted - that would be a change.
As if.
Okay, that was a stupid digression. It really isn't the about the Princess, and she's not going to start chasing me around the galaxy with one thing on her mind. I've heard her called a lot of things since this detail started, but mentally defective wasn't one of them. Maybe she really just wants to get next to the Commander because she's fascinated by the color of his eyes or something. I guess Klingons think about things like that too - everyone else seems to. Doesn't really matter, it's not like anyone normal would be interested in me anyway, so it has to be something else.
What then?
Maybe... maybe Corgan just wants to transfer me so there isn't any more trouble. He wouldn't be the first with that idea either - he might have seen whatever report Chief Davidson filed after that little scene in the Armory this morning, or maybe someone trapped in a turbolift with me filed a complaint that I was 'menacing' them. Wouldn't be the first time for that.
No... that doesn't feel right. Hell, he's the first superior officer that I've had since Captain Farragon back on the Hesperas that didn't seem to either be scared of me or want to slug it out right there on the spot. I don't think he's even aware that everyone else aboard the ship is.
God knows most of the other Security personnel aren't immune. Hanley and So'ka were going to try and transfer to another squad on the Klingon detail when they saw I was on it with them - I heard them talking about it before we got to Ten Forward the day of the blackout. At least they changed their minds after the fight in the corridor; they must have figured it was better to have me around than not if that sort of thing was going to happen again. It isn't friendship, but it's the best I ever see, so I might as well enjoy it while it lasts - doubt they'll be so glad to see me after this detail ends.
That's enough sidetracking for now, back to the point that started all of this - why Corgan is going to transfer me.
Maybe K'vala put the Princess up to making a complaint - she's been trying to provoke me about every other way she could without violating the order that the Princess laid down. Hell, that whole tour yesterday was just one excuse for her to get in cheap shots at me between the problems on the Bridge and everywhere else. I don't have to speak Klingon to know what she was saying to the others when they were looking at me and laughing, and the elbows she threw before we started were pretty clearly just a warm-up for what she wanted to do.
No... no, that isn't it, either. I saw what was in her eyes when she tried to provoke me there in the conference room - she wants to settle this herself. No help, no cheap-ass little power games, none of that. Her pride's hurt because a human took her down - and because she kissed me, thinking I was one of her buddies - and she wants to make me hurt worse for it. She has to be the one to do it, though, or it won't mean anything. That's why she tried to get me into that damn simulation - she could have taken all the shots she wanted then and no one would have said a word.
Hell, maybe it's something I haven't even thought of yet. Whatever it is, he's going to leave me hanging - no, he's leaving *it* hanging - hanging over my head like the Sword of Damocles.
All right, I can deal with that. He can put the meeting off for a month if he needs to - the longer the better. As long as he's stalling, I'm still here... and that's what I want anyway.
Well... one of the things I want.
Time to quit, before this gets stupid again. Computer, end log.
As a general rule, the citizens of the 24th century are a pretty snooty lot.
This can be found in many aspects of the so-called ‘liberated ‘ society, but the keenest expression is revealed in the choice of recreational activities of the denizens of the Federation.
To wit: Opera, Art, and Earl Grey.
Gone are the days of Oz-Fest and Lilith-Fair. Gone are the days of Teen boy-bands, and pre-pubescent sex-divas gyrating in Leather Spandex. Gone are the heady days of Music Rockumentaries, and even (dare I say). . . .Farm Aid.
Yes it’s a sad but true fact that despite the best efforts of a select few (Jimmy Corgan and others), the musical tastes of the 24th century have gone almost insufferably high-brow. Even the Klingons, a race of beings that has raised Head-butting to an Art-Form, has been seduced by the dark side of music and produced its own brand of wailing Arias under the nomenclature of Klingon Opera.
In the second instance, a virtual renaissance of new art forms have exploded across the face of the Alpha Quadrant with everyone and their grandma considering themselves budding Piccaso’s or Lord Byrons. From the field of sculpture comes little Alexander Roshenko carving clay ash-trays for his father Worf. In the field of Poetry we find Androids composing odes to badly-named felines, and when crossing over to paint we find that very same android awaiting inspiration that will never come.
Of lesser known relevance, but perhaps of almost equal importance is the prevalence of ‘intellectual’ beverages in Federation society almost to the exclusion of all others. Everywhere one looks there are various exotic coffee’s and teas being served, to the exclusion of almost everything else.
I mean come on, cant a guy get a decent Diet Dr. Pepper anywhere?
Amidst this swirl of blue-blooded refreshments however there is one that rises head and shoulders above the rest. Nothing in the universe holds as much pervasive influence as the infamous cup of Earl Grey Tea.
Consider the innocent cup of Earl Grey, which in itself seems docile, but dig deeper and you will find a beverage that has intertwined itself into the very fabric of interstellar society itself!
Even the mighty Starfleet is not unaffected. Even whilst charged with defending the Federation against ‘all enemies, foreign and domestic’ the officers and crew of Ship’s-of-the-Line, find time to engage in general ho-hum sorts of recreation from underwater basket weaving, to almost nightly orchestral recitals.
TO be fair the crew of the USS Galaxy is a bit more diverse than the norm in that there seems to be an overwhelming number of collectors of exotic bladed weaponry, but rest assured. . . . If someone likes Opera. . .its going to be Klingon Opera. . If someone drinks tea. . . .Its gonna be Earl Grey Tea.
It is the official sponsor of Starfleet after all.
Of interest to us today however is the particular a particular class aboard the USS Galaxy entitled --Post Modern Painting and its relationships to Earl Grey Tea--which was being held in one of the starboard viewing lounges.
A diverse group of perhaps twenty students stood carefully before their assembled easels, each carefully applying gentle swathes of pigment and color to their pristine white canvas. Towards the center of the room sat the subject of their intense scrutiny: a nude model of Bolian origin.
The bald blue alien stood quite motionless, patiently allowing the assembled artists to explore the subtle shadings of azure involved with her dark skin tones. For many practitioners of the art, painting the nude is perhaps the ultimate challenge, but when that subject is of an alien race, it only increases the level of difficulty.
Near the back row, Dr. Jebediah Quick studied the Bolian lady’s smooth azure flesh, and carefully danced his brush over the canvas as if teasing or tickling the surface with droplets of liquid color.
However Quick was not one to be confined by the established rules of art, nor allow himself to be hemmed in by the expectations of society as a whole.
Much as the famed Piccasso of old went through his own ‘Blue Period’, the budding artist within Dr. Quick was undergoing his own epiphany of expression He was in many ways his very own Renaissance-Man exploring new and different means of seeing the world around him. In most cases this was aided by liberal use of hallucinogenic narcotics, but at times Jeb found it within himself to gain sudden insight into the true harmony of the universe without the nasty hang-overs.
For him the fact that there was a nude extraterrestrial model standing before him was not the limits of his expression, but was rather the beginnings of TRUE ART This painting was one of those revelations.
“Psssssst. . . . .Doctorrrrrrr Kwiiiik. . . . you don’t have anyyyy blue paint on yourrrrrrr brrrrrush!”
The large fuzzy alien to Quick’s left was eyeing the rather disconcerting ensemble of pinks and yellows in the good Doctor’s creation, noting that in no form or fashion did it remotely resemble the Bolian Lady on the pedestle.
“ART my dear Bosco,” Quick cried aloud as he added a delicate swath of maroon. “Art is not the visualization of the world as it appears, but rather the expression of reality as it ought to be!”
The Caitian Tactical officer wrinkled his furry brow and considered Quick’s painting. “Rrrrrreeeallity issss a naked Captain Brrrrrrrhode?”
“Why not my tuna-loving brother?” Quick declared. “John Brode is the heart and soul of this vessel and the ultimate expression of everything on it. So when I look at the smooth azure curves of this lovely Bolian lady’s flesh, I see instead. . . . “
“Brrrrhode naked under a pink umbrrrrella?” Bosco supplied.
“Exactly!!” Jeb declared adding a dainty fleck of grey to the au’ natural Brhode’s temples. “The grey denotes wisdom, and the umbrella the false shelter provided by technology and society, while the nudity reveals the inner vulnerability we all share as children of the cosmos. Cant you see?”
Bosco rumbled a dissatisfied growl in this throat and went back to his own painting. “I just come herrrrrre forrrr the naked girrrrrrls Doctorrrrr. I leave the arrrrrt to you.”
“Suit yourself Senor Pussy-Cat” Quick cheerfully shrugged. Each had his own truth and reality to explore in the universe, and apparently for his new feline buddy that reality was located between the legs of his female compadre’s.
Aside from the rather unusual manner in which they met, Dr. quick and Lieutenant Bosco were getting along just swimmingly. At first sharing an impromtu game of Marco Polo during the recent blackout, and then forming up a lengthy ‘score-card’ for the various women aboard the Galaxy (About which the Caitian officer seemed to have a vast knowledge).
All of this was done in the darkness so as that neither was aware of the other’s true race. Needless to say when the lights went back on the conversation went something like this:::
BOSCO: So then I told the Comanderrrrrr that the stool was in my waaaaaay and that. . .
>>CLICK-LIGHTS ON<<
QUICK: Ahhhrrrrgh You’re a Cat!!!
BOSCO: Ahhhhrgh yourrrr a monkey. Why didn’t you telll meeeeee?
QUICK: My apologies, don’t hold it against me.
At any rate the pair had at length found themselves enrolled in the current art-class (at Bosco’s suggestion) and cemented well ever since.
Quick in fact was in the midst of expounding further to his new buddy when the overhead intercom cut through the otherwise silent room.
=/= Red Alert! Red Alert!! . . .Battlestations!! Dr. Quick to the bridge at once!!=/=
“Red alert?” The doctor leaned over to whisper to Bosco as the rest of the room exploded into action. “Which one is that one?”
“The bigggggg one Doctorrrrrr.” Bosco hissed glancing regretfully at the Bolian lady who was now horridly gathering her clothes.
“Ah, yes, and the bridge. . . . that would be. .?” Quick trailed off in askance.
Bosco pointed towards the ceiling as if to indicate where the room in question was located.
“Ah yes. . . .I remember now. Okay see you later Mister Puss-in-Boots,”
Quick gathered up his paints and still wet canvas. “This should be a god opportunity to see how the Captain likes his portrait.”
... =/\= Damn! Sickbay is not a morgue! Five corpses?! Autopsy on everyone in two hours?!. =/\= yelled Vladimir in his communicator. This can't be true...
=/\= Yes, doctor. Five corpses. All victims of murder. And I want results of autopsy on my computer in not TWO hours, but in One and a half. Bhrode out =/\=
No, this day was surely a mess... First, he was late on shift... Now, he has to do autopsies. And what is worse - nobody was here to help him, not even a single surgeon. Russian Doctor's groan filled his office "Captain is nuts! Now I can finally make this conclusion. I want to cut living beings, but CORPSES?! Doh! I guess that if I will be given one more order of this kind, somebody will do an autopsy on the M.D. victim of suicide." Sighes are trademark of Malgin, so this scene would be incomplete without at least one. Don't worry, it was filled by a lot...
