USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 50209.25 - 50210.05 |
A billion suns blazed against an ebon black backdrop.
This particular section of space had four gleaming interlopers within it.
Three of them were sleek and deadly Klingon Battlecruisers. They sat montionless, like spiders staring at the harassed fly that had blundered into their web.
Equidistant from each of the hunters, lay the USS Galaxy. A gleaming 'lady' that made the phallic lines of the Klingon ships seem brutal and ugly by conttrast to her smooth organic curves.
Look closer. . .
* * * * * * * * * *
Kylar stepped into the Observation Lounge. The ominous backdrop settled before him outside the immense concave portals, as if waiting, dangling the carrot in anticipation of the kill.
Nobody had arrived yet, which was fine with the Liaision Officer. This gave him a chance to anticipate the thrust of the meeting, as based on the previous encounter with Brhode. If the Captain stepped in the the room and advocated war, the Kelvan would not let that stop him from drawing battle lines in the dirt, if not to enforce the Federation standard in diplomacy and tact.
He settled into his seat, third from the left, so as not to intrude on Starfleet protocol of the Executive Officer's taking up station next to their Commanding Officer. since there were two, he shifted an extra seat down in the event of breaching protocol. He was not about to give Brhode the upper hand by berating him - a Protocol Officer - for breaking protocols.
On The Kelvan's heels were the usually bickering duo of the Executive Officers. They had a minor, unspoken squabble as to who would sit on the right or left of the Captain, with Lysander trying to make it look like he was pulling Rebecca's chair out for her, instead of trying to sit in it himself. He was icily ignored for his efforts. Neither Commander made eye contact with the Kelvan, who was rigidly ignoring both.
Silence reigned in the Observation Lounge, broken only by Lysanders observation that it 'Was sure smeggin' quiet!'
* * * * *
The turbolift doors gently opened onto the bridge, and the winged science officer stepped out. Cutter briefly glanced at the layout of the new bridge, similar to the old but different with the flanking Sciences and Mission Ops stations(now with CHAIRS!) before walking across the back between the Tactical Arch (still NO CHAIR!) and the Science and Engineering Stations, entering a door, taking a few more steps through a small hall, and entering the aft conference lounge.
Only the two executive officers were inside. Commander Von Ernst seeming to be trying to drill a hole through Hawksley with her eyes, while he was staring down at a small computer terminal in front of him. He looked up at the sound of Cutter's entrance, and welcomed the distraction, as look of relief momentarily washed over him. Cutter stepped around the table and sat next to Von Ernst. He never even noticed the Kelvan, still staring out the portholes with a rigid look on his face.
"Lieutenant, errrrr......Killer? Slicer? Cutter!" Hawksley greeted, and allowed time for Cutter to nod an acknowledgement, "Do you have the maps I asked for?"
"Its name is Cutter." deadpanned Rebecca from across the table.
"It's a he!" retorted Lysnder, seemingly confused himself at his own clarification. Von Ernst just smouldered more diapassionate hate across the table.
Cutter nodded once again, and slid an isolinear chip full of maps and route plans from Stellar Cartography across the table to the Co-Executive Officer. Hawksley quickly took it and slipped it into a slot on his terminal. Von Ernst continued to stare, considering the duo like she was trying to decide which would look nicer stuffed over her fireplace.
"My Cartography Chief is still only recognized as Dr. Quick. Fortunately, I am not, otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to get you those maps," Cutter stated. Before Hawksley could respond, someone else entered the room (in a cloud of foot-stank and HAI-KARATE cologne!!)
"Hey... whaddya whaddya whaddya!" chanted Leo, sliding into a seat near Lysander, who he had identified as the richest guy in sight and therefore his 'new buddy to buy me drinks.' (It's like breathing to Leo. Schmoozer is his middle name) The odd little man stopped and sniffed the air with a speculative look on his face. He turns to Cutter.
"Hey... Wings... did you cut one?" Leo demanded.
* * * * *
Leaving the helm once again in the adequately capable hands of that dashing Lieutenant What's-his-name, and muttering to himself the along the way, Jeremy crossed the bridge and headed for the Captains' ready room.Bhrode'sready room. The Pit. How he loathed staff meetings. They were usually nothing more than long, tedious, sessions of clammer about some anomaly or a general dressing-down to the senior staff en masse.
Knowing Bhrode, Jeremy's money was on the latter.
The doors hissed open as he made his way for whichever vacant seat was farthest from the old man's. And from Lysander. Spying an open spot next to that peculiar little security guy who ranted to him and Erin in Ten Forward, Jeremy decided even that nut was easier to put up with than the others. Besides, from that spot he wouldn't even have to -look- at Lysander.
Of COURSE the bastard leaned into Jeremy's view and began talking to the tubby oddball.
Lieutenant Donovan Black arrived shortly after Lieutenant Savoie did, and took his place, strategically placing himself far from Bhrode's chair and the Liaison Officer, Curran. Looking across the table, he examined the personel currently in the room. Outwardly expressionless, he inwardly winced at the memories of Commander Hawksley and Commander Von Ernst, when they had been his superiors on the original Galaxy.
Rebecca was staring at Lysander, seemingly intent on using the powers of her Math skills and photographic memory to make him burst into spontaneous flames. Lysander was cleaning his fingernails with a strip of Latinum and ignoring everyone else.
The doors hissed open again and the Engineer was walking into the lounge, K'Eytyanna took a seat at the end of the room. Pullingout her d'k tagh, she started tapping it against the table, ignoring looks from around the room.
Major Laughing Horse Log rose from the chair he was akwardly stuffed into and slid to a spot in K'eyt's periphial vision. Wordlessly, he held out one massive and scarred hand. The size of the hand was easily the size of her head, and the wrist it was attached to was thicker than her thigh.
"What?" demanded K'et, her voice shrill in the room.
"The Knife. No weapons. Captain's orders. Give it up or put it away."
The Huge Indian grated out, in that scary voice that sounded like eighty tons of gravel sliding down a rusty chute.
"Ohh.. are you gonna turn me over your knee and spank me to get it away?" The woman demanded, sliding the dagger back to its hiding place.
"Maybe later." the Marine shrugged, his blocky face giving no clue if he was joking or not.
* * * * *
Sickbay was left without its king. For at least half an hour. Throwing mental tantrums into the big JQB, Vladimir left sickbay, not even caring to appoint somebody to manage the shift while he's gone. His personnel was trained enough by him (if word 'training' fits for what Vladimir imposed in sickbay), so all the roles were assigned in a split second. Doors opened and Russian evil doctor entered ready room. His standard Duty smile was sticked on his face to hide all the thoughts, that were boiling inside. All of those thoughts were about The Bug Guy Himself.
Vladimir's cold blue eyes observed the place and his internal shitmeter pointed him at the most safe of remaining seats in the room. With quiet satisfied groan he sat on quite comfortable seat and closed his eyes, waiting for JQB to come in.
Which he soon did.
* * * * *
Bhrode stomped into the Observation lounge. He stopped for a moment and surveyed the table, the Marine and Security Officer team on his heels taking up positions just inside the doors. As the Captain glared around the room Victor noted the various reactions to the impact of Bhrode's gaze silently from his newly-assumed place by the door.
Fear, apprehension, irrational calm, and irritation were common, but there were a few faces that hid other emotions behind carefully constructed masks. ~ This is going to be interesting - if watching people be flayed alive is your idea of interesting. I hope the Princess manages to keep her temper in check, if she loses it I'm stunning her and to hell with the war it might start. Better stunned than dead. ~ He suppressed a frown as a tinge of pain shot through him while he settled into position.
~ I'll give Corgan credit, I thought he'd try and stick my in quarters after Dr. Malgin released me. I guess he figured this was less likely to start another 'problem' than my showing back up at the Klingon detail today after that... discussion... the bodyguards and I had yesterday. Whoops - Bhrode's moving again! ~ He stopped letting his thoughts wander and concentrated on watching the Princess and the rest of the people at the table.
"So glad you all could make it. I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't. So disappointed. . .I may have foregone courtmartials to shoot people, myself." Bhrode barked, his eyes raking the assembled table like he wished they were lasers and burning all he found arrayed before him.
Bhrode made his way to his seat and settled in. Rebecca Von Ernst sat to his left, her face expresionless and seemingly intent on burning dispassionate holes into Lysander, who sat in squirming insolance opposite her to Bhrode's right whislt looking everywhere but at Rebecca.
"Number One!" Bhrode barked, staring down the table and daring anyone to meet his eye.
VonErnst broke off from her torture of her peer to begin 'reporting' in that damned monotone, uninflicted voice of hers that made a computer seem warm and chatty.
"We are five hours from Federation Trade Base Alpha located in the Rigellian Colonial Consortium at Rigel VIII. A Dual Class G star system locked in a di-polar orbit of each other, only orbital facilities can exist there because of the severe gravetic waves. However, its location and proximity to the Outlands and all other Interstellar Powers make it a prime Federation Base Site. All Federation Trade Convoys stop at Alpha, as the last 'Federation' stop before leaving Neutral Space. All Incoming traffic comes through the system as well."
Lysander fumbled around, activating the Holoscreen behind Bhrode, showing the Stellar Cartographic map, and then a close up of the Rigel Systems, and the sweeping arc of GALAXY'S course to date projected into the graphic.
Bhrode pointed a blocky finger at Donovan Black, Intelligence Chief.
"That right Mister Black?" he demanded, waving Von Enrst to her seat again.
"Of course, Commander Von Ernst is correct. All traffic to the outlands goes through Rigel VIII." Black said, confirming Von Ernst's report. Then he continued with his own, "The Outlands themselves border on the space of many of the civilized and uncivilized races of this quadrant. We can thus expect possible threat forces from many different organizations.
Most likely would be the Klingons, as our current situation shows, and the Rigellian Pirate Cartels. There are fifteen seperate goverments in the outlands, all of which are listed on this PADD, along with a detailed analysis of their ability and status regarding the Federation and the Klingon Empire. I threw that last one in there because we're transporting Princess Dev'orah." Black finished his report by passing the PADD up to Bhrode, careful not to let it pass through Doctor Quick's hands as he did so.
Rebecca shifted her icy gaze from Lysander to Black.
"Of course I am correct. And there are 22 separate Stellar Powers who border along the Outlands, 23 if you count the current stituation of Civil War in the Kzinti Grand Duchy, which you seem to have forgotten to cite." she said, in that barrenly chill voice.
As Rebecca finished up her rebuttal, Bhrode snorted. "Should have been an Engineer, Black. Before the Klingons arrive, anyone have any bright ideas about what's up their collective asses?"
"A possibility is that these particular Klingons are not aligned with the Klingon Defense Force at all, or the High Counsel for that matter. They could be her family's personal forces, or they could be renegades. I have my people working on identification of the three battlecruisers.
We're cross referencing them with the KDF database, sir." Black suggested after a moment.
"Horseshit. She's from the Imerial Family. The whole Klingon Fleet is their 'personal force.' both the Internal Security Force and the Deep Space Fleet. These bastards are DSF, not ISF, right Hawksley?"
"errr... rather." Replied Lysnader, clearly confused.
"And 'renegades' don't exist in the Klingon Fleet MISTER Black, let alone flying around in a Vor'Cha class Battlecruiser. The word 'Renegade' in Klinghai comes from the same root as 'target' which tells you how much they like finding renegades and how they remedy the problem. The first thing they would have done was killed the officers and burned their uniforms if they were Houseless renegades." Bhrode rebutted Black, waving Von Ernst to coldfaced stony silence.
Kay spoke up, "I expect that somebody in the High Council has a hidden agenda against either you, the Princess or the Federation Ignoring the nattering fool Engineer and the uselessly naive Intelligence Officer, the Legate spoke up.
"They are testing our composure under stress, Captain. They are attempting to impress upon us their show of strength and honor by facing down the flagship of the Federation. Quite possibly they may be a
faction within the Empire who desire war with us again, now that they have shown their citizens that they can stand on their own two feet again." He looked at Karyn Dallas as he spoke his next thought, as Bhrode flashed one of his rare smiles.
"They are arrogant, and laugh at us, for the Federation in their eyes were weak and needed assistance from the Klingon Princess in hiding their true vote on lanjep. The multitude of truces and alliances forged over the last century fell into turmoil as the result of the failure of the Federation diplomats to put their own personal concerns behind for the sake of the unions. Only through the diligence and aggressiveness of the Klingons was all that prevented, save for a few cultures who haved backed out of the Federation. For this, the Klingons have no faith in our ability to protect the daughter of Kahless, and for this, they dare us." He turned back to Brhode, who surprisingly was letting him speak.
"It is a double-edged sword. Attack the Klingons, and we risk war as well as the dissolution of the masses who have flocked to the Klingons as their primary ally. Bow to the Klingons and give in to their demands, and we are weak, with jelly for a backbone. This is why I urge you not to use the weapon, Captain Brhode. You need to be aggressive without firing on them, or even charging weapons."
"Horseshit. I was with you right up to the end." snorted Bhrode.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Gotta be on time, gotta be on time...." Curtis kept chanting to himself as he made his way to the ready room. His first meeting with the captain had been a fiasco, and he was determined not to repeat the mistake.
Arriving at the bridge, Curtis couldn't help but feel a little bit of apprehension. The last time he had tried to go into the ready room, he was almost blasted into tiny pieces of kibble by Lady Deathstrike and her Marine Squad of Doom. Checking to make sure they weren't around, Curtis quickly and quietly entered the room, sat down in the first seat he saw, and waited.
Curtis almost died when he noticed that the entire room was looking at him, seated Next to Lady DeathStrike and with that HUGE scaryassed Indian Marine Officer seeming to suck all the light and air from the room sitting directly across from him. STARING at Curtis with hard, dark little beady eyes that glittered evilly under the lights.
Nice seat choice.
"You're late, nerp." Hissed a voice into his ear, that Curtis had been hearing in his nightmares ever since his frist run in with the Marines.
"Running. You will run with Security in the mornings. Make a man of yourself." grated the scary looking Indian Officer in a tone that promised that the alternative would involve more pain for The Engineer.
"Hehehehe...uhhh." began Curtis, as his mind did the equivalent of running in circles while screaming 'eeeek!'
"I'll be seeing you. Or **ELSE**" promised the hard Indian.
"Nerp! Use a chrono often?" hissed that voice in his ear again.
To Curtis' utter confusion, Bhrode leaned onto the table, resting on his elbows and ignored eh interruption.
"Black... you're totally wrong. I already ID'ed the ships and the Thought Admiral. Engineer! Lay off the catnip! This damned Liasion Officer just came up with the same assessment I did in my wisdom. Except that I think it's NOT Klingons out to de-stabilize their Empire and its alliance; I think they're hell-bent on making the Empire stronger and bigger at our expense. And the princess should be here to explain it all to us ...right about.....now."
Bhrode's diatribe was cut short as the doors hissed open again.
The next to arrive at the Observation Lounge was the duo of Princess DeV'oraH and Lieutenant Commander Corgan, along with a pair each of Klingon and Starfleet bodyguards. The Princess was no fool. She kept her full agitation under wraps, but as a Klingon, she was both passionate and unused to hiding her emotions. No matter how well she hid herself, a fraction of her emotions would betray her true feelings. And what she was feeling was annoyance for being summoned, and hate for Captain Brhode. The Body Guards glared around the room and took up position, flanking the door and nudging the Marine and Security officer there, aside. Victor glared daggers at his Klingon counterpart, to no avail.
Corgan was no fool, for he saw what was going on, and in fact sympathized with the Princess. It was Brhode who sent him off the security team and into this brand new assignment. He was nothing more than a high ranking honor guard, unsuitable considering there was a murderer to catch on the ship. James wanted back on security. There was an investigation to take place. It was where he belonged. Anybody could guard the Klingons. Hell, they could guard themselves, but they needed real help, besides Leo Streely, to catch a killer.
"Hey! Crazy Head! How they hanging?" asked Leo, seeming hurt that no one even noticed. "Fine... I'll show him... try and stick ME watching some big burly sweaty half naked dudes shovel shit..." Leo muttered, again to himself.
But as James saw the K'tinga class cruiser slowly amble by the Lounge Windows, he felt that now wasn't a good time.
~"Maybe I should wait for it..."~ James thought, feeling disgusted at his own cowardice, ~"Dammit, I want to say it, but I can't. I want to tell Brhode that I have to get on that investigation."~
Finally, he gathered up the nerve to say, "I have a request. " There was no politeness, meekness, or any servitude in his voice. He was straight, to the point, and assertively cold. It surprised himself to see how he was standing up to Captain Brhode this way. He would have thought that after a few times locking horns with the Captain that he would have learned to shut up, but this was not the case. His friends, his staff, his crewmates were dying, and he was being sent on a plum assignment. It was not right.
"Corgan. You can see the dead bodies later, maybe get some giggles on your own time. For now, I want to welcome the Princess and..." began Bhrode.
"Sir, I want to join in on the murder investigation." He plowed through, his voice as hard as steel and as cold as a Praxis snowstorm, "I just saw two of my department staff murdered in the brig. My crewmates are dying, and I'm doing nothing about it. It's morally wrong. I must be on that investigation."
"YOU saw them get whakked? Was it.. you know.. all bloody and like a pro job? Silenced Phasers and some goombahs, just like in that "Goodfellah's" movie starring that sexy and handsome and yum-yum(not in THAT way! I can say he's a damn fine looking man to all the ladies and not be all gay about it! sheesh! This is ME! LEO here!) Joe Pesci?" demanded Leo Streely, jumping up and taking his pudgy hands out of his pockets.
"That was a figure of speech.." began Corgan, confused at Leo's latest outburst.
"The Lieutenant Commander is full of crapola. Request Denied." Grated Bhrode in a tone that indicated he was NOT happy and that there WOULD be future discussion on this topic.
"I wish to protest the assignment of this...coward to my detail. This human is so weak and flawed, it needs corrective lenses." challenged the Brigadier General on the Princess' heels, sneering at Corgan.
"Very well..." James didn't hide his approval, but didn't cower away either, "As you wish, sir." ~"I didn't want to go maverick, but you left me no choice, Brhode."~
"I know this goombah! He's gonna go maverick! He's a loose cannon! Me and Raven already GOT the 'Lethal Weapon' schtick sewn up! He's nuts I tell you! It was Suicide!" screeched Leo.
"ONE PROBLEM AT A TIME!" thundered Bhrode, ending all discussion.
Bhrode stabbed a finger at Leo like he wished it was a knife.
"YOU. Sit your ass down and stop with the pre-holo movie reviews or I boot your buttocks into the nearest sun."
"WHAT? that was a joke... right?" Challenged Leo, hands on his hips.
"Think so? Wanna see the Brig again?" grated Bhrode through clenched teeth, the vein on his forehead throbbing like a boa constrictor.
At his second finger=knife stab, Leo sat down and shut up.
Corgan[stab]
"YOU. Sit your ass down and shut your mouth. The NEXT word out of you and you're an Engineer's Mate siphoning Deuteronium by hand."
Princess[stab]
"YOU. Your Highness. Sit your royal ass down and tell us why you're REALLY here and why there's a flotilla of Imperial ships out there wanting to take you with them."
Somewhere in the endless cold of infinity there prowled a hunter. Threading its way across the stars in the manner of a predator following a spoor, the space-going beast bristled its hide of duranium and plastic, thrilling at the surge of nuclear-powered adrenaline coursing through its electronic arteries.
