from the Fairy Tale Chronicles
USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 50210.06 - 50210.13 |
Arel entered the holodeck, stepping out of the carpeted halls of the Miranda and into the world of fairy tales once more.
She had always been fascinated by fairy tales as a child and the young Samantha Widdlestein, her tormentor, trusted sidekick, and friend from the Galaxy, had sent her the holoprogram for her birthday a few weeks ago. She had not had the chance to run the program until today.
Awhile back, she and Samantha had entered the world of Cinderella. Today, it was 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.' Arel was sure she had read the story before but could not quite remember the outcome.
She found herself in a large room with black wood furniture, lots of dripping candles and old candlesticks, and large pieces of cloth hung over stone walls. The room was cold, freezing in fact, perhaps because of the woman who sat sewing beside a wide open window. Snow covered everything outside.
"Woman!" Arel snapped at her. "What are you stupid? It's the middle of winter. Close the damn window, for Kahless' sake."
The woman jerked and managed to stick the needle straight through her hand. She screamed, threw her hand around a bit, for some reason looked out the window and paused, considered, and then started screaming again and ran from the room.
A disgusted noise came from behind Arel. She turned and there was Samantha Widdlestein, older now but with the same bratty face she had always had, standing with her arms crossed, a tiny scowl on her ten year old face.
"Oops" Arel said.
Samantha scowled a bit more. "I am, of course, only a holographic representation of Samantha Widdlestein. Just wanted to get that straight before we begin, just in case you've lost any brain cells now that your another year older. I am an interactive character, your guide throughout this fairy tale. I'll correct you when you make a mistake. Like now, for example, when you made your mother skewer herself."
"It wasn't intentional." Arel argued.
Samantha trudged over to the window and Arel followed. They both looked down to where the woman's blood had made a nice little puddle on the pure white snow. "See, she was supposed to say 'I wish I had a daughter whose skin was white as snow, who's lips are as red as blood and who's hair is as dark as ebony'."
Arel thought about it, decided she like it. "Almost worthy of Klingon poetry."
Samantha rolled her eyes "Soooo glad you approve."
The scene faded away and Arel found herself in the same room, only now much more somber, if that was possible, and with brooms and mops by her side. She gave Samantha a look. "I have to be a servent wench again?"
Samantha opened her mouth to retort but was interrupted by an ugly skinny woman who swept into the room like she owned it. She had dark uneven hair, touched by gray, and heavily shadowed eyes. "Thou art going on thy walk today, my dear?" the ugly woman asked.
Arel looked at Samantha, who nodded. Arel nodded as well.
"Isn't that nice." The woman almost said to herself and then left.
"That's your stepmother." the holo-Samantha informed her. "She's planning on having you murdered in the woods today cause you're prettier than she is- "Targs are prettier than she is." Arel interrupted.
Samantha put her hands on her hips as the scene faded away again to a sparse woodsy area. "Does the word 'duh' mean anything to you?"
"Not particularly, no" Arel said, looking around for her would-be murderer.
The holo-Sam glared at her. "Did you fail a test or something before you programmed this?" Arel asked her "You seem awfully grumpy."
Samantha's lower lip stuck out. "That redheaded twit Rebecca is still after my lovely Lysander."
"Ah." Arel said, finding that she didn't have a more useful comment.
"You think I can just stick her with one of my knives." Samantha asked almost innocently.
"Sure." Arel commented as she watched the man come running towards them with knife in hand. "If you want to spend the rest of your life in a Federation Prison." Arel stepped to the side, stuck out her foot, and watched as the man went flying.
Samantha didn't even yell at her this time. "He wasn't really going to kill you." She commented. "He was going to have a change of heart."
"Bully for him." Arel said.
The man had landed face down on the floor. He turned over, his eyes wide with apparent grief "Mine heart cries out that this be an evil deed and I find that I must follow my heart in all things. The Queen, my queen, hath told me to kill ye, but I cannot. But she hath ordered ye dead and now I know not what to do. What am I to do?"
"Quit your dayjob." Arel told him. "Go back to acting school."
"Hey! I programmed him!" Samantha protested. "At least my real self did."
Arel shrugged at her. She remembered reading this part at least. "So, what if I take off for awhile." she said to the man. "You can just say that you killed me."
The man's eyes lighted up. "Yes! That is it! I must needs kill a boar and use its heart in place of thine. That plan will work. Yes! Now run, run little Arel..."
Arel rolled her eyes at that, made a note to yell at Sam for the 'little Arel' comment, and turned towards the heart of the forest.
Samantha walked beside her.
"Runnnnnnnn" the man cried after them.
The denseness of the forest faded away after a few steps to reveal a tiny cottage, underneath a sparkling gigantic rainbow, and every cuddly creature of the forrest gathered beside it. Birds, rabbits, and deer looked at them lovingly with big happy eyes.
"Sure you don't want to stick a big neon sign up that says 'Here I Am.'"
Arel snapped at the holo-Sam.
Samantha sniffed. "Mummy says there's nothing wrong with embelishment."
"Smeg your Mummy." Arel muttered as she made her way to the cottage, trampling a few daisies in the process. The holographic Samantha skipped along beside her.
The door to the cottage was painted a bright red and opened without hesitation when Arel pushed on it. The interior of the cottage was dark and musty, an assortment of odds and ends, seven of each, lying here and there.
Surprisingly enough, Arel felt sort of at home there. Except for the temples and weapon rooms, Klingons were usually a messy bunch.
"Now what?" Arel asked her.
"Well, you would traditionally get sleepy and fall asleep on their beds but that's boring so I just arranged for the dwarves to come home early. They'll be here soon, all sooty and grumpy."
"Don't suppose I could fight them." Arel said wistfully. So far this program left much to be desired.
"Not a chance" Samantha said sternly.
Soon whistling was heard and seven dwarves entered the cottage. The room became very crowded. The seven men came up to about her hip and Arel looked from one dwarf face to another first in astonishment and then in disbelif.
She shot Samantha a look. Wasn't one of them bad enough?
"Leo Streely piss you off lately then?" Arel asked mildly. All the dwarves had the face of Leo, the ex bartender of the Galaxy and annoying pervert.
The Leo's looked at the two in confusion, awaiting whatever prompt Samantha had selected for the program to continue. "I just thought Uncle Leo fit the part so well that there might as well be seven of him." Samantha explained patiently. "Now, say Hi, I'm Snow White."
Arel dutifully repeated the phrase.
"Hello Dollface!" The Seven Leo's responded. A couple winked.
Arel rolled her eyes. After further prompting from Samantha, Arel said "I'm looking for a place to stay for awhile. Can I sleep in your hovel?"
A happy, happier than the others at any rate, Leo looked Arel up and down.
"Sure, you can sleep on my bed *eyebrows waggling* with me."
All the Leo's snickered.
Arel reached over, grabbed the little man by his ear and tugged hard. "Where was that again, kind dwarf?" She snarled.
"I'll sleep on the floor! Owww! OUTSIDE! OUCH! OUTSIDE!" Happy Leo Dwarf yelped.
"You're sucking all the fun out of this holoprogram." Samantha pouted as Arel let the Leo go.
"What next?" Arel asked.
"You guys sing and dance around a bit."
"Pass." Arel replied.
"And then they go off to work, warning you not to open the door for anyone just in case your stepmother finds you." The seven Leo's faded as she spoke.
"Of course you do anyway and she puts you under an enchantment."
There was a knock on the door. Arel opened it, found her stepmother there looking the same except that she was dressed in a black cloak. "Great disguise." Arel said.
"Hello dearie." the old crone said. "Would you like an apple?"
Arel looked down at the slightly greenish apple being offered her. It looked sickening. "Not even a Ferrengi would fall for this." Arel stated to the holographs.
"Well, youre supposed to take it anyway." Sam said.
Arel reluctantly took the apple, took a bite, and the world faded once more into pink swirls and purple skies. Arel heard the faint sound of cackling somewhere. Some sheep leapt about. "What's this?" Arel asked confused.
"Well" Samantha began, a frown on her face. "When Snow White eats the apple she falls asleep until the prince kisses her-
"If you made Lysander Whats-his-bucket the prince again.." Arel began.
"And I didn't know what she dreamed of so I figured I'd make it up."
Samantha concluded.
The pink dissolved and in its place a battle hall stood with a roomfull of Klingon warriors. About six or so held Klingon painsticks and were obviously blocking the way of the festivities behind them.
Arel looked in amazement at the Klingon birthday ceremony.
"And afterwards I programmed some hand to hand combat." the holo Samantha informed her with a smirk.
Arel was almost speechless. It was one of the nicest presents she had ever gotten. "Thank you" she managed.
"Happy Birthday" Samantha grinned.
* * * * * * * * * *
"No. Smeggin' well not." Lysander grunted at the suggestion.
"Phullleeeeeeeeeezzzzeeeeeee? It's all running already.. I just need to refine it." Sam repeated for the 19938383th time (or so it seemed.)
"No." Lys repeated, idly flipping his PADD to a new 'page' of the Federation Mathematical Annual and trying to ponder the Sixth Dimensional aspects of Rottinger's Theorum as it applied in black holes.
"Phulleeeeezzzzzzeeeee?" Sam repeated.
"N-O. No. " Lysnder spelled out.
"Mummy said you would help me with my homework. Phulleeeeeezzzzzzeeeeeeee?"
Sam whined. This was getting embaressing. And boring.
"Your Mummy is a terrible gossip and liar. And you already admitted this is not homework. I remember the LAST time I ended up letting you talk me into something like this. I married a hologram." Lys replied, swinging a foot over the arm of the chair in his quarters and bobbing it in agitation.
"Really?" Sam asked. She already knew that, but perhaps some fake sympathy would get Lys off his ass.
"Really. Why do I have bother with this all again?" Lys asked, wondering if Rebecca had caught the publishers error in this issue's "Formula Frenzy" on page 318 and if he could mock her solution if she hadn't.
"Because you can shut off the Holodeck Safety Protocols. And because you made these stupid Hologram Personality Matrices. I want to make something for Arel's birthday." Sam pouted.