=/\= Malgin to Sickbay. Prepare victims of murders for autopsy. All of them to be in surgical room. I will be there in a minute... Malgin out =/\=
... "Poor, poor guys... You could have been in a lounge with girls, beer and friends... However you are here - with me, my friendly hands and even drunk girl woudn't kiss ya now... And beer in your condition will surely take no effect... Well, dear corpses, there is at least one positive side of your... condition. At least you're away from that Big Guy with five pips himself... Better than my position, no?" mused Vladimir, washing his hands...
Sigh. Again. "Computer, begin recording." said doctor in annoyed tone and after 'beep' from machine took sheet from the first corpse. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Charles Copperpot of Security department. 28 years old. Male. Terran. Body's visually clean...."
Doctor let out a satisfied groan as he put his tired ass on his chair. "I did it..." he said to himself and shook PADD, which he holded in his hand.
"Captain will be satisfied... He'd better be satisfied, since I surely made a record in the speed of autopsies. This..." Not having found good words to describe his feelings he looked back at PADD and re-read his report, written in instandard style...
=====
To: Fleet Captain, John Q. Bhrode, CO
From: Lt. Vladimir Malgin, ACMO
Subject: Autopsy
Captain,
the conducted autopsies on following people:
Lt. J.G. Raoul Petersonn of Engineering 24 male Terran
Lt. J.g. Charles Copperpot of Security 28 male Terran
Lt JG Jody Benton of Security 22 Male Terran
Ms. Angelene Smith 21 Novo Romanian human
Mr. Jan Smith 61 Novo Romanian Human
showed the following results:
All victims have their throat cut. This sort of wounds is always terminal, so even if victims were found just after crime occured, they wouldn't be saved. All wounds are very deep, so they almost reach spinal column. on the other side. To make such a wound, the killer should obviuosly be exceptionally strong. However, there is a variant, in which I can conclude that wounds were made by laser slicing device since it doesn't require physical force. The premise for this conclusion is clearness of the wound.
Internal organs are without any abnormal parameters. No signs of resistance (bruises etc.)
=====
"Ah, excellent. Even 2-yeared child will understand this text. So Bhrode will too... Computer, send report to Fleet Captain Bhrode. High priority.
* * * * * * * * *
Wheeling from the Klingon Admiral on the screen Bhrode glared at Kyler Curran as the Liasion Officer strode onto the Bridge.
HIS Bridge.
Bhrode didn't like the idea of someone outside his Chain of Command even existing, let alone being on HIS Bridge.
"Nice way to report, did we wake you from a nappie?" Bhrode sneered at the usually impeccable Legate, noting his currently disheveled state.
"You have a triad of Heavy Cruisers in a tactically strategic position awaiting your reply and you waste it on discussion of my appearances? Now, answer my questions, Captain!"
"Ask some first, next time Kelvan." Bhrode retorted, taking in the cutting reply, with a dangerous glint to his eye. "The damned Klingons are playing jackasses, but aren't powered up for a fight. They thought that little hari-kari stunt would rattle us enough to make us trust them blindly. They thought wrong. Get me that Princess in my ready room, and whatever that d'ydraH (useless worm) Brigadeer General's name is. Kahbagge or something. I want to know why the Emperor thought it necessary to send a Thought Admiral way the hell out here to get her back quicker. Speaking of Quick,Tactical?" Bhrode turned to the Tactical Officer, effectively dismissing the Liasion Officer.
Kylar turned his back from the Captain, unsatisfied with the answers that evaded him, but events and a potential showdown forced him to adjust to the priorities of the moment.
Bhrode noticed the set of the Liasion Officer's back and shoulders and smirked. ~~Suck on that you, pipsqueak~~ he mused to himself.
Curran keyed in a signal from the sidebench near the Captain's chair.
"'Commander Corgan. Please bring the Princess and General Kragg to the Captain's Ready Room immediately. High priority." Curran ordered over the commlink.
Tim O'Connell turned from where he'd been muttering curses under his breath at the Tac Arch to answer Bhrode.
"We have the PPC controls on line... I think... and I guess this is the targeting system. It's painting a lit red dot right on the Vor'Cha's Flag Bridge where it should impact. But this warm up sequence? Damned if I can figure it out. There's no checklist even..."
"Dammit! I told Demarceau and those others we should have ran that thing through the range on some obsolete hulls first. Mister Legate... you seem puzzled?" Bhrode snapped.
"Are you trying to initiate an interstellar war? These are our allies! It makes no strategic sense whatsoever to . . . " Bhrode turned his back on the Kelvan in mid sentence, observers noticed he looked distinctly 'smirky' as he did so.
"Captain Brhode! If you do NOT stand down from this stance, you will be relieved of command pursuant to General Order Two, which you are in direct violation of! It is not so far a stretch as to then have you declared psychologically unfit when we are not in combat!" Brhode was completely ignoring him, but did not fire the Pulse Cannon as initially thought.
Bhrode rolled his eyes, his back still to the Liasion Officer. "Then go GET Commander Dallas to do that. But if you fail, I'm stuffing you out the nearest airlock with my bootprints all over your ass." Bhrode replied, still facing in the opposite direction, as he peered over O'Connell's shhoulder at the bizzare pre-firing sequence of Quicks' Plasma Phaser Cannon.
At the Legate's silence, Bhrode continued, in that damn calm and creepy monotone. "Mister Reece. Get Von Ernst and Hawksley in the Observation Lounge on the double. Add Black to the list, no reason Intell can't screw up as badly as everyone else. Oh, I'll want someone from Sciences, preferably some touchy-feely wonk to tell me all about the Outlands. And I want Commander Dallas, just because I miss her dulcet tones. Now! Have them assembled and ready once the Legate and I figure out what the hell we've stepped into here." he barked at the hapless OPS Chief.
Then he pointed a finger at his Ready Room.
"Oh Legate, a moment of your time?" Bhrode said, in that syrupy sweet voice most of the crew had noticed indicated maximum displeasure. Bhrode barking and snapping was either a Bhrode doing it for the sake of the show, or a mildly 'put out' Bhrode. When Bhrode was PISSED he was at his most formal.
All was dark. No sound, not even a whisper could be heard escaping the blackness that enveloped the pair.
A Mother, whose calm expression betrayed the chaos in her mind. Her child, unaware of the civil war in his mother's heart, looking to her, smiling brightly as she patted his hand. She made no sound, and instructed him with a gentle hand motion to do the same. The wind picked up, a mixture of melodies and rythm, swaying the trees every-which-way. Minutes passed and still they stood, and waited, but for what the child had no idea.
A voice, suddenly and softly, aproaching from the darkness. "Are you here?" it whisper, "Are you ready?"
The child moved to speak, recognition in his eyes, but was steadied by the mother, who answered back.
"Hurry, there isn't much time, they will find us."
To which the voice replied, "I know. But we are all here now, we can move on."
Appearing to the pair at last was the source of the voice. A tall, handsom man but with the woes of an entire world on his face. Next to him, another, slightly shorter, but no less attractive.
The taller man asked of the mother, "Is he ok?"
"Yes, he doesn't understand."
"It's better that way perhaps, he shouldn't have to live with this. Hurry, we must go."
A snap of a twig, echoing through the night. The tall man spun around with a look of horror. A shout from the distance.
"Here they are! Don't let them get away! They'll bring more back with them!"
The boy was curious, but scared, though he did not know why.
"Go!" came the shorter man. "Go now! I will hold them back!"
The mother picked up the child and began to run, with the taller man behind. A flash of light, the sound of thunder, a brilliant blaze of fire. Finally a groan from behind them. The child turned to see.
The shorter man, on his knees. A large figure, looming over him, his hand around the shorter man's neck. A pause, only a second or two, or perhaps hours. The hand closed in, the sound of snapping and a final, brief noise escaping the victim's throat.
And then, silence.
The child cried out, but continued to be dragged along with the mother. He looked to the father, small tears raining his face. "What.....what was the man....."
The father turns, still running, a single raindrop on his cheek, states simply, "Marine." Then, adding, "Never forget, my son, what has happened here."
Marine.....the word was new to the child, what was it?
And why did it have to kill?
"Curtis, come on, keep up." came the mother.
And the three disappeared into the blackness.
Having just exited the conference room, Curtis made his way across Engineering. He wasn't sure just what to tell the Chief about the possible new problem, but he'd figure it out on the way.
The engine room was in a panic. Crewmen were running every-which-way trying to get the ship under control. All of them worried about the ship possibly exploding for no good reason, or even WORSE, Brhode paying the department a visit. Curtis shook his head at the spectical before him, and paused to survey the hysteria.
In the frenzied mass of stressed-out Engineers, he spotted Ensign Grey, who looked like the personification of serenity and peace.
Which was why Curtis was surprised, a moment later, when she looked up with eyes that seemed to sparkle blue lightning at him. Obviously, Ella was as tired and irritated as the rest of them.
Ella saw Curtis, crooked a finger at him to come over before she realized that it might not be appropriate, and then shrugged to herself. One day she would have to ask what he thought about the teacher now becoming the subordinate...but that would have to wait until a day when the ship wasn't going to hell in a handbasket. Curtis made his way through the mass of engineers to Ella.
"What's up Ella?" he asked.
*I'M HAVING A PROBLEM WITH A POWER CONDUIT IN THE JEFFERIES TUBE. I WAS WONDERING IF YOU COULD HELP ME?*
"Sure, sure. What's the problem?" asked Curtis.
Ella threw him a semi-amused look, as if to say 'What ISN'T the problem, Professor?' and then gestured for him to follow her.
The two waded through all the engineers and finally made their way to the jefferies tube. Curtis opened the hatch for her.
"Ladies first" he grinned.
Ella rolled her eyes but gave him a good natured smile. She climbed in, checked her PADD to see where she was going, waited a second until Curtis was inside, and then began began crawling towards the power conduit. She had forgotton how much she hated crawling around in the tubes. She didn't really object to the close space; she wasn't claustrophobic so it didn't seem to her like the walls were closing in or anything, which was a common complaint among engineers. Nor did she mind being practically joined at the hip with Curtis since the space was so confined. Curtis was a nice guy, a sweet guy. Ella sighed to herself.
It was probably safe to say that she had always had a bit of a crush on him.
It was a shame that he was married, otherwise she might have acted on it.
Ella moved her knee forward and was surprised when it didn't make contact instantly with the ground. The dip in the floor threw her off and she nearly fell flat on her face. She did slam her knee hard.Ella pushed herself off the floor, let fly some nasty words with her hands, and then scanned ahead. Sure, enough there were several more dips in the floor. She wipped out the PADD, stabbed in the entry and then handed it to Curtis.
*WHAT ON EARTH COULD HAVE POSSESSED STARFLEET TO HIRE THAT MAN?!?*
Curtis shrugged, he wasn't sure of the answer either.