This as the USS Galaxy, and no longer was she a graceful Empress of the Stars, originally designed for regality and beauty, but now transformed into a predatorial marauder. . . .a vicious creature of blood and fire, armed with teeth of razor sharp phaser-fire, and possessing a burning heart of unbridled quantum energies. Galaxy was a Wolf amongst the sheep of Star Fleet. Nothing of the grace and beauty that originally graced her hull remained, but rather there was a gaudy Tri-nacelle engine, and an obscene underslung Phaser Cannons which spoke of only on purpose. Galaxy was a whole new girl, and this time she meant business.
Rebecca von Ersnt was a whole new girl as well. Very little
of her original sweet innocent (if awkward) mannerisms remained. Instead the
same
warhawks who pushed the redesign of Galaxy itself had likewise encouraged the
obscene transformation of a little freckle-faced farm girl from
Minnesota into a predator in her own right.
Where Galaxy snarled a vicious growl as it streaked across the
sky, so likewise did Rebecca’s thin lips curl itself into a cruel sneer
as she
stalked down the crowded corridors of the beast’s belly.
Deep within these metal corridors there surged a living blood
flow of crewmen, pouring through the arterial passageways of the ship like so
many
microscopic cells within a living body. Urged on by the pumping urgency of the
blaring Red-Alert Beacons, this flow moved onwards, branching and
twisting at each corridor junction as each element sought to man their respective
battle-stations, or repair some vial link in the body as a whole.
It was not unlike the symbiotic relationship in true lifeforms.
There were elements that repaired, elements that bore messages, and elements
that
fought off invading diseases.
The crew was the life-blood of the ship. When they ran out. . . . the Ship died.
Amongst this living flow of bodies however there were some blood cells that were more important than others. Just like in real life there are some cells that are more specialized, more efficient. . . .and some may say. . . . more downright spooky.
This was Rebecca. The wild card.
Like a veritable pebble standing against the rushing flood,
the petite redhead worked her way through the rushing flow of bodies, headed
towards
the Main Turbolift. Klingons had been sighted off the starboard bow and Brhode
was going to need her to put them back in their place.
Like Moses of old, the crush of bodies and limbs seemed to part before her magically, allowing her safe passage thought their midst only to slam shut again behind her in the wake of her passage. If the crew was the blood of the vessel, then the young redheaded Commander was surely a part of its brain. Or perhaps to be more accurate she was the sword. A tool to be sharpened and wielded mercilessly in battle, only to be cast aside as a broken tool when the deed was finally done.
The metaphor was one Rebecca had tossed around in her crowded mind many times over the last year or so, each time coming away with a mixed feeling of excitement and horror at the same time. It scared her to death.
Ignoring the crowded pandemonium around her, and keeping her typical blank unreadable mask firmly in place, the young Commander rounded a bend, and hailed the nearest Turbolift.
She didn’t have to wait long, her elevated status amongst the crew gave her direct priority over almost every other person on the ship. When she wanted a lift. . . . she got a lift.
Stepping inside, she quietly reviewed what little tactical information
she had while the car whisked her away towards the distant bridge, where no
doubt Captain Brhode would already be on the rampage. She sighed slightly as
privacy wrapped around her like a secure cloak, allowing her (however briefly)
to look as bad as she felt. With a slight wince, she pinched at the bridge of
her delicate nose, attempting to ward off a nasty headache that had been threatening.
“Blech.” She stuck out her tongue, giving her honest
opinion of the situation. Maybe Galaxy was supposed to be a predator of the
stars, but it
was acting more like a predator with a severe case of leprosy. Things kept falling
apart around her ears for no apparent reason.
This was bad enough but when you factored in the trio of Vorcha
Battlecruisers surrounding the ship, and throw in one hair-trigger Brhode,
you got. . . . “Blech.”
Humming lightly to herself, Rebecca tossed the tactical situation
over in her head. Three Vorcha vs one untried Galaxy-X class starship. Talk
about a whole lot of variables to compute. Any one of the three Klingon cruisers
would be a match for a standard Galaxy Class, and while
theoretically the updated version should be able to handle two of the marauders,
that wasn’t taking into account the shoddy state of repairs
aboard the ship.
Rebecca frowned. It as her job to take everything into account, and after some cojmplex mental tabulations she gave the new ship less chance than a standard Galaxy with all its parts functioning.
Fortunately it was not her job to compute certain failure and meekly accept it. If anything had been pounded into her fragile redheaded skull at the 359 School t was to fight and scratch and cheat for every little advantage possible. Her job was to win no matter what the laws of physics said. Half closing her brown eye, the child-like warrior mentally brought up a new flow-chart of variables in her mind’s eye. She was here to perform the impossible tactically, and if the laws of physics denied that. . . . .well it was time to compute up the equations for some new laws.
Her multidimensional musing s however were interrupted by the premature slowing of the turbolift.
Odd, she couldn’t have arrived on the bridge already, and that meant the lift had slowed for. . . .
“Greetings Admiral Short-stuff! Like totally pleased to meet you.”
With a goofy grin spread from ear to ear, and wearing a wild
shaggy hairdo, the tall lanky form of Dr. Jebediah Quick stepped into the lift
just as
Rebecca predicted. After all other than Brhode (who was already on the bridge)
there wasn’t another soul on this vessel who could have overridden her
express lift save for the Galaxy-X designer himself.
“Oops pardon the baggage sister,” Quick awkwardly bumping the elfin girl as he squeezed in. Rebecca frowned and eyed a large flat package stuffed under one of the scientist’s arms.
Idly Rebecca wondered if the notoriously unpredictable Doctor was going to give a poster-board presentation at the staff meeting.
At last Quick settled his burden, and the lift resumed its journey.
Idly coming a hand through his hopelessly bushy hair, the scientist gave his
fellow passenger a quick once-over. “Say Admiral,” he began curiously,
“pardon my infringing on your aura, but I wasn’t aware that Starfleet
was
drafting twelve-year olds into the service. . . . like un-cool abuse of the
innocence of youth sister.”
~~/he thinks I’m a little girl?~~~ Rebecca groaned inwardly.
It was the story of her life. It wasn’t her fault she barely topped out
at five feet
of height and possessed a thin boyish figure of 90lbs. One of the main reason’s
Rebecca never had a date was that she probably reminded too many guys of some
kid-sister back home somewhere.
“Not that I have any negative vibes for the young ones among us mind you.” Quick continued, “I’ve always said the youth of the multiverse are like the soul of the Goddess at play. They are the glue upon which the cosmos is crafted together. . . . . Indeed we should all tap the potential of our inner-Munchkin in order to better. . . .”
“I’m twenty-seven.” Rebecca interrupted.
“. . . . .Indeed you yourself should glory in your adolescence,
looking forward to that bright day when you will blossom into womanhood like
a
virgin flower spreading its petal for the busy bee. . . . “
Rebecca grit her teeth and repeated. “I’m twenty seven.”
“Thats the key Admiral Kidd. . . .visualization is the key to realization!” Quick babbled.
“I’m not an admiral. . . I’m not a kid. .
. and I’m not a noodling flower. “ Rebecca grumped. “I’m
twenty seven years old, Executive officer of this
vessel, and I’m on my way to the bridge to blast three Klingon cruisers
to little slimy noodle-chunks! Got anything transcendent to say about that?”
For a moment Quick actually took a step back from the irritable
little girl before him. “Whoa little sister,” he cried, “Negative
waves, Negative
waves! You’re infringing upon my aura’s alignment.”
“Leave your aura alone for a bit and help us align our
computer systems instead.” Rebecca grumbled staring impatiently at the
ceiling. How long
was this ride gonna be. Quick studied the girl who was
barely half his size for a long moment before holding up his finger in thought.
“I think you need a little liberation of your spirit little lady. It’s
do your harmonics good to be exposed to some positive vibrations.”
“”Oh really, like what?”
Quick shrugged, “I dunno little lady. Get some free love, do some crystal meditation, Learn to play and instrument. . . .whatever your inner Munchkin is telling you to do."
Rebecca opened her mouth to protest when the doors hissed open and Quick was already stepping out onto the bridge.
“Admiral Brhode! My Main Man!” he greeted holding
out the flat package before him. “Check out this like totally cool portrait
I painted of you. .
. . .”
****
The next extension of the tour, after a further few roadblocks thanks to the marines, was the Science Lab. Arrays of instruments were lined up on examination tables, and on each table was a console repeating all sorts of information on local stellar phenomenon, biology projects, anything of any scientific interest was probed, prodded, and classified here. The room was light beige in color, brightly lit to aid alien plants in photosynthesis.
This annoyed the Klingons in two ways. One, as a warrior race, they shared a only a passing interest in the sciences. Their interests were not as large as their Federation counterparts, and therefore they considered science as a hobby or less honorable task. The second annoyance was the bright lights.
Bitterly, the Klingons complained about the lights. (Though strangely, they don't mind glaring red neon lights in their buildings and starships, as long as everything else was poorly lit).
"What is this?" Princess DeV'oraH objectively looked down on an innocent petri dish.
While James, bored with the tour and creeped out by the Princess's strange interest in him, was tempted to break the tedium by announcing that the petri dish was an experimental biogenic weapon. But then again, he knew Klingon sense of humor wouldn't permit it, and the science staff already went through another remodeling after the Quick incident. It wouldn't be fair. He had to tough it out some more.
"I'm... not sure." James looked down at the innocent green mold, "Looks like moss."
"Whatever this is... it looks harmless. It does not hold my interest." She flippantly walked off towards General Kragg, who was being explained to by a young ensign the genetic sequence of the Bolian Bowel Plague.
The Legate himself was bored. Sciences were never his strong suit. As much as he appreciated those who had developed methods of incapacitation through genetic and offensive tactical offenses, he did not have the inclination to lean over a spectroscope to stare at something small and indifferent for hours on end to determine its mating cycle.
He needed to be on the front lines. To be the general leading his troops into battle. Hiding behind petri dishes and moss was not the way to decisive victory in his mind, but he knew they were needed to provide him with the means to an end.
"Commander Corgan, Legate Curran..." One of the Klingon envoys ran eagerly up to the Chief of Security. He looked like a young warrior, barely a beardling, his hair still youthfully smooth. He wasn't armored like the other Klingons, but wore the traditional pelts and leather suits of a civilian. The young Klingon extended his hand in a greeting, first shaking James Corgan's hand in a tight, viselike grip, then shaking the Legate's hand. He then introduced himself. "My name is Rotar, son of Nome, scientific advisor to the Living Sword of Kahless."
"James Corgan, Chief of Security. Pleased to meet you." James bowed.
"Legate Kylar Curran, Chief Federation Liaison Officer to the USS Galaxy."
This Klingon was far too excited over mosses and molds for his liking. Not much of a life at home, he guessed.
"Aye, it is an honor to meet you, Sir." The Klingon advisor curtly spoke.
The first thought that came to James's mind was, ~"He's polite?"~.
"So, anything I can help you with?"
"Yes." The young science advisor spoke excitedly, "I would like to stay awhile in your lab. Federation scientists have long held a reputation for being the finest in the Alpha Quadrant. I would like to observe these scientists for awhile and learn from them."
~ Here we go again. ~ Victor kept a frown off his face with some effort.
~That's two people we've had to split off and detail a man to baby-sit. One more and we're down to the original size of the security team - are they doing this on purpose? ~
~"I don't like this..."~ Corgan thought with alarm, ~"The group's splitting up. It'll be harder to keep track of them. But they do have the right to tour on their own, and if I said no they and the Legate would b*tch and complain about it. Better let him go with an escort."~
"Legate, you don't mind?" James indicated the young Klingon science advisor.
"I have a bit of a concern of this. There are some very sensitive experiments being held in here, both classified and not." Kylar was leaning towards declining the request.
"I promise not to bother any of the scientists working, Legate. I have long admired your Sciences Department. Funding on the Klingon Homeworld is slight when it comes to the sciences."
"We are a warrior race, not ones who tinker with baubles and bugs!" The Princess was exasperated and threw her hands in the air. "Can we PLEASE go somewhere more deserving of our presence?" Kragg breathed heavily, casting a glance to the Legate prodding him to make his decision soon and be on with it.
"If Rotar wants to go, I can post another guard. They'll keep him out of the sensitive areas. I trust that Rotar will be on his best behavior, and I trust my crew to protect him. I don't like the idea of the group splitting up, but as long as everything is closely watched, it should be fine." James added.
The Kelvan was getting irritated at the events of the day. These Klingons were grating on him, and couldn't wait to get rid of them.
"Do NOT disturb any of the scientists here, Rotar, if you must stay. If you have any questions, see that woman over there with the Vulcan?" He pointed to Rose MacAllen, the Acting Assistant Chief Science Officer, who was running tests of a sort on some piece of rock. They were treating it like it was some priceless artifact. Amazing how scientists can have have more love for a hunk of inorganic matter than for others.
"Oh! She's running eneuromagenacardioregutuitionalistiology scans on....."
He rambled on about some technobabble he couldn't care less about.
"Yes, yes. That is the labs supervisor and acting Assistant Chief Science Officer. Her name is Rose MacAllen. You have any questions? Ask her. I'm sure she'd be happy to help you out." He nodded to Corgan, signaling urgency to get out.
~"Thank god..."~ James felt the Kelvan's urgency, "You may, Mr. Rotar, visit the science lab. Krieghoff? This is normally your crew. Who would you like to assign?" Corgan looked over at the security detail.
Reluctantly, Victor swallowed the protest he wanted to make and nodded. With a glance at the remaining team members, he waved the next most senior of the additional men over towards Rotar. "Same thing - you yell for help at the first sign of trouble and stick to him like you were vacuum welded - understand?"
The NCO nodded, taking up a position behind and to the side of the Klingon scientist.
"This officer," Corgan continued, "will accompany you. If you need any help just ask him or any other security officer in the area." James let the happy Klingon go. He immediately rushed over to the chemistry lab, where he continued his discussion with Ensign Kotobuki and Rose on the proper combination of chemical components to create a moss defoliating agent and whatever else made the rock.... a rock.
****
TBC
*****
The Princess and the General rejoined the group. "Rotar is a strange one. He treats science as a warrior treats a battle. I see no such similarities... but it is what he enjoys, and he is a good advisor. Unfortunately, I do not share his interests in the sciences. When do we depart?"
"Right now, in fact." James said.
Victor allowed himself a momentary instant of relief. ~ Not a damn minute too soon, either... ~ A sound on the other side of the room attracted his attention, interrupting his thoughts and he looked up. ~ Oh Hell, what is that idiot doing? ~
Crossing the room in three steps, Victor swung around a tall bank of equipment and grabbed the shoulder of a Klingon that had a crewman with a suspicious wet stain on the front of his trousers pinned to the wall, spinning the alien around. "Stand down, mister," he hissed. "The boy didn't mean to run into you."
"You will not tell me what to do, human," the Klingon, one of the bodyguards by his dress, returned, slapping Victor's hand away as he reached for his weapon. "No coward from a coward's race may tell me... hurk!"
Victor dropped his knee and watched the bodyguard's hands as the Klingon doubled over from the low blow. ~ He'll go for it... now. ~
Straightening up, the Klingon got his d'k tagh half out before Victor stomped once with his right foot, moved in as the warrior shifted to avoid another blow, and hit him cleanly in the throat. Gagging, the Klingon started to go down, but Victor was there to catch him and pin him against the wall before the fight drew the notice of the Princess or the Legate.
"S-scum," the warrior wheezed, his hand still working to draw the dagger.
"I'll."
"You'll stop, right now," Victor hissed, face close to the bodyguard's. His hand moved, jabbing the smooth casing of the Type 1 phaser he'd just drawn from under his tunic into the same spot he'd driven his knee a moment before.
The Klingon looked down, started to snarl, then looked again and froze.
"Smart move." Victor's voice was a low growl. "I see you know your Federation phaser design - and what the 'Heavy Thermal' setting is. Here's how this is going to work: the boy walks away - do it now, son - and you forget about this, you understand?"
The ensign nodded and moved off with a creditable form as the Klingon snarled. "I'll.."
"Do nothing," Victor countered. "You can get the knife out - I can't stop you. But no matter what happens then, no matter who gets killed. I'm going to cook your manhood so well it'll turn to charcoal and fall off. If you're smart, you can walk away and still make the ladies happy - if not.." He left the rest of the threat unvoiced.
The Klingon opened his mouth to reply eyes flashing angrily - then stopped as he looked into Victor's eyes and realized what he saw there. "I... understand," the alien forced out reluctantly.
"Good - things are always much easier when people understand each other."
Victor kept the small phaser right where it was despite the Klingon's unconscious attempts to shift his hips to remove himself from the danger.
"Put the knife away, walk back around the corner, and tell your friends all about how you made an ensign pee in his pants. No one has to know about this part - understand?"
"I. will say nothing," the bodyguard agreed, his eyes looking away for the first time.
"Then get out of here," Victor growled, thumbing the power setting up on the phaser as he shifted position to let the Klingon past. "Go on."
The bodyguard took a step, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. "I will remember this - and you," he promised. "There will be a day when I will make you remember it as well."
"Go." Victor shifted the aiming point of the phaser up to the Klingon's midsection.
Without another word, the Klingon stepped back into the main lab and moved away. Unbeknownst to Victor and the Klingon during their argument, every security officer and bodyguard drew had a weapon drawn out; the Klingons at Victor, and the Security Officers at the Klingon. Corgan's deadeye aim was right between the vulnerable underside of the forehead plate, between the plate and the ridge of the Klingon's nose.
"Princess, I thought your guards were briefed in Federation etiquette. You can't just rough up crew for minor infractions." James scolded, his eyes narrowed and cold, "Everyone drop your weapons. Stay cool, this was all a big misunderstanding."
The Klingon guard objected, "You dare point a..."
"Stow it, peanut gallery." Corgan coldly snapped, "You don't push around my men, or any other crewmember. Our duty to protect the crew is as important as our duty to protect this envoy. We do what we must."
Slowly, the Federation officers lowered their phaser arms, holstered their weapons, and went back to duty. A second later, the Klingon bodyguards strapped their pistol like disruptors to their belts. The Princess smiled foxlike, her hand slowly tracing away from her neckline, where she concealed an interestingly hidden weapon.
For a long drawn-out moment, the two sides faced each other down in a battle of wills. A tug-of-war of tension hung thick in the air and everything moved in slow motion, until Corgan's security staff made the first move and lowered their arms. Bad move, in Curran's eyes. What is with this Federation and their strange ideals that making the first move towards peace meant lowering their only form of defense?
Luckily, the Klingons ceded as well, possibly for the sole reason that even if they took down the Starfleet officers, there were over a thousand others who would rise in defense of their families on board against these one time enemies who thirst for blood.
The Kelvan ignored the Princess. She was but a wanton, undisciplined child who saw fit to ignore everything and everyone in the belief that since she was the daughter of the Klingon Emperor, Kahless, she was exempt from the complex life duties of the masses.
She needed to be spanked like one of these Terran children who disrespected their suitors.
"General Kragg." The grizzled Klingon, after berating one of the younger officers of his ilk, spun around on a creaky boot and walked with the Liaison Officer.