"Make her a new personality, something less hostile to men. Or buy her something phallic." Lys mused, having looked the word up after Rebecca's query.
"LYSANDER!" a shocked Sam replied.
"Okay... firstly... I don't know if you noticed this Bugface... but the Aussie Guy is gone, and therefore his Draconian Safety Protocols are off the holodecks. Anyone with clearance can disable them...so go bug whoever they pay to watch you snotnoses..." Lys nattered.
"Auntie Lieutenant Grant-Greene is dead." Sam coldly reminded Lys.
Actualy, Amy Grant-Greene wasn't dead... but Miss Widdlestein had taken a dislike to the Education Specialists' on-off again relationship with Lys aboard the old Galaxy... and a simple form sent off to Starfleet BuPers after the Hirogen debacle had ensnarled Amy in enough red tape to wish she WAS dead for real, not just reported 'Killed in Combat' as Starfleet persisted in believing.
"Errr..." replied a worried looking Lys, who was starting to feel an emotion here and becoming panicky at the thought of dealing with that.
"And I KNOW you only own the company that makes those new Hologram Personality Routines. . .I was there when you were researching them!
Although I COULD forget the fact you MADE me code those Fleet Psychological Profiles of Commander Whassit... that redheaded little lady; into the stupid things." Sam reminded Lys, going for the blackmail approach.
"It's against Starfleet Regulations to encode the personality matrice of a sentinent citizen without their permission. Infirngement on Copyright of Personality and Existance and all that rot." Lys replied primly, forgetting that his doing exactly that had led to the new laws, and almost a courtmartial for him. He'd had a close call with that fleeting emotion there, and wary of further complications.
"We could try out your latest version of HER... that little redheaded..."
Sam pouted again, dangling her last carrot in front of her future husband (HER IDEA!).
"I really don't know WHAT you're talking about." Lys replied, not knowing Sam had already gotten into his personal Datafiles and found the Holo-Rebecca Von Ernst (ver. 2.8a) A boy in love has to practice 'being nice' to a psychopathic Ice Queen.
Sam stamped her foor again and considered her options. Her eyes lit up as she remembered what Arel Smith would do in this sort of situation. . .
"Are you SURE?" she asked three seconds later.
"I'd would LOVE to go to the holodeck with you. Please remove that pigsticker of a knife from my groin now." replied a very nervous Lysander, from whom all thought of the variables of Sixth Dimensional Calculus in regards to Black Holes and Redheads had fled.
* * * * * * * * *
"oops" was what Sam said, that caught Lysander's attention.
"oops?" he asked, with a puzzled expression on his face, from where he was examining the leaning stone tower, from which Rapunzel was leaning, frozen with her hair cascading down the ivy covered Ivory walls.
Naturally, Lys had insisted that Rapunzel was a redhead.
Didn't really matter... Sam was recording the Prince, and Arel would play the protagonist herself.
"Nothing... nothing..." Sam replied, mumbling some choice Klingon expletives under her breath as she laboured on the LCARS terminal on the Arch of the Holodeck...looking out of place in the midst of the Enchanted Fairy Forest around the Tower of Rapunzel.
"How many times do I have to say this?" Lys demanded.
". . . until you quit flubbing the line." Sam muttered to herself.. studying the flow matrices of her 'script.'
"Arel Arel... let down your... errrr...." Lys flubbed around.
"HAIR!" yelled an irate Sam. "The word is HAIR! Very easy to remember!"
"Look Bugface.. I remember Smith. If some Hologram goes tugging on her hair, they're going to eat about three feet of steel and get their holo-reproductive organs handed back to them." Lys grumped.
"True. Maybe I should pick something with a more feminine theme. This story is a lot of sitting around, waiting. Arel hates doing that. " Sam mused.
"There you go. Make something with action and fighting, and write it so she has to watch it all, where she has to wear a dress. Do Terrans have any stories where Smith would have to suck up to some toad, be totally humiliated with no one in sight to punch? Muck about as a servant, cleaning cesspools? Something like that?" Lys demanded.
"No. We did Cinderella." Sam replied, her pug nose scrunched up in thought. "End Program."
Everything flickered out of existance, leaving the duo alone on the black and yellow grid of the Holodeck.
Alone, except the crumpled form of a crewmember, where an outcropping of boulders had been.
"Errr..." Lys replied, his eyes on the corpse.
"Lysander...." Sam answered, her foot long Hirogen Stiletto appearing in her hands like magic.
Lysander tapped the combadge on his chest.
"Hawksley to Security. And Medical. And Engineering. Send teams to Holodeck Four ASAP."
"Mummy always says that. . . actually... she's been pretty silent about what to do with dead people." Sam commented. "Arel says to just kick them once, to see if they can respond. Or just shoot them again, depending if you wanted them dead in the first place or not."
Lys eyed the pool of blood surrounding the corpse, dried to black at its edges.
"Err.. Hawksley to Medical... no rush for you smeggers. Take your time." he added as an afterthought.
"Why did you ask for an engineer?" Sam demanded.
"I'm asuming this smeggger wasn't here when you fired up your program?" Lys demanded.
"Duh." Sam shot back.
"So... you left it running to come find me, when you needed help with the NPC Personality Matrices..." Lys began.
"Did not need help. I just needed to record your voice for The Prince."
Sam replied. ~~and to record your Security Over-ride codes, those might come in handy around here later~~ she added mentally.
"Whatever. Either way.. I'm hoping this happened while the holoprogram was recording. We may have caught the murder on holo, as part of your Birthday Present for Smith here." Lys replied.
The pair considered the dead body a bit longer.
"I don't think even Arel would like a murder mystery as a Birthday Present." Sam ventured.
"Not the mystery part anyways." muttered Lys.
=/\=
It was boring. By god, it was all so boring.
Wallowing through a field of endless statistics, Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan was trying to make sense of all the information he was seeing.
There was information. So much information, in fact, that he thought he would never escape the constant digging and searching.
Whenever he wasn’t pulling a double duty with the Princess’s bodyguards, he was investigating a murder on board the starship. A murder, of all things,
in his own backyard. Of course, James had to take the whole investigation personally. It was impossible not to, considering the crewmen killed. Two of the crew were part of his security department. In fact, before one of them was bounced out by Captain Brhode, he was part of Corgan’s crew, a squad he assigned to himself in case of emergencies. Therefore, James had much at stake in this investigation. After all, he had to avenge one of his own, on top of the half dozen already slain.
Working through the endless sea of reports, analyses, statistics and pure drudgery that was a murder investigation, James had to contend with the constant demands of Princess DeV’oraH and her Klingon retinue. Then there was the irritation of a Federation diplomatic officer who saw every sneeze, wave, and toe tap as a sign of offense by the other side that would thereby lead to war. Added, there was a security department in disarray because he had NO direct authority at the moment, marines who had authority that was supposed to be HIS, and a Captain who loved to treat James like a proverbial mouse, always dangling the poor squealing, protesting rodent by the tail and threatening him with a mousetrap in front of the face.
As for her personal life, if he had time for it, he asked himself, ~“Was it being smashed and tossed like a ship in the sea?”~ He didn’t know what happened with him and his friend Rebecca. Lexa, his girlfriend, hasn’t been heard from in such a long time that James was starting to wonder if they even HAD a relationship. Then there was Brhode, again, who exiled him to quarters, and for honor’s sake, James only broke the exile rule for the sake of the investigation he wasn’t supposed to be doing.
And on top of it all, he was tired too.
He stopped for a second to breathe a sigh of relief. All the hours of work was just about ready. He was going to start… the program.
‘The Program’, as it was called by the forensics experts at the Federation College of Forensics Sciences, was an LCARS powered marvel of modern Federation programming. It was called The Program for one reason, and that was because in theory, it was all someone needed to give clues for a physical and psychological profile of the murderer in question. In reality, there was nothing much The Program could do for James’s case, but it was worth looking into. It was, after all, standard on all security investigation packages on board any ship.
The purpose of the program was to gather all information on a murder (or in this case, multiple murders), do the number crunching, find any similarities from a biological, physical, methodical and technological point of view.
Then it would try to find psychological profiles to match (it was warned, however, that nobody can really predict the murderer’s personality, but some methods of slaying do lead in the right direction).
“Computer.” Corgan rubbed his dry, scratchy eyes. He blinked experimentally at his screen. The amber, purple and white lines sometimes whirled, blended and imposed themselves on their neighboring color’s borders. James stopped momentarily, quite aware that it was very late and that he was very tired.
He picked up where he left off, by saying, “Computer, give me an analysis of the murders and find comparisons.”
**************
Lexa woke up from her shallow sleep with a gasp of cold, sharp fear. Her heart galloped uncontrollably. The panic inside her threatened to enfold her. The panic itself was in her body and even on her sheets. She felt the sheets pull tighter, begging, pleading to drag her back down into the darkness. With all her strength, she ripped the sheets out of the bedding and threw them to the side. Her momentary vacation from reality was frightening. The dream was still haunting her, as she quivered and shook like a petrified china doll under the illumination of the flickering star lights outside her portholes.
~”What happened?”~ She tried to comprehend, but like a frightened animal, she was too scared to dig deeper and find out. The answers she was trying to find were back there, in that darkness she left behind after she awoke. The loneliness, the wailing, the constant visions of blood, death, darkness, decay and madness were not worth going through to find what she was looking for.
She hurriedly pulled a cotton bathrobe over her silk pajamas, tying the rope of it together with trembling, half co-ordinated hands. The dream, or was it a vision, was still strong in her mind, and it was so similar to the visions he had seen before. It was the blood, always the blood, coming out of those pips.
It was then felt that she needed to see James more than ever. She promptly left her quarters for his.
*************
=/=”Processing…”=/=
James cursed the damn computer and the Quick Virus for eating up a majority of the processing power. The computer chugged and grunted, then came up with an answer,
=/=Complete. Three comparisons found.
First comparison, murder methodology, similar wounds on all murder victims, similar causes of death. Death caused by blood loss and shock due to deep slash to the throat and neck, from tracia to a quarter centimeter away from spinal column. Second comparison, species, all murder victims are Human. No similarities between race, gender, and Terran subtypes.