Examining the tube, Curtis could see distinctly painted red and green thick lines, side by side, running down the length of the tube. With small grooves set in each one. The sight looked familiar, and Curtis thought back to his childhood on Earth.
"My God, Ella. You see this? These grooves? They're children's toys! I used to build these things and race toy trucks down the path. What the Hell IS this ship? A playground?" Curtis asked.
Ella shook her head and contined carefully crawling. Just a couple more turns and then they would be there.
It was then that she became aware of the smell, an overpowering stench coming from ahead of them. It was an old smell, a sickening smell, a...dead smell. She turned to Curtis, a questioning look on her face. His face looked grim, as if he realised what it was. He gestured for them to move forward.
Towards it. Ella's stomach tightened but she continued to move. Around the corner.
They found the dead woman half blocking the power conduit. A dead engineer, Ella realized. The ensign lay on her back, her throat sliced open. Ella gasped, allowed Curtis to push past her, and sat back on her heels.
After the initial shock, she allowed herself to really examine the body. It was amateur, she thought with disgust, very amatuer. Oh, it was neatly done, the throat cut with a very sharp instrument so that there was little blood spray. But any idiot could slice someone's throat with say, a laser scapel, or kill them when they were all alone in the dark. This murderer had no style.
That's Daro talking, Ella thought to herself and shook her head.
"My God." Came Curtis' somewhat distant sounding voice. "Not another...and in this department too...." He hesitated. "Ella...this looks recent..." then, far in the distance, he heard a sound. His ears visibly perked up as they honed in on the location.
Ella gave him an inquisitive look.
"I hear something." Curtis whispered. "And its not the ship systems."
Ella looked around, trying to see or hear whatever it was. She shook her head and again looked at Curtis.
Curtis continued to listen. "It's about 200 meters that way." he pointed.
"Getting closer...."
Curtis suddenly developed a very serious facial expression. "We need to get out of here....now."
He didnt have to tell Ella twice. She quickly moved away from where he pointed, stopping only briefly to make sure that he followed. The dead engineer would have to wait.
But the emergency door suddenly closed before her, gliding shut with an evil hiss. Ella exhaled sharply, moved over to the door to try to manually override. It didnt respond. She looked back at Curtis, her eyes wide with alarm.
Curtis had to think fast. He could hear to noises getting closer. There was no time to mess with the door.
"Ella.." he said, pointing down the shaft a bit. "We have to close the other door. Jam it somehow, and keep whatever's making the noise out."
She moved to jam the door while he made his way down to the next door. The sounds were very close now, he could hear what he thought was breathing.
Reaching out for the panel, he tapped in a few commands. The door slammed shut, trapping the two engineers in the tube.
There was an eery silence as both of them watched the door. Curtis jerked when a loud banging began on the other side and Ella covered her mouth to stop herself from crying out. Then the banging subsided and there was silence once more.
Ella looked over to Curtis, wondered if they should make any attempt to move. Curtis shook his head. It would be better if they waited to make sure.
Ella nodded, sat back and rested her head against the wall.
Nothing to do now but wait.
tbc
"So let me see if I have this right, we have two large Klingon warships hanging off the bow, and Bhrodie hanging with a huge weapon?"
"That's about it."
"Ok WHo here besides me sees this ending badly?"
"You're too cynical Randall, I'm sure captain Bhrodie has a good idea what to do." Dante shrugged, he didn't believe it himself but he was the voice of logic in the group.
"What I see is Bhrodie saying something remarkably offensive, then the Klingons taking more offense then normal then we got a battle and it can only get worse."
"How?"
"He could reproduce..."
--------------------------------------------------------
K'Eytyanna jumped and swore as the red alert sirens activated.
So far, Engineering seemed to be in chaos and she didn't like it one bit. Everyone seemed to be running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and it was quite crowded.
Barking out orders and intimidation didn't seem to be helping either, and now these sirens would make things worse.
++PROXIMITY ALERT! COLLISION IMMINENT! ALL HANDS BRACE FOR IMPACT IN FIVE... FOUR... THREE... ++ the computer began to warn, as warning Klaxxons screamed.
"What the fucking hell???"
Racing to a terminal, she checked the sensors to find Klingon Vor'Cha class Battlecruisers decloaking outside.
"Goddamn p'takhs!! You there, bring all power systems to full strength, coz we are going to need it for the cannon."
A few moments later, she smiled when the order came in from Ops.
It was a house far from city lights, with the nearest neighbor being several miles away. Created to reflect the personality and culture of its inhabitant, it was designed to co-exist with the environment around it, and its walls held comfort and tranquility. The gardens in the front yard held an incredible array of roses from all over the Quadrants, both familiar and unfamiliar to the native Terran race. The one that especially held her eye were the unique El-Aurian Silver and Rainbow roses that were about to bloom any day and lit up the area with a delicately pleasant smell. They were near impossible to find, and the cost was inflated, but it was worth it.
The back yard held a beautiful pond cradled by lilies and the likes. Within the pond lay exotic fish, collected from around the world that wouldn't harm the balance within. As well, overlooked by a beautiful balcony lay a sidewalk of blue marble that led up to an elaborate, blue marble fountain of her own design. The figure was that of an El-Aurian hero, Casellis, stretching forth a sword of crystal to the heavens with a defiant look on his face. Carved below it, was a set of El-Aurian characters, translated 'No matter how dark the path, we will never fall!'
However, the scowling Admiral ignored all of this beauty as she arrived to her destination in the hover car. Tote bag on her shoulder she stormed up the black-marbled pathway, and approached the door.
'Password Please'
'D'sara Sonra An'quinsos, beijh Salyavin quo Daenara An'quinos' She answered, than growled under her breath. "Now hurry it up you pretentious doorframe!"
The door opened and she walked in. As the door closed behind her, the lights came up to full power, and she immediately halted. She cautiously scanned the room, as she took on a defensive posture, alien in appearance. With her current mood, she was ready to release a mental and physical assault upon anyone even looking into her house. Her eyes met a teleportation after effect and she growled in response.
"Oh, it's you." Her posture resumed to a previous stance as she walked by the omnipotent being with her big scowl.
"Nice to see you too!" He replied as an old friend, rather than an arrogant super being. "We dated for four thousand years and that's all you can say to me?" He looked at her curiously. "Or are we still dating?"
Unlike Sonia, who was still in her uniform, Q was dressed in common, but comfortable looking civilian clothes, a pair of khakis, a simple light blue shirt, and the smell of some very nice cologne surrounded him. He was as tall as she was, with dark-blonde hair, and intense bright blue eyes. He looked as old as she, which wasnt saying much, since both of them looked to be in their mid to late twenties.
She sat her tote bag down and sat down on the couch while he looked at her with the eyes of an excited yet nervous teenager. We might as well Q, She sighed finally. Youre the only person aside from my family that has really listened to what I have to say!
Big-wigs at work treating you wrong? He walked behind the couch, and slowly placed his hands upon her shoulders, and began to massage.
Not so much as treating me wrong as per say acting like children! Ooh, that feels good, She replied as he tenderly worked his hands over her shoulders and her upper back. You would think that just a four thousand year old woman would be listened to more closely how about we date for another three thousand years. That feels very nice
Do you remember the first time we met Sonia?
How could I forget Q? She laughed. It was on Deltived II, and I was about Three centuries in age. I landed my ship after spacial disturbance tried to end my existence.
I snuffed it out you know! He added with a grin.
I know! I could feel your presence within a light year from that system. After finding no damage to any systems, a flash of light appeared out of no where heralding your arrival.
Before the arrival of Amanda Rogers and Q and Qs son q, I was the youngest member of the Q Continuum. They never worried about where I went, because they knew I never strayed far. That was, until I met you.
Q were a realm discussion talked about by many. Most were too arrogant and conceited for their own omnipotent good, while others as Delkin said, bordered from almost respectable to very genial.
I believe the Terran word to describe you would have been a hunk! She replied. A hunk with a look of innocence and curiosity about him, and yet failing in an attempt to act like the more arrogant blockheads of the Continuum.
When you went into that defensive posture, and told me you were El-Aurian, I was a little scared! He personally admitted. No Q was allowed within a half a light year of your Homeworld, due to the proclamation written up after cease-fire over eighty thousand years ago.
You asked if you could join me aboard, and after musing about it for about several minutes, I finally said yes. She grinned. That and weapons fire from above made all the difference!
He began to stop as the El-Aurian female became more relaxed. We ran into the ship, took off into space, and were chased like mad across the fifteen-planet system.
That was until we spotted that asteroid belt, Sonia chuckled as she looked at him. You were so ready to use your powers, but I kept assuring you that we could navigate though it in a breeze-
And we did! He announced with a look of triumph. Ive never shouted so excitedly in my existence! And if that wasnt enough-
You kissed me. She finished with a raised brow. On a scale of one to ten, Id five it a factor of five hundred. I never realized Q were such terrific kissers! She said with a scandalous voice. My thought was that my father would find out and kill us both, have us reanimated, and do it over again until we had learnt our lesson!
Some members of the Continuum werent very amused at our kiss you know! He said with a mischievous grin. However, there were Q that congratulated me on kissing the Daughter of the then High Chancellor of El-Auria, the called it a very ballsy thing to do!
You know, even to this day, I never forgot that kiss, and the reaction elicited.
Part of me wanted to launch you into the nearest star, and the other part didnt want it to end.
I heard youre up for a promotion, He began, changing the subject.
Ive heard the same rumor also, She said with a touch of sarcasm in her voice. Not that it wasnt expected
You seem a touch disappointed that itll happen. He remarked curiously.
Actually, Im glad itll happen. She smiled. Its been a long time short time coming, She corrected her self. Some good will come out of it,
Youre being cryptic again.
Perhaps I am, perhaps not. She arose from the couch. Im going up stairs to change, you can wait down here if you wish, or-
Ill wait, Q said with a boyish grin. Ive got all the time in the universe and then some.
What a coincidence, She grinned as she kissed him on the cheek. So have I!
The El-Aurian female walked off, leaving her omnipotent guest to fend for himself down stairs. Therefore, he did what any normal guest would do; he sat there and waited patiently for her to come back.
The balcony doors were open to the night sky above as Daenara combed her long, golden hair. She was debating, as she always had for the past twenty years, whether to retire from teaching at the Academy or continue her tenure. She would have to give this decision to the Board of Directors in three days, and she knew they would find it displeasing for her to leave. She had taught so much to so many, and yet her skills were still without equal to the department or for that matter the Academy.
She put the comb down and walked out onto the balcony to gaze at the stars. Funny, she thought, her and Salyavin must have traveled to all of them before returning to the Delta Quadrant
Ill tell them in the morning. She stated with a frown on her ancient but beautiful face, and closed the doors.
Daenara
She turned around, her eyes narrowing into two focused points of blue. Her hands were slightly raised in that familiar El-Aurian defensive position, but lowered when the whisper echoed through the room again.
Daenara.