"I grow tired of the lack of discipline!" He growled at the last officer to holster his disruptor. "I must apologize for the elevation of hostilities, Legate. My officers are on edge. They too, do not enjoy playing babysitter to the Princess. They are in need of some bloodletting."
"Must I remind you, General, of the agreement we all signed?" He glanced ahead at the Princess, and felt contempt. He simply could not believe this was the same woman who single-handedly maintained the cohesiveness of the lanjep conference and established a charter of trade amongst the more powerful races of the Federation and its borders.
"I do NOT need to be reminded, Legate!" He sneered, and drew a clenched fist up, shaking it between them. "This journey has been taxing on all of us! If she were anyone other than Kahless' daughter, I would have killed her myself! I am a General, a decorated warrior of the Klingon Defense force, but I did not have the honor of dying in battle like so many others, and for that, I have been delegated as hand-holder for a child! g'RaqH!"
After bellowing out his tirade, his visage suddeny rippled into something aged, wizened. He opened the mottled fist, and extended it to Kylar's shoulder, of which he grasped it firmly. The Kelvan winced inwardly.
"I thank you, Kelvan." He grinned a toothy, glittered smile. Several of his teeth were missing, but at least the stench of aromatic herbs didn't float his way. "Yes, I know you are not Terran. I read your file before coming aboard. We do still have intelligence of virtue." He drew his full height up, a full head above Curran, who did not show any hint of surprise.
He knew the Klingons had operatives in the Federation still. They may be allies now, but in war, as in life, trust no one. "I forget that you are in the same position as I. Brhode is a sort not akin to your Federation. He would make an excellent Klingon, but his ways are lost to your organization."
"He is efficient, but he is a like a.... bull in a china shop? I believe that is the Terran saying. He and the Princess are more alike than he'd venture to believe."
"He doesn't have that air of superiority of being the daughter of a God, my friend. I am belittled by the Princess each and every day. I only wish to die honorably and walk the grand halls of Sto'Vo'Kor, singing songs of great battles and praising the honor of the enemies who have fallen before me! This duty is dishonorable, even if they speak of guarding the Princess being the highest honor one can attain! We all know better."
"He doesn't have the air, for the simple observation that Captain Brhode believes he IS God, Kragg. His arrogance will be his downfall, for he has no honor. He lives to serve his own needs, and not the Federation's. At the least, you are serving the needs of the Klingon Empire. If you should die protecting your charge, you die honorably. Brhode's actions on record do not state death with honor. He did not even stand up to the Hirogen, and for that weakness, he sent over a three hundred people to their deaths. That is not honorable. His only desire was for himself in an emotional standoff with the Pack Leader. He sacrificed many to get that. He only holds sway over others with his charisma in identifying moments when he could play on his crew's emotions to make his decisions seem sound. He needs to be tested. Changing the parameters of the environment to belay his control would attain that."
"You have a challenge, Legate! How stimulating! Maybe these alleged murders will accomplish that? Crimes of such a nature do not happen on Federation vessels, I take it? On a Klingon ship, we do not kill our own except in ritualistic honor trials. There is no honor in killing without showing yourself. Coward!"
"The murders, if that is what they are, would certainly put an unknown equation into the Captain's daily routines. Spontaneity and unpredictability are not the Captain's strong points, nor are they my own. If an individual is performing these crimes to antagonize the Captain, they are doing a fine job of it. The person or persons doing it may have an issue with Brhode and how he is handling the crew. I wonder if they have a suspect list amassed...." His voice trailed off in thought.
He and Kragg discussed possible scenarios and methods in what the killer was possibly contemplating. The Princess' actions as well as the incidents of a few minutes past largely forgotten. What the Klingon and Kelvan saw past was that if there was a killer on board, they haughtily believed that neither one of them could have done it.
Honor only goes so far, especially if you have been disrespected and forgotten by your own, or transferred from high levels of office to babysitting in the auspice of what they were doing was 'important' when anyone could've done the job...
~ Okay, that went better than I had any reason to expect it to. ~ Victor carefully stowed the small phaser away and shook himself once, the blood pounding in his ears like a drum. ~ One of the bodyguards wants to catch me in a dark alley now, but that's hardly anything new. I'll just have to watch myself, that's all. At least no one heard what I said, and he's not repeating it - no witness, no incident. ~ He started to move back into the main lab after the Klingon - and froze as his eyes met those of the Attendant, K'vala, from across the room where she stood, watching, her position giving her a clear line of sight on the whole incident.
~ Damn. ~ Victor hesitated an instant. ~ She'll... oh to hell with it.
She'll say something or she won't. She's already got plenty of ammunition if she needs it, what's one more? ~ He nodded curtly to the woman, the gesture almost a dare, then moved into the room to rejoin the party as it filed out into the corridor, ignoring the angry looks directed at him by the Klingon guards. ~ If she says anything, she'll go down in flames too - she'd have to admit that I took her out in the hallway if the finger-pointing gets started. Maybe that'll keep her off my ass this time. ~
******
James would have never guessed that the science lab was going to be their last stop. Nobody else guessed it either, but when they left the lab, almost everything else was closed off. The battle bridge, torpedo room (Mirapoints makes an excellent presentation), almost anything of interest to the Klingons (always involving things that go 'boom') were all closed off. Ten Forward was farther away, and the arboretum and salon didn't hold their interests for longer than a few seconds, before a chorus of requests to see something else shot down those ideas.
The Klingons patience was being tested to the breaking point. Something had to be done quickly, before they stormed off to their quarters, which in itself would be a protective nightmare.
"Find us something to do, or else..." Princess DeV'oraH warned dangerously. This was her test on Corgan. A warning that she was losing interest, and as much as James wanted the Princess to leave him alone, he also didn't want her to tear him to ribbons.
What would Bhrode do? Never mind, bad suggestion...
James replied, "Princess, I don't know what to say except... everything's closed off, and until we correct this error, they'll stay closed off. Legate, help me with this, will you?"
"Princess, until we can ascertain, detain, and remove the source of the computer breach, we are severely limited in our approach towards this tour." They just took any direction, and followed Commander Corgan to whatever destination he was leading them to.
"As to the areas of interest such as the Bridge, Torpedo Room, Hangar Deck, and any other location of potentially high alert areas, we have been diverted as a consequence of the rash of criminal attacks that have been taking place on the Galaxy. We do not want to put you in a position where an assassin may have the advantage and cause the most damage to both your party and the ship itself. I am sure Commander Corgan can locate a suitable final stop for us to complete our tour judiciously and give you an idea on just how capable this ship is, Princess."
She huffed, but did not reply for once. The Princess was more concentrated on the next insult on the USS Galaxy, and the suave form of the Security Chief further ahead.
The answer came quickly, like a rapid succession of hammer blows directed to the backside of his head. They were walking, in the general direction, of the one thing that could save this tour from a total disaster. It was a room, a literal party in a can, where anything could be possible.
They stumbled upon a holodeck. Its beige sliding doors were unguarded by any marines. For that matter, there were no security personnel in the area. The holodecks were deserted. James then checked Holodeck 1 to see if it was running, and to his luck, it was completely empty.
"Princess..." James interrupted the conversation between the Princess and the Legate, "Perhaps now would be a great time to check out that Jem'Hadar program I talked about."
Curran had had enough. He had no desire to watch the others battle out their emotional failings to prove who was more 'manly' than the other. "Another idea perhaps, 'Commander, is to maybe display holographic representations of those areas we were restricted from? Or would you rather end the tour on a grunt?"
"Holograms of the ship's tour?!?!" Princess DeV'oraH bellowed in protest, "You dare buy us off with a shoddy facsimile of the ship?!?!"
~"Oh sh*t, you've really done it now Legate."~ Corgan took the diplomat aside, whispering urgently into his ear, "I don't think that would be a great idea. Klingons prefer reality whenever possible. Besides, this gives the Klingons the opportunity to blow off some steam. Maybe when they're content and mellowed out, they'll be less likely to repeat events such as the Science Lab. Trust me for once. I've worked with Klingons. They'll enjoy some fighting programs a lot more than a fake tour."
"Fine, Commander. This whole tour has come to an end for myself, then. I have no desire to witness the scene of this 'realism' that you say the Klingons can accept, rather than of realistic representations of those areas we could not visit. This whole diorama is unproductive and defeating of the purpose...." He and the Chief carried on with the perceived notions of one sort over another.
He said flatly, as if insulted, "I know the fighting's fake, but look at them. They're royally pissed. Either I save this tour from disaster, or we'll have painsticks shoved in places normally impossible to cram. Catch my drift?"
As the two men talked, Victor tried to keep his eyes on the Klingons milling around the empty holodeck floor. With the ship's internal translation database down as a 'non-essential' system, and not speaking Klingon himself, he was left with no way of knowing what they were saying except what he could interpret from body language, inflection, and the glances that they were casting at him and the other security personnel - and he didn't like what he was seeing. ~ Either the Legate and the Commander get their act together, or we're going to be fighting our way out of the room. ~
"...Do what you will. I have more important things to attend to." Kylar waved his hands from side to side after Corgan's rebuttal, and turned on a heel, exiting in a hurry.
James pivoted away from the commander, approaching a few of his security guards. ~"Geezzz... why do I get the impossible people?"~ James sighed deeply. He was starting to miss the old days. The trench fighting in Cardassian space, the dangers of deep space exploration, even his somewhat boring stint as a liason officer on a border patrol cutter left him wistful for the past. At least in those days, people were easier to manage.
As soon as he approached Krieghoff, he told him something he noticed, and told him straight out, "Be careful, but at the same time, give them room to breath. They are our guests, not prisoners. It may be more difficult to execute our job this way, but... that's how it goes."
Following Corgan's departure to speak to the Princess, Victor made a small gesture to Ensign So'ka and shifted position to loosen up coverage but still provide himself with a better field of fire, knowing that the Klingon guards would see the motion and understand what it was for. ~ They don't have to like it, just understand that they're in a tactically unsound position. If that's what it'll take to get them back under control and restrained, then that's what it'll take. Hell, I'll put them in manacles and walk them through the hall if I have to - they get to choose. ~
The Klingons glared menacingly at the Security personnel after the shift in position - especially the bodyguard Victor had humiliated earlier and Attendant K'vala, who were standing together and talking in low tones - but no one made an overtly threatening move as Corgan approached the Princess and the General and spoke to them privately. One of the other Attendants made yet another insulting joke at the Captain's expense, with only the punch line - something to do with Bhrode's needing the extra nacelle o 'get it up' at his age - spoken in Standard for the benefit of the ship's personnel present, but even that sterling bit of wit failed to draw the laughs similar jokes had earlier.
Unable to take his eyes off the main body of the Klingon party to check on Corgan's progress, Victor suppressed yet another frown as the level of muttering and dark glances at the Security team continued to rise. ~ Please, God, let the Commander get this damn show on the road and start the program. If this goes on much longer, I'm going to have to stun the lot of them just to reduce the tension levels in here to the point that we can breathe. ~
Finally, mercifully before anyone had to be restrained, Corgan turned back and announced that he was activating the holodeck's programming so the party could enjoy some combat practice.
~ Thank God. ~ Victor relaxed as the Klingon's mood changed abruptly in an almost palpable sense. ~ We can let them wear themselves out killing everything in the archives, and by the time they're tired of that, it'll have eaten up the rest of the day and we'll be headed for their evening meal. ~ He signaled the Security teams to split up and stay with the clumps of Klingons that were breaking apart as the holodeck shimmered and trees started to surround them. ~ Okay, who's left for me to... oh, great. I get Attendant K'vala *and* the bodyguard from Sciences. Life just doesn't get any better than this! ~
It was all the fault of the Doors.
Lysander and Rebecca tried to go through it at the same time. They bumped into contact with each other.
Although neither would admit it, even to jeering Klingon Inquisitors with Pain Sticks and Sharp Nasty Thingies, neither REALLY hated the other. But the mid-door collission of 2379 would not feature prominantly amongst ther 'favourite moments spent with the other' memories.
Okay, they most likely REALLY HATE each other.
~~~Noodles! Icky Boy off the Port Bow! Collision Imminent!~~ her mind was no doubt screaming to her.
~~Princess Phaserbanks attempting Broadside Attack! Prepare to repell boarders! ~~ Lysander's mind -was- screaming to him.
Despite the combinded tactical genius of the Duo, and the ability to figure out Multi-Dimensional Modality Mapping of Vectors of Attack without using a computer... they still hadn't learned both could not occupy the same space at the same time.
No one EVER accused Math Genuises of having common sense!
"OOF!" Rebecca excalaimd, as her boney side met an long Centaurian side in collission.
"OOOOFFFFFF!" exclaimed Lysander as his lanky flank met skinny Terran flank in midair.
"...noodle licker..." muttered Rebecca as her boney butt met the deck carpet.
"...smegger sucker..." muttered Lys as a Centaurian ass met the deckplates nearby.
Without a word, the Kelvan Legate stepped over the pair and disappeared into the Observation Lounge.
Glaring dark and foreboding glares at each other, the Dynamic Duo picked up their spilled PADDS and traded the ones that had gotten mixed up. Fate is a fickle bitch, but she is not without a sense of humnour.
"Sorry." Lysander mumbled, not admitting that he'd been so busy trying to figure her out, he'd ignored the fact her infuriating little red head had been right next to his heart (literally!) mere moments before.
"Mmmmmph" Was all Rebecca could think of to say.
They glared at each other in mutual dislike and distrust for another long moment.
"Really! Sorry! I didn't see you..." Lysander began again.
"Was that some short crack?" Flared Rebecca, breaking her Ice Queen Mask for a moment.
"Errr.... No?" ventured Lysander.
"HUUUUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm......" Rebecca responded, just to hear him grate his teeth at the noise.
Of course, they jammed up at the door again, a moment later.
"Err... ladies first?" Lysander backed off and indicated the door with a sweeping flourish, one that didn't mask that he was rubbing just above his hip, where her bony little elbow had connected with a resounding 'THWACK.'
Rebecca just glared her assent and swept into the room.
The reached the Chair to the Captain's Left, simultaneously.
Fleet protocol dictated the XO usually sat here. Lysander was halfway into it, when Rebecca cleared her throat.
He looked up to see her standing, waiting patiently, arms full of PADDS, one tiny red eyebrow arched in smug assertation of the fact it was HER chair.
Various high powered Mathematical Probablily Statistical Matrices flashed through Lys' head, as he pondered this fact. Flow trees of "if/then" outcomes were ponered and sorted by mathematical value. Instinctive grasps of Social Psychology were converted into linear data form and added to the arrays of computations flashing through his neurons.
The anser of all this lightning fast computation?
BAD MOVE LYS.
Half rising from his half-seated position, Lysander indicated the seat. Rebecca dumped her PADDS onto the table with a clatter and an ungainly movement. Then, still pointedly ignoring Lys, she sat carefully down.
Fate let out a breath.
Lysander squealched the sudden desire to boot the chair away at the last moment "Just to see what happened."
Lys took a seat opposite. Sun Tzu always advocated keeping the 'Death Grounds' between you and certain enemies hell-bent on rapine and destruction. This conferece table certainly fit the role. The Kelvan was still ignoring then. They returned the favour. Silence reigned in the Observation Lounge, broken only by Lysanders observation that it 'Was sure smeggin' quiet!'
A disdainfull 'sniff' was his answer. He wasn't sure if it was from the icy Kelvan or Rebecca.
* * * * *
"So glad you all could make it. I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't. So disappointed. . .I may have foregone courtmartials to shoot people, myself." Bhrode barked, his eyes raking the assembled table like he wished they were lasers and burning all he found arrayed before him.
Lysander jumped. Rebecca had alternated betwen glaring at him with he Icy Mask of Doom and Gloom, and glaring at him with her 'Resistance is Futile" MAsk of Certain Death. He hadn't even noticed Bhrode come in.
(Ls spends a LOT of time in this state, if you haven't already noticed.)
Bhrode made his way to his seat and settled in. Rebecca Von Ernst sat to his left, her face expresionless and seemingly intent on burning dispassionate holes into Lysander, who sat in squirming insolance opposite her to Bhrode's right whislt looking everywhere but at Rebecca.
"Number One!" Bhrode barked, staring down the table and daring anyone to meet his eye.
VonErnst broke off from her torture of her peer to begin 'reporting' in that damned monotone, uninflicted voice of hers that made a computer seem warm and chatty.
"We are blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah."
~~Cute little butt... ~~ Lysander mused... his eyes drifting to that body part and tuning out of her report, shich was most likely on some PADD somewhere and readable at a time later.
It was minutes later, when his eyes drifted up to meet Rebecca's... which were glaring at him as one tiny red eyebrow lifted in a condescending and superior interrrogatory. Almost as if to say 'Why aren't you doing what you're supposed to?' and 'I'm bettteerrr than youuuuuu...' that he remembered the holos' he'd asked Cutter to bring with him.
With a blush, Lysander fumbled around, activating the Holoscreen behind Bhrode, showing the Stellar Cartographic map, and then a close up of the Rigel Systems, and the sweeping arc of GALAXY'S course to date projected into the graphic.
Lysadner setteld back into his seat and let the nattering wash over him.
Like HE cared about some Klingons? He'd already laid in a battle plot that would destroy them. And without the 54% casualties Rebecca's similar Alpha Plan would incurr. Sure, the ship may lose a nacelle in his simulation runs... but she HAD three of them...not like they didn't BUILD ships to lose a nacelle... and why would Becs intentionally send Marines in a Suicide Shuttle run against a K'Tinga? They'd die horrible gruesome deaths for no real strategic value, other than a momentary distraction as her PRECIOUS MATH numbers aligned themselves up to her satisfaction. What made her such a butthead, anyways? it's not like Rebecca had suffered some gruesome childhood...quite the opposite. She sure was cute when she wrinkled her nose while peering over some messy math formula and simply announced her results....
"ONE PROBLEM AT A TIME!" thundered Bhrode, ending all discussion and waking Lysander up again.
Bhrode stabbed a finger at Leo like he wished it was a knife.
"YOU. Sit your ass down and stop with the pre-holo movie reviews or I boot your buttocks into the nearest sun."
"WHAT? that was a joke... right?" Challenged Leo, hands on his hips.
"Think so? Wanna see the Brig again?" grated Bhrode through clenched teeth, the vein on his forehead throbbing like a boa constrictor.
At his second finger=knife stab, Leo sat down and shut up.
~~ Too bad. I'd like to see that guy in the Brig. Especially if they're cutting their throats in there! ~~ mused Lys.
Corgan[stab]
"YOU. Sit your ass down and shut your mouth. The NEXT word out of you
and you're an Engineer's Mate siphoning Deuteronium by hand."
Lysander briefly mused learning ventroliquism, JUST to be able to throw his voice in moments like this and get Corgan taken out of his plans. The Ship's Grapevine was a-buzz with the FACT that Rebecca had visited James in hsi quarters earlier today AND the FACT that James was making goo-goo eyes at her again. Dirty Smegger.
Princess[stab]
"YOU. Your Highness. Sit your royal ass down and tell us why you're REALLY here and why there's a flotilla of Imperial ships out there wanting to take you with them."
Lys gave a jump.
Klingons?
When had THEY popped up?
=/\=
With a noisy clatter of PADDS, Rebecca von Ernst was brutally shoved to the floor by Lysander van der Jerk as she innocently tried to walk through the briefing room door.