=/=
“Pause.” James wearily croaked. The similarities in species was unnerving. Maybe somebody on the ship had something against humans? It wasn’t surprising if that was the case. Some races still had ancesteral grudges against humans, even members and allies of the Federation. Klingons still had a war with the Federation a few years ago fresh on their minds.
Could the Klingons be responsible? James asked. “Terran subtypes?”
=/=“Space born, earth born and colony born.”=/=
Not bad, James clucked. The Program could even detect the subtle differences of Terrans based on environment. He continued to probe, “Continue with third similarity. What else have you found?”
=/=”Processing,=/=
The computer then answered,
=/=All wounds show no sign of cauterization due to energy weapons, nor signs of tearing of the flesh due to vibroblades, solid ammunition, or flechette rifle rounds from archaic weaponry. Most likely instruments are as follows… bladed weapons. Lethality rating 5. All weapons under this search are under standard Federation weapons licensing laws, including non energy based bladed weapons and antiques, standard knifes and industrial particle disintegration cutting equipment.”=/=
“What about illegal weapons?” James dug deep, “What kind of weapons banned in the federation could do this?”
=/=”Processing…. no long to medium range weapons exist under this search that match victim’s wounds. Over one thousand close combat weapons, found under search.”=/=
“Name the distinct types of weapons.”
=/=”Processing. Weapon types found.”=/=
“List them.”
=/=”Standard bladed weaponry, estimated size classifications from ‘large knife’ to ‘greatsword’ grade close combat weaponry. Monofiliment bladed weaponry, estimated size classifications from…”=/=
“Computer… I don’t have much time for this.” James groaned impatiently, “Would you say that all weapons would be between the size of a knife and a large close combat weapon, and that any weapons causing these wounds would use muscle power for it’s lethality.”
=/=”Affirmative.”=/= The computer predictably belched out.
“Fine. So, it’s just standard blades and monofilament blades?”
=/=”Affirmative. Also, chance of laser scalpels and blades are ten percent due to lack of cauterization.=/=
“Any chance of narrowing the weapons list more?”
=/=Negative, unless more input is found.=/=
“Damn… I was afraid of that. Ok, we have the weapons narrowed down. What about the race of the killer. What can you tell me about the potential race of the murderer?”
=/=”Processing”=/=
The computer lazily hacked through the jungle of statistics, then came up with a quick answer,
=/=”Species unknown. All sentient races hold the potential to wound in such a manner.”=/=
James argued with the computer, “You know that can’t be right. No human could cut up a neck like that so cleanly, even with a laser powered blade! The cauterization isn’t there, and even if it was, a human would need to cut slowly to compensate for the slower cut time of the laser knife. It has to be bladed. Tell me computer, estimate strength of the murderer in relation of the wounds, putting into consideration the cleanness of the cut. Estimate that the victim was hit with one swiping slash. Now, do a strength curve, with the lowest range set as the weakest strength index number needed to inflict the wounds in question with a monofilament small knife, the maximum range being the strongest strength needed to do the same wound with a standard great weapon, and show the mean, median and mode. Also put into account a little room for error, in case of weapon velocity.”
The computer instantly brought up the desired statistics on his LCARS screen. The statistical chart showed the strength index, which was the standard measurement of strength used to compare alien race physiology. The bright amber line showed the weakest strength needed to inflict the wounds to the strongest in a sort of bell like curve. The numbers were startling.
According to the chart, a being had to have a very strong strength curve in order to be able to do what he did!
“Computer, how many species of sentients fall under the strength curve that qualifies as the proper strength needed? Cross reference that with the races on the USS Galaxy, subtract any races not present on the ship, and give me the results.”
=/=Processing…. =/= The computer churned.
=/=”Search complete. Eight alien species found. Species narrowed down to five, due to comparison of the ship’s manifest. Murder suspect estimated! Murder suspect is Dr. Jebediah Quick. Chance of error… .00001 percent.”=/=
“Disregard Dr. Quick!” James snapped, throwing an old isolinear chip at the monitor, “stupid Quick git…. What races qualify on this ship as the potential murder suspects.”
The computer showed the list on the screen:
Klingon (Probability 43.121%)
Vulcan (Probability 23.462%)
Byzari (Probability 0.48222%)
Naussican (Probability 55.32828%)
Kelvan (Probability 89.2827% ?)
“Excuse me?” James couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Klingons were on the list all right, but it wasn’t surprising. But he knew that the Klingons were kept under constant watch. There was also honor to be lost if one was found as a murderer. He kept the possibility in mind. A Vulcan, Byzari, or Naussican could have a chance, but James knew the Byzari serving in his department, as well as the Naussican intelligence officer under Lieutenant Black’s watch. The Byzari, Ensign So’ka, was with James during a couple of the murders, serving his duty at his security post. The Naussican might be more difficult, but there was a chance. However, he too would be closely watched.
But the Vulcans? May be possible. There were plenty of Vulcans on the ship.
But Vulcans detested violence, and rarely did they ever go crazy enough to murder.
It was the Kelvans that worried him the most. What would a Kelvan be doing in the search? The Klingons he could understand. Even the Vulcans could have a reason. Nevertheless, a Kelvan? A serious, placid, downright cold race that was, for most of the time, indifferent towards people?
“Computer, scratch Byzari and Naussican. How many Vulcans, Klingons and Kelvans are on board the ship?” He said, all the while wondering what he stumbled on.
The answer came out cold and calculating, with that ever so infuriating
=/=Processing.=/= message.
=/=”Search found. Twenty four Vulcans, twelve Klingons, and one Kelvan currently on board the Galaxy.=/=
“What the…” He paused. One Kelvan on the ship. CURRAN? Curran’s a suspect? How could it be? “Pull up species profile, Kelvan.” James hurredly snapped out of his trance, watching the screen dance with Kelvan physiological and psychological statistics. And what he found was alarming. Arrogant, possessing a mean streak towards other sentients, the Kelvans were actually tendril like beings of incredible strength, but in human form they were mostly stone like and somewhat weakened. “Explains a lot about Curran…”
James whistled. The Kelvans were an intelligent and highly advanced race from the Andromeda galaxy. The idea of aliens from another galaxy was almost impossible, but the facts were there in front of his face. The Enterprise, THEE one and only Enterprise, encountered these beings and had trouble with them, but they were able to find a colony for the Kelvans. Later on, they were even admitted into the Federation.
It fit so well. Kelvans could manipulate their tendrils independently, with a skill that humans couldn’t do with their arms and legs. They were strong, smart, and the idea of being at the mercies of the humans may have been enough of a reason. The Kelvan psychological profile showed potential for bigotry more than anything.
Curran, a murderer?
Before James could wrap his mind around the latest findings, the doorbell chimed intrusively in his ear, jarring his overworked mind and stressed body out of the world of statistics and into reality. He quickly made his way to the door, annoyed by the intrusion, but excited to see who it was. He didn’t mind the break, though worried that he had work to do. He was too tired to conceal his investigative materials, and though his pet tribble Mudball piped out a cute, cuddly squeak from underneath the bed, James ignored what was behind him and opened the door.
He frowned as soon as he saw the sight set on him.
Flanked by two stern faced Klingon guards and a quartet of Starfleet Security, Princess DeV’oraH was rapping her sharp nailed fingers on the side panels of the walls.
~”F**k. I was hoping it was Lexa.”~ James groaned, looking at the Klingon princess yet again. She still wore her hair in the traditional Klingon style, fuzzy and uncombed. Her bosoms were nearly popping out of her breastplate. Her tanned skin glared in his eyes, or was it the shininess of her battle dress? Whatever it was, the Princess looked like she was dressed to impress someone. James held no illusions. She was coming for him.
Dressing for him. Impressing for… him. Her sharp toothed smile and glaring, yet adoring eyes, were more than he could stand without feeling a twinge of fright.
“How may I help you?” James yawned once, then waited for her response.
She replied, in a tone that was part snobbishness, yet part affection. She talked like a spoiled brat who couldn’t quite find the way to say “I… love you,” without looking weak and powerless. “I wish to speak with you, Commander. We must discuss our current security arrangements?”
James, now vaguely aware that he still had equipment strewn across his quarters, tiredly said, “Now? At this hour?”
“Yes.” She insisted sharply, “At this hour. A warrior must always be ready for battle.”
There it was. Ready for battle. A foreshadow of things to come. James wasn’t looking forward to whatever uphill struggle she planned.
James led the Klingon Princess into his quarters. With a wave of the hand, the Klingon bodyguards did not follow. The security guards almost followed, but James ordered them to stand down. He wished the guards could come in, but etiquette demanded otherwise.
However, etiquette for what purpose? James didn’t want to lead the Princess on. He didn’t want to be alone with a crazed Klingon woman in… did they call it heat? It sure seemed like it. But he had to be kind, had to be the person with the savoir faire. The doors closed behind him, locking him inside his cell.
“Princess, how can I help you? And please, make it quick. I have lots of work to do.” James impatiently said.
“Lots of work to do?” The Princess, took a seat suspiciously glanced at the pile of pads and activated computer, “How does paper work apply to… protection duties? I heard your Federation beaurocracy was inefficient, but I never would have guessed. Unless… you are doing something else.”
James didn’t have the energy to lie. He said with a fatigue weighting down his tongue, “I believe you and your staff are in danger from within. The murderer may track you sooner or later. I’m going to find him before he strikes you.”
She chuckled merrily, enjoying the delicious irony of James’s rebellious act. It was so… Klingon of him, she thought, that it was almost an attractive quality. Anything to make up for the poor forehead ridges and herbivorous teeth. “Against your Captain’s orders?”
“As much as I respect him.” James explained, “He’s acting… as you Klingons would say, without an honor of thought. I’m the most qualified to investigate, but due to circumstances that were my fault, I’m stuck here, doing it behind his back.”
She chuckled again, “Well said… a dishonor meet with another dishonor.”