It was quasi-telepathic in nature, with a very familiar quality. The El-Aurian woman walked over to her chair and sat down. Gazing into the mirror before her, she focused she then closed her eyes, and let her mind expand into the beyond the normal confines of the space/time continuum, into non-linear time, from whence the voices came, and opened her mind more. Rather than hearing those voices, the mirror appeared, and on its surface, a system of ten worlds circling a normal G-Class star. She looked around and quickly guessed she was within her mindscape.
The image disappeared and replaced by a complex star chart that indicated the system to be beyond Federation Space, and the other Stellar Empires that huddled around it. Points of blue lights seemed to encircle it and tiny, thinner violet dots arced towards it. She quickly studied the chart and left the mindscape as quickly as it was entered.
Her eyes opened and she reached for a padd to record the stellar coordinates. Her blue eyes gazed thoroughly over the readouts as her lips curled into a smile. She knew what it was, and made plans to leave posthaste.
It looks like Ill be leaving after all. She whispered, getting out her traveling bags.
San Francisco was a beautiful part of Earth during the summer months. The once emerald green trees of the streets and the surrounding area were turning into a glowing palette of oranges, yellows and reds, as the leaves on the trees were transitioning for another winter season. The sunset sky was awash in yellow and orange light, glowing off the Golden Gate Bridge like a shining beacon. The sky itself was cast with scattered clouds; patches of darkness barely containing a soft, orange glow behind it. But it wasn’t real. None of it was, according to the perspective of the majority.
While some argued that the holodeck was real enough, more serious people didn’t consider this beautiful landscape as ‘real’.
In a small clearing outside the center of the Federation, the cherry blossoms were at the end of its cycle. Generously, each tree shed its coat of silky, light pink feathers. The petals rained like a soft spring storm, floating lazily until they added to the fine carpet on the ground.
Everywhere in the grove there was the perfumed scent of dead petals in the wind. The grove was awash in pink, with patches of green grass, black dirt, and up shooting trees. The sights, the smells, real enough to fool the keenest senses.
In the cherry grove was a party of ten. Five Klingons, five humans, waiting in the grove like a pack of hunters in the wild. Leading the group was the ever-dominating Princess DeV’oraH. She led her Klingon like a child would lead her school chums on an adventure, adding her more adult aggressiveness and bravado. The other Klingons followed. The remaining diplomats were little more than yes-men being led, the bodyguards as wary parents watching a pack of toddlers.
Starfleet security ringed the Klingons, eyes to and from the party, scanning every square inch of cherry grove in the holodeck. Corgan directed the well-choreographed duty. His men were disciplined, trained, working as one to protect many. In their circle formation they were silent sentinels.
“Corgan to So’ka.” He called to check on the far end of the circle, “Confirm visual of Klingon party number two. Over.” He lost sight of the second group of Klingons. A few of the diplomats and bodyguards decided to split off and search the grounds for a suitable fighting spot for the Jem’Hadar. That left the head bodyguard, General Kragg, and Princess DeV’oraH in the other group, walking among the grove, criticizing Federation aesthetics in favor of Klingon simplicity.
=/=”So’ka to Corgan.”=/= Came his sub-ordinate’s reply, =/=”We have confirmed visual of the second party. Hanley and I will keep track of them.”=/=
“Take Krieghoff with you. Germaine and I will handle the princess and general. Over and out.”
The Princess bade for James to come over towards her and the general. Being the only Starfleet officer around authorized to ever so much as speak to the Princess, James humored the Klingons and obeyed.
“May I help you, Princess?” He stoically asked, with a hint of suspicion.
For the past few days, the Princess tried to maneuver people like chess pieces, placing them exactly where she wanted. In fact, it was in practice on the holodeck. It was upon her insistence that the rest of the Klingon group should split off and enjoy the Jem’Hadar fighting on their own. Though Kragg stayed put, she was successful in deploying her subjects the way she preferred.
This was what worried James. Not that she wanted her diplomats away, but that she wanted to be alone, with someone, that particular someone being James Lionel Corgan.
The wise words of his Klingon Culture Professor once said, ~”Now… let’s see here… oh… there it is! Turn to page three hundred fifty five… Klingon mating rituals. Now, as we have reviewed last time, about the punches and whatnot… what to do if one was being pursued by a rather… lusty individual. One, try not to allow him or her to corner you. Also ‘tis important that you do not try to be baiting into tests of skill, courage and stamina. Nothing turns a Klingon on quite like proving your prowless, as my wife K’vat will tell you on lesson eighteen…”~
“Sh*t.” Corgan muttered under his breath, realizing, ~”I’m stuck. She’s separating everyone, and she has been so insistent on trying to drag me out to her games. Ever since I stood up to her during the blackout, she has been nothing but pushy. What is wrong with her? Why is she doing this?”
~”Because”~ Conscience snorted, ~”She wants a piece of the Corg-meister. A little pumpity hump hump to keep her in fairytale land, if you know what I mean. Ohhhh…. Yeah!”~
~”Shut up, brain.”~
While James was analyzing the situation, Princess DeV’oraH was trying to snap him back to attention, “Commander…” She chided impatiently, “I thought you were going to demonstrate a Jem’Hadar fighting program, not a horticulture project. If there is nothing for us to do, then we should move on.”
While the Princess was complaining, she was casting bedroom eyes at the Chief of Security. Once again, he couldn’t help but shutter. Though she cut a fine figure, there was no way he could see himself with… that… in his bed.
~”Hold on…”~ James thought, ~”I might just be exaggerating all this. I could be making something out of nothing…”~
The princess’s tongue licked slowly out of her mouth, around her jagged teeth and brownish lips. Her eyes were locked on, crafty as a sabercat, knowing her desired effect. And it worked. Now James was more certain of her motives, and more afraid than ever.
“Princess DeV’oraH, this particular program is a one on one close combat training tool that I use from time to time.” James explained, waving his hand out to the brushes and the trees, “All of this here is a grove outsideof San Francisco, planted in the year 2153. I picked this area because of its tranquility, and it’s combination of open and covered spaces. Also, this program brings out the Jem’Hadar, as well as weapons from various species, at your command. Try it. I’m sure you’ll be greatly satisfied.”
“Very well. I will give this… program… a try.” She grumped distastefully, the asked like a true Klingon warrior (full of bravado and spirit), “Computer, bat’leth, and one Jem’Hadar armed with a Jem’Hadar hand weapon.”
Instantly, the computer brought to life, from photons and forcefields, a life size Jem’hadar, wielding a spear like weapon, with a wide, axe like blade with a pointed stabbing end, all on the end of a short staff. Gray and scaly, with a slate like armored uniform and a sickly tube of Ketracel White pumping into it’s reptilian neck, the Jem’Hadar warrior waited unemotionally for the next action.
“Computer, begin combat.” James activated the program.
The Jem’Hadar fighter winked back to life, standing like a statue one minute, and then moving flexibly the next. It twirled its weapon expertly, from one hand to the next, and then circled the Klingon woman like a panther on the prowl. The Jem’Hadar made no sound, but the shuffling of his boots and the whistling of wind against his blade. The Princess grabbed her bat’leth from the air, testing the blade for weight. Once she was satisfied, she stood in a fighting stance, her Bat’leth behind her back in the classic power blow position. It was there they started, blow for blow, testing each other’s weakness. One would attack, the other would parry, and then start the course all over again like a carefully orchestrated ballet of rhythm and motion. They danced, their blades glittering in the dusk, the leaves and petals a snow inside their private world.
The Jem’Hadar charged, bellowing out its war cry. Cherry petals scattered like leaves in the wind as it ran its way toward the Princess. He raised his weapon, screamed once more, and cleaved it downward in one clean, swift motion.
The Princess’s bat’leth swung in a horizontal arch, deflecting the Jem’Hadar’s blow in a clash of metal and sparks. The Princess’s war cry boomed forward. She knocked back the Jem’Hadar with all her might, sending the warrior sprawling into the dirt and petal carpeted ground. She swung down at the prone fighter, but the gray skinned alien was smart enough to send his blade to intercept. In another clash, the Jem’Hadar and the Klingon were face to face, snarl to snarl, blade to blade.
The Jem’hadar rolled out, taking his blade with him, sending the bat’leth plunging into the soft earth. The Princess tore out a great gout of soil freeing her weapon. Her blade made a whistling arc, slashing at the Jem’Hadar, but due to the alien’s quick reflexes, bit only the bark of a cherry tree. The alien’s leg kicked, missing her knee by mere inches as she sidestepped and raised her boot towards the alien’s skull.
With a sickening crack, her booted foot sent shockwaves of stars into the Jem’Hadar’s eyes. He hit the ground, too slow to arise to prevent its artificial demise. The princess raised her blade, hollered once more, and struck furiously. The bat’leth cleaved through bone and sinew, piercing the heart through the back.
A second later, the Jem’Hadar returned to the holo-matrix, as ashes returned to their firepits.
The Princess panted, sweat traveling in rivulets down her face and chest.
She threw her weapon down, fell on her knees, and did the most surprising thing. She smiled.
“This is a challenging program, Commander.” She complimented the Chief of Security, “With a harder difficulty level, it would be worthy of a Klingon warrior.”
“I’m glad you approve, Princess.” Corgan nodded. He saw how the Princess was looking at him, with her crafty smile and shifty eyes. She was enjoying her time. Slaying a warrior, allowing herself to exert her body, showing off all her skill, for some strange game to impress. She must have been having the time of her life, at his expense. This woman was trouble in so many ways.
What was she up to?
The Princess was soon going to provide an answer. Her breath was ragged. She gasped, and as soon as she caught her breath, she rasped, “I want to see your fighting prowess, Chief of Security. Prove to me that you are worthy of the duty assigned to you. I want to see you fight the Jem’Hadar.”
“I’m afraid, ma’am, that I cannot. I am on duty, and my duty is the protection of you and your diplomatic envoy. I cannot participate in recreational activities while on duty.” James replied. He was going to stay out of her strange games for as long as he could.
The Princess, and then the General laughed. There were hearty laughs, mocking laughs, that challenged Corgan to do some sort of action. It was amusing to the Klingons, uninterested in his duty, but in his actions most of all. The Princess spoke up to challenge the young Chief of Security. She disgustedly harrumphed, “Duty does not matter here. If you want to be worthy to protect myself and my staff, you will prove yourself in combat! Then, if you please me with your performance, I will give you mercy and praise. If you do not, your honor will forever be tainted! Arm yourself, terran!
Computer, reset Jem’Hadar!”
“Computer!” James stood up proud and tall, cutting off the Princess, “Belay that order!” But just when the General and the Princess were about to cast him out as a labeled coward and dishonorable freak, James pulled off another surprise, “Disarm Jem’Hadar, and leave me weaponless. Set difficulty to hard. Execute in five seconds.”
The Jem’Hadar appeared again, as a stone statue, it being as it was before.
But this time, it was in a fighting stance, unarmed except for its fists and its wits. It was frozen again in time, for three seconds of pause.