~~OUCH!! Get your noodling paws off me you cow poopie!~~ Rebecca thought angrily to herself as she picked herself off the plush briefing room carpeting.
~~~He tripped me on purpose!!~~ She decided as she scrambled up her scattered PADDS. That noodle-head Lysander had tried to grab her butt or something while she was walking through the doorway, and somehow managed to trip her in the process causing injury both to her pride as well as bruising her tush. (The thin girl didn’t have didn’t have a lot of padding back there.)
Even now it was obvious that he knew he had been caught in the act despite the sheepish apologetic look on Lysanders face as he clumsily helped her collect her reports.
~~~The bubble-brain will probably try to blame it on the door or something.
~~~ she grumped pushing back an errant strand of hair that had sprung loose from her hairband. Her scarlet locks were getting more and more unmanageable as they grew in length. Not for the first time Rebecca wondered if she should call her mother and ask about her hair-care secrets.
Squaring her fragile shoulders, Rebecca turned back to the door, only to narrowly avoid the jerk trying to ‘accidentally’ bump her again.
~~~Watch it Buck-O!~~~ she glared wordlessly which seemed to convince Lysander to allow her to proceed first as was due her rank. ~~~Honestly, the depths that boy will sink to.~~~
There was another minor skirmish to decide who was going to sit where, and Rebecca suspected that the Alpha-Centaurian was trying to sabotage her chair in some manner, but luckily she was too observant for that.
Taking the seat at last, Rebecca turned her attention to re-shuffling her PADDS back into proper order, enjoying for the moment the relative peace and solitude of the lounge.
Of course Noodle-head had to go and spoil that too by loudly announcing, “Sure is smegging quiet in here!” every few minutes. It was not unlike the annoying mantra of children inquiring “Are we there yet.” From the confines of the back seat.
“Yup. . . . very very quiet.”
It was not the first time Rebecca found startling similarities between Lysander and snot-nosed kiddos.
“Smeg its quiet in here.”
The only other occupant of the lounge was the Legate who deigned to ignore the obvious social flubs on Lysanders part.
~~~Momma always said it was impolite to point out the mistakes of others.~~~
Rebecca recalled, and figured the Protocol Officer was merely sparing Lysander’s feelings.
Things were just about settled down when the large winged figure of the starship’s Frunarian Stellar Cartographer squeezed his way through the relatively tiny doorway and settled into a nearby chair.
As per usual Lysander couldn’t pass up an opportunity to say something stupid.
“Lieutenant, errrrr......Killer? Slicer? Cutter!" Hawklsey fumbled for the name. Obviously he hadn’t spent the time to memorize the crew roster like Rebecca had.
~~~Probably spent the time playing kissy-face to some holo-girl.~~~ she decided with a frown.
“Its name is Cutter." She deadpanned.
"It's a he!" retorted Lysnder, always eager to argue. (The mean old nerd-head)
The two aliens (Lys WAS from another planet wasn’t he) took to chatting amongst themselves leaving Rebecca feeling quite ignored and snubbed.
~~~Mean old nasty alien noodle-brains.~~~ she fumed. ~~~We should have never discovered their planet for them.~~~
(Math whiz she may be, but the farmgirl’s grasp on Galactic History was decidedly fuzzy)
Fortunately the arrival of the enigmatic Doctor Quick on the heels of the flamboyant Leo Streely served to distract Rebecca from Lysanders blatant ‘icky-ness’. Quick settled his lanky form neatly into an empty seat, while the latter launched into a lengthy discussion of the current murder investigation.
Watching the pudgy little Investigator flail his hands about as he talked in his whiny high pitched voice, Rebecca wondered offhand if Leo was. . . ‘of the other persuasion’ as her Momma used to describe the more dainty men in the world.
~~~Ick.~~~ Rebecca wrinkled her freckled nose at the thought.
Across the table Quick seemed to be having problems of his own. A strange worried look passed over the scientist’s face and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair a bit. Grasping the arms of the chair he wiggled it back and forth experimentally. With a distinct look of distress, he announced (to nobody in particular) “ These are not the chairs I designed . . . . this wont do.”
He didn’t seem to care that really nobody heard or cared, but continued to mumble to himself about how the chairs were ‘all wrong’. Every now and then he jiggled the chair again to confirm this to himself.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><>
"So glad you all could make it.” Bhrode growled to the assembled staff minutes later, “I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't. So disappointed. . .I may have foregone court-martials to shoot people, myself."
On his left Rebecca patiently took mental minutes of the meetings as had been her practice for the past year aboard PROSPERO. Though she didn’t allow any outward sign to show, the young redhead had by now decided that Brhode’s idea of staff-meetings were decidedly unproductive in general.
They usually boiled down the CO verbally belittling anybody who dared to offer up a suggestion. She supposed it boosted Bhrode’s ego to do so, but other than that seemed to serve no purpose. She took notes nonetheless.
"Number One!" Bhrode barked, interrupting her thoughts. He gestured angrily for her to begin her prepared briefing, and with a small nod she began:
“We are five hours from Federation Trade Base Alpha. . . . . .etc etc. . . .“
The details spilled out quickly in the XO’s typical soft whispery voice that those at the end of the table had to strain a bit to hear. Regardless, none dared to ask her to repeat herself or speak up. While she spoke however, she kept finding herself being distracted by Dr. Quick’s persistent fiddling with his chair. The scientist was even rotating it experimentally from side to side as much as he could without drawing undue attention.
Fortunately she failed to notice how Lyander was surreptitiously scoping out her tiny derriere as she spoke.
At length she finished her memorized speech and daintily settled herself back in her own chair refusing to be distracted by the Doctors wiggling, or the high pitched whistle Lysander made when he breathed through his nose.
~~~He does that on purpose.~~~ she thought.
To her left the Intelligence Chief, Black was launching into a lengthy analysis of the various geo-political ramifications a conflict in this region of space would incur.
Rebecca ignored this for the most part. Her job was to figure out how to win battles. . . . the politics of the situation was quite beyond her capacity. She had nearly flunked Interstellar Relations back at the Academy.
Idly she pinched the bridge of her nose again. The headache from earlier was still present and becoming quite annoying.
Snapping back to the present, she looked up in time to note the arrival of the Klingon Princess DeV'oraH flanked by Lieutenant Commander Corgan, and their associated escorts. Unconsciously Rebecca wrinkled her nose in disgust as she considered the aliens. ~~~Klingon’s. . . Ick!~~~ she had never been fond of the bumpy headed warriors, and hated every time she was forced to deal with them.
Doctor Quick however had an entirely different reaction, as he forgot about fiddling with his chair for a moment and stared intently at the Princess as she entered. A wide goofy grin was slowly spreading across his pale face, and he nudged the officer next to him with a whisper. Intrigued, Rebecca leaned in a bit to try and overhear. While the majority of those present were listening to a rather heated disagreement between Corgan and Brhode over the state of the Murder investigation, Rebecca was more interested in what Quick was giggling about. She was surprised to note that the Klingon Princess’s eyes flicked about the room until they came to rest on the grinning Scientist.
Instantly the Klingon’s nostrils flared with a sudden inspiration of breath and her eyes narrowed in recognition. For himself the Doctor gave a toothy smile and waved a nonchalant ‘howdy’ in return.
Again the signs were subtle, but Rebecca was amazed to see the Princess actually take an involuntary step AWAY from the Doctor and her eyes blazed an intense hatred. Even more amazing (and Rebecca had to blink at this) there seemed to be a subtle blush rising in the cheeks of the otherwise ruddy Klingon skin.
~~~Well how about that?~~~ Rebecca mused, ~~~The Sword of Kahless KNOWS the Doc!~~~
"YOU!!” Brhode snapped causing Rebecca to jump, and bringing the Klingon’s attention back to the meting as a whole. “Your Highness. Sit your royal ass down and tell us why you're REALLY here and why there's a flotilla of Imperial ships out there wanting to take you with them."
In spite of herself Rebecca leaned forward to rest her chin on her palm in rapt attention. Unnoticed in the background, Quick was still making goo-goo eyes at the Klingon, and Rebecca was dying to know how the Princess was going to reply.
--------------------------------------------------------
When K'Eytyanna entered Main Engineering, she was glad to see at least that some people were actually still doing working.
Stopping suddeny when her senses detected something that wasn't right, she turned slowly as she looked around the large room and stopped when she saw the person who was out of place. Over near one of the terminals was a stately youngish- looking Klingon male, dressed in some sort of worker's uniform, who was talking to some of the engineers.
Fuming silently for a few moments, she quickly headed over and squeezing the Klingon's shoulder tightly with her hand, baring her teeth as she growled out, "Who are you, and what in Kahless's name are you doing here? This is a restricted area."
The Klingon turned around and looked her up and down, "I am K'raka, son of K'ooki, the Princess's technical advisor. Legate Curran and Lt Commander Corgan have allowed me to stay here and ask questions. Lt Geluf said it was okay."
"Screw them. I don't care if you are the High Chancellor of the High Council or Kahless himself reincarnated, you are out of here NOW."
Spinning around to two of the Marine guards, she called out, "Marines, if you would please help, I need this man expelled from Engineering pronto."
One of the Marines grinned and cracked his knuckles as they walked over, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Personally, I prefer the hard way, but it is up to you."
K'raka growled softly, "You do not have the authority. I have been given permissiont to be here."
Kay snapped out loudly, "I am Chief Engineer of this ship and you are in a restricted area. If you do not leave now, I would be well within the regs to have these marines escort you to the brig, where I am sure some psychopathic nutcase would be to help explain it to you."
With the unwelcome encouragement of the Marines, K'raka left Engineering, heading to where he expected the rest of the entourage would be.
Wiping her hands, K'Eytyanna barked out, "You there, go find Lt Geluf and tell him I want to see him ASAP in my office. Inform him that I am also quite pissed off at the moment."
OOC: As of now, no non-Starfleet personnel are allowed in Engineering without authorization from Kay or someone who can override her orders, capiche?
--------------------------------------------------------
OOC: As of now, no non-Starfleet personnel are allowed in Engineering without authorization from Kay or someone who can override her orders, capiche?
OOC2: Hurm.....and that would be....??? OH YEAH! Hehehehe Moral of the story: If we ALL start forbidding each other what we can and cannot write about, we have nothing to write about. These guys didn't do anything other than what I dumped on them, which was "Take these dopey NPC's and go explore the ship." So therefore...Kay's edict is overruled by old Ironballs Bhrode hisself. -Liam
* * * * * * * * * *
Wiping her hands, K'Eytyanna barked out, "You there, go find Lt Geluf and tell him I want to see him ASAP in my office. Inform him that I am also quite pissed off at the moment."
"Belay all that..." came the voice from the shadows.
"What?" K'et demanded, whirling from where she was barking out orders to her crew.
It was THE VOICE. The one voice that caused the Marines to let go of the Klingon and salute instinctively. The Voice that caused the Klingon to look around for something else to do, preferably far away... and the one voice that K'etyanna REALLY didn't like to hear in her Engine Room.
With his hands clasped behind his back, Fleet Captain John Q. Bhrode strolled out from behind a Warp Plasma Injector, where he had been observing the little drama.
Just like his last time on Galaxy, you never knew when you might feel a cold gaze RIGHT on the back of your head, and turn to find Bhrode or Von Ernst glaring at you, just DARING you to do something half-assed or sloppy, so they could find fifty regulations to accuse you of breaking. They had an uncanny knack of knowing JUST when you were praying they'd ignore you...to come looking for you. Hell, scuttlebut in the Fleet had it that JQB had once observed another Engineer getting in his XO's face, and had broken that person's neck with his bare hands. AND that he'd never even stood before a Court Martial Board for doing so. Dang Scuttlebutt...never right.
"Commander. This Department is looking better than it did last month, when the Yard Dogs were crawling all over the place." Bhrode observed.
"Uhhh.. thank you...sir" replied the Chief Engineer, clearly at a loss at to why Bhrode wasn't yelling about SOMETHING. Her eyes raked the comaprtment for dead bodies, or screaming alien hordes waving weapons of mayhem and destruction. WHAT was he DOING down here?
Bhrode nudged a pile of sonic spanners and ripped out bulkhead covers with one boot, and raised an eyebrow.
"WEWEREJUSTCLEANINGTHATUPSIRASTEHCHIEFENGINEERHADORDEREDPREVIOUSLY!!" shouted a rating, as he flung himself bodily onto the pile and began pushing it towards the reclaimation chute in blind panicked haste.
"Carry on." Bhrode told the man.
Bhrode's hand reached out and ran across a console. The Engineer nearest began sweating profusely, as his eyes bulged and his throat spasamed in terrified gulps.
Bhrode rubbed the fingers together and stared at the man. The Engineer looked ready to pass out. Finally Bhrode nodded his acceptance to the absence of grime and strolled away...leaving the Engineer mentally promising that he was going to quit and join the Merchant Marine fleet...tomorrow.
Bhrode's steely gaze finally fell on his Chief Engineer.
"I don't like having that smart-assed arrogant little twerp of a Kelvan Liasion Officer aboard any more than you do. However, if -I- have to smile and let his damned Klingon buddies run around my ship, I expect YOU to do the same. So if it's Klingons in your engine compartments and Jeffries tubes, or Ferringi's hiding in the toilet in your quarters...if it comes from the Legate, you can consider it having a big old shit-eating "JQB" smile of approval on it." Bhrode commented over his shoulder.
He stopped for a moment to consider the Marines.
'Corporal Punikment! 442nd FIST, Platoon Alpha!' the first shouted.
'Private Parts, 442nd FIST, Platoon Charlie!' shouted the other.
"Either of you two Cochranes ever try and take out a Klingon before?" Bhrode asked in a low voice.
"SIR, NEGATORY SIR!" they chorused.
"Well, don't. By the time you figure out you'll need another three of you, you'll be in the Sickbay. Oh, and that highly illegal and forbidden knife the Chief Engineer is wearing...be sure and have it put back in the Armoury. I'd hate to think what would happen to anyone that Major Log found out, had been lax in thier duties regarding my latest 'Weapons Edict.' Especially at a time we have some maniac killing crew. With a Knife." Bhrode said, his face so close to the Marines' that they could smell his aftershave "SIR! The Major would first grab such an individual by the scruff of their neck in the regulation manner,and then he would forcibly remove the offending weapon from..." Began Private Parts.
The corporal rolled his eyes . "You're a moron, Parts. The Captain was asking about what would happen to the person who missed collecting the weapon on their patrols! NOT the person holding the weapon!"
"Oh. He'd kill THEM. Deader than noon." the Private flushed in embarassment.
"If anyone needs me, I'll be on this Promenade I hear so much about.
Shopping. Carry on." Bhrode indicated the Engineers with a small nod and walked out.
The Marines looked at each other in puzzlement.
"They have a gun shop down there?" The Private asked the Corporal.
"Dunno. I can't quite picture him buying Picnic Baskets down there.
Hey.. YOU go ask the Engineer for her knife."
"No, YOU go.."
"No..you.."
=/\=
James was impatient, due to his long wait in sickbay's waiting room. He sat urgently in his chair, flipping through the virtual pages of the current week's Federation News Dispatch. Though an article on the amalgomation of a messload of Federation organizations to create a force equal to that of Starfleet piqued his interests, the dryness of the article (written by Jake Sisko) turned him off. He would save it for later. He was still interested, having served as a Liason officer in the Border Patrol.
~"Now is not the time to read. I have to get those autopsy reports. Where the hell is the doctor."~ James glanced at his wrist crono. It was getting late. If he wasn't restricted to quarters or busy on this murder investigation, he would have went out for dinner with Lexa. He made a note to himself to apologize to her later on, but lost it as somebody entered the room.
His face fell and his heart sank halfway through the deckplates on the deck.
~"Sh*t..."~ James looked back into the sadistic eyes of his arch nemesis.
Russian doctor stared at James with some kind of amazement. Which, however, almost immediately turned into evil smirk. Ha clapped his hands and spoke "Well, well, well... I see that you forgot my advices not to appear here, in my private county of sickbay, which I gave you when we met last time on the ye olde Price's Galaxy, lieutenant? I hope you came here not to ask for excuse for all previous deeds of yours, 'cause you'll end up torn apart heap of meat on the floor even if I accept excuses..."
Vladimir knew that he was sometimes sadistic. It was the part of him which awoke only when he saw three men. The one and only Lysander with infinitely-longing-surname... He was on the third place on his own internal shitmeter. Second place was firmly holded by three letters in red - JQB. Why only second? Because there was one more irritator... The One (from capital 'O'), who made him boil in all times. Audience, greet Ja-a-a-ames! C-c-c-o-o-o-o-o-rgan!
"So, pal, I wait for the reason, worthy enough for me not to shove you on the operating table." Cute blue eyes of Vladimir already showed, that his hands were itching to make an autopsy on THIS particular subject.
~"I might as well say it now... tell him to cut the crap and give me what I want, or else I will pulp that skinny little @$$f**ker until he has a half dozen more orifices to f**k himself with."~ James thought delightedly, then felt ashamed of what kind of childish mentality he allowed himself to sink into, ~"But that would be wrong, wouldn't it? I can't sink to his level. I have to play this cool and smooth, get what I want, and leave in short order. Besides, what could be possibly do to me that hasn't already been done better?"~
"Whoa!" Corgan snapped attention like, stopping Vladimir from gaining the opportunity to speak any more, "Stop! Before you die of asphixiation, would you please allow me to speak and give your voice a rest? Much appreciate it."
~"Oh yeah... that's gonna win him over."~ He thought.
"Well then, now that you're through verbally harrasing me," James leapt to the subject, "I have some important business to take care of. I have reason to believe that the Klingons may be targeted in this recent rash of murders, and I want to acquire any available information on the victims. For that, I need access to your autopy reports, and I would like to see the bodies for myself." He then added a slim, foxlike smile, and a distinct curl in his tongue, and said, "I hope that is good enough for you. If you're not satisfied... try and mangle me. I've been though hell and back, and that's just with the bloody Princess. Anything you would do would be mercy killing."
Corgan walked past the enraged Russian medic, "Oh, nice pip." He said as an afterthought after noticing the rise in rank. ~"Sh*t, he's the chief medical officer? What the hell? Who let Brhode get into the Romulan Ale stash again?"~
Vladimir smirked at pleasant remark about pip. ~Well,~ he thought, ~At least this guy admitted my superiority... Heh. But let's not sink to his level.
First - the work. Second - torments.~ He nodded to Corgan and pointed at door "Okay, pal, follow me and try not to vomit on the clean floor of sickbay after we enter morgue. I know that this word already causes nausea.
Okay? Of course I put bodies back together after my autopsies, but they still look quite unpleasant. So firstly I will speak and then we'll decide - to look or not to look." Hoping that Corgan will follow him, Doctor entered the room of dead in his house of horrors...
"Okay," spoke Vladimir as they entered room. His voice was now neutral, like if there were no outbursts in the waiting room. "The results of autopsy, translated into security department language, can be summarized in very few words. First - all five victims were murdered in the same style and, mostly surely, with the same instrument. Wounds are deep, most of them even reach spinal column. Usually to make this sort of powerful strike, man need hatchet or something of the same kind. However, considering the wound exterior, I can point out, that it was made either by metal weapon, unknown to me, surgical laser or monofiliment cutter, which as you know is banned in the Federation." Vladimir cleared his throat, before countinuing. Despite of his evil and sadistic nature, he didn't liked talking about corpses. "Bodies show no... No signs of resistance. SO victims were murdered in surprise for them. What else?.. Umm... All five are quite healthy without any signs of serious deceases. That's all. If you want, however I think you wouldn't, I can show you the bodies."