James snapped defensively, “Like I have that luxury anymore! The murderer killed my men, and killed my comrades! I want to put it to a stop before it gets worse… before… you and your men are killed. Do you know the implications of that?!?! We’re talking about a galactic f**king war here! So sorry if I don’t give a flying wingnut’s f**k about losing some honor. Hell, I’ll lose my job if this comes out! But you know what? I don’t f**king care! There’s more to worry about than my career! So what if I get court martialled?!?! I’m sure a lot of people won’t mind my so called… dishonor. Catch my drift, Princess?”
She processed James points for a minute, then replied, “I see. You do it for a greater honor.”
Princess DeV’oraH slid herself off the chair and inspected the LCARS screen momentarily. She then slowly walked the room, pacing back and forth as if in deep contemplation. Then, she broke the silence, “Did you know that your selflessness is what appeals to me? You are an honorable man, Commander. An eccentric, but honorable man. We Klingons… revel in self glory. We love to obtain what is ours and keep it to ourselves. But you humans are different, and you more so. You think of a greater good instead of personal glory. How strange, yet how… shall you say it… refreshing?”
“That would work.” He agreed instinctively.
“Yes… but what disturbs me is that you humans play no favorites. What is this I see on your computer?” She spun the screen around for him to view, “Are my subjects suspects in your murder investigation?”
“As a matter of fact,” James spun the screen forcefully away, “YES YOU ARE! You people have been on board this ship, and already there are murders. You Klingons have already incited a barfight, two aggressive engagements with my staff, and one incident with a science officer. And you tell me you and your men shouldn’t be suspected of more violence? What the f**k are you thinking?
Are you that deluded, that high and mighty that you think you shouldn’t be suspected of doing any wrong?”
“We did not murder any individuals! By our honor, we stand by this claim!”
She shouted at the top of her lungs, hoping that the human would cower, and cave.
But that wasn’t the case. James stood firm, nose to nose, his ice eyes freezing her own. He said, “I believe you. We’ve watched you and your staff closely. The odds of you people being the murderers are slim, despite what my evidence says. You people are strong enough, but too well watched. And besides, during the time of the murders, you people were most likely with me and my detail. Don’t worry.”
She backed down, a snarl still in her lips, the love/hate feelings towards James battering into each other like charging targgoths. It was a begrudging defeat, but she finally backed down.
“So, you believe that we are innocent?” She asked.
“According to Federation law, you are innocent until proven guilty. You and your staff are innocent, but I believe you and your staff are still suspect. Princess, do me a favor. If you find that one of your staff is responsible, don’t take the law into your own hands. The last thing I need is more blood spilt on this ship.”
The princess grimaced, like she took his request like a bad batch of bloodwine, “I will do as you ask.”
“Thanks. That’s all I ask.”
She looked at the chief of security, puzzled, “Commander, why?”
Equally puzzled, James replied, “Why what?”
“Why, when you asked me not to dispense justice on my staff, why did you say it as if you didn’t suspect me of the murders?”
The question was difficult, but from out of a lump in his throat, James answered, “Because, I trust you. Face it, you get under my skin. You constantly harass my detail and myself. I’ve put up with nothing but abuse from you.” The Princess braced herself for each harsh word, but James was done with the criticism, ”And yet, I can’t see you as a murderer. You’re too… honor driven for that. It doesn’t fit you.”
She looked at him as if awe struck, “Why, I am surprised. You humans aren’t known for being frank.”
“Well, that’s me lady. I’m telling it like it is. You’re spoiled, but strong and passionate. And you are not a murderer, though you’re a lot of things. Consider yourself off the hook.”
James left the safety of his chair, and went to the replicator. The fatigue and adrenaline were running swiftly out of steam. He needed something to stimulate the senses.
“Rakdegeno?” James asked, with no energy left in his voice to eloquent.
“Yes, please.” She replied.
“Good. I need a cup before we discuss anything further.” He tiredly moaned, turning away from the princess as she lounged herself on his loveseat, all the while complaining about the softness of the couch.
James trudged to the replicator, ~”What else could she possibly want at this time of night? Dammit, can’t she see that I am tired? I haven’t slept in hours and I have work at the crack of Alpha. What does she want that’s so important?”~
The ever so wise conscience had the answer. He replied like a shrill drill sergeant on parade march, causing his headache to worsen, “You’re such a gullible moron, aren’t you?” Conscience mocked, “You should be ashamed of yourself, Broken Head. You put her off the hook, even though she’s as guilty as any other suspect? My god, you’re not thinking private eye here, buddy. You’re thinking with Private Dick.”~
~”Shut up brain.”~
James heard the rustling of movement. Cloth, or battle dress, on the couch? She was probably shifting her weight, he told himself. Shifting her weight to get more uncomfortable on his impossibly hard furniture. Then, he heard something lift, then something heavy drop. ~”Now what was that?”~ He groaned. Too tired to function properly, he decided he needed a cup of coffee before he could see straight.
“Coffee, double strong, extra bitter, Corgan’s blend.” He requested. A swirl of energy brought the drink moments later, “And one Rakdegeno… how would you like it?” He leaned his head to the side to spot the Princess. She wasn’t around, but then again, his blurry peripheral vision could only see half the couch.
“Sweeten it with G’kak.” Another thump hit the floor.
“Ok then, Computer… with G’kak.” He requested, and another mug of dark brown fluid materialized beside his pitch black coffee. He took a sip of the thick viscous liquid and recoiled his tongue. Black coffee, his own doctored blend, powerful as a mule and as horrible as engine degreaser spirits. It did wake him up effectively.
But as he turned around, he started to question the potency of his brew.
~”Does caffeine have a hallucinatory effect?”~ Was the question that immediately came to mind.
The Princess was still in his room. In fact, she was standing upright, and was in front of him in all her royal glory. James looked back at his coffee.
Something was definitely wrong with the brew. He tossed the cup aside, allowing it to slosh helplessly on the floor.
Maybe it was the fatigue, or that the coffee was brewed too strong by any legal and ethical standards, but he could swear that the Princess was standing in front of him, a little bit more naked than before. Scratch that, she had some clothes on, though James never saw anything the like that he had seen before on her. Her fur robe and battle armor was in a heavy heap on the floor, and instead she was wearing what looked like a form fitting, skimpy, and very ceremonial black latex two piece suit. No, James looked again, it wasn’t two piece, it was one pieces joined together by two frontal pieces of combat webbing, from bra down to hips. The suit didn’t cover much of her cinnamon skin. The bottom part of the suit could barely cover what was supposed to be covered underneath, and as for the top, it was best said that there was barely an inch of cleavage not exposed, and whatever else was being crushed by cold and tension.
There was more to her than her battle dress. No Klingon went in to battle without their trusted weapons. Held by the webbing attached the bottom and top sections of her suit was a small, orange rod attached to a high tech handle. In the other piece of webbing were strange looking canisters labeled in Klingon, the contents even James didn’t want to comprehend, though he swore one bottle looked like it was labeled ‘Kh’hay Whie’. Meanwhile, strapped on her back was something huge and paddle like, with small studs attached. On her hip was a length of rope that looked like stitched, flexible metal, with the composition and the fearsome potential of razor wire.
In addition, on top of it all, she had her smile. That same smile that seemed to say ‘I’ve got you now.’
~”Whoa…”~ James looked in fear and wonderment. A part of him, that rock star personality that didn’t mind a little kink in his love life, was so tempted to try right there and then. But the other part, the rest of him, didn’tlike the prospect of being dominated by a Klingon woman. Oh, and somewhere in the corner of his mind, he was reminded that he already had a girlfriend.
Sure, one that was unaffectionate, but one he loved much more than this beastly woman set before him.
“Look… I don’t want to disappoint you…” James stepped away, throwing the Klingon coffee to the side in sheer panic, “But really, I don’t think this is appropriate.” He was now rattling off words at a mile a minute, as if he forgot that he was ever asleep, “I have a girlfriend, a beautiful, kind, and caring girlfriend. This would be wrong…” He backed away after seeing her stroke the rope at her side, “… on so many levels…”
Conscience was less bashful, ~”Damn, this woman’s kinky. Let’s f**k.”~
“What is the matter?” Princess DeV’oraH activated a small device on her hand. It spat out a string of thin wire. The touch of another button activated something gruesome. A weak electric current ran across the whip, glowing it a nimbus white. She then approached faster than the startled James Corgan could flee to the corner of the room. Her hips swayed seductively as she walked forward, the whip crackling with each move.
“Didn’t you want to know what was so important that I had to come here at this hour?”
She cracked the whip to illustrate her point, making the most hideous electric whistling sound.
“I don’t want to know…” James begged, “I don’t want to know… I don’t want to know…”
Feeling fear that rivaled the Borg nightmares, a combination of dread for being dominated, guilt for the part of him wanting to give in to her lusty demands, and fear of betraying Lexa’s trust, James was too caught up in fear to realize that the Princess dropped her electric whip and make a mad grab for his throat. His hands came up to block the Princess’s advances just in time, as her hands were within inches away from his vulnerable neck. Another one of his professor’s lessons came to light. She was trying to mate! This was no one night stand. She was going for the power struggle to see who would be the dominant one, and by god, she was playing seriously! Her arms were like unyielding iron, her strength that of a titan. She couldn’t be moved. Those arms were halted momentarily by James’ feeble Terran strength, but inevitably those same arms would declare that James would be Princess DeV’oraH’s b*tch.
“You fight well for a human!” She howled with glee, “You stand up to me and my men without showing fear! Look at you, you even show a brave front when you’re confronted by the breathtaking beauty of the LIVING SWORD OF KAHLESS!”
“What the f**k are you talking about?!?! LET ME GO!!!!!!” James gurgles as his arms gave way. Her weight collapsed onto his. With a chest pounding slam to the floor, DeV’oraH had the Chief of Security pinned.
~”Well, now that you’re her b*tch… let’s get on with the hot, dirty sex, shall we?”~ Conscience salivated.
“I’m…” He breathed in great gulps of air. Her musky scent was everywhere.