James confidently approached the statue of a holoprojection. He slided off his uniform tunic and shirt, first throwing the black and gray jacket over a branch, then the gold shirt on top of it. He was left with his gray undershirt, exposing the intricate network of tattoos collected over the years of intergalactic exploration. Then, he balled up his fists, once pointed to the ground, and now rose to protect his face and chest. With one soft grunt, he tested a punch or two, and then a couple of kicks, then went back to a kickboxing stance and waited for the Jem’Hadar to attack.
The Jem’Hadar was unfrozen from its prison, projecting itself rapidly at the Chief of Security. It’s artificial voice screamed for blood, his feet tramping like bisons towards him. The Jem’Hadar, artificial as it was, simulated confidence and bravery, screaming like a battlerager towards him, his fists coiling up for the first strike.
It was first moving towards him, barreling like a freight train. But then, something derailed him. Sneakily, his balance was struck away, and her hit the ground as fast as his feet, only this time it was head first.
James first move was dirty, but effective. Using the Jem’Hadar’s momentum to knock the wind out of him, Corgan used a scissor toe hold to send the alien to the ground. He dropped to the ground and his two feet locked onto one leg, grappling on as his body rolled to send the Jem’Hadar falling. As the alien fell, James let go of the alien’s legs, crawled up to his vulnerable neck, and grappled hold, choking the air from the Jem’Hadar’s lungs.
The alien bucked and thrashed, as the two combatants rolled in the dirt and petals. James held on for all it was worth, his one arm choking and the other scrambling for another weak area. But as hard as he tried, the Jem’Hadar was always out of reach. It kept rolling, kicking, punching, and desperately trying to throw the human off. But Corgan was like a tick in his flesh. He wasn’t easily removed.
Finally, the human found what he was looking for. He felt a plastic tube in his hands. With all his strength, he pulled. Ketracel White and blood sprayed his neck. The tube whipped out of his hand and the Jem’Hadar trembled and fell into shock. At this opportunity, James came on top of the alien, his hand slamming repeatedly into the creature’s leathery face.
As suddenly as it started, the fight stopped. The Jem’Hadar disappeared for good.
James felt his lung on fire. He was breathing heavily. The Jem’Hadar was strong, and taxed his strength in the grapple. But this was his program. He knew the AI subroutines well. They were like real Jem’Hadar, strong, but unimaginative and easy to outsmart.
He heard clapping from behind him. He was surprised to see that General Kragg and Princess DeV’oraH were showing signs of approval. They were clapping for him.
“Well done, Commander.” General Kragg’s gravelly voice grated, “You fought bravely, for a Starfleet Officer.”
“Yes, you are indeed worthy of the Living Sword of Kahless, Corgan.” The Princess praised, her affection (for a Klingon) was rough and somewhat aggressive. She was loud, somewhat obnoxious, but the way she spoke was mixed. She tried to hide her approval and interest next, by saying, “You humans are… decent warriors. But know this… you are only worthy of guarding the Living Sword of Kahless because you interest me. Fail me and my staff, and this favor will be easily taken away.”
James stated, “Next time, I’ll ask for your worthiness, Princess.”
Her eyebrows knitted in disapproval. She said, “Fine. Let us leave. I bore of this program.”
~”Thank god.”~ James breathed a sigh of relief, as he retrieved the parts of his uniform his discarded, wondering, ~”What is with the Princess? What is she trying to do?”~
The answers, as always, were in her eyes. Or more specifically, her stare.
James looked away from her shyly, turning away for some semblance of privacy as he put on his uniform jacket.
He didn’t see the Princess smiling. She grinned, and like a targ purred contently.
*****
"What the f**k do you mean we can't go in?" Corgan chewed out the Marine security guard blocking the entrance from the deck two turbolift to the main bridge, "Don't you see who we are? I'm the f**king Chief of Security here. Stoneface here..." He slapped a hand on Kylar Curran's shoulder, "...is the Liaison officer to the Federation Diplomatic Corp. And the Klingons behind me...." He gestured grandiosely to the mass of disgruntled Klingons.
Princess DeV'oraH, with General Kragg at her side, were glaring daggers at the immobile Marine and the impotent Starfleet escorts, "...is..."
Princess DeV'oraH forcibly shoved Curran and Corgan aside, staring nose to nose, snarl to scowl at the marine guard. "I am Princess DeV'oraH, daughter of the great Emperor Kahless. I am the Living Sword of Kahless, human...." She curled the word 'human' with distinctive disgust, "...so I suggest you -move- out of the way."
It had been this way for the past fifteen minutes. While on the way to the bridge, James thought it would have been convenient if they were able to make their way to Sickbay. It was in their path and it would have saved the group ten minutes off their tour. But alas, it wasn't so. Marine guards were everywhere, protecting all the important parts of the tour. It might have been Corgan's known disdain for the green suited ground-pounders, or a general order from Bhrode himself, but for some reason or another he could not get the Klingons in Sickbay. Something about an autopsy of a murder victim. Understandably, Corgan let the whole situation slide, and led the group back to Deck 2, where they were halted by a serious faced Marine carrying a very large phaser rifle, wearing a suit of body armor, and staying perfectly still in front of the last turbolift to the bridge.
Nothing could move the marine from his sentry post. Rank held no meaning to a marine, only duty, and his duty was to let authorized people past. So far, the only people authorized were assigned bridge crew. James Corgan and Legate Curran were not part of this elite group. Neither were Krieghoff, the security detail, and the Klingons.
~"F**k... I better separate these two before they maul each other."~ James' hand drifted an inch close to his phaser pistol, ready to activate stun and fire at any second.
Watching the byplay as he scanned the corridor, Victor groaned inwardly. ~Do *not* do that, sir. I'll have to stun you if you try, because the marine's rifle isn't set on 'stun' - and of all the things I've done in my career, throwing down on my commander and phasering him is something that I've managed to avoid!~
The marine gave no inch of ground. He said, quite plainly, "Only authorized bridge personnel are allowed access to the main bridge. We can't have a tour at this time. We are still working out the bugs in the ship's systems. A tour would interrupt the bridge crew's work. Is this finally clear?" He rolled his eyes back in impatience.
Kylar stepped up. He'd had enough of the Marine. He *was* an authorized member of the bridge crew.
"Soldier, by the order of the Federation, you are required to let me pass. This is a diplomatic delegation and therefore not subject to standard protocols."
"I have my orders, Legate. Emergency situations require only those authorized Starfleet engineers who have been given tasking duties on the bridge. You may not pass." He gripped his rifle and took up a defensive stance to emphasize the point. The Legate squinted down at the Marine.
"You will be reported for this, Sergeant. When were the protocols implemented and why wasn't I informed?"
"You may do as you wish, Legate. My orders come from Captain Bhrode. They were implemented four point two hours ago. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with him."
"And how do you propose to do that if I am not allowed to pass?"
The marine was stonefaced in his glare at the diplomat. "That is not my problem, sir. I have my orders."
Kylar would've forced himself past the Marine, but the hardened grip on the phaser rifle suggested Bhrode gave orders to shoot on sight anyone attempting to bypass the Marines. Now was not the time to instigate an incident, and he was positive Bhrode would enjoy hearing of his demise. So he backed off for strategic purposes.
Princess DeV'oraH was less than impressed. She held a low growl, her fingers flexed and her claws bared. Her body stepped back and coiled like a striking mongoose. Then, General Kragg's hamlike hand grasped the Princess's shoulder. She turned back to growl a protest, but was looking eye to eye with the iron hard warrior.
"Princess, do not give in to anger now. You have caused enough trouble as is with your temper back at home. Don't cause more trouble here." Kragg calmly stated.
"Is that the way a warrior speaks?" She said, exasperated.
"That's the way a person with common sense speaks." Corgan snapped, drawing attention to the two Klingons, "The bridge is busy. We'll have to turn back and try somewhere else."
As the group turned away to proceed to the next destination on the itinerary, Kylar walked side-by-side with the Princess and General Kragg.
"My apologies, Princess for the insulting manners displayed by the crew. We shall have our tour of the Bridge before your departure. Captain Bhrode will not escape his obligations this easily."
"Hiding behind his warriors is a sign of fear! He fears us, Kragg!" The General nodded as his Princess laughed, berating the commanding officer of the Galaxy. "The PetaQ does not want to display his weakness to us. This vessel is an embarrassment to the Federation. In the Klingon Empire it would be used for targeting field practice by our cubs and reduced to scrap in mere moments! Hahahahahaha!" She bore her rows of taloned teeth as the group crowed large and loud with guffaws.
Victor winced as the delegation laughed along with the Princess. ~ Oh, this is not going to be good when they finally get to Ten Forward. If anything, their mood is going to be worse than yesterday, and finding out that I had all their bloodwine and other beverages replaced with synthaholic versions... hell, it might be easier to phaser them now. ~
Amidst the laughter, K'vala made a special point of turning so that Victor could see her laughing, her dark eyes burning with anger and leaving no doubt that she was really insulting him, and not the Captain. Beside her, another attendant leaned over and whispered something to her, holding up a thumb and forefinger a scant inch apart. K'vala shook her head, then deliberately met Victor's eyes and held her hand up where he could see it, the thumb and forefinger pressed tightly together. Beside her, the other attendant almost doubled over with laughter.
Suppressing his initial desire to turn his back on the Klingon woman, Victor managed to ignore the taunts. ~Oh yeah, this is going to be a bad one. I hope the damn holodeck is working when we get there. If they don't have someplace to blow off some of this steam before Ten Forward, then I'm going to be in another fight with that one before the day's out, because she's not going to just let this drop.
"Where are we going next?" the Princess asked the Legate. "I do hope it is to see this weapon you have in place of a nacelle. What is called again?"
"Classified, Princess. That area is off-limits." Curran led the group into the Turbolift. "We are going to tour Engineering, next."
"And when will we see something of interest?" the Princess demanded as they moved back down the corridor towards the unguarded turbolift. "Something of interest to a true warrior and the Living Sword of Khaless?" Her eyes watched the figure of Commander Corgan as he passed by them to clear the hallway ahead and secure the turbolift for their exclusive use. "I am not amused by these barriers that your Captain places in my path."
"Captain Bhrode has his own policies and protocols to follow, Princess. It may not be agreeable as to what his motivations are," Kylar knew exactly what the Captain was up to. Anything to make his life miserable. He'd more than made that clear on their opening interview. "But he is the Commanding Officer of this vessel, and it is not our place to question it. I suspect if one of your warriors questioned your command, what would be the result?"
"They would be executed immediately. I know this is not the way of the Federation though, Legate. Your Captain Bhrode is a child who cannot wipe his own ass without assistance!"
"Princess... that is enough. We are guests on this ship and we will be off this scow summarily when we arrive at our waypoint." General Kragg was being quite the diplomat. He was playing both sides of the fence with ease. Kylar did not stress the issue further. The Princess herself seemed to have forgotten the detriment, as she was now squarely staring at Corgan's own swaggering buttocks.