"Yes, I would love to see the bodies, thank you very much." James said, no nonsense included. As they walked along, he started to ask questions, "Was there any cauterization in the wounds that would indicate laser based cutting instruments?"
Vladimir took confident professional tone "Well, actually - no. However, as you I am sure know - cauterization is not always with laser wound. Under certain circumstances, laser might not leave such marks." Doctor smiled "You know, what need for me to talk about possibilities - it is your task, pal..."
"I want to check everything, understand? What about trace metals? Any compounds left behind in the would that would indicate the origin of the weapon?"
"In wounds? No. All wounds are clean as if they were made with all antiseptic measures. The only things that might lead to weapon are microscopic particles of wood on the first victim. Nothing more."
Vladimir and James entered the morgue in short order. It was a large complex, chilled slightly due to the close proximity of the stasis tubes. There was a nip in the air that Corgan was unused to, even for a spacer used to slight cold. The room itself was steely gray and a gossimer thin mist of cold and warm air connecting was all around them. From wall to wall, metallic tubes laid upright and closed, with head sized portholes to peer into, or for the dead to peer out of. The room had the chill of cold and death all around it. But for a battlefield veteran that was desensitized by years of past violence, James didn't feel the least bit concerned. The dead never posed a threat.
James asked, "How many so far? And do you have their autopsy reports?"
Vladimir replied after second of pause "Well, I have five victims here so far. And if you, security guys, don't stop these murders, my little room of dead will be overfilled..." He sighed and shuddered "Well, concerning reports, I surely have them since I was the one who did all five autopsies.
You want them now? If not, I might send them to your terminal after you finish here."
"If you can, send them to my terminal. I would like to review them. Now, can you open one of these stasis chambers?" James thought for a second, then re-took his question to be rephrased, "Actually, can you open the stasis chamber with the murder victim possessing the wood splinters?"
Vladimir nodded "Sure, why not?" He reached button on one of the chambers and with loud hiss it revealed its citizen. Doctor looked at body, recalling report, then spoke "Okay, Lieutenant Raoul Petersonn. Engineering department. Male. 24 years. Race - human.The same diagnosis as others had - deep wound at throat, no signs of resistance. Tiny wood splinters around the wound. Enjoy your analysis."
James looked at the male, his head shaking and his mind thinking up of different ways in which the kid meet his fate. He started to methodically set up his investigation kit on the edge of the stasis platform. He first pulled on a pair of thin, plastic like gloves. Then, he plucked out of the kit a small container that looked like a well sealed petre dish, and a slim, pen shaped device.
The thought snapped into his head that it might have been the Klingons who committed these murders. It was hard to believe, harder to figure out how, but the possibility still existed. His crew had the Klingons guarded very carefully. Wherever they went, a security guard was with them, except for their quarters. Unless they were in their rooms, that meant the Klingons were on watch all the time. It seemed almost impossible to imagine that they could slip through Corgan's web of protection.
It was still possible, and as most of the crew was trying to cram into his skull, he wasn't perfect and was more prone to mistakes than normal.
"Lies." He thought, but still couldn't discount the idea that he could have f**ked up.
Vladimir threw a quick glance at Corgan "Eh... Whad did ya say, pal? I you want to say something, say it loud and clear. If not - just shut up, okay?"
"Huh? Oh... nothing, Dr. Malgin." James quickly responded, then came back to the body before him, "Note the wounds. Slashed cleanly, by a very powerful being. Doesn't look like an animal, that would leave more puncture wounds and jagged cuts. This was thought out, and way too sentient to ignore."
Smile penetrated Vladimir's attempt to block it "Lieutenant, it is just what I said about a minute before. Very powerful, clean and apparently quick blow. On every victim. I am not from security, but I can mostly surely state - it can NOT be an animal. I seen a lot of wounds, but these are not made by animal."
"Will you please shut up? I'm thinking out loud. Helps me focus." James hovered the pen like wand in his hand over the wood splinters on the officer's frozen uniform, "It's possible that the wound could be caused by an alien species. A Vulcan has superior strength, but I haven't heard of them being able to cut through necks like this in one swipe..." His eyes were on the officer's nearly decapitated head. A soft green light slowly shone on the area of the wood splinters, "We don't have any Naussicans on board, or Jem'Hadar. I'll have to check the species strength indexes to give me a better idea. Hmmmm... might be Klingons. They're pretty strong."
"Klingons? Pretty interesting idea, but there is one problem with your theory, kid." Doctor gave him thin smile "Your guys guard them better than their own life. Or I am mistaken. Seriously, I think that our visitors have nothing, connecting them with murders. I have no clues of who it might be..."
"There's always that possibility!" James snapped, "Never discount anything. The most unlikely answer could be the right one. And don't let others discount it either." He then started to mutter, "Groupthink kills more good ideas and leads than anything..."
A small sliver of wood slowly wiggled itself out of the uniform and floated freely into the air, being held in place by translucent green light. James carefully moved the extraction device towards the container dish, and said, "The wound may be a dk'tahg, though it's not the most efficient weapon for slashing. The side blades make it more difficult to do such a clean kill as we see here. Bat'leth may do the trick, but it's large size is far from stealthy. Concealable weapons are too small... kut'luch knife is too jagged... geez, this may be another dead end."
"In twentieth century, in Russia, such murders were called 'deaf case' on police slang. This might be the same. Well, I think here we end our little tour into world of the afterlife? Reports will be sent to your terminal as soon as you exit sickbay. I guess there is nothin' more to stare on here."
"Frag it. Nothing else I can do here." James said, agitated. He activated the stasis chamber's retrieval systems. The bodies were scooped back into their coffins, as James gathered his materials and retrieved them from the quickly retreating stasis beds, "I would appreciate any help you can offer.
And in case anyone asks, tell them what you want. Even if it's trouble. I'm sure you'll love that."
James was about to leave, but decided on adding one more comment before he left, just to get under the doctor's skin. He said, faking a merry voice as well as he could, "Enjoy your pip while you can, 'cause trust me, it's not a blessing on this ship."
He left post haste, away from Dr. Malgin's House of Horrors, before the doctor had any bright ideas of torturing him. Much to James' relief, he was out without incident.
****
“All right, then,” Victor mused, looking at the holographically-projected diagram projected on the wall, “it can’t be Captain Bhrode, he’s been in plain sight on the bridge during the time that at least two of the murders have taken place. If he site-to-site transported there and back he might have made the time-frame, but the entire Bridge Crew can’t have failed to notice that *twice* so I can knock him off the suspect list.” He reached out and touched the section corresponding to the Command Staff, the computer dutifully expanding it in an overlaid menu box so the names could be read more easily. With a deft touch, he then further selected the captain’s name and tapped it twice. As programmed, the computer shifted Bhrode’s name from red to yellow at the first tap, and then to green at the second. “That’s one off the list anyway – and a damn good thing. I don’t know that I’m going to be able to accumulate the kind of evidence I’d need to go after the Captain if he was the killer… and I wanted to convict him in court”
With a tap on the overlaid box to minimize it back again, Victor stepped back and looked at the chart in its entirety. Displayed in an organized fashion on it were the names of every single crewman, resident, and transient currently aboard the Galaxy. One thousand two hundred and seventy-nine names, all listed in black for deceased, red for uncleared suspects, yellow for tentatively cleared suspects, or green for cleared suspects. At the moment, the chart was a sea of red with only a few bits of green scattered across it – and far too many blacked out names – that took up the entire long axis wall of the empty junior officer’s cabin that adjoined Victor’s. Too small to read individually when seen in their current resolution, the name appeared more like lines of varying color under the white letters that indicated the department or section headings they were grouped by.
~ Even with the forensics data that O’Rourke passed on tonight, this is going to take longer than I want it to. ~ With a few taps of his finger, Victor brought up another section – Civilian Family this time – and eliminated all the human and near-human children under twelve. He paused, checked the records on the PADD in his other hand, and then revised the age back to ten. ~ I killed my first ice bear at ten, no reason to assume that the killer is any less capable than I am. ~
A few more checks also eliminated a number of other dependents and several civilian staffers whose whereabouts he’d been able to confirm independently for the time frame of at least two of the killings. ~ Not getting any better. If the internal locators were working, then this would be easier – and we’d have already caught the killer. That means doing it the old-fashioned way… and without letting the Captain know that there’s a separate investigation into the killings running without his consent. ~ He snorted and eliminated a pair of ratings from Sciences that had been verifiably locked in an isolation chamber on a long-term stress-related experiment for the last six days. ~ I hope the Commander has some luck talking to his friend over in Operations about their people – eliminating one or two at a time is going to take forever with the need to keep this quiet enough to avoid drawing attention to ourselves. ~
He looked back down at the PADD in his hand and scrolled through the list he’d accumulated during the day’s investigations to make certain that he hadn’t missed anyone before he tossed it aside onto the room’s empty, unmade bed. ~ All right, what else can I do to eliminate someone? Someone else in Security I’ve overlooked? ~ He brought that list up and looked at it again. ~ Corgan’s only clear for one killing; I can’t verify his whereabouts for more than that. Darkstar’s location is unverified for any of the deaths – he’s going to be a problem even if he isn’t the killer with the CO’s orders making him temporary section chief. Davidson in the armory is clear – I got one of the marines to verify her second location during one of the killings in Ten Forward today…~ He brought her name up and tapped her over to green. ~ Okay, who else? ~
Frowning, he ran through he personnel assigned to Security. ~ Can’t rule out any of Brenton’s clique yet – no, wait. I *can* knock the Vulcan girl out, she was pulling extra duty in Security Main so she’s alibied by the staff in there on monitor duty. ~ He clicked her to green. ~ There’s someone else. I’m forgetting someone else… Damn, I’m an idiot – both Hanley and So’ka are clear too. They were with me, and they also alibi me. ~ His smile was less than pleasant as he clicked the two ensigns’ and his own name over to green. ~ Can’t be many investigations where the investigation officer has to clear himself just to be sure in his own mind. I didn’t think I’d gone insane and was killing the crew – the method was all wrong – but it had to be checked anyway. ~
That done, he stepped back and looked at the chart again, his eyes finally and reluctantly drawn to the block of glaring red labeled ‘Diplomatic Party.’ ~ The Klingons. One of them would easily be strong enough to be the killer – and they have that fascination with edged weapons as a culture…. But how are they just walking up to people and killing them? Most people get nervous when a Klingon walks up to them – and I can’t believe that Copperpot would have let a Klingon walk up to him in the brig without even looking up from his book. Doesn’t make any sense to me. ~ He sighed, looked at the block again and reached out to tap it to a larger size. ~ Unpleasant as the prospect is, there’s no way around it, I’m going to have to clear them off the list. At least there are only twenty of them to deal with. The security teams on them will make it easier than it sounds, but I’m still going to have to talk to a few of them. The Princess and General Kragg will be a problem – they’re in their quarters a lot of the time and not under direct observation, except by their own people – and then there are the Princess’ Attendants… ~ He made a face at the mental image that sprang up of him trying to question Attendant K’vala as to her own and the Princess’ whereabouts while dodging cuts from a pair of knives. ~ Oh yeah, this is going to be a problem all right. ~
Stooping to pick up the PADD he’d dropped earlier, he captured the Klingon name list and started to cross-reference it with the guard schedule to see who he could remove without talking to the Klingons directly. “One… three… ten of them. Not great, but better than expected,” he murmured to himself as he tapped the holographic chart off absently and started back into his own quarters. “Unfortunately, that leaves the General, the Princess, four Attendants, and four bodyguards to try and account for. I might get another one or two of the small fry accounted for if I check with the off-duty teams and the Commander, but the rest… the rest I have to do the hard way.”
Behind him, the lights clicked off in the empty cabin as he passed through the shared bathroom, still talking to himself. “The bodyguards,” he called up their pictures, “normally visit Ten Forward early in the evenings – I’m too late to catch them, but if memory serves me right, one of General Kragg’s two aides is there late. I think I can catch him there and make the questions look like a talk about security schedules or something… Crap.” He stopped, looking at the four images displayed on the PADD. My friend from Sciences on the ship’s tour is part of this bunch I need to talk to.” He moved into his quarters, frowning. “He and that Attendant have been thick as thieves since the tour too….”
With a shrug, he continued on into the room to his desk, where his uniform jacket was draped across the surface, his issue phaser and the isolinear chip that Shelley O’Rourke had brought earlier in the evening atop that. “Nothing I can do about it. If they want to stand around, plot, and glower at me, let them. Unless they cross the line, there’s nothing I can do about whatever it is they’ve got in mind.”
Setting the PADD aside, he picked up the isolinear chip and looked around the room. ~ I need to put this out of sight. ~ He finally settled on the simple plan of walking back through the bathroom and hiding the chip under the access panel to the replicator there, slotted into the position where the room’s occupant would have placed their personal compilation of replicator patterns. He placed the panel back carefully, breathed on it to spread the dust back around, checked to make certain there weren’t any smudges on the panel, and then retraced his steps back out of the room.
~ Probably paranoid on my part – but they pay me to be paranoid so they don’t have to. ~ Victor slipped the Phaser 1 he carried under his tunic into its slim holster, stopped and thought for a moment before he shifted it to the other side of his waist from the usual spot. ~ That bodyguard saw me draw it in Sciences – better to move it in case I need to draw on him again – might buy me an extra second if he’s watching the wrong spot. ~
As he slipped into his jacket and sealed it up, he frowned again, his brain still turning over the problem of the Klingon dignitaries. ~ I can likely just *ask* the General. He’ll understand the need to make certain of something like this – but only if I approach him when no one else is around so he doesn’t have to make a show out of the deal. He works out every morning in his quarters – I can catch him alone then. The Princess… ~ His frown deepened for a second before relaxing as the answer came to him. ~ I’ll pass that one off to the Commander. She’ll let him ask her questions that I never could in the hopes that it’ll get them together. I’ll have to remember to tell Commander Corgan that she’s his in the morning. ~
With a grin at the thought of the expression that statement would bring to Corgan’s face, Victor picked up his PADD, paused to dump the data on it to his encrypted files on the mainframe, and stepped out into the hall. ~ Of course, he won’t love it half as much as the Princess would…. ~
****
“What did you say?” the Klingon snapped, slamming his mug back down on the table. The contents, something that appeared to be Romulan ale with a meandering irregular red layer of some thicker fluid suspended within it, sloshed out over the rim and onto the table where the two liquids immediately separated, as if fleeing an unnatural joining.
“Nothing meant to offend, I assure you,” Victor replied carefully. ~ Okay, it’s not like I expected slavish cooperation, but this is getting to be ridiculous. At least one of these guys should be willing to talk shop. Something’s up. I wonder if the one I had a run-in with in Sciences – Dargha, if I remember the files right – has been talking to them when he’s not tied up glaring at me with Attendant K’vala. ~
Eyes flashing, the grizzled Klingon leaned across the table, his gray-streaked hair swinging forward. “You must think we are fools, human. Did you think we wouldn’t know what your plan was?”
~ Confusing the hell out of me? ~
“You have handed us insult after insult since we arrived aboard this ship, human. You place restrictions on our behavior, tell us where we can go and what we can do, you deny us access to any place of interest aboard ship – you even deny us proper drink,” he slammed the drink onto the tabletop again to emphasize the point, “and now you think us too stupid to realize what you are doing? Ffaaagh!”
Heads turned at the Klingon’s growl, and one nearby couple shifted to another table further away from Victor and the aide.
~ Play the game, find out what paranoid Klingon fantasy he’s decided on. ~ “All right, you’re right.” Victor kept his voice even. “You’re too smart for us. Exactly what is it that gave us away?”
The Klingon laughed. “This pathetically transparent farce about the deaths aboard.”
Victor managed not to stare blankly, but it took some effort. ~ Pathetically transparent farce? Okaaay…. ~ “Farce?”
“Of course. Bodies we are not allowed to see, but only told of as justification for your ever more restrictive security procedures. Phantom killings to make us dependent on you since you took our weapons away from us!” He slammed the mug down on the table again. “You manufactured all of this: the supposed malfunctions, the denied access, the computer problems – all of it. You might have made it work had you not tried to convince us that even your captain, fool that he is, would assign such an idiot to investigate the supposed crimes. Even in your Starfleet such a thing could not happen.”
~ They – or at least he – thinks that all of this is…? ~ “And the reason for this?” ~ He can’t be serious, can he? ~
“Bah!” The aide barked as his mug crashed down yet again. “Stop treating me like a fool! You know why!” He glared heatedly at Victor for a moment before he leaned forward again, his basso voice pitched lower as he continued. “Cowards or not, you people build good ships – designed for soft living bureaucrats, and not real warriors, but they’re still good ships to have at your side. Especially the Little Killers, what you call the Defiant Class. *Those* are ships that any warrior would be proud to serve on: fast, deadly, even the class itself is named well. But this beast?” he waved a hand to indicate the ceiling. “She was designed for only one reason – to demonstrate that you are not the whipping targs of the Alpha Quadrant.” He stopped speaking, raised his mug, and began to drain it.
~ Well, it’s the most *interesting* conversation I’ve gotten out of one of the Klingons. Let’s see where he’s going with it. If nothing else, I can always pass it on and let the Intelligence guys chew on it. ~ Victor waved his hand to attract the attention of the manager and indicated the Klingon’s drink. She nodded, and a moment later, a refill materialized just as the aide’s empty mug crashed down a final time.
Grunting, the Klingon picked up the new drink without pausing and took a long swallow before he rested to catch his breath. “For the last decade, you’ve fought one war after another, with one species after another – and surprised everyone by acquitting yourselves like warriors time and time again on the battlefield, only to have the cowards who rule your Federation give away all that your warriors have gained as soon as the war is concluded. But now, after the Dominion War, the cowards have all run to hide or been displaced and warriors are making decisions for the Federation – and they need something to show that things have changed. This ship is their symbol, the bat’leth they intend to show their enemies to remind them that the old ways are gone.”
As the Klingon paused to take another drink, Victor reflected that there was a lot of truth to the statements. ~ If an average Klingon thinks this, what the hell is the High Council thinking? This definitely goes to the Intelligence boys to sort out when I’m done. ~
The Klingon’s speech was softer still as he set down his mug, now half empty, his words starting to slur from the effects of the drinks he’d been consuming as they talked. “There’s no sense in forging a bat’leth unless you’re going to use it –any warrior can tell you that. So your new leaders need to use their symbol, they need to demonstrate that it isn’t a…” he fumbled for the right words, “… a….”
“Paper tiger,” Victor volunteered.
The Klingon nodded. “That’s it, yes. A tiger of parchment. You humans have always been good with words like that.” He sipped at his drink again. “But these leaders, they don’t want us to know that, that they’re going to use it. So they send their new symbol out, and they tell you to make us think it is a failure, a coward’s folly that doesn’t work right and poses no threat. Your captain does as he’s ordered, and stages these blackouts, falsifies computer problems, even tries to restrict us with the excuse of the murders that never happened so that we won’t see the truth – that this is a functional ship of war, and she’s been sent out to kill your enemies as a warning to the next group that thinks of war.” He smiled then, eagerly. “It will be glorious when we are no longer allies and we can test ourselves in battle against one another again, ship to ship and warrior against warrior. Glorious!”