Her flesh was everywhere he tried to look. Her curves, her form, it was all being drunk in by his eyes. He was paralyzed by fear and beauty, disgust and horniness. “…not giving…” It had been so long since he had a woman that he felt starved. The blood in his head was boiling. Chill met with hot blooded passion. Arousal met derousal. His body and mind were in a power struggle over their impulses. He wanted it, he didn’t want it, he couldn’t make up his mind. “DAMMIT! GET OFF!!!!!!!!!”
“Heeeeheehehehee… That’s what I want from my little tera’ngan (translated: Terran).” She seductively leaned her body over, her cheek rubbing up against his.
“How can you do this?!?!” James hollered.
“vltlv” She responded (translated: ‘I enjoy it’).
It was then that her teeth sank directly into his cheek. The pain made his eyes water, the blood trickled like a sickly sticky mass down his cheek and uncomfortably over his ears, matting up in his hair. She let go, growled like a horny targ in heat, and licked her lips satisfactory.
The professor’s pearl of wisdom stated that a bite on the cheek was the equivalent of getting to third base.
~”CRAP!”~ His mind screamed out.
**********
“What do you…. mean… I can’t… get in?” Lexa helplessly asked the attending Klingon and Starfleet bodyguards found flanked outside James’ quarters. None of them moved from their spot, especially the Klingons.
“We told you before.” The Klingon guards disrespectfully snarled at the Terran woman that was more than equal his height, “The Chief of Security and the Living Sword of Kahless are having a private meeting. The Princess wishes us not to be disturbed.”
A few times before during her argument with the Klingons, Lexa heard a bump or a rattle from James quarters, through the sound absorbent walls. ~”What in the devil is going on in there?”~ She thought, fearfully anticipating all sorts of adulterous scenarios. ~”Why is James and the Princess alone together in a meeting? What are they doing in there? Oh no, is James… and the Princess… are they doing what I think they’re doing? Why else would they station guards at his quarters? Why else did she request that she didn’t want to be disturbed? Oh James, please don’t…”~
An ear rattling screech of a wild animal preceded another bang and thump on the floor. The Klingons ears perked like bloodhounds on a scent. The color rose in their cheeks and a fire lit in their eyes. The Starfleet personnel,
Lexa included, was more confused than before. What could perked the Klingons like this?
One of the bodyguards signaled to the door and barked in Klingon. Weapons were drawn out of their holsters as another high pitched shrill permeated the room. The federation officers drew weapons. Lexa drew her bathrobe closer. She was afraid of what was happening.
But the next moment, she was angry, and rightfully so. A third shrill whistle, brought a Klingon fist smashing through a panel, and another one yanking on the door’s manual release. The door slid open after a few pumps of a Klingon’s powerful forearms, and the others aimed disrupter pistols into the room.
What they saw was a queer sight. Their Princess DeV’oraH was brandishing a whip that crackled with electricity, giving a few warning flicks to get whatever it was to back off. She was wearing an unmistakably sexy suit by Lexa’s standards, and her real clothes were in a pile beside James’ couch.
On the other side of the room, James was standing like a frightened, cornered targ, clutching a springing, snapping, squealing tribble in both his arms like a phaser. His check was oozing crimson blood and his pants were torn at the midriff, revealing some semi-muscular leg and some very tight Starfleet logo briefs.
“Come any closer Princess,” James gasped and threatened, “And I’ll sick this f**king tribble…..” This was when he realized the door was open, and that there were a half dozen armed guards, both Starfleet and Klingon, aiming weapons at him and the princess, “…on…you…….” His voice died down. Just when he thought it was worse, worse than a Klingon with the urge to kill and the fear of tribbles, but the sight of Lexa Reece in a bathrobe outside his quarters.
Everyone was silent, even the tribble. “Lex…” James calmly spoke, “I know this looks bad, and I know this is cliché… but I can explain.”
~”I knew it!”~ Lexa fumed. She raged off in a huff. Soon after, Princess DeV’oraH slinked off, her eye on the tribble, her hand away from the whip.
Her guards then recoiled away, grumbling about the tribble all the time.
“We leave… now!” Princess snapped with even more anger and authority than before, all the while muttering, “F**king tribble.” With each step. Then, his security detail backed away, their sympathy un-vocally passed on, and their astonishment hard to wipe off their faces.
James was left alone. The stuffing was flying out of his bed, with a studded paddle buried deep in the mattress like a harpoon on a whale. His Pink Floyd ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ poster frame was shattered and the poster was fortunate not to be broken. Everywhere his items were scattered, broken, and discarded.
“What the f**k just happened?” He sighed helplessly.
Ella Grey stopped a few feet short of the Holodeck entrance thought about giving a deep sigh.
There was always the nagging fear, lying not so deeply in the back of her mind, that she could become trapped inside, that the arch, which she always made sure was in place, would dissapear or that the computer PADD that she used to control the program would get lost among whatever imaginary world she was interacting with.
It had happened once at the Academy. She had been careless and had become trapped in the Holodeck, having to wait four long hours in a boring program which demonstrated ship design and function. Finally, someone had grown impatient and had interrupted the program.
Ella gripped her PADD tightly in her hand, assuring herself that it was still there, and then felt silly and relaxed her hand. She moved to the small screen beside the door and checked the status of the Holodeck, found it inactive. She relaxed further and made herself calmly entered the room.
The black and yellow grid, however cold and impersonal, of the Holodeck was a welcome sight. Inside were four people, a father and daughter, Ella assumed that they had found the body, and two security guards.
Oh, and the body of course. That made it five.
At least I'm prepared for it this time, Ella thought. Even though it was never easy to look on death, it was *easier* when you knew it would be there. Being called in to fix a program, knowing there was a dead guy there, was easier than rounding a corner and unexpectadly finding a rotting corpse.
She looked with detachment at the dead man, wondering what he had done to deserve to die. Wondering if there was any type of master plan.
In her short exsistance she only understood three reasons why people killed each other, for revenge, for money, and because the murderer was a complete basketcase. She wondered if any applied here.
Ella looked at the pips on all their uniforms, was mildly surprised to find that the man was the ranking officer, and handed him her prepared computer PADD.
*ENSIGN GREY. SOMEONE CALLED FOR AN ENGINEER?"
OOC: where we left off... Bhrode just got everyone's opinions about the Klingons and made some decisions... which he may or may not share with us... and the 'report' about the murders.
* * * * * * * * * *
"SHUT YOUR FESTERING GOB OR I"LL SHOOT YOU MYSELF!!" Bhrode thundered at Leo.
Leo crossed his arms and sank back into his chair, looking around the table and getting no glances of sympathy.
". . .Bhrode is a. . . ing pil. . .of Mon. . .op. Dontcha think?" Leo muttered to Lysander on his other side. Lysander made an overly elaborate show of pretending not to hear anything.
"ENGINEERING!" Bhrode thundered. "What are you doing to get my Security Sensors back up and working to make sure we catch this killer?"
Kay looked up before replying, "Currently, we have damage control working on it as a priority, and knows that they are to use whatever resources neccessary, Captain."
'I love how you act like a big shot when I'm not watching you, Commander, and then try to smooch my nether regions when we're face to face..Pay attention to my wisdom here, and you just may learn something." Bhrode sneered at the Half-feline, Half Bajoran, Half-Klingon hybrid. Bhrode made a near-imperceptable gesture to Geluf.
Curtis, who had once again fallen into a state of non-cohearance, snapped back to reality.
"Sir, Ensign Grey and I were working on that subsystem relay an hour ago in one of the Jefferies tubes. Almost got the thing functioning, but we had a rather unpleasant visit from our resident pychopathic homoside artist. Once we shook 'em, I noticed they had completely destroyed a power relay. We're on it now, I estimate another two hours before these sensors are back up."
Bhrode let out a long suffering sigh. "Thank you Mister Geluf, for doing the job of your superior while she re-decorates the carpeting my ship and tries to do my job for me."
"Yeah! And she tried to steal those nice carvings in the Lounge! Probably tried to sell them to that Wooden Monkey-Penis Grubbbing Counselor guy on the USS Miranda! BOY I hate that Perv! It could be HER killing people! She's got that Knife! She's a Fruit Loop! She could be like.. all strung out on Cat-Nip and whakking people right and left! Maybe she stole them carvings to feed her Junkie Habit! " Leo grumped.
Before Kay could reply even, and the rest of the room was in slackjawed silence at the ODDNESS of Leo's latest theory... Bhrode replied.
"Thank You DEPUTY. But you're wrong. The Commander was in the Brig, trying to get her officer out of custody after the initial weapons sweeps, when the first victim was killed."
"Oh. Well.... she scratched an Nymphs ass, taking them down. IS she gonna pay for THAT? That's like.. almost sacriligious! She scratched it bad! looks like she sanded it.. or licked that ass with her rough tongue...
or...." Leo nattered on.
"THANK YOU DEPUTY! Now shut up." Bhrode ordered.
"Yeah, but that ass...that nice carved wood ass! It's ruined I tell you... "
Leo pressed.
"THANK YOU DEPUTY! Now shut up." Bhrode ordered.
"Nice report, Nerp. You're gonna run another six Klicks for blowing up that relay and upsetting the Captain." The Marine NCO was hissing in Curtis' ear.
"You." Bhrode pointed a finger at Karyn, like he wished it was a Plasma Cannon. "Tell me again what you think is going through this whakko's head?
Why THESE five people? Why not all my Engineers, like they so richley deserve?"
Before Karyn could answer, her 'aides' in the form of Jay and Silent Bob cut her off.
"WHoah! This [BLEEP]er is like, totally whakking people at random! He's like...killing these [BLEEP]ing people at [BLEEP]ing random. [BLEEP] this is --so sweet--!!!! You [BLEEP]ing don't know who's next, and everyone is like.. [BLEEP]ing all paranoid and thinking it's the [BLEEP]er next to them! Tubby! Hold me!" Jay crowed, as Silent Bob shook his head 'no' and backed away from his friend.
'[BLEEP]! I said HOLD ME you fat chubbster! Don't make me get all Tekken 25 on your fat-ass! I know it's not you an [BLEEP]ing me, becaue we're Lovers and not Fighters! HOLD ME you fat [BLEEP] You pile of Monkey Poop!" Jay demanded.