Corgan detected a set of dark brown eyes boring into his skull. He kept walking, unnerved, leading the tour into the next turbolift. It had been this way since the blackout. For some reason, Princess DeV'oraH was analyzing James, searching every part of him for a personality profile. She kept reading him, flipping him open like a book that refused to bend its spine. All along, the book didn't know why it was being read or what benefit it could hold, but all it knew was that the reader had an uncanny interest in him. All he could do was stand back, and pray the hot-blooded Klingon woman would back away.
He couldn't deny that for a Klingon, the Princess was lovely, minus the ratnest hair and jagged teeth common to her race. But he was somebody else's. Lexa's little boy toy, not the trophy for a Klingon. He couldn't even if he wanted to, which was the opposite of what he desired.
~"My god, what have I gotten into?"~ He wondered, ~"Is the Princess attracted to me?"~ James looked behind him. Princess DeV'oraH shot another glance, then a predatory smile, as if saying, "I have you now."
James eyes averted to the turbolift, as he shuddered in repulsiveness.
Considering the size of the delegation, not to mention some of the individual members, fitting everyone into a single turbolift car was simply impossible. As before, a mixed group of Security and Imperial bodyguards went ahead first after Commander Corgan locked the car out with a security code, and secured the exit point, then sent the car back for the ferry runs needed to transport the delegation. Considering the mood of the Klingons, the trip went surprisingly well, although one or two of the Security personnel were jostled a bit more roughly than was necessary as they packed in the car with the delegation.
Once all of the group was relocated to Deck 36, the slow process of moving to Engineering started, with Corgan leading the way, the Princess and her favored attendants, General Kragg, and the Legate following, and the remainder of the delegation and the Security detachment following behind.
~ We look like a damn circus. ~ Victor's mood wasn't helped by the constant need to shunt crewmen who were only trying to do their jobs away from the Princess' party, and the problems that represented for him. The ensigns assigned to the back of the party with him - Hanley and So'ka - were running ragged keeping people the required distance back while he kept trigger-happy Klingons doing a slow burn at being denied access to section after section a board the ship in check. ~ At this rate, it might be easier just to let that Attendant kill me, just so I can get some rest. If we don't get to the holodeck soon where they can vent some frustrations on a few Jem'Hadar then we'll have a real incident to deal with. ~
*****
The delegation and their escort arrived at Engineering on schedule. There was plenty of activity near the warp core. Engineers milled about like army ants, carrying tools and parts into their darkened hive. In the distance, the thrumming sound of the warp core pulsed like a heart, while the EPS systems hummed like arteries and veins. Engineering was alive with activity.
But once again, the Marines were busy grinding the tour to a halt. This was once again vexing the limited patience of the Chief of Security, the security detail and the Klingons. It was even taxing Legate Curran's well of tranquility.
"Look, the Klingons want a tour. We have authorization to allow them into this section of the ship." Corgan fibbed, "Therefore, you have to let us through. The logic is rudimentary, understand?"
"Access denied," boomed a hulking Marine of Darkstarian proportions.
"Let us through, jarhead, or I'll be the last thing you ever see." Corgan calmly, coldly stated, keeping his anger down enough to fake calm. It certainly gained the respect of the Klingons. They were behind him, teeth bared and daggers shooting from their eyes.
"Access denied." The marine barked again like a broken record.
James rolled his eyes, ~"Oh for f**k sakes..."~
Victor eyed the Klingons at the back of the delegation, carefully noting the looks on their faces and the way they were starting to shift their posture.
~ We need to either find someplace that the Marines are going to let us into - even if it's the Waste Reclamation facility - or there's going to be trouble. They're past frustrated and moving hard up on angry. ~ He checked with Hanley and So'ka, getting the 'All Okay' hand signal from them, although Hanley's expression made it clear that he expected something to start at any minute.
"Oh can it Captain America," came a voice from behind the Marine.
Curtis had caught sight of the odd tour group and decided to see what was going on. The Hulking-Cyclops Marine gave him a dry, deadly look.
Ignoring the stare, Curtis addressed Corgan. "Something I can do for you Commander?"
"Everyone, meet Lieutenant Curtis Geluf." He waved his hand to the Engineer.
The Klingons coldly avoided eye contact, "Lieutenant, we're taking the Klingon delegation on a tour of our facilities. Unfortunately, the Marines have been less than co-operative. Perhaps, with your permission, we can look around? We promise not to piddle on the carpets."
"Sure, sure you can come through." Curtis replied, then, to the marine, "Let 'em through private, or corporal, or whatever the hell you are."
"Access denied," came the marine again.
"Look. The Chief isn't here yet and Ella's on break. So you know what THAT means? For the next 15 minutes, this is MY department bub. You REALLY don't want me to get the Chief down here to handle this. Trust me." stated Curtis with irritation. "Now, stand down and let them pass."
The marine gave out a short, disapproving grunt and stepped to the side.
"That's MUCH better; I'll give you a cookie later." Curtis said. Then, turning to Corgan, "Sorry about that sir, Engineering's all yours, have fun."
~Okay, maybe God doesn't hate me every single day. ~ Victor relaxed slightly as the Klingons looked among themselves and their hands started to drift away from belted d'k taghs and places that he suspected many of the party had concealed weapons they'd not surrendered to the Security teams. ~ Huh.
The Attendant didn't bother to shift her hands from their position clasped in front of her - either she knew she wouldn't need a weapon, or one's right there at hand... ~ Victor studied her critically for a moment, ignoring the scornful glance K'vala gave him when she realized he was looking at her. ~
Left sleeve... *and* right sleeve. Must be knives, most likely ceramic or some other nonmetallic material to make detecting them more difficult. Now that I think of it, she went for a knife in the hallway instead of swinging on me. That's a good thing to know.... ~
Main Engineering was larger than it would have been on a standard Galaxy-class vessel, thanks to the addition of the extra nacelle and the systems needed to integrate it into the ship's systems and the uprated nature of the warp core itself. The Klingons entered boisterously, but their talk slowed and quieted as they looked around and realized the sheer power that the systems represented. Even the Princess refrained from comment for the first few moments, alternating between glances around the room and watching Commander Corgan as he stepped up to begin the tour.
"This here..." James pointed to the large, pulsating warp core. Its nimbus of blue light shone and reflected on the Klingon's ruddy, darkened faces.
The pulsing noise was louder than before. "...is the main warp core. I can't tell you any statistics on it now because it is classified information, but what I can tell you is that it's a variant of the original galaxy core. You'll notice that we have only a few lights to illuminate the panels here. That is because the warp core provides enough lighting in this room. This is a trait unique to the Galaxy, Nebula and Sovereign class."
Kylar's position on this tour wasn't so much as to offer information on the ship's systems, but to make sure the strict regulations and contracts signed between his superiors at the Liaison Corps office on Earth and the Klingon high School were adhered to. By both the Galaxy crew and the Klingons. Essentially, he had to hand over control of the tour to those who were familiar with the various aspects of the vessel. So far, both sides were behaving and following protocols sufficiently without him having to step in as arbitrator.
This was his first visit to the Engineering section of the Galaxy itself, so he used his silence as a learning resource while 'Commander Corgan droned on.
After about a few minutes of looking around, a voice piped up. "This does not interest me." Princess DeV'oraH sniffed, as her delegates' eyes wandered in awe all over the engineering department. Some walked around, peering at consoles, asking questions, not being so much as a bother but ever inquisitive. The engineering staff politely answered, or gave a curt 'classified' answer. Even General Kragg hummed his approval. Only the Princess seemed bored.
"Over here, we have the main EPS controls. They're quite similar to your own. In fact, thanks to the Klingon/Federation alliance, our technologies have become increasingly similar. I think you people will have no problems recognizing some key components."
But James was interrupted by the Princess, "I request that we move on. Engineering is not a warrior's task."
"Princess, is it less honorable to forge a bat'leth than it is to wield it?" General Kragg asked.
"Of course not! It is an honor to forge weapons of war. Why do you ask?" She indignantly spat.
"Then mind your manners, young princess. It is necessary to have engineers, as it is necessary to maintain and build your weapons of war. Engineers are warriors of a different sort. They do warriors tasks. Therefore you should concern yourself with them." The old grizzled general sagely stated. James noted General Kragg. He was level headed for a Klingon. Wise like his gray and white hairs imply.
The Princess was seriously taxing his patience. Or was she testing his resolve? There was only one way to find out. "We are just about finished here. Any questions?"
"I have one!" A stately young Klingon male piped. He was dressed simply in a worker's uniform, with some badge denoting his status, "I am K'raka, son of K'ooki, the Princess's technical advisor. I would like to remain in engineering for the time being. I have plenty of questions."
"Hmmm... is that ok with you Legate?" Corgan asked, "Security's tighter than a virgin ass here, and if you want we can leave one of the bodyguards with him. I'll tell the security here to make sure he doesn't get into any classified systems."
Quickly, he surveyed the situation. He was unfamiliar with the integrity of the officers, crew, and equipment of the area. He did not like having to make decisions quickly without querying, obtaining, and analyzing the facts. He was forced to make an educated guess at this juncture, which was discomforting. He needed more questions answered without appearing weak.
"Leave your most technically inclined officer here. He will act as a liaison between the K'raka and the Engineering crew. Level 3 access maximum disclosure of systems." He spoke directly to the upstart Klingon. "Do not disturb the crew working here, K'raka. Any questions to be asked are to be relayed through either the officer Commander Corgan assigns, or Lieutenant Geluf. Do you understand?"
K'raka grunted, but on a forceful stare from General Kragg, he nodded curtly.
"Enjoy your stay, and let us know when you're coming back." James requested with a nod.
Catching the Commander's nod, Victor signaled to one of the extra men assigned to the detail for the tour, a chief with the look of enough tours to know his head from his ass, and pointed towards the Klingon engineer.
"You're on him - if something happens, scream for backup but don't let him out of your sight."
The chief nodded, moving to stand behind the engineer as the Klingon moved to one of the EPS consoles and started to ask questions of the guard assigned to him.
"Yes, let us know when you've finally fixed this garbage scow of a ship for them!" The princess boldly yelled, much to the chagrin of the Engineering staff... and the joy of the Klingon delegates.
The lights darkened, the sirens blared. The ship was in red alert. Lt. Cutter
Kara'nin stood at the inside of the doors to Astrometrics, as surprised as his
crew. The various scientists and programmers in the room looked around at each
other a moment before quickly moving to their alert stations. Most of the programmers
filed out of the lab around Cutter, some returning to Engineering, others elsewhere;
Cutter didn't know where. Some of the scientists left, too, but most stayed
put or moved to one of the labs substations. During alert status, Astrometrics
became one of the primary analysts of sensor data and a back up to Engineering
control over non-tactical partical/field emittors.
Lt. Daniel Scarborough, turned from the primary station and glanced at Cutter. He seemed reluctant to stop the pre-experiment programming, but quickly decided do his duty to ship and Federation. Cutter walked up to assist. An automatic level 4 diagnostic report popped up in the corner of the main viewscreen, another five windows of various other data popped up to fill the other corners and space at the side of the screen. In the center, three Klingon ships appeared in formation around the Galaxy.