~ He thinks that we’re going to wind up going to war with the Klingons? Dammit, I didn’t need to hear this; I have enough problems already! Now I’ll be filling out reports for Intelligence from now to next year. I need to get this back on track to what I started out after – let the Intelligence boys chase this after they see the report. ~ Victor nodded. “I’ve always been impressed with the way that your warriors focus on their duty. Many members of Starfleet could learn a lot from you about that.”
“As is proper,” the Klingon agreed. “The young ones always need guidance from their elders. That is the way of things. Take Dargha, for example – if he would stop spending his time with that Imperial Attendant and focus on his duty, he would be one of our best.”
~ Dargha? Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. ~ “
“Not,” the Klingon laughed, “that I would mind spending the right type of time with her myself you understand – she has the look of one that could set a man’s blood afire if she wanted to.” He took another pull at his mug. “But all they do is talk, talk and glare at one of the Federation Security men…” he peered across the table. “Heh. You, in fact. I don’t know what *her* grudge is, but Dargha can’t forget how you faced him down on that tour.” He laughed again. “Did you really tell him that you’d cook his ‘little mekleth’ and eat it in front of him?”
Victor winced inwardly. “Not exactly, but that’s close enough.” ~ Stop it - you knew there were going to be repercussions when you handled it that way, so quit worrying about it and deal with the job at hand. Dargha can wait. ~ “He’s not really letting his time with the woman interfere with his duties, is he?” ~ Is he the killer? Is it some sort of vicarious revenge thing? But how does he approach them? ~
“Enough that I can see it – and if I can tell, the General can,” the aide slurred. “He misses roll calls, stays out late, and refuses to say where he’s been. If he doesn’t straighten out soon on his own, Kragg will straighten him out – and he’ll make Dargha wish all that happened to him was that the General cooked and ate his ‘little mekleth!’”
~ Stays out late, misses roll calls… Because he’s killing people? ~ Surely it’s just the woman?” Victor essayed. “He hasn’t been like this always has he? Women can make you do stupid things if you think with the wrong… mekleth.”
The bodyguard blinked, then roared with laughter. “Wrong mekleth… wrong mekleth…” he repeated, chuckling. “Yes, he’s thinking with the little one all right. Has been since the trip started on this ship. I wish the two of them were slipping off to do a little ‘mekleth practice’ in private, that’d be easier to deal with.” He shook his head. “But it’s something else. I don’t know what – but something.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Victor said reassuringly. ~ If that little prick is killing people, I’m going to make him *wish* I’d used that phaser back in Sciences! ~ “Give him a little more time and he’ll straighten out.”
The Klingon grunted and finished off his mug. “For his sake, I hope so.” He squinted at Victor, slammed the mug down again, and almost dropped it when it landed on one edge of the bottom rim instead of flat. “Glorious,” he repeated, sinking back into his chair with a content smile, “it’s going to be glorious.” His eyes blinked once before closing as he started to emit a raspy, nasal snore.
Victor calmly waited a moment before collecting the empty mugs and standing up. As he turned towards the bar with them, he contrived to tap his combadge while juggling the empties, disconnecting the signal it had been transmitting to the PADD he’d left with the manager when he entered. “Here you go – and thanks,” he said, as the manager, a slim attractive woman that scuttlebutt pegged as involved with one of the helmsmen, warily watched him set the mugs down. He took the PADD she offered him and nodded to her. “You were right about that drink loosening him up and getting him to talk – I owe you one.” He nodded towards the snoring Klingon. “I’ll send someone to get him back to his quarters after I leave.”
“You’re welcome, the woman replied, skittish eyes still on him as he left.
~ Looks like another member of my fan club there. That only makes, what, 98% of the crew so far? ~ Victor shook his head as he stepped out into the hallway and started towards the turbolift. ~ All right, at least this wasn’t a total waste of time. I got the name of a suspect to check out, and intelligence gets some information to play around with. Better than the last Klingon I talked to by a long shot – all he did was take a swing at me after the third word. ~
He paused at the turbolift and carefully copied all his new data from the PADD to an isolinear chip as well as hitting the key to transmit it to his encrypted files as an additional backup. ~ Paranoia pays. ~ He pocketed the chip as the lift arrived, waited for some crewmen to exit, and then stepped inside. “Deck seven.” ~ I’ll shoot the raw file over to Intelligence and suggest that they pull up the internal monitor feed from Ten Forward to attach it to. If they ask, I’ll say that I was talking about security and the Princess when it came up, that’s safe enough. ~
The turbolift slowed and stopped, the doors opened on his deck, and Victor stepped out into the corridor – and into a crashing wave of red, red pain.
The first blow caught him on the side of the head, the pain from the impact magnified ten times by the humming discharge from the painstick it was delivered with. His thoughts instantly washed away by the agonized screams of his violated nerve endings, he never felt the second and third blows that spun him around and sent the PADD flying down the corridor, or the boot that crashed into the side of his right knee to drop him to the floor.
Other blows landed in rapid succession, as he hit the floor and struggled to rise, some part of him screaming past the pain that he was dead if he didn’t get up and fight back. Victor swung his arms wildly, trapped an arm against his chest more by accident than any expression of skill, and jerked on it, trying to bring his attacker to the floor with him.
His opponent managed to avoid going to the floor, slammed a blow into Victor’s throat that made him gag before the pain paralyzed him, and then crashed another down onto his collarbone, breaking it, as he tried to force Victor to release him. Stubbornly, operating instinctively, Victor refused to release his hold until a blow from another opponent’s boot hammered into his side, ribs cracking like dry twigs under the impact, and sent him sprawling, his hands clutching at something snatched from the attacker whose arm he’d had.
Victor had his only glimpse of one of his opponents – the Klingon, Dargha, a manic expression of glee on his face – as he spun around to land face first on the floor, and then there was nothing but the feel of blow after blow landing and the incessant hum of the painsticks as they seared into him with electric lashes that stole his breath and sent him falling into an ocean of dark red pain.
"Sir? Please.... sir...."
The gurgled words slowly penetrated the red haze that covered Victor's thoughts, and the tide of pain receded back enough that his vision cleared somewhat. Directly in front of his face was the face of one of the Gamma Shift security officers, who appeared to be having some difficulty breathing. Victor's vision cleared a bit more, and he dimly realized that it was because he had the man pinned against the wall by his throat with some sort of club, choking him.
As if only a passenger in his body, he was aware of his arms moving and releasing the man, and then stepping back as the other officer sagged in relief against the wall. The step told Victor that something was wrong with his right leg, and tide started to rise up again. Standing there, Victor fought to push it back down and understand what was happening.
"S-sir?" the young petty officer gasped out. "Are... are you all right, sir?"
Victor considered that for an eternity, the pain making it difficult to concentrate on anything for more than a heartbeat at a time before it threatened to rise up and scatter the thoughts. From a distance, he heard a hoarse, rasping growl say "No," and only realized it was his own voice when the petty officer responded.
"You look pretty bad, sir - let me call someone to get you to Sickbay." The younger man - really only a boy - reached for his combadge.
The corridor shook, as though the ship was being bombarded, and it took a second for Victor to realize that he was shaking his head. "No," he heard himself rasp again. "Not yet."
The petty officer stopped, frowning. "Sir, I really think you need to..."
"No." The growl was still hoarse, but there was more power behind it now. "Can't - not yet, not until I settle this." Victor wasn't certain what it was that he had to settle, but even as the words left his mouth miles away, he knew that there was *something* he needed to settle, something important... something connected to the pain.
The petty officer lowered his hand from the combadge and frowned. "All right, sir," he said uncertainly. "But you really look bad. Are you sure?"
"Yes." Victor tried to remember what it was he had to settle. Something important, something about the pain, something about... Klingons. That was it, Klingons. They were the ones that caused the pain, they were the ones that he had to settle the thing with. They were the ones he had to... hurt. "Klingons," he heard himself rasp. "Come by... here?
Understanding suddenly dawned in the petty officer's eyes. "Oh shit - the Klingons did this to you, sir?"
"Klingons... come by... here?" Victor repeated, unable to shift his thoughts out of the path they were following.
"Yes, sir," the petty officer nodded, looking to his left at the doors to the various Klingon quarters. "A group of them came through just a few minutes ago - four of them. They seemed to be really pleased about something; they were laughing and acting like they won the office betting pool, anyway." He looked back at Victor. "Ummm... you're not going to go after them, are you, sir? I don't think that's a good idea."
"It isn't," Victor coughed, watching the boy flinch at the sound. "Doesn't matter." Somewhere inside him the tide of pain started to heat up, the waters that lapped at his consciousness beginning to steam slightly as something hot moved beneath the surface. "Where?" He looked down the hall, which seemed to be slightly off kilter, as though the dimensions were subtly wrong. "Which room?"
"Sir, I really don't think..." the petty officer began.
"Don't," Victor coughed again. "Don't think, son. Just do." He looked down at his hands, the realization that something was not right with them finally filtering in to the core part of him that was still above the red waters filling his thoughts. In his right, he held something that he recognized as a Klingon painstick, the jacket and tunic sleeve on that side torn and ragged. He had no idea where he'd gotten it or how his sleeve had been torn. His left... it took another moment to realize that his left arm was hanging at his side, and that part of the pain pouring into the sea inside him came from there. He regarded it for a year or so, then experimentally tried to lift it.
'Sir?" The petty officer loomed in Victor's vision again. "Sir - are you all right? You zoned out on me there."
'No... yes..." Victor ground out painfully, as his vision cleared a little more. He turned his head, ignoring the way the corridor swam around him as he did so. "Which... door?"
The petty officer shook his head. "It's no good, sir, there are too many of them. I can't let you... urk." He stopped speaking when the tip of the painstick pressed against his adams apple.
"If I don't... go in," Victor forced himself to say, the words jamming up in his head then suddenly breaking free to spill out as if someone else was speaking them, someone impossibly distant and without connection to him. "They... win. They'll do this to... anyone else... that they don't... like. If I call for... more men and go in... they'll say we're... cowards and it won't stop then... either." He stopped, the words backing up in his head again, the steam rising from the waves of red pain that crashed against the shores of his thoughts higher now, pushing at the jammed words until they flew out again. "If I... go in... alone... even if... lose... can't say we're cowards. Others won't let happen... again."
The boy looked like he understood, but his nod was cut short by the pressure of the painstick. "Sir, they're still too many, it'd be five to one and you're already..."
"Five?" The word came out like a bullet riding on a cloud of hissing steam. "Were four... you said *four* came by."
"They did - but right after that, another one joined them."
"Who?" The steam rising in Victor's head was making it easier to talk, the pressure forcing the words out easier and easier as the moments passed.
"One of the women," the boy replied. "I don't know her name, but she's the really..." his face darkened, the color not quite as deep as the pain in Victor's head. "The really sexy one."
Victor's thoughts tried, but couldn't bring an image to mind. "The Princess?"
"No," the petty officer responded firmly. "Not her, one of her Attendants. The one that doesn't have that gap in the front of her armor all the others do - K'something."
The heat below the surface of the pain doubled, and the sea of pain started to roil, the clouds of steam rising from it filtering down through Victor, warming him. It filled him with a different kind of heat, one that burned hotter than the pain, searing it away, and leaving his thoughts clearer, his vision sharper than it had been a moment before. "K'vala?" His voice was more growl than anything, and the petty officer flinched.
"Yessir, that's her." The boy's eyes looked to the side, towards the doors. "She... she went in a minute or two after they got back, like they'd called her. There was a lot of yelling as she went inside - some of it her, some of it them. Sounded like a party."
The heat doubled again, and suddenly Victor knew it for what it was: anger. Anger so hot that it was washing away the pain and sustaining him with it's heat. "K'vala..." he hissed, and bared his teeth in a snarl. "K'vala."
He looked down at the painstick in his hand, tried to focus on the symbols by the small switch on the grip, but there were limits to what his anger could do and the Klingonaase writing swam about like a bowl of gaak. "Turn it on," he ordered, looking back up at the petty officer.
"Uh... sir?"
Victor dropped point of the painstick and poked it into the boy's chest. "Turn it on - I can't read the damn thing."
"Turn on... oh." The officer shifted out of the way, eyed the control and reached a finger out. "There are ten settings, sir - which one?"
"Twelve."
The boy looked up. "But it only has... oh, yes, sir." He flicked the switch and ran a small sliding bar all the way up. "Twelve it is, sir."
"Good." Victor blinked once, focusing on the boy. "Just two more things. Which door?"
"That one, sir," the petty officer pointed. "No one's left yet - I was watching."
Victor started to nod, stopped as his vision blurred. "Thanks." His feet started to move down the hall, the hum of the painstick in his hand like s softly droning bee.
"Sir?" It was the petty officer again. "What was the other thing?"
Victor replied without slowing, his steps building momentum as though there was a great weight behind him, pressing him forward. "PADD - I dropped my PADD outside Turbolift A on Deck Seven. Go get it for me."
"But, sir..."
"Go - and don't open the door here when you get back. Not until it's over."
Victor was almost to the door, the inertia that felt like it had built up behind him so large that his footsteps seemed to shake the deck when they fell on the carpeting, when the petty officer spoke up one last time, his voice receding in the distance as he moved away. "Sir? How will I know? When it's over, I mean?"
Victor's teeth bared in a tigerish snarl as he reached the door and swung to face it. As his left arm rose to hit the switch and open it, the angry fire inside him pushing back the pain from the break that had rendered it unusable a minute before, he answered, "You wait for the screaming to stop, son."
His fingers punched in an override, tripped the manual disengage on the internal lock, and pressed the release switch mechanically, his thoughts fixed on a pair of Klingon faces that slowly revolved about each other. ~ Dargha. K'vala. You should have killed me. ~
With a hiss, the door slid open, a babble of angry Klingon voices now audible in the hall. One voice - K'vala's - was berating someone, the words lost to Victor, but their angry content clear. Another - Dargha's - was answering in equal heat. Several more voices, all male, supported his with grunts.
The anger inside him rose up higher, washing away the pain, washing away his thoughts, washing away the need for anything but a burning desire to fight back, to hurt the ones that had hurt him. To make them pay. To show them that there was nothing more dangerous than a wounded predator that nothing left to lose.
"Hello boys," Victor growled hoarsely, the dimmer reddish light of the room making him appear larger than he really was, almost mythic in proportion, as he loomed in the doorway, silhouetted by the brighter corridor lighting. "Miss me?"
The Klingons - all standing around the small living area that was part of the suite - looked his way. Victor's eyes, sharper than they had any reason to be, locked with those of the lone woman in the room, saw them widen with shock as K'vala realized who was standing in the doorway, saw her start to speak as the four males turned, expressions of astonishment - and on one, outright fear - crossing their faces - and then a great roaring rose up in his ears, drowning out anything, everything, except the angry flames that washed across his vision as he stepped into the room with a tiger's killing smile on his face and the door slid closed behind him.
****
Victor blinked, and looked down at his arm, trying to understand where he was, and why it hurt. ~ Blood. I'm bleeding. ~ He blinked again, trying to come to terms with where he was. "Why is everything so red? Is the room bleeding? ~
He looked up from his hand, and everything came back to him in a rush as he met the eyes of the only other person standing in the room. She was backed into a corner in front of him, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and determination, one hand in front of her holding a knife with blood on the tip, and the other holding a chair like a barrier, keeping it between the two of them.
~ Attendant... K'vala? ~ With that thought everything came back to him in a rush that left him light-headed. Dargha. K'vala. The attack. The pain - especially the pain.
His chest was heaving, like he'd run for miles, and each breath sent stabs of pain through him as ribs that were obviously broken from the feel of them shifted in ways they were never intended to. His right arm, the one that was bleeding from a knife slash, gripped the broken stub of a Klingon painstick, snapped off just above the grip. Something was wrong with that arm up past the shoulder, and each time the arm moved, it felt like a hot knife was being laid across the side of his neck. The collarbone then. His left arm ached from the break that it had sustained earlier in the evening, and the tension created by his grip on one leg of the chair K'vala held sent lancets of pain up into his head. His right knee wasn't supporting his weight correctly any more, and throbbed with every beat of his heart. And everywhere else, seemingly without exception, there was either a bruise, scrape, or cut that demanded to be noticed.
He released the chair and let his left arm fall to his side, the pain from the movement fading as he no longer held the arm tensed. K'vala eyed him suspiciously as he stepped back and forced the fingers of his right hand to open and drop the remains of the painstick, her grip on the knife and chair never wavering.
A shudder ran though him, and he wavered on his feet, the inertial mass he'd felt driving him on as he entered the room falling away without warning, leaving him weak. One eye on the Klingon woman in the corner, he checked to the sides, praying that none of the others were still on their feet.
"They're no threat to you." K'vala's voice was soft, but penetrated the pain that was wrapping itself around him like a blanket clearly. "Not any more."
Victor frowned, trying to understand why her voice sounded different, then gave it up and risked a look away from the Attendant.
The first Klingon he saw was stretched out on the floor to his right, face down with the room's other chair obscuring his head. Occasional twitches from his arms and legs, like a dog chasing rabbits in its sleep, revealed that he was still alive and just unconscious. The second was draped over the small table set to one side where Victor dimly recalled all of the Klingons being when he entered the room, a trickle of blood falling from his nostrils and a bruise the approximate shape of a painstick stretching across his face from side to side, faint scorch marks around it's edges revealing the source of the breakage to the stick he'd dropped. Further away, half in the door to the sleeping quarters, another Klingon - Dargha by the look of him - lay on his side, the door slowly closing until its sensors detected the motionless Klingon's head in its path, then reversing itself. The last of the bodyguards lay against the wall to K'vala's left, crumpled in a heap as if he'd struck !
the wall, slid down it, and stopped there.
"No... threat..." The words sounded like they were made by a gravel crusher to Victor, not his voice.
"No threat," the Attendant agreed, watching Victor closely. "Not now, not again. They will not dare try anything else. Not after this."
"Threat..." victor looked around the room again, certain that there was something else he needed to do. "Still threat..." He turned back towards her. "Still... you."
K'vala raised the chair again defensively at his look. "No, not me."
"With them... you were with them." Victor's thoughts started to sort themselves out, the image of K'vala shouting at Dargha as he entered the room coming back to him. "You were with them." The last words came out in a growl.
"No!" the Klingon woman snapped, raising her knife again as Victor started forward. "I have no wish to hurt you tonight."
Victor stopped, staring at her for a moment, as part of him mulled over the Attendant's words. Finally, he shaped a single thought that summed up his conclusions and forced it out past his lips. "No point in it, is there?"
A blank look was her only response.
"No honor to it," he continued, the words coming out past the pain as he went on. "I'd be too easy now, not worthy." His laugh was a snarl mixed with a bark of derision as the pain from his ribs flayed his nerves. "All right then." His head looked around. "Another time, another place - then you can have your fight and get back your precious honor if that's what you want."