Legate Kylar had remained silent all through Brhode's thundering tirades. He was such a blundering fool! He was worse than a festering wart on your buttocks, oozing useless pus as it became infected with neglect of the real reason how it came to be. [ed. note: Now come ON Ian.. Kylar's not all -that- bad! ;) ]
Now, Bhrode was asking the Counselor for her advice. How can a woman who dallies in people's FEELINGS know what is going on in a killer's mind?
Brhode was surrounding himself with idiots. Two XO's who argue back and forth like a stalker and his prey who knows she has the upper hand on him.
A Mongoloid for a Security investigator. Time for the Kelvan to speak: "This killer is coldly efficient and no psychopath. Not one who is medically certified. Planting suppositions only diffuses the real situation and takes the investigation off track by not following the facts. Keep to what we know, Captain." He felt like he was in a day-care center. All he needed was Leo firing spitballs at the others.
Bhrode glared at the one person he felt had NO position aboard the ship.
Then, with a sacchrine smile and an extremely patronizing tone, he addressed the Legate.
"Here's the facts. You know shit about humans, let alone psychopaths. We don't have them anymore, and if someone like.. say.. Garth of Izar shows signs of turning into one, we stick them on a rehab asteroid, like we did with all your Kelvan asses when you came crying for a new home. So, dazzle us Legate, since the Princess informs me that she finds your attempts at doing your own job lacking. Tell me all about your knowledge of Security, since you can't even handle the Diplomatic aspects of your job."
He'd be reading through the autopsy reports Malgin had put together. All the victims were killed with the same methods, with the exception of the one who'd be ravaged.
"Sounds like the perpetrator is searching for certain victims. He quickly kills some, absolutely maims others. If this person or persons are enjoying the killings, it is not through the severing of the necks of some of these.
Those are sudden and efficient, like a Marine raid... and the target is elsewhere. Killing the sentries quickly and quietly so as not to alert others. Maybe the killer had come close to being captured and that is why we have only seen slit carotids. Who discovered the bodies? Had they heard or seen something that seemed out-of-place at the time?"
"You have access to the same data we have. The first victim was killed right after the sensor net went down. In that lifeboat, the killer had all the time in the world, to do whatever to the corpse. Commander Corgan could tell you more about that area. One was discovered by Security responding to an alarm of 'Unauthorized Presence in a Lifeboat' Victims two and three were killed right under the noses of Security, in the Brig. Victims four and five were killed in their quarters. Despite your, and Corgan's, more lurid and depraved wished, there have been no 'maiming' or other actions on the corpses. All the bodies have been discovered by Security, as a result of the stepped up patrols." Bhrode settled back into his chair and continued glaring at the Legate.
'Hey ... YO! get a room you two! You know... It could be Her! The hottie in the wheelchair!" Leo crowed, pointing a pudgy finger at Karyn.
"Why?" asked Lys.
'Because she's a red-head! All redheads are Man hating, Love Killing Lesbians. Everyone knows that. You'd have to be a loon to love a Redhead, sorry Mister Pants-Are-Pulled-Rocksley. But it's like the old saying "Fire on top, Sailors delight in the morning." or something." Leo replied.
"Commander Dallas is in a Hover chair. She is physically incapeable of performing any of the murders, as Dr. O'Connell's simulations proved. She has no feeling from the waist down."Rebecca replied, in a flat uncaring tone that implied she knew how Karyn would take the statement, and didn't care if she hurt Karyn's feelings or not.
"Really? I seen her with them leg thingies! Numb from the waist down? I bet, that me and her could..." Leo began, leering at the Counselor.
"Malgin." Bhrode purred, cutting off Leo. "Tell me, anything link these five people together? Anything standing out as common or odd in all of them?"
Vladimir yawned and said in a very self-confident tone, trying to keep annoyance away, because he was telling the same words for fourth time in last days... "Well, I'd say that there were very few things connecting murdered people.Method of death - all with one same kind of mortal wound with almost same penetration - almost to the point of decapitation. Then... These victims all showed no signs of resistance, as if they were either caught by surprise or knew the murderer. Nothing else - age is different, sex is different, murder scene is different... All is different on all murders. Nothing more ties them together. Only the finding by Security, and the method of death."
"Thank you, Doctor Malgin. Nice to see that someone in Medical can stay awake long enough to bother doing their jobs. Ever consider transferring to the Liasion Corps? I hear you don't need to be a Diplomat there." Bhrode sneered.
"And they were all virgins." Leo added in an airy manner.
"They were?" Bhrode demanded.
"Well... I dunno about the guys... but that chick? I never did her. Never got around to it before the Fruit Loop Killer offed her." Leo boasted.
"Malgin. Go back and find out of that's correct. Deputy, you SHARE your findings with the rest of us in the future." Bhrode ordered.
"HEY! I had an undercover sting operation going on for WEEKS before that first guy committed suicide! I was dressed up like a Ferengi, hiding in the bathrooms..see..." Leo began.
"Shut up Deputy. Doctor, find out if his claim is true. [ed. note, it IS! All WERE Virgins! Point for Leo! Coincidence... or not?] Bhrode ordered.
From a wall where he had leaned Maj Bolivar stared at the chief Medical officer like a lion examining a tasty gazelle, "Aside from the fact that they are all dead, and the fact that it obviously wasn't suicide because counseling hasn't had us all in for a group huggie-squeezie session."
"WAS THAT A JOKE? Who is this idiot, that he dares to joke in my presence?" Bhrode thundered from his seat, whirling to glare at the offending officer.
"Major Bolivar. If Black is the new CTO replacing O'Connell... that would make this Exchange Officer the new..." Rebecca began to recite from memory, as Lysander scrabbled to put a name to the figure.
"Can it Number One. I know who my crew is. Bolivar, sit your ass down before I kick it all the way down into the Brig. Leave the funny to me. The next jokester is going to get their punchline back as an anal suppository."
Bhrode snapped out.
"Shit! Old Bhrode laying it [BLEEP]ing down, Tubby!" Jay crowed to Silent Bob.
Bolivar grinned as he sauntered to the sole empty seat. then focused his laser vision on Leo, "And your investigation right now makes me wonder if your brain has been replaced by a vacume. The only reason you're heading this up is the current chief of security has a history of corpse love."
Bhrode's frown into the appalled silence silence spoke volumes.
"Number One, prepare a short list of officers to fill the Chief Intelligence slot, if I decide to shoot Major Bolivar out the torpedo tubes at the Klingons." Bhrode mjuttered, drumming his fingers on the table top and glaring at the Exchange Officer.
"What did he say?" Leo nattered to Lysander.
"That Rebecca has to prepare a list of officers to be the Chief Intelligence Officer if..." Lysander whispered back.
"No! Not Bhrode! People on Starbase fitty-five heard HIM! That other guy! Who is he and what did he say?" Leo hissed back "He's Major Saladin Bolivar, our Chief Intelligence Officer and an Exchange Officer from the Nietzchean Lancer corps." Lysander hissed back.
"No Way! Saladin? 'Tossing a Salad!' Get it?" Leo chortled to himself.
'No." Lys replied, honestly.
"See.. 'Tossing a salad' means.... ohhh.. forget it. My best stuff is wasted on you people. What did we get in Exchange for him? I hope it was a blondie named 'Helga' with a rack you can..." Leo pressed.
"We sent an officer there, to get HIM." Lys hissed back, pinching the bridge of his nose like he felt a headache coming on..
"Really? And that Corgan guy is still wandering around? Why didn't we ship HIS silly ass over there? Old Broken Head wouldn't be horning in on your honey. Wheezing on your Kool-aide. rubbing your Rhubarb, if he was wherever this guy comes from, would he?" Leo demanded.
Lys stared at Leo like he was a genius. Obviously the thought had never entered Lysander's head.
"What did he say?" asked Leo, again in a stage whisper that carried to everyone else.
"That you have space between your ears, and that Commander Darkstar loves Corpses and that..." Lysander began to explain.
"What? Did he say something about my Mother?" Leo screeched, rising to point a finger at Bolivar. "I saw 'The Boys From Brazil!' I know -all- about how you blonde haired Eugenics freaks LOVE the little blonde boys! You're the murderer! You! You killed all them people, trying to raise some Dead God! Some Hideious Force from the Forgotten Age when the fish flopped in the mud and Mankind had yet to walk the Earth! All You Nazi-Nuttsies messed with Forces Beyond the Power of Man to Understand! Indiana Streely and the Lost Ark! I know..."
"SIT DOWN DEPUTY!" Bhrode ordered. Unfortunatly, he didn't add 'Shut up' to his order.
Leo's fat butt hit the chair with an audible 'plop' but his mouth continued moving in one of his finest 'Hysterical Rants' yet.
"... STUFF. Believe you me, buddy, I KNOW STUFF! Nietzchean? Nazi-Ian is more like it! We got --that-- guy to go around sneering and trying to be all superior! [ ed. note, here Leo is pointing at the Kelvan sitting opposite him] I SEE STUFF! I see them black spaceships out there! I know this guy, whose cousin's-friends'-hairdressers'-sisters'-neighbor once even SAW one of them Grey Aliens! She said it was shopping for Jikka Jikka nuts on the Promenade on Sirettia Six! So you and your Neo-Nazi,mumbo-jumbo don't scare me! I watched 'Mein Krauthead: The Musical' ten times! It was a Streeley who helped fight the Germans when they bombed Pearl Harbor and blew up the USS Maine!! AND WE KISSED...e rr.. KICKED your ASS back then Buddy! You and your Facist Leader, Ross Perot! AND ANOTHER THING! Raven likes them moving!"
"Errr..." Lysander tried to interject.