"I thought they were our allies," Daniel said. Cutter only shrugged in response.
A few moments later, a page came over main comm, "Lt. Kara'nin, report to Bridge Observation Lounge for a senior staff meeting," an unknown voice ordered.
Cutter glanced over at Scarborough and stated, "You have Astrometrics," before leaving and heading for the bridge. What was the red alert and staff meeting about?
The night had just begun, and the strange, but pleasant couple materialized in front of the finest restaurant in the city, the Chateau Perrisn. Luckily, for them, no one was around to see this, or they would have summoned the authorities right away. They looked at one another and grinned as they entered inside.
The female was clothed in an elegant light blue, one-piece dress that greatly flattered her beautiful physique. It extended down to her ankles, where a pair of polished, black high heels were found. The color offset the intense color of her emerald eyes. She wore a pair of blue jevonite-studded earrings, and a silver necklace, upon which was a purplish-blue Promethean quartz cabochon.
The mail wasnt a slacker in terms of clothing either. He wore a suit, a black pair of pants and a jacket, and a nice, violet vest with a golden chain hanging from the bottom pouch, which contained a very ornate watch. Beneath that were a dark blue, long-sleeved shirt, and a silken tie of unknown origin.
Reservations Please? He asked, gazing at the couple. He studied them carefully, and issued a slight but curious expression. They seemed so mature, but didnt look very old.
V.P. Quentin. The Male replied.
The Receptionist tapped his padd, and (surprisingly) found the name. He looked up with a pleasant smile and said. Right this way sir and lady.
They were led to their destination, a table situated near the window with a fantastic view of the night sky, which wasnt saying much, since the light partly obscured it. They took their seats.
The waiter will be with your shortly.
Thank you. The Lady replied as he bowed and left the table.
Well, what do you think? He asked with a smile.
A multiverse of possibilities and you chose a French Restaurant. She laughed softly. I love it, I just hope-
Well, well, if it isnt Admiral Anquinsos,
The couple turned to see several faces, all ranging from amused to surprised sitting looking at them from an adjacent table. She half-wondered if this was an Admirals free for all as many of them as there was a cornucopia of three vice-admirals, two rear admirals and one equal to her in rank. They were all males, and most of them had chauvinistic tendencies, except for Admiral Owen Paris, who had nothing but respect and admiration for the fine woman. She issued a pleasant smile as they continued speaking.
Youre looking very lovely tonight. Rear Admiral Steven Pasture commented somewhat flirtingly, and given a very sharp look form Admiral Paris.
Yes, very lovely, and very taken. Q said rather sternly.
I didnt mean-
Thats enough. Admiral Paris advised. I suggest you let them alone, and return your attentions to this table.
Well said Captain. Came a nod from the female Admiral.
They instantly complied, leaving the couple with their devices.
I could have turned them into Hellian toads you know, He whispered. The chef could have used them in a dish or two.
Thats perfectly alright! She grinned. What we dont need is we making a scene, and Starfleet wondering as to the location of six of their Admirals. Still, you do have a point.
The waiter, a young chap by the look of him hurried to the table and took out his padd. He had a very apologetic look on his face, which was eased away by the smiles from his customers.
Will you do the honors?
Why certainly, Q replied. Bring us your finest bottle of Sauternes, followed by Cttes du Roussillon with the main course. And to eat, He folded the menu and laid it down. For an appetizer well have the Foie Gras poached in sweet wine, French Asparagus with Hollandaise Sauce, main course, Entrecote a la Bordelaise, and Chocolate Iclairs for dessert.
The French words rolled off Qs tongue as if it were his native language. The orders were entered and their water left to retrieve the wines from the cellar
***An hour later***
Very nice selections Quentin, you have very good taste!
Only the best for the best! He replied.
Will there be anything else? The youngster asked.
Not at the moment. Sonia said. Youve done an excellent job at serving us Cassidy.
Thank you maam. He smiled happily then left their table.
Some of the Officers, engrossed in their own conversation couldnt help but notice the Admiral and her friend having a good time. Rather than the haughty thoughts they had earlier, it was rather a relief to see the Admiral enjoying herself. As they continued to glance their way, faces blush and jaws nearly dropped as the two shared a long, gentle kiss. Even Admiral Paris couldnt help but glance over as his eyes widened with what he took in. He quickly averted his face, and changed their conversation to a more livelier subject, one on fishing.
The stranger looked over their way and gave them a boyish smile, his lips slightly stained with lipstick as they arose from their seats. The paid the young waiter, and gave him a very generous tip, at which he did double take to see if he wasnt dreaming!
Thank you sir, maam!
Think nothing of it, Q began. It was service at its finest!
See you tomorrow gentleman. She said to the men who arose from their seats in courtesy. She nodded and left with her interesting boyfriend.
Where to now my love?
The Nights still young, how about a walk along the beach?
Sounds like fun!
The couple carefully scanned the vicinity for any onlookers. Seeing no one, they vanished.
All her bags were packed and she was ready to depart. The problem was, the shuttle wasnt leaving for another six hours. All she could do was what. There was always patience, she had a ton of that, and to spare. Her thoughts went back to what she had seen within her mindscape.
The Mindscape is a very interesting place to be, if one had the technology to travel into one, few races are capable of such feats. It is a Universe within the mind of every sentient lifeform in the Universe, everyone unique in relation to the individual. Some could travel within their mindscapes, Vulcans most particularly, when meditating or entering a mind meld. For the El-Aurians, entering a Mindscape came as naturally as breathing.
It was a place where the natural laws of the Universe ceased to exist. A place where one could travel freely outside the normal parameters of the corporeal form. It was also a place where non-linear times sweet embrace was felt particularly intimately by them. Being Extra-Temporally Sensitive, they could feel its embrace every moment of their lives, but here, it was strongest, in deep meditation within their subconscious.
Daenara looked down at the padd she had in her hand, a letter of retirement. It was very unfortunate that this would be delivered to the Board of Directors, but perhaps some good would come out of it. Perhaps a younger, fresher face is what they needed, not some sixty-eight hundred year old with the knowledge of the cosmos in her great intellect.
She laid the padd down on the desk and walked upon the balcony. She looked back up at the night sky, a band of the Milky Way stretched overhead into the horizon.
Didnt I just come out here earlier? She sighed with a grin. Must be loosing my touch.
Ive finally put him to bed! Thanks for giving him a bath, he desperately needed it! Zerhi announced with a low triumphant whisper.
Oh yes, and thank you for finally putting him to sleep! Adrian said. I tell you he has no love whatsoever with the Caraans little boy Jaxom. You saw the food fight that erupted.
Saw it, I was in the middle of it! She motioned to the her frock, stained in banana pudding.
Well, I can help you get that food off of you
Why Adrian, how thoughtful of you. She laughed lowly
They began kissing and continued to do so until the klaxon alert went off. This was almost superceded by the crying coming from their sons bedroom, startled by the noise that erupted. They looked at each other, shook their heads with a sigh, and headed into the room. They had parenting duty to attend to.
****
Shelley washed her face for the fifteenth time, as if the scrubbing could erase the things she'd seen over the past two days and wash the images of her friends and crewmates lying in pools of their own blood from her eyes.
Finally, her skin pink from the abrasion of the cloth and the harsh, astringent soap she'd replicated, she stopped, looking into the mirror and wishing she had tears left to cry. ~ Why, God? Why them? Why. this? Why? What did they do to deserve this? To deserve that? Why? ~
No answer boomed down from the Heavens, and she sighed, looking down at the sink again. ~ God isn't answering prayers today, just like he wasn't answering when Jody and the other were killed. Maybe he's too busy answering someone else's - or maybe he's not listening to any more prayers from the Galaxy. maybe we've used all the prayers allotted to us up already just to keep the ship running at all? ~
Dropping the washcloth onto the edge of the sink, she sighed again and moved back into her room. ~ That's good, Shelley, that'll really cheer you up.
Imaging what life on the Galaxy - or any starship - would be like if God stopped listening to the prayers from it. You've got to get a grip on yourself and stop this. ~
Flopping onto her bed, she lay there for a moment and stared at the ceiling in the darkened room. ~ It isn't like God's going to answer you Himself you know - or even send an angel to talk to you. He doesn't work that way.. ~
A 'beep' from her door signaling someone requesting admission interrupted her thoughts.
~ There you go - one angel, as requested. ~ Shelley smiled despite herself as she got up and checked to make sure the both she and the room were presentable as she crossed to the door. "Just a moment!" she called out. ~ I wonder what God considers an angel these days. ~
She reached the door, tripped it open - and froze, her greeting caught in her throat and her pulse suddenly racing as she saw who was standing there, silhouetted in the light from the corridor. She couldn't decide whether to scream, laugh hysterically, or cry in sudden realization. ~ No, not an angel. I know who's answering prayers aboard the Galaxy now. the Devil. ~
****
Victor looked down at the shorter woman, her face pink with the freshly scrubbed look that Pilate's hands must have had after he tried to wash off the blood on them, and her eyes wide with fear. ~ Well, she's not screaming, that's something at least. ~ "Lieutenant," he said politely, "do you have a moment?"
O'Rourke's eyes cut to the right and then the left like a trapped animal's, and she backed up half a step, her hands rising into a defensive posture.
"What. what do you want?"
~ Okay, Victor, don't blow this. She's scared, about to run, and she's about the only one that can give you the information that you need. One, two, three. be charming. ~ He suppressed the urge to bring up his hands placatingly, afraid that the gesture would spook her, he tried to relax and appear less threatening. "I just wanted to ask you a favor, that's all," he said, trying to pitch his voice evenly. "I didn't mean to startle you. I'm sorry."
Shelley backed up another half step, then stopped, her eyes still wide. "You. Why are you." She stopped, took a breath and slowly lowered her hands.
"A favor? What do you want?" Her voice was still apprehensive, but under enough control to sound suspicious as well.
Victor relaxed slightly inside. ~ Maybe this will work out after all. ~ "I wanted to see if I could get a copy of the forensics data on the murders from you." He started to smile, then stopped. ~ Let's not push it, most people don't like it when I smile. ~
"What?" She blinked. "You want. what?"
"A copy of the forensics data on the murders," he repeated.
"A copy. No." She shook her head. "You're not assigned to the case, I can't do that." She paused, frowning. "Why?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you want it for?"
"I." Victor started to respond.
"You!" she hissed suddenly, her eyes going wide. "It's you! You're trying to find out what we know so that." She started to back away again. "It's you, you're the one.."
The rest of her words faded away as the shock of what she was saying hit Victor's mind. ~ She thinks *I'm* the killer? She thinks *I* did that? ~ Despite himself, he winced at the sudden stab of pain that accompanied the words. ~ Dammit, I'm used to not being liked, but. Oh hell, why am I surprised? ~
"No," he sighed, interrupting her. "No, I'm not the killer, O' Rourke."