He deliberately turned his back on her as he started for the door, ignoring the sound of the chair being set down behind him. "I learned what I need to know anyway - your boys here aren't smart enough for what I wanted to talk to them about - if they had been, they wouldn't have done this" Victor paused, swaying at the door. "But you're smart - and I'll remember that. If you're the one I want... I'll be back for you."
K'vala said something behind him, her voice still sounding strange to his ears, but Victor let it slide past him, unheard, as he keyed the door open and stepped into the hallway. She was still speaking as the door closed, her voice more urgent, as though what she had to say was important to her, but the closing door silenced her.
"Uhhh... sir?" The young petty officer was waiting for him there, Victor's PADD in hand. "I found your PADD, sir."
"Good job, son." Victor took it and started to stumble down the hall towards the turbolift. "Now do another good job and forget this happened. Talk to Corgan in the morning, but don't speak to anyone else. Got me?"
"Aye, sir. Are you sure you don't want me to...?"
"I'll manage by myself, son," Victor replied, the truth of the words he was saying as painful as his injuries as he rounded the corner. "I always do."
****
=/\= Sickbay to Dr. Malgin. =/\=
Loud groan exited Vladimir's mouth as he opened his eyes. His hand already trying to find something metal and heavy to throw into irritator. Noticing finally, that it was only a commbadge, doctor sweared and tapped it. His voice was boiling "Malgin's here. What a hell happened there in sickbay?
Don't ya know I am sleeping and my sleep worths enough gold to fill Fort Knox?"
"This is Dr. T'Lan, sir" the annoyingly calm voice of the female Vulcan who handled the late shift in Sickbay replied. "We have a patient that had themselves site-to-site transported to Sickbay two minutes ago. He refuses to let me examine him, sir, even though he is obviously injured and suffering pain. He has requested you specifically. Will you respond?"
In the background, Vladimir clearly heard a man's voice tiredly and painfully grate, "Son, if you come any nearer with that hypo, you're going to need a proctologist to recover it after I give it back to you, verstehen Sie?"
"Okay, Lan, tell that bastard not to worry about hypo. Because he is the one who will need proctologists and coroners after I come. Malgin out." Vladimir tapped combadge like if it was guilty in this rude awakening. HE sweared more in Russian and started to pull on his uniform...
With loud hiss, storm entered the sickbay. Even the person who didn't knew Vladimir, might understand that this was the part, where it would be better to run away to save ass. "Doctor T'Lan, where is that damn patient, who wants little old me to tend him?"
"There, sir." The Vulcan turned and pointed to the diagnostic bed at the far end of the row, then moved aside to let him pass.
Through the pain pounding at his head, Victor heard the conversation and, with another glare at the orderly hovering a safe distance away, straightened up as best he could given the circumstances. ~ The man's been woken up in the middle of the night, and that's not going to do anything to put him in a better mood - but at least he's not going to try and coddle you like the Vulcan wanted to. ~ "Sir, that would be me, sir," he said, his voice still hoarse from the blow to the throat he'd taken in the fight. His right eye twitched again, the muscles around it spasming under the aftereffects of the painstick's impact there. "I'm sorry to have them wake you, but ..." he stopped and winced as the pain of breathing past his broken ribs reached a new high, "...but I needed a doctor I could trust."
Vladimir waved hand to Vulcan medica dismissing and walked to man on the biobed. "Oh, well, mister. I kina hate being awoke at night, you're right, but I gave Hippocratic Oath, so, wheter I want it or nor, I should help you. So, lay still and keep your tongue still while I check ya." Taking tricorder, Vladimir jawned. No, he should sleep more. Five hours in last two days is a bit too little. But these were expenses of CMO position. However, as results of diagnostics popped up on the screen of his instrument, Vladimir whistled and said, addressing more to himself than to patient. "God, dammit! And you are still alive? I thought that you should have died of pain shock, considering amount of damage..." He made his eyes go out of screen and threw quick glance at Victor "Well, well, mister... I'd better tell you what you don't have - it will be quicklier. But... The list of your damages include... Broken left arm, seven broken ribs and one more seriously fractured, right collarbone broken, swelling knee, alotta other bruises and other stuff, which I even don't care to count. I guess it hurts a lot, no? Do you want a painkiller?"
~ Painkiller? Do I remember what it felt like to not hurt? ~ Victor thought a second. ~ No - which is a bad sign. ~ "As long as you don't knock me out - yes,"
Without even waiting for Victor to reply, Vladimir walked to the nearest shelf and picked painkiller, loaded it into hypo and injected it. "Then he put hypospray on the table and asked with wicked smile "Before I do anything more, I am eager to know one thing... How it came that you suffered such injuries? Just don't tell me it was an incident. IT was something much worse..."
At the hiss of the hypo, the fog of pain around Vidtor's thoughts started to lift, letting him think clearly again. ~ Should I...? It isn't like he doesn't already know - I can see it in his eyes. He just wants to see if I'll lie to him about it. ~ "Off the record, sir?"
"Without a doubt - yes. I am expecting you, good guy, to tell me the truth. You know, I don't like if somebody lies to me." said Vladimir with smile.
Victor nodded. "Some members of the Klingon diplomatic party, sir. One of them with a grudge put some of their friends up to settling it tonight, and we had a difference of opioion on how it should come out. They thought I should lie down and let them beat me to death, and I held a different opinion." He shrugged, forgetting the broken collarbone until it grated painfully despite the painkiller, and winced. "My opinion seemed to be stronger."
Doctor chuckled and shook his head "You opinion might have been stronger, but their muscles are tough enough even for your opinions. I guess, that you'll have to stay here for some time, so..." Vladimir's face suddenly frowned "Oh, by the way, do Security guys know about that incident? IF not, then I will have to report about it to Lieutenant Corgan, doesn't matter you want it or not."
"Besides myself, the door guard to the Klingon's room and the Klingons - just you and your staff know right now, sir. The Commander will need to know, so there's no reason for you not to tell him - but I'd appreciate it if you could keep it quiet past him. The fewer people that know about this, the less chance a diplomatic incident will get made out of it." Victor smiled unpleasantly. "I don't think the Klingons are going to say anything, they seemed to see the wisdom of my argument when we talked about it." ~ The Klingon's aren't going to admit to starting it - or losing to one man. ~
Victor moved his left arm experimentally, and made a face. "Do you think it would be possible to get me fixed up so that it doesn't *look* like anything happened to me, sir? I need to be on duty in the morning like nothing happened. If they think they busted me up, then they'll start thinking that they can do it to any of the other Security personnel they don't like. The next one they pick might not be as lucky - or have as good an argument - and, well, you've been doing enough autopsies lately. Doesn't matter if it hurts, I just need to look like everything's fine." Hoping that the doctor would understand, he added, "It really would help the situation, sir. If you need to, you can clear it with Corgan."
Vladimir took professional confident tone "Well, I can make you look normal," he said, emphazising word 'look', "but I will have to supply you with painkillers on a constant basis, because all thoseribs are going to hurt some time even after I, the best surgeon here and, I am sure, in Starfleet, spend this night tending them. Bruises are easy to get rid of." He snickered "Well, even if I had to clear this with mister Corgan, I wouldn't. Now relax, my friend and let me take care of ya..."
Bhrode stomped out of the staff meeting with a scowl on his face. The older and wiser elements of the Bridge crew managed to look busy elsewhere. Fast. Not so much the younger and not-so-wise elements of the crew. They tended to gape and blink in sudden surprise. To allow their eyes to dart from side to side in vain hope that an escape was close at hand.
"Mister Reece!" Bhrode snapped to the tall, slim woman in his Command Chair.
"All. Normal. Con is. Back. To you. " she got out, her tall and sleek form rising from the chair with a native grace her clipped and forced speech patterns denied.
"As normal as life gets with the gaddamed Klingons around." Bhrode snorted, ignoring the Princess and her party making their way in stately elegance to the turbolift.The Brigadier General stopped and gave the back of Bhrode's head a long and careful look, before Corgan and the Legate ushered the group into the Turbolift and off the bridge.
"I really...really..REALLY think the smegging PPC is perhaps not the way to go." Lysander was nattering in one of Bhrode's ears.
"Without the Vor'Cha being destroyed, we have less than a 48% chance of winning an encounter." Rebecca sniped from the other side.
"45%! We don't HAVE to have the suicide Marine Shuttles." Lys retorted.
"Yes we do." she replied, her face stony in its' resolution.
"WHAT? youre just going to send those Marines out, on the long and possible chance that they -might- delay...not prevent but only -delay- a K'Tinga from firing on Galaxy, and allowing.." Lys ranted.
"Yes. Maximum Utilization of Expendable Resources." Rebecca intoned.
"Smegging insane! You'd pack 20 Marines into shuttles and send them off to die, just BECAUSE you squeeze three percentage points out of a hopeless situation's Probability Index?"
"Yes. The Math is never wrong." Rebecca replied with total sincerity.
"YOU!" Bhrode snapped at the dapper young man at Helm, ending his XO's squabble for them.
"Errr.... yes sir?"
"Who are you again?"
"Lieutenant Junior Grade Brian..." the dapper young man stammered out.
"No. You're an Ensign again. This ship is 4.98% off the elleptical plane position I ordered. SAVOIE! Get in there and fix this position plot." Bhrode snapped.
As the Tall Terran scrambled to get his subordinate out of his way and the ship's position fixed to Bhrode's liking... Rebecca and Lysander traded long and considering glances over Bhrode's Barrel-Chest.
~~ WHAT is going on around here?"~~ was no doubt rumbling through the Tactical Genuises' minds. This entire encounter had seen their plots. Plans, strategeums and advice being pushed aside time and time again.
"Time for this to end." Bhrode commented, to no one in particular.
"Ship back on ordered station." shot out Jeremy Savoie, clearly wondering WHY the position was so important. Four percent differential? Even Fleet SOP allowed a 5% margin of error in sublight placekeeping.
"Mister Reece, open a hail to the Admiral." Bhrode snapped, ignoring the Legate settling in one of the Mission Chairs next to Lysander, as Karyn Dallas secured her chair where the fifth seat should be in the Command Pod. Almost every Senior Officer present was shooting the Captain odd looks.
The bumpy headed image of the Klingon Thought Admiral appeared on the viewscreen.
"Ahh. I didn't think you would have given up so soon. I have stood down from Red Alert after you did..." The Klingon began.
"Her Highness, Dev'oraH, the Living Sword of Kahless and Scion of the Emperor Reborn; sends her regrets to the Admiral's Flotilla, and must respectfully decline his offer of transit." Bhrode said, his face impassive.
The Klingon showed incredulous amazement. An underofficer leaned into the viewscreen and began whispering in the Thought Admiral's ear. He was waved off with a scowl and a gauntled fist.
"I do not believe you perhaps presented my...offer to the Princess in the proper way." The Thought Admiral declared with a scowl.
Bhrode met the scowl with one of his own."See where being nice gets you?" he remarked under his breath, in the Legate's general direction.
"Really? Perhaps you misunderstood me? Tough. She's not going. She's staying aboard Galaxy." El Capitaine replied.
"What are you doing? I command enough firepower here to destroy you! You cannot go to Warp, your weapons systems are down...YOU ARE MINE!" the Klingon raged, his temper clearly breaking.
"Oh, well... if you want to be THAT way about it.... Red Alert again Mister Reece. Mister Black, Firing Plan Tango Seven." Bhrode replied, settling back into his chair with a smirk.
"Battlestations. Today is a good day to die. I will TAKE the Princess from the smouldering heap of what was once your ship." The Thought Admiral taunted.
"Mister Black... arm the PPC." Bhrode ordered.
"Aye...arming cycle engaging...photon control is coming on line, all Phaser generators shunting to PPC access net.....crap..." replied Black.
++CANNOT EXECUTE PPC PRE-FIRING DIAGNOSTICS. ONLY DOCTOR JEBEDIAH QUICK IS AUTHORIZED TO DIVERT POWER TO THIS RELAY NETWORK.++ the computer announced.
The Klingon laughed a mocking howl. His bridge officers joined him.
"Sir! Klingon ships initiating full Combat Arming sequences." Black was reporting..just as Reece swung in her seat, her beautiful face in a grimace of inner pain.
"Ops. Plasma Power. Relays. Not Responding. PPC. Load is...Diverting Power from .All. Combat. Systems. Shields only. At. Fifty Percent. Cannot. By Pass." she reported.
Surprisingly, Bhrode didn't kill anyone. He just smirked and tugged his tunic down again.
Rebecca and Lys were both pouring over the Tactical Subsytems repeaters, with worried frowns. Rebecca's intense detached air contrasted with Lys' out-of-tune whistling.
"I seem to have the advantage. Send over the Princess and her party, Now." The Klingon laughed, his mocking tone going to ice on the last word.
"Mister Black, Mister Reece. Reconfigure the Deflector Array to emit a five second Tachyon Pulse on my mark, using the file Alpha Omicron Seven, you will find under my Security Command Codes." Bhrode replied, smirking the whole time.
"Send the Princess! Or I will open fire!" thundered the Thought Admiral.
"Really?" asked Bhrode, clearly amused at something.
"Send the Princess or I will render the marrow of your bones to..." Raged the Thought Admiral.
"Ready." reported Black.
"Mark." replied Bhrode, in a low voice.
Black's fingers danced on his console, as Electra matched him on Ops.
Power was diverted to the Deflector Array, and the charged burst of Tachyon Particles leapt from Galaxy. Unseen by any eye, they went screaming off into the Stellar void.
TBC
=/\=
*backpost, before meeting w/ Brhode*
Ella sat back on her heels, viewed the jammed door for a third time in under a minute, and pointed to it. She shrugged a shoulder in Curtis' direction. Surely, whoever had been outside was long gone by now.
Curtis shook his head.
The Lieutenant was staring intently into nothingness,ears open, listening for any sign of the intruder's whereabouts.
Every now and then he caught traces of noises nearby.Though they seemed to be moving away, he didn't want to chance it just yet.
"No Ella." he whispered, "I can still hear them."
She frowned slightly and, naturally, said nothing.
Ella decided instead to concentrate on what she believed was a miniture "pit stop" for race cars.
God, she hated siting here and feeling helpless! Ella had the sudden urge to smash it with the palm of her hand. Hurricane Ella strikes again, Leaves obliterated mechanic's shop in devastating wake.
She rolled her eyes and began to sign to Curtis before she realized again that he couldn't understand her. And she had lost her computer PADD somewhere along the way. Ella mentally tsked at herself and then made what looked like a duck quacking with her hand,pointed at him, and hoped he would understand that she wanted him to talk.
He caught on.
"Of course," Curtis started in a low voice, "I understand that this apparent silence must be driving you crazy. I forgot you can't hear I can."
Ella nodded. Even though she had excellent hearing, she couldn't hear a peep coming from outside.
"I can't imagine what it's like to hear nothing.
There's always some noise I can pick up, no matter where I am. Sometimes I think it's quite a pain, but I wonder if I wouldn't go mad if I suddenly couldn't hear any sounds anymore." Curtis said.
Ella tried to picture it herself. The loss of speech was of little consequence to her but to lose her sight or her hearing...it would be unacceptable, as her father was so fond of saying.
She pointed at Curtis, put on a big cheesy grin for a second, and then pointed to the floor. 'You happy here?' she was asking him, hoping to change the subject.
"If you mean the ship," Curtis began, "Then yes. Absolutely. Obviously Brohde is a factor against it, I mean, I don't mind working under such a strict guy, but I really don't think he likes me at all. I remember I hated him when he took over for Price, but a year off at the Academy made me realize that while he may be a pain about it, he really does care about the crew. In his own sadistic way that is.
Those MARINES on the other hand....."
Ella plugged her nose as if she had just smelt something bad. She was no fan of the marines either, thanks to the bath towel incident.
"That sergent Betty has it in for me. But I don't let it get to me. If those marines want to play tough, then you just have to give it right back to them." Curtis continued, then adding with a smile," Besides, I can outrun them all. Humans are pretty slow, on the Galactic standard of things, no offense."
Ella shrugged, unoffended. She began to absently fiddle with the mini race track again. What bothered her most was that she had no idea what was going on in Engineering at the moment. It had been next to chaos when she had left, who knew what it would be like when they finally returned?
Curtis continued staring into space, the noises were definately moving away. His mind started to drift off to other places, to his tenure at the Academy, to the students he taught. He had been quite a young professor, only 6 or so years older then most of his students. He had been a bit uncomfortable with the whole thing. He was never sure if he was teaching them correctly or if they even enjoyed the class.
Curtis always tried to make it interesting, make jokes, and other things. Truth be told, he had always felt a little....inadequate. He looked at Ella. Now there was a fine example of an engineer. His best student, Curtis always knew she would do well.
What did she think of him? Was he any help at all at the Academy?
"Ella..." he said, out of the blue.
The ensign looked up from the race track on the floor.
"Was I...." he stumbled out, "...was I...any help at all at the Academy?" he asked.
Ella tilted her head and stared at him in some confusion.
"I just never have known if I did any good." Curtis continued. "Kiora says I'm hard on myself, but I've never quite felt...up to snuff. It sounds egotistical and self-centered I know. But it's really not...it's hard to explain......was I, any good?"
Ella thought about it, remembered his class that she had taken, how well the other students had responded to the information he had taught, how she herself had looked forward to hearing what he had to say. Curtis had been informative, interesting, and patient. He had been a good teacher, great in fact, but it would be hard to pantomime that for him.
She simply nodded, then pointed at his wedding band.
Kiora is right, she thought. You're too hard on yourself.
"Perhaps so." Curtis thought. "I'm rather...insecure. I don't know why. I do my job, people generally seem to have no problem with me. And I certainly ACT sure enough. But I think my insecurity is going to be a big obstacle to promotion."
Ella sighed. After several minutes worth of charades, she was able to ask him if Curtis was angry that she had been given assistant cheif when, by all rights, it should have been his.
Curtis was a bit taken aback. "No no no Ella! Absolutely not! In fact, it gave me kind of a thrill to find one of my students had gone out and really made a place for herself."
Ella didn't know what to say to that. It wasn't as if she had really earned the job, now had she. More charades. 'I would give it up if you asked me to' she managed to mime. With any other person, Ella would have shrugged, mentally wished them better luck next time, and moved on. But she respected Curtis, enough to give up her job apparently. She frowned inwardly.
Maybe you're just not up to the task yet, Ella, she thought.
Maybe your just looking to pass the responsibility off to someone else.
"You will do no such thing." Curtis answered. "And I will not ask, ever. Think of the experience Ella. A lot of officers wait for YEARS before they can get the kind of position you have. You're on the fast track in the inside lane. And I know you can handle it."
Ella shrugged again in an 'I suppose' fashion. She thought she could handle it too just sometimes...she laughed silently.
Look at us, she thought. Both the student and the teacher needing the other say that they were worth something. Well, you always hungered for praise, didn't you, she thought wryly.
Curtis stopped for a moment....nothing. Silence.
"Ella. It's gone." he said.
Ella lifted a questioning brow.
"No, I'm sure of it, there's no more noise or breathing. Nothing hides from a Kerelian's ears." Curtis said, smiling.
She shrugged again. 'If you say so, Professor' she seemed to be saying.
Ella trusted Curtis and if Curtis said the thing was gone..
"Listen. Thanks for the talk. It helped." he said.
She smiled, and moved to open the door. It would feel good to get out of that cramped space, and away from whatever was trying to get at them.