"He called Raven a Necrophiliac! Raven! The guy I single handedly let tag along with me when I saved THIS SHIP on hundreds of occasions! The guy I TAUGHT 'How to Be a Hero' the Streeley Way! Like Raven was some sicko Perverted Freak, this guy comes here and says THAT! Well Mister Salad Tossing Bolivian...My ...err.. OUR Raven is NO pervert! Why, I've seen dames, dames who even --I-- have scored, toss themselves at Raven! Fine looking women, with hooters and everything! I can't believe this Fruit Loop thinks, like, -Raven- is as Whakky as Corgan! Believe me, buddy! I KNOW how Raven Darkstar likes his Sexual Partners! And Raven likes them warm! And Moving! And he likes his sexual partners wearing those little fur hats like..... hey... where IS the Big Guy?" Leo ranted on.
An appalled silence reigned in the room. Raven Darkstar was -not- at the meeting?
"My people have a saying." Major Log announced into the Raven Darkstar-less silence, his gravelly voice booming out and making even Rebecca start at the suddeness and unexpected souce.
Every eye in the room turned to the near-identical copy of Raven, sitting glaring at the Klingon General. The hostility that flowed between the two behemoths was near-palpable.
"The buffalo that is wounded, bleeds the most and the guilty eagle will fly crooked." Log intoned.
" whoah ... whoah... WHOAH! WHAT THE HECK DOES THAT MEAN?" Leo exploded.
Log shrugged his broad, mighty shoulders.
"I dunno. Every time you'd ask a question, the Tribal Elders would look all shifty and say that, back when I was a kid on the Reservation. Crazy old coots. One of the reasons I left as soon as I could. Raven was the only kid I knew who listened to the Elders and all their crazy talk. My buddies used to beat him up a lot, until he turned five and grew bigger than they were."
"Hey.. you know WHAT! It could be YOU killing people! For all WE know, you killed Raven already and are some kind of Alien Whassit, trying to get up our butts to control our minds and make us think you're Raven, so you can take over the Federation! If you're Raven's brother, how come your name is different?" Leo screeched, pointing at the Marine Commander.
"My people have the tradition, that they name their children after the first two things the mother sees after the birth." Log replied. "So my name is Laughing Horse-Log and my younger brothers' name is Croaking Raven-Darkstar." the Major replied.
"Wow... If I'd been born there... I'd have been Half EmptyGin Bottle-Dirty Underwear Streeley! Hey! Raven's REAL name is Croaking Raven! HAHAHAHAHAAHAaaa! Where --is-- that lug? " Leo mused.
"Most likely.. in his room. Sulking. He did that a lot as a kid. Mom always liked him best, and she spoiled him. He's most likely in there, sitting in the dark with a sharp rock, slitting open his..." Log replied.
"ohhhh.. I gotto go there later to fill him in!" Leo moaned, cutting off the Marine.
"THIS is how your vaunted Starfleet operates?" sniffed the Klingon Brigadier, from his post behind the Princess DeVo'rAh.
'Silence, General." she waved a hand in airy dismissal, her eyes still fastened on Quick and burning with a smouldering lust.
"I will NOT be silent. First... they assign some...'bahtag [derogatory curse, unspecified] to your security! In the form of this Mak'daR [coward] Corgan! Then the t'ooom'M'IraH [useless things, derogatory] sit here and insult us more! No Klingon ship would be run in this manner." he sneered.
"Errr... rather! Smeggin' well would have had the Pain-Sticks out by now."
Lys nattered, clearly having seen Meetings like that during his stint with the Klingon Deep Space Fleet. Rebecca raised one tiny, red arched eyebrow, clearly indicating that SHE for one would welcome that particular addition to this meeting.
"Enough! Yin'taGh! [unspecified curse..'cut your tongue out!'] --I-- am of the House of Kahless. I sit at the side of the Emperor Reborn. Your House Tukagath pledged to follow my father..." she retorted, her attractive features set in a scowl.
"ba'Qa! [expletive indicting disgust with oneself] An oath made in error can be rectified by Battle Blood. I will speak later, Your Highness. Away from these rotting piles of 'forshak [derogatory comparesion, exact item unknown] Our words are not for these kor'Tal [derogatory description]" the General snorted.
"Why don't I just hand you and the Princess over to that Nice Thought Admiral?" Bhrode challenged.
"Dor'sho'ga! [curse of great frustration] You see? These humans are weak!" The Brigadier General spat out, returning to galring at Major Log.
"That would be...unwise. For the reasons I told you before. Much is at stake here, Fleet Captain." The Princess replied.
'Well.. don't worry. I have a plan." Bhrode anounced, looking around the table with a smirk, to see who would ask him about his plan.
No takers.
BIG surprise there.
At the door, Victor tried suppressed his nod, Unfortunatly, Bhrode noticed the Security officer.
"YOU!" Bhrode snapped, pointing at Kreighoff by the door. "Aren't you some Big Game Hunting expert? Give me YOUR opinion about the murders, since Mister Corgan seems intent on playing with something under the table and can't be bothered."
Leo guffawed. "Geeeeezeee.. you just MENTION a corpse and Old Broken Head is going at it! There's your pervert necrophiliac! " as Leo removed HIS hands from HIS pockets, with a start.
Victor began reciting what he'd figured out in his head to see how it compared to the opinions of the others.
"Of course, Sir. They. . . .the kill sites, were convenient, isolated.
The killer could afford to spend the time to do their ritualized killing system because of that. Killing that way makes a mess - a big mess - even standing behind them the killer stands a good chance of getting blood on them. They need that isolation to make certain that they can get in, kill, and get out without being seen in case that happens. As for selection of the victims... either they all interacted with the killer in some way, all did something that fixed the killer's attention on them and were chosen based on that, or there's a pattern I haven't seen yet. It is not classic stalking behaviour, he's not selecting them for any one specific reason, maybe they were just all 'vicitems of opportunity'. I know why he's leaving them the way he is though - fear. The killer wants us to be scared. They're poking the anthill and watching the ants run this way and that." ~ That's okay - as long as they're watching the ants, they'll never see me coming for them. ~ the Security oficer added internally.
"The horse that shits a lot, always walks in front of the blind man." Log replied.
"How?" asked Leo.
"Was that some stereotypical racist crack?" demanded the huge Indian Marine.
"No... Not 'How' like in some Indian 'How you DOING?' way. 'How' like in 'How the hell does that horse thing have anything to do with this?' " Leo replied.
"The Security Officer missed one thing. You don't hunt a grizzly with only a knife. Whoever is killing all those people... they don't LIKE Humans, they view them as dirt. It's not a hunt of something dangerous, like the Hirogen do, going after it with all the weapons you have appropiate to the threat to yourself, this is a slaughter." Log observed.
"I knew I'd like you, Log. That's the most insightful thing anyone's said here yet." Bhrode crowed.
The Big Indian's face remained impassive. He continued staring down the Klingion General. Bhrode might as well have never spoken, for all thereaction Major Log showed.
"Yeah well.. that's all fine and dandy. Let's all clap and cheer the Big Guy! But maybe the Killer is... YOU!" And Leo shot out of his seat, pointing right at Rebecca Von Ernst.
"Me?" Even the Ice Queen's famous 'stone face' broke into puzzlement for 5.98 seconds.
"YEAH! You're one of them man-hating, killer Red Heads! you got lots of blood on YOUR hands! I looked at your record. Mister Lysterine left it out in his office! Nar Hallas ring a bell? AND you were on K-4 with Corgan and a load of deadies! Come on... how'd you guys DO it in EVA suits? Do they have connectors for that sort of thing?" Leo chortled, managing to leer at his last implication..
"Commander Hawksley left -my- personnel record out in -his- office?"
Rebecca asked, with clear undertones that someone would be flayed alive for THAT breach of regulations. She , true to form, ignored everything but that which her mind had filed as 'urgent, deal with NOW, Regulations Violation.'
'Yeah! Except... damn.. can't be her. Not strong enough or tall enough.
Too short. And she's just a girl.... I think she's a girl, it's hard to tell. You are a girl, right?" Leo pestered, ignoring the fact that his toupee came to Rebecca's already tiny eyebrow level. He was leering at her flat chest as he asked the last part of his demand.
"Enough. Commander Von Ernst is the killer when I tell her to be the killer. Not in this instance. You all have your orders. Go find the killer. I'll go take care of our uninvited Klingon guests." Bhrode snapped.
"Okay... okay...okay... now...we done talking about them five new murders?
Back to the original five suicides!" Leo pressed, to a chorus of groans.
"Dismissed." Bhrode snapped to the room, as he stalked out of the Lounge.
NEXT POST: "Diplomacy, the Bhrode way!"
OOC: This wraps up the 'Staff Meeting' Saga. moral of the Story?: 'Never invite Leo!' The clues are 'Out There Scully' for the search of the killer! Let's see some IC interaction of those OOC theories I see! Grill your personal fave in a Joint Post! Post a solo post of your own "leo-esque' ranting!
Establish YOUR OWN Alibi! (You may need it!)
OOC: Let's see... Bhrode had his meeting, got the opinions of some people about what to do with the Klingons... Bhrode fired up the PPC intending to kill him some pesky Klingons, but the PPC is a Dr.Quick invention... and not only won't shoot BUT drained power from all other combat systems. So we have the ship in a tight spot, and JQB is NOT ranting away?? It's ALL in his plan, kiddykins!
* * * * * * * * * *
Four starships hang in the ebon void... surrounding the fifth. The fifth looking deadly and sleek compared to her captors. It looks like the cat-and-mouse seduction of interstellar combat just turned into an ugly gang-rape.
Aboard the largest, a Klingon Thought Admiral taunts his helpless opponent...
You'd think Bad Guys would learn something...you NEVER taunt the Good Guys before you kill them.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Tachyon pulse away Captain." Black's quiet words punctuated the raging rant from the Klingon Commander.
"...and if the Princess is not surrended, we will WHIP you into compliance! We will then march in victory through the smoking rubble of the halls of your ship and suck the marrow from your worthless bones, as they lay cracking under our bootheels! We will smash your...what? QI'yah![foul disgust]" the Thought Admiral raged, as he noticed developments.