The redhead put a chair between them. "Then why do you want the data? You're not on the case, why do you want it if you aren't trying to see how close we are to you?"
~ Okay, this is going downhill, fast. ~ "O'Rourke." Victor looked to the side and saw a group of crewmen rounding the corner. "Okay, let's try it this way." He stepped into her quarters, eliciting a squeak from her. "Calm down," he said softly as the door closed, "No one's going to hurt you."
Mouth open to scream, O'Rourke paused as Victor placed his back to the wall beside the door and sat down, crossing his legs. She shifted to keep the chair between them, and started at him uncertainly. "What? What're you.?"
"I don't look as threatening this way, do I?" he replied resignedly. "Trust me, you're not the first person to feel the way you do when I walk into a room - I've gotten used to it. ~ Mostly, anyway. ~
"What are you talking about?"
"The way that. oh hell, O'Rourke, that isn't important." Victor carefully placed his hands on his knees in plain sight. "Just answer the question, please? Am I less threatening this way?"
Confused, she looked at him for a moment, then moved to the other side of the room's desk, placing it and the chair between them before she nodded.
"A. a little."
"Enough so that you can talk to me without screaming for help?" ~ That'd just be wonderful to explain. I'm covertly trying to gain access to information from an ongoing investigation run by another officer - even if Streely is an idiot, it's his case - and that's my defense against a possible sexual or murder assault charge. That'll just look great on the record. ~
Now more confused, O'Rourke frowned. "You. What are you doing? Why are you.?"
Victor closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. ~ The truth, tell her the truth. A lie is just going to mess things up. ~ Without opening his eyes he replied, "I want a copy of the information the forensics techs collected on the murders and the murder sites. I can't get one through normal channels, so I thought I'd ask you for it."
"You what?" Her voice was a little shrill, hovering on the border between fear and outrage.
He opened his eyes, looking at her. "I thought I'd ask you for it. As a personal favor."
"A *favor?*"
"Yes, a favor."
O'Rourke took a deep breath and reached down to rest her trembling hands on the desktop, steadying herself. "You want me to. As a favor?"
"Yes."
She laughed once, a sharp bark. "*You* want me to give you forensics data as a favor?" Her voice rose slightly as she spoke. "You don't even know me - but you want me to do you a favor? So you terrify me, barge into my room, make me think that you're about to kill me - or worse - and you have the gall to ask me for a favor?"
"Got to admit," he replied softly, "it sounded better than that when I thought of it originally. but yes." ~ She isn't not going to go for it. What am I going to do now? ~
"You. you." She stumbled for a word.
"Try 'bastard,'" Victor offered quietly. "It seems to be traditional."
"You bastard!" Shelley snapped, her voice more angry than scared as she took the suggestion. "You arrogant, callous, bastard!"
"Is that a 'yes' or a 'no?'" Victor asked wearily. ~ If she turns me down, I 'm sunk - there isn't anyplace else to get the information. ~
Speechless, O'Rourke stood there and stared at him, her face approaching the same color as her hair. "You. you. I. Oooohhhhhh!" She looked around, spied a coffee mug on the desktop, snatched it up, and flung it across the room at him.
The mug flew across the room, struck Victor in the chest, and sprayed him with the remaining dregs of French Vanilla Cappuccino still lurking inside it. Across the room, Shelley went white and her hands flew up to her mouth as she stared, wide-eyed, at what she'd done.
Victor looked down at the cappuccino soaking into his uniform jacket for a moment, wincing as the sting of the mug's impact slowly faded. ~ Well, it could have been worse. The last time I tried this they threw a steak knife at me. ~
"Oh, oh God," O'Rourke stammered. "I didn't. I didn't mean."
"It's all right - no damage done," Victor assured her gently.
"No, I... I didn't." The redhead looked around the room, as if looking for someone to assure her that she hadn't actually don what she'd just done.
"Forget it, O'Rourke," Victor repeated. "You don't like me, remember? No damage done to any friendships, no hurt feelings."
She stopped and stared at him for a moment, slowly lowering her hands. "You are a right bastard, aren't you?" she finally said, shaking her head.
"Usually," he agreed, slowly starting to get to his feet.
"Ahhh." she backed up again, starting when she bumped into the edge of her bed.
"Relax, O'Rourke - I'm just leaving. No reason to panic."
Victor made it to his feet and was turning to the door before she spoke up again. "Why?"
He stopped. "Excuse me?"
"Why? She repeated, still keeping the desk between them. "Why me?"
~ Maybe. ~ He squelched the thought before any hope could build. "Why did I ask you for the information instead of one of the others?"
She nodded, watching him warily.
"Because I saw you talking to Commander Corgan. I saw the look in your eyes when you had to tell him that Copperpot and Brenton were dead - they were your friends. That's why."
She shook her head. "Of course they were my friends. What does that have to do with it? They were nice guys, not like." Her eyes went wide again and she stopped speaking.
"Not like me?" Victor finished for her.
"I didn't."
"You didn't have to." He shrugged. "It's not like I don't know what people think of me, what they say when they think I'm not listening." He turned around. "It doesn't matter, you know. What you think about me, what you say. It isn't important."
"But, I." she stumbled. "I didn't mean to."
"Yes, you did," he nodded, unable to keep a tiny hint of bitterness from creeping into his voice. "It's okay, O'Rourke. I'm used to it. You don't have to like me - no one does." He tilted his head to one side, regarding her, the spark of hope he'd tried to squelch brightening back to life. "It doesn't change anything about why I'm here."
She looked at him for almost a full minute, equal parts of apprehension, irritation and confusion moving in her eyes, before she spoke again. "Why do you. Why do you want the information? It isn't your case - and you said it yourself, no one likes you. Even Jo-" She stopped, her voice choking. "Even Jody didn't like you, and he liked everyone."
~ Fair question - and the fact she's asking it may mean. No, don't get ahead of yourself. ~ "Four reasons, O'Rourke. One, it's my job, it's what we do. Streely is an idiot who couldn't find his own ass with both hands and a tricorder - the only way he'll find the killer is when he turns around and sees the knife coming. If then. The Marines are damn good at their jobs, but we're not trying to turn a population center into a smoking pit - they're not going to catch the killer either. If someone is going to catch this guy, it'll be someone trained to do it. Simple as that."
He turned as he spoke, so that he was no longer looking back over his shoulder at her, but facing her square on. "Second, we can't let this stand.
The only thing that keeps more people like this one from acting out their sick little needs is fear. Fear that we'll find them. Fear that we'll catch them. Fear of us, the watchmen at the gate. When we start to become targets, when we let someone kill one of us and don't do something about it, then we' re sending a message to all the other killers out there, all the ones that were too scared to act out their fantasies. And that message is 'do what you will, the watchmen are nothing to be afraid of.'" He shook his head. "Can'thave that. Let them start thinking that we can't find them, can't catch them, and there'll be a hundred more like this one before we can turn around."
"Third. third is because sooner or later this one is going to get tired of killing humans and look for something more challenging - and the most challenging thing on the ship are the Klingons - specifically the Princess, with all her security. That *is* my job - protecting her. If she goes down, then we've got a war on our hands, and the Federation doesn't need that, not now." He spread his hands then, slowly, non-threateningly. "But I can't catch this one without information, can't stop that war without knowing what 's happened, without knowing what clues they left behind. That's why I came to you and asked for it."
"Because. because you knew I. I liked Jody."
"Yes." ~ Go for it, O'Rourke. Go for it. I need this information, and you need closure. We both win if you just stop running like a rabbit and turn to fight. ~
Shelley closed her eyes and swallowed, shivering as she struggled with herself. "What. what are you going to do if you. when you catch them?"
Something inside Victor tensed warily. ~ Does she really want to know? Does she really want me to tell her what's going to.? No, tell her the truth. Do this right. ~ "There's only one thing you can do with an animal that's gone mad, O'Rourke: you put them down so they can't hurt anything else ever again. Kinder to them, better for everyone." ~ Is that what you wanted to hear? Is it? ~
The redhead's shivering worsened, and she wrapped her arms around herself, like she was trying to keep warm. "You. you're going to." She stopped suddenly, and her voice lost its weakness, turned flat and sharp. "You're going to kill them. That's what you're saying, isn't it?"
~ Damn, I really thought she could do it, thought she could stop running. ~
"Yes," he answered simply, any reason to hedge now gone. "I am." He started to turn back to the door. "Thanks anyway, O'Rourke."
One hand raised to trip the motion sensor, he froze as she spoke up from behind him. "Good."
~ Good? ~
"Good," O'Rourke repeated firmly. "They killed Jody, they killed Copperpot - they deserve to die."
Victor turned, frowning. "You're really.?
"I'll give you the information," O'Rourke snapped, her eyes flashing. "But only on the condition that you make sure that whoever did this dies too - no penal colonies, no rehabilitation - dead. Like Jody. He wouldn't approve, but I. I want them dead."
~ Good girl - the rabbit's turned to fight at last. ~ "Unless someone beats me to it, O'Rourke. Or they kill me. I promise. If I find hem. I put them down."
The slight figure on the other side of the desk wavered once, then straightened again. "I'll get everything on a chip and bring it to you," she promised. "I can't do anything about the medical files, but I have access to all the rest of the crime scene information. I'll even bring you anything new that we get - but I'll hold you to that promise."
"Nothing's certain, O'Rourke - but to the best of my ability. I promise."
She nodded once, sharply. "I'll have the chip to you in about an hour."
"I'll be waiting." Victor turned back to the door. ~ I can do this. Corgan may not like it, but anyone who's going to kill like this isn't going down easy just because we catch them. Brenton and the others will have company before this is over - and their killer will be part of it. ~
"Krieghoff." Shelley's voice was still sharp, like glass, stopping him at the door. "You said there were four reasons you wanted to stop the killer, but you only told me three. What's the last reason?"
Victor smiled. ~ Not a rabbit at all, but a cat, with sharp claws. A little killer - but enough of one to deserve the whole truth. ~ He looked back over his shoulder, still smiling, and heard Shelley's sudden intake of breath as she saw his smile and what he normally kept hidden written plainly in his eyes. "Fourth? The fourth reason is easy, O'Rourke. This ship is my territory. Mine, not theirs. They're poaching in *my* place. I can't have that, can't have that at all. I'm going to hunt them down, kill them, and stick their head on a pole at the airlock as a warning for the next person that thinks they can kill in my territory without coming through me first."
He stopped, shook himself like a wolf shedding water from his coat, and the shields he'd learned to place over his inner self as a child were back in place again. "Thank you O'Rourke," he said softly before turning and waving the door open and leaving. "I'll try not to bother you again."
The door closed, and Shelley's knees collapsed, dropping her
to the floor, shaking. "What have I done?" she
whispered over and over, even as she started to climb
back into her chair and her fingers started to move over the
LCARS panel to gather the information. "Oh, Jody, what have I done? He's
not a messenger, not a messenger at all. He's the Devil
himself, and I just sold my soul to him."
192