(Off) Orchestra: bom bom BOOOOOOOOOOOOM
With Lt. Raven Darkstar, temporarily heading the Security Department and Leo
Streely, former journalist, bartender, and son of a Q - now spearheading the
investigating the murders aboard the ship.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
"Hey partner, open up OK?!?! It's Me, Leo!" the diminutive deputy
cried out as he continued pounding on the doors to Raven's quarters, completely
oblivious to the door chime only 7 inches from where he was pounding.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
"Ah c'mon! Open up! You gotta hear this one! C'mon buddy! Lemmie in, eh?!?!" he yelled as he pounded. A burly looking Bolian in Engineer's gold thudded down the hallway, pausing as he walked to throw a glance at the tiny human wailing on the door.
"Lover's quarrel? You locked out?" he asked Leo.
Streely wheeled around. "Oh listen to you, wise guy! Keep flappin your blue lips and I'll have the old man lock your jive cracking carcass up and then throw away the room! Ya got that, OK?! OK?! Just keep on, keeping on!" he said, waving the Bolian away.
"Damn comedians! I shoudda told him the one about the Bolian and the blue balls..that wouldda ..oh my stars and garters!!" Leo said slapping his forehead. "Why didn't I remember this before!"
He cleared his throat and in his most "Savat-like" voice of authority simply recited something he had remembered Raven doing back on the old Galaxy.
"COMPUTER, PERSONAL QUARTERS OVERRIDE. DARKSTAR, RAVEN. AUTHORIZATION: DEPUTY STREELY, SECURITY."
The door actuator blinked green, and with a hiss the apartment doors slid open.
'Hey Partner! What's with keepin the door's locked! Afraid I was gonna see your 'log' "Leo joked as he made his way to the replicator. "Is that what your brother was named after? A horse log? I mean that's a touch harsh being named after a penis, but hey, I suppose it fits him, ya know?" he said calling for a bowl of orange wedges (not to be confused with Wej's) with a side dish of mayonnaise.
"So what is the story with you two anyways?" he asked dipping the fruit into the Mayo and plopping it into his mouth with an audible squish. "Oh and we're about to go to war with some Klingons. You hear about that ye..." he started as he turned around only to see the living room empty.
"Yo! Whee da heb you hibin!" he asked with a mouth full of oranges. he glanced around the sparse living room and found nothing.
He walked over to the bathroom door and knocked three times. "Hey partner! You pitchin a loaf?!?!"
Hearing no answer he pushed open the wooden door and flipped on the lights.
The bathroom was empty.
Leo was about to move his search on to the bedroom when he spied something laying in the sink. It was the ceremonial tomahawk that had been given to Darkstar when he had been on a mission on Ursid, a planet doomed to destruction by a meteor. The large sharp edge of the blade and the sink itself was covered in spots of what appeared to be blood.
"Raven?" Leo called out, his voice full of concern. "Raven!"
Exiting the bathroom, Leo moved to the last room in the apartment. The one room where he had been forbidden to enter years ago.
Darkstar's bedroom.
He padded softly over to the door. Swallowing hard he knocked twice. "Raven? Hey pal, it's me - Leo."
No answer.
He called out once again, this time a bit louder.
Still no answer.
Ever so slowly he reached out until his hand rested on the cool metal surface of the knob. He began to turn it to his right.
"What are you doing in my quarters Leo?" a deep voice echoed behind him.
Streely released his grip on the knob and turned to see the familiar figure of the Indian Security officer looming behind him. "There you are! What the hell is a matter with you? You trying to kill me or something? Christ! Give a guy a heart attack over here! Are you OK?"
"I am fine." he grumbled.
"I mean I saw the ax in the sink there with the blood splatters and crap..." Leo said licking the bowl clean.
"I cut myself. Nothing more." Darkstar said folding his arms over his broad chest.
"Be a little more careful, huh. For a second I thought that psycho killer had got you too! And are you sure your OK? You don't look so hot. Maybe you oughtta stop by sickbay and get a check up. I suggest asking for nurse Quadri. The tiny blonde? She jiggles your jewels a little too long when giving you a physical, if you catch my drift."
Darkstar just rolled his eyes.
"Ok! Gotta run! Just stopped by to see what's up!" Leo said tossing the empty bowl at the Indian. "And like I said, I just came from the staff meeting and it sounds like the shit is gonna hit the fan soon. Just a little heads up from the Big Hoss, OK?!" Leo said walking to the door.
"And keep your eyes peeled. The killer could be anywhere, OK?!?!" he said before slipping out into the hallway where he proceeded to whistle after a dark haired Science officer.
Darkstar just stood in the doorway and sighed as he watched the little man dash down the hall.
He stood and watched the bridge as the situation unfolded. The Klingons and the captain, someone named Bhrodie were in a standoff, and it looked to him like the tachyon pulse was supposed to do something he hadn't recalled yet.
So far he had been more impressed with the underlings then with Bhrodie. While he had a keen tactical mind he had no leadership aside from fear and threats. Which in a Klingon ship would end up in his death, in a Nietzchean vessel he wouldn't as much die, but end up deposed and disgraced.
Now he was trying to find some information on this whole crew, the Bureau of State Security had informed him he would send him all the files they could. He'd have to examine this crew later and figure out why they haven't deposed Bhrodie.
Watching him he began to input commands, he had contacted sources on the Klingon homeworld when he heard about this princess D'Vora'h.
More then meets the eye he thought with a smile, "Interesting...."
Bhrode glared around the table. Even the Klingons at the door looked away.
"Suicide?" he demanded of Leo Streeley.
"No thanks, I got five already." replied Leo with an airy wave, craning his neck at the Klingon Princess in a vain attempt to see down the front of the cutout in her armoured chestplate.
Curtis just continued to stare into space, he wasn't really sure why he had been told to come to the meeting. Nothing here seemed to concern him. Besides, the Chief was here. Was this just a sick way for Bhrode to seat him next to the marines "Gonna GET you Nerp. Gonna make you run until you puke, and THEN I'm gonna make you do many many many millions of calisthentics..." The female Marine was whispering in Gelufs' ear...the not-inconsiderable part of her frontal anatomy pressed against his arm. That Marine Major was staring RIGHT at Curtis, with a look that didn't bode well for anyone.
He hadn't even blinked in the last three minutes. (The Klingon is behind Curtis, so cut him some slack guys!)
"Captain, what about the smeggin' Klingons?" asked Lysander, in a feeble attempt to divert Bhrode from the discussion of the murders.
"My problem Number Two. I have a gawd-damn surprise for them. Excuse my language, your Highness." Bhrode tilted his head to his visitor.
"My figures show that an engagement between Galaxy and the Threat Force..." Rebecca began.
"Wrong." replied Lys in a too-loud voice.
Rebecca's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Excuse me?" she said in a voice that would make a Breen Christmas seem tropical.
"Your simulations? The ones you were waving around earlier? They're wrong. Wrong wrong wrong." Lysander chanted.
"Oh?" Rebecca replied, crossing her arms over her flat chest and giving Lys a look that would slag armor plating in it's intensity.
"Rather. The first thing the Klingons teach their people is to take the 'Standard Tactics' book and jettison it out the airlock. They don't fight 'by the numbers' and your simulations don't take that factor into account." Lys sniffed.
"Really?" Rebecca asked, in a harsh and brittle voice.
"Really. These aren't Borg, they think, they do things you didn't take into account. And they're racially impulsive in the first place.
They're not GOING to wait for the dial to say 100% charge before they shoot. Look. . .One hit from the PPC on that Vor'Cha, and the Klingon Fleet is minus one big committment of materials. And the Klingon fleet shipyard will be building a replacement." Lysander waved a hand in airy dismissal.
"And the K'Tingas?" Rebecca challenged her counterpart.
"You ever command one of them in a firefight? I have. Believe me, they are no match for us without the Vor'Cha covering their asses. They can dance around potting long range disruptors all they want, they'll never crack our shields and we can slam twice the number of Photon Torpedoes at them until they get bored and die. They need taht Vor'Cha to bash us arond enough for them to dart in and finish us off. by deploying the Vor'ccha right in front of us...they blundered. Fatally." Lysander said, to an appalled silence.
Bhrode considered his First Officers and the wide eyed Klingon representitives.
Cutter's gaze danced back and forth between the two executive officers during their conversation, very interested in the situation. When Lysander finished, and the room fell silent, Cutter leaned over Rebecca's shoulder and peered at the PADD in front of her. He never put much faith in tactical plans and simulations. Tactical was a chaotic science, depending far too much on the initial conditions and probabilities. An officer could come up with a hundred different versions of the same battle, to achieve any result, and yet, when played out, the battle could play out in a completely unforseen manner. It was all guesswork.
~ That was interesting. ~ Victor shifted his eyes from the newly-promoted CMO to sweep the room again. ~ I wonder if it’s an act he puts on to intimidate people or something else? Dr. Malgin wasn’t that bad last night when he was patching me up. Of course that might be because I told him didn’t want to stay in Sickbay, I think I overheard Hanley saying that the Doctor really hated patients that stayed around. ~
No one really noticed Dr. Quick look up from his badly concealed video game and notice FIRST the Klingon Princess... and then the silence. A whispered conversation with the officer to his side quickly filled Quick in on what was going on.
Sort of.
"PPC? What's that?" the wild-haired scientist cocked his head to the side inquisitively, "Is that like PCP, of which I (ahem) have been known to partake from time to time?"
The silence in the room got even more appalled.
"Wings! Yo! Did you cut one AGAIN?" Leo asked of Cutter.
$$$$$$$$$$
Cutter looked up from VonErnst's PADD, distracted at first, then clearly irritated. The security officer sitting across from him, one Leo Streely, whom Cutter had never before met, was constantly shifting around, and kicking Cutter beneath the table, and accusing him for causing the foul odor in the room.
"No! If you smell your own uniform, you'll find the odor originating there!"
$$$$$$$$$$
"The Pulse Phaser Cannon. On this ship." said Rebecca, slowly and distinctly, like she was speaking to Icky Lys on one of his more ignorant days.
Quick's lips mumbled the acronym to himself several times.
"Right. Rock on. Got it." Quick nodded his head in agreement.
"If we shoot it at the Klingon Vor'Cha, the Vor'Cha goes bye-bye." Lys added.
Quick's forehead furrowed in thought. The silence in the room deepened. "The ..errr... whassit?" Quick ventured after several painful seconds.
"Pulse Phaser Cannon." re-iterated Rebecca veeerrrry slooowwwllyyy.
"Oooooh THAT!" Quick's head bobbed up and down in sudden recognition, "Oh wow you guys sure are draggin the skeletons out of my closet, Are the boys at Utopia Planatia still upset about those old blueprints?"
"Upset?" Bhrode challenged, in chorus with the Princess declaring "Skeletons? Who was SHE?"
"They built it?" Quick was confused more than anything, "What the heck for?"
"To smash opponents into component atoms with a focused 4500 megajoule pulse of focused class XI phaser fire through a monoberylliam derived aperature." Rebecca said with a certain dispassionate relish.
"Really? I wonder who'd designed something like that? Sounds like... farrrr out. HEY! My Paladin is ..like about to totaly go to the next level! Rock ON lil electronic avatar of my...!" Quick added, going back to his video game.
"You did." Bhrode said.
"Really? I mean I DID? Oh yeah...well... the whole thing was just a sort of artistic stament you realize? Anyone know how to kill the mage on the second level of..." Quick muttered out of the side of his mouth.
"We've had some... problems... with the pre-firing checklist." admitted Lysander, avoiding Bhrode's glare.
Sighing Quick dropped his game PADD and leaned inward and used his hands to try and pantomime what he was trying to explain. "You see the whole idea of the large underslung Phaser Cannon was a statement on my part concerning the Andro-centrick nature of the bourgeois military-industrial complex. The Cannon itslef is a classic representation of a Roman Phallic Symbol to portray strength and virility, when in fact we know," Quick grinned like a loon, "The cannon in fact is a symbol of impotence.
The thing isnt supposed to work at all." "WHAT THE BLUE JUMPING NOVAS ARE YOU ON?" roared Bhrode, as Lys stopped slouching and sat bolt upright. The Princess merely shook her head and looked at Quick with sad eyes.
"Was it worth it, to try and impress Leah with THAT little piece of garbage?" she asked in a husky aside to Quick.
Amidst it all Rebecca sat with a confused look on her face, red eyebrows furrowed deeply as she pondered Quick's words. Unfortuantely her education outside of Mathematics was rather limited so she didnt know what Andro-Centrick meant, nor what a bourgeois was. There was another thing that bothered her too: Leaning over to Lysander she whispered curiously, "Psst. . . .Lys, what's a Phallic symbol?"
*Geez, Brhode, get her name right. It's O'Connell dammit!* the anal part of Karyn screamed. Then again, they didn't care much for names on Breen.
Both Cutter, who was sternly staring at Leo, and Leo, who was making various gestures and faces at Cutter, both heard the whispered question and looked incredulously at the red-headed executive officer. Cutter rolled his eyes and Leo disintergrated into a sputtering, redfaced pile.
"Smeg! errr.... ummm...I'll show you one later." Nattered Lys, whose own education outside Himself, Math, Tactics, Women and Flying (in that order)was fairly limited.
"Medical!" Bhrode thundered, causing everyone to jump again.
"Dr. O'Conner is..." began a timid Ensign who'd followed in on Dr. Malgin's heels.
"Transferred. To Breen. Forget O'Conner." Bhrode snapped.
Even Rebecca Von Ernst blinked at this pronouncement.
"Errr... " began Lysander, darting a quick look at Rebecca to see if she'd known about this at all.
"Is she here? Hell no. Has she done a damn thing since she came aboard? Hell no. She's damn lucky I don't snap her neck on general principle. MALGIN!" Bhrode barked. "You're hereby field commissioned CMO and a Brevet Lieutenant Commander. Enjoy. You're Russian, screw around on the job and you'll be on Breen too, thinking the Siberian Gulags are Glorious People's Tropical Resorts."
Newly appointed Chief Doctor jumped on his feel "You'd bet I will enjoy this. I am not sure if crew will like this idea of one more black pip on my collar, but who will ask them, da?" Vladimir chuckled "Sir, be sure, you will not requireordering another shuttle trip to Breen for anybody from Medical. If I see disorder - I will be the one who makes sure that the guilty one dies. Thanks, sir."
"Errr..." added Lys helpfully.
"Dr. O'Connell has a husband and family..." began Lysander again, clearly worried that he nor Rebecca (he assumed!) had even had an inkling of this.
"So? So what? Lieutenant Black! You're now the CTO, replacing whoever she was married to. Keep it up Wonder Boy and you may join the O'Connell family. All going to Breen. That Nice-Klingon Thought Admiral out there assured me he'd give them his best quarters." Bhrode sneered.
"Sir.. I served in the Klingon Fleet... they don't really have Transient Guest Quarters appropiate for..." Lysander nattered away.
"Look! I wanted her ass off my ship, and it's gone via the fastest possible route! If she wanted to leave another way, she should have said something! As long as she and her ugly kid are gone, I'm dancing in a field and smelling the damn flowers with a shit eating grin on my face."
Bhrode insisted, his face flushing and the vein in his forehead starting to throb.
Vladimir had an unease chill go down his back. He understood what he was sensing - his brains desperately reminded him what is Breen and how 'chilled' is weather there. ~I wish yuo, fat ass, will be the first to go on Breen. Then I will follow you to make you suffer more...~ he thought with wicked smile.
Curtis came out of his comatose state. Whatever was making Bhrode mad, he hoped it didn't involve him. He checked the Big Indian Marine major. Still staring , still not blinking.
"Let me make on thing clear kiddykins. I am your Commanding Officer. This is not a debate. This is not a democracy. This is the Gawddamned Flagship of the fleet in a tight spot, and we have some psycho killer slicing people open. So what I say, goes. Or you do." Bhrode glowered at the group.
"Yeah! What he said!" piped in Leo Streeley. "You know, maybe I was wrong about you being a steaming pile of Monkey..."
"Shut your hole, you little pervert. When I first came here, I had you jailed. I'll do it again in a heartbeat." Bhrode told him.
"What? WHAT!?" screeched Leo.
"You. Brigcell. Alone." declared Bhrode.
"Hey, as long as I have hands, I'm never alone! What about the fans?
They got a right... the fans! They'll riot! No 'BIG HOSS" and you'll be having suicides all OVER this ship! And not just the dames!" Leo insisted.
"Say ONE more word." promised Bhrode.
Leo's mouth snapped shut. (JQB being about the ONLY Force in the Universe with the power to shut up Streeley!)
Cutter uttered a short victorious laugh at Leo's defeat, like a child who just had his parents yell at his sibling.
~~Amazing,~~ thought Curtis....~~just amazing. No one was happier than Jeremy Savoie that Leo finally shut his yap. Not only was his voice grating on the helmsman's ears, there were strange odors coming from the little man sitting next to him that Jeremy couldn't quite determine the source of. Bhrode had now at least taken care of one potential bodily source Malgin was daydreaming ~Nice spectacle. Honestly. Such a drama, like in Bolshoy theater in Moscow. All dramas usually end either with happy end or with death of one or more characters. I doubt that here will be happy ending ever, so one of this two will die.~ It was sarcasm, but was it that far from truth? Malgin didn't really knew ~At least, when ending will be in sight, I'd better move my ass away from big BOOM that will occure here when this pair collide forehead-to-forehead.~
"Commander Dallas, you have been strangely silent. Usually the Counselor is the first to lead us in Group Huggies and Mealy-Mouthed Platitudes. No words of wisdom about the victims or the killer?" Bhrode turned to Karyn.
A big intake of breath was heard in the general vicinity of Karyn Dallas, who'd had more than enough adventure with her stair boys Fric and Frac (Jay and Silent Bob!) It was all she could do to keep from counting to ten VERY loudly. This was leader of the staff who took an oath to do no harm? She was beginning to think she'd had fallen into a black hole and was powerless to get out.
"[BLEEP] watch this Tubby.. the Hottie's gonna chew him out..." crowed Crewman Jay to Silent Bob, as the Duo stood at loose attention behind Karyn's hover-chair.
"Merely waiting for the testosterone-induced pissing contest to reach its conclusion, sir," replied Karyn with more than a little irritation, "as I'm sure we all know, with the exception of Leo of course, we're looking at a string of brutal murders with victims that appear to have absolutely no relationship to one another except for being members of the Galaxy crew. I have been combing the scenes and profiles of the victims for any insight into who we're looking for, and so far I can tell you a couple of things. The killer is extremely self-confident, with arrogance typical of any sociopath I've ever seen. He or she has made no attempt to hide the bodies in any fashion, most likely taking some measure of pride at being able to take victims completely unaware. As for motive, I can only surmise the killer is picking random victims with which to displace his rage at some slightreal or imagined. When the killer is reliving this experience, he or she loses complete control and focuses only on making the victim suffer as he or she perceives he has suffered."
She was going to add that because Brohde hand picked the crew it was just as likely this was a means to get back at him, but for some reason she didn't. Was she actually trying to spare his feelings? Damn that knee jerk response. She supposed she could speak to him some time after when she busted his balls for the ramp issue. He was surely punishing her there.
"Murder! On top of my Five Suicides???" Leo screeched.
Tbc.
210