For... at Bhrode's calm command, the Tachyon pulse had been set up in the Main Deflector Dish arrays of USS Galaxy. The specific were harmonics repeated through every Shield Generator node aboard Galaxy, and at his 'mark' the pulse had lept our from USS Galaxy, a shimmering 'bubble' of invisible tachyons, racing away from USS Galaxy at the Speed of light. It was a mark of the level of professionalism in the Sciences and Tactical Departments, that they didn't whine or question their commander... they simply heard his order for a tachyon Pulse.. and made it happen.
The first thing those Tachyons hit was the feeble bubble of GALAXY's degraded Shields. The drain of power to the PPC had reduced shields to Combat Effeciency slightly above that of standard cruising mode. The Tachyon pulse hit the shileds and made them wildly courusce in a molten glow of energy, for one flickering nanosecond.
Pretty.
Mere nanoseconds later, the Tachyon Pulse did the same thing to the shields of the Klingon Flotilla, casting the lean sinister ships in the midst of flickering lights.
Pretty, but hardly worthy of one of the most vile Klingon curses to be flung. And not worth a whit tactically. Aboard Galaxy, even Rebecca Von Ernst, perched on the edge of her Command Chair showed the faintest signs of puzzlement. Lysander was babbling on the other side of Bhrode.. as he had no idea what the hell was going on either. Her dispassionate brown eyes met his electricly vibrant blue-green ones over Bhrode's chuckling chest, trading an uncomprehending gaze of bewilderment.
It wasn't until the Tachon Pulse lit up the other twelve ships present, that Rebecca beat Lysander to the realization of what 'Bhrode's Game' had been.
The Tachyon Pulse hit the cloaking screens of the twelve Orion Raiders who had been silently flanking Galaxy, throwing the ships into detection by the ambushers and abushees.
Eleven of the ships were behind the Klingon Flotilla, the four Klingons caught in a web of overlapping firezones and crossfires that they had zero chance from escaping from alive. The Twelvth Orion ship was holding a position UNDER the USS Galaxy... mere meters seperating her stealth field from Galaxy's defelctor shields.
The very moment that shocked Klingon brains were registering the presence of the interlopers... the Orion ships dropped the Cloaks and powered up weapons. Weapons that had been presighted and ranged.
But it wasn't even the unconventional deployment that rankled deep in the Klingon breast. It was WHO had done it.
For the ship that Galaxy held close to her breast.. the one currently locking disruptors on the Vor'cha was known to any Klingon Commander. It was a ship that was hated and despised.
"Oh DRAT. Captain Bhrode... your shiphandler almost ruined my surprise!" came the mocking voice over the channel between Galaxy and the Klingons.
"Mister Savoie... my compliments to you, for rectifying the problem Ensign Whassit caused. And make a note, Mister Savoie... the next time I order 'hold THIS position' I mean THIS specific position.. not 'give or take 5 decimal places.'" Bhrode actually smiled, tugging down his tunic front.
"Aye Captain." replied a bewilderwed looking Savoie, pale faced at HOW close the Orion was to the stationary USS Galaxy.
"YOU!" snarled the Klingon Admiral in disgust.
"Me?" replied the puzzled voice of Captain-General Deth O'key IV, of the Orion 'Merchant' O'Key Cartel.
"Portions of that ship are property of the Emperor!" The Thought Admiral raged, staring at the apparition of the Orion ship with the boom section of a Klingon D-7 cruiser somehow attached to it in an ungainly looking addition.
"Great Granpa O'Key FOUND that thing derelict!" the Orion blazed.
"Ahem." Bhrode interrupted the two hundred year old arguement.
"Captain-General O'Key, Admiral... perhaps you would join myself, the Princess and our...Legate aboard Galaxy? To dicuss this little impasse?"
Bhrode suggested, his lip sneering at mention of the Liasion Officer his ship had been saddled with.
"Of course, I would be delighted to partake of the glorious hospitality the Federation is known to lavish upon visitors to their ships. Berhaps a tour of your Engine room and..." Began O'Key, before the Klingon agreed with a curt bark and closed channel. Bhrode motioned to Reece, to cut the Comm channel on the long winded Orion privateer 'merchant.'
Bhrode looked around his bridge and his lips compressed in a rictus of displeasure.
"Is this a Federation Starship or a cruise liner? Tactical! Report on the damn Orions and lay in a plot to destroy them if the urge takes me." Bhrode barked, cutting short any feelings of elation the crew might show, having been saved from certain death mere sconds before.
"Aye Sir!" replied Black.
"Helm! Get us further away from those damned pirates before they steal the fillings from our teeth. OPS and Engineering! Get me that PPC on line and centered right on Thought Admiral Wahssisname's forehead. Number One, with Black on that Tactical plot. Number Two, you had a request for some personal time? take it now because you'll be with me for the negotiations."
Bhrode was barking, as people began to fly around the Bridge.
"Oh.. Mister Reece? Turn that damn Red Alert Klaxxon off. No one aboard seems to listen to it anyways.WHERE IS MY GADDAMN STATUS REPORT?..."
Lysander heard, as he scurried off the bridge.
Bhrode looked around and chuckled. "I love a good plan." he announced to no one in particular.
Even Rebecca, bossing Black around the Tac Arch raised an eyebrow at that one.
"I'm not paralyzed, Jules," said Karyn hotly, managing to fume despite having a mouth full of french fries. She continued to gesture wildly with the hamburger in her right hand, no longer caring about its purpose as a source of nourishment. The hamburger knew nothing of Dallas' cares and so continued to drip mustard, much to the consternation of an overworked English personal assistant who was trying in vain to keep the yellow gobs from dive-bombing onto Karyn's nice (albeit a bit wrinkled) blue uniform.
Julia sighed in both frustration and relief as she just barely avoided total annihilation with a well placed and timely offered napkin. "I know, Kar, I've been with you since you began your career, and might I just add, you've never worked this late before." It was Julia's subtle attempt to remind Karyn just how tired she was. Having to stay awake to anticipate Karyn's needs was difficult under the best of circumstances, but at nearly midnight ship time, Julia was losing the battle to sleep.
Unfortunately, Karyn was ranting, and when this happened, it was nearly impossible to stop her. When Karyn vented at her, it was like trying to stop a starship going at warp nine, and with the murderer no closer to being caught, Karyn was in rare form. "I have cerebral palsy, caused by an interventricular bleed, not a spinal cord injury! I have feeling everywhere, including my big toe!"
"I know tha.."
"So why don't frick and frack know that? Why did they hear I was paralyzed from the waist down from Rebecca?" demanded Karyn, gesturing wildly to Jay and Silent Bob, "I mean they pulll me down those damn stairs like I'm a rag doll for crying out loud! I can walk some, just not keep my balance!"
Before Julia could offer a weary reply, Jay (the one known not so affectionately to Karyn as 'fric') responded from his post upstairs where he was blatantly eavesdropping. "[Bleep] hottie shrinker, we just though that since you weren't you know [bleep]ing anyone that you couldn't...you know...
I mean you can't tell us that no one ever tried to..."
"I'm LEAVING now, and I'm going to bed!" screamed Julia, stopping the disgusting thought from being received by her ears and brain, "before you tell me in your fatigue induced delusions that was supposed to be a compliment, Kar."
Monsoon softened a bit then, not for the first time concerned about the dark circles and gaunt look of her charge. "You really should eat something, Kar, even if it's finishing this crap," she added with a smile, "just wake me when you're ready to get in bed."
Inwardly the English woman chuckled, *And you wonder why people question if you're capable of having 'relations.'* thought Julia. Karyn was so used to the routine she no longer noticed she often worked so late that she would have to shake Monsoon awake to put her in bed at night. It had become such a regular routine, Monsoon had taken to falling asleep on Karyn's bed just so she would be close enough to Karyn to tuck her in whenever fatigue finally claimed her. *The only other person ever in your bed is me, dear. You might as well be completely paralyzed for all the care you show yourself* All these thoughts went through her head, but she said none of this to Karyn. As usual, she never had to.
Karyn lowered her head in frustration and embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Jules, it's just we're all on edge with Bhrode, the Klingons, and with this killer aboard, I feel somehow to blame. After everything we've been through with rapists and stalkers and blood suckers on the original Galaxy, don't you think all of us would be better at screening the crazies..."
Before Monsoon could utter one scolding word, Emma Marshall was at the office door, a grim look on her face. "Karyn, Doctor T'Lan from sickbay wishes to speak to you privately over the comm. She sounded urgent."
Karyn's face grew pale and for a moment neither could speak. "Em, is it one of ours? Did the killer..." she swallowed hard, "I mean did he?"
Emma's eyes were hard as blue diamonds, though years of working together told Karyn she was trying to keep her panic under control. "I don't know."
With that, she walked away, afraid that one more word might cause her to burst into tears. Emma had been crying a lot lately, and Emma rarely cried before the killing spree.
Dallas felt a hand on her shoulder. "I should go. This is counselor stuff."
Karyn never met her gaze, staring straight ahead into nothingness. "I know what you were going to say, Jules, and you're right, I can't be everywhere and know everything all the time, and to think so is more arrogance on my part...but that's not good enough for me. It never is."
"It'll have to be." was her reply.
***
With a trembling hand, Karyn activated her com terminal and was greeted by the stoic visage of Dr. T'Lan, the Vulcan attending physician in charge of the evening shift. "Hello, Doctor, what can I do for you?"
"Please pull up yor medical department interface, Counselor. You should see the most recent injury report."
Karyn nodded and did as she was told, scrolling through the logs. "What exactly am I looking for, Doctor? There's nothing here that necessitates a counselor's presence? Your most recent arrival, a Lt. j/g Victor Krieghoff, was admitted with some minor scrapes...I don't... Wait, why is there a ten minute gap between his arrival and his receiving treatment? You're the doctor on call, correct?"
"You are correct, Counselor, however the Lieutenant upon arrival, refused to let me treat him. He insisted on being seen by Dr. Malgin."
Karyn shrugged, clearly exasperated by the Vulcan's refusal to volunteer any more information than was required for Karyn's questions. "So he wanted to see a male doctor, what's the problem?"
The Vulcan's voice grew lower. "The Lieutenant's injuries were not consistent with mere scrapes, Counselor, it is clear he was severely beaten by several others or perhaps one very strong individual."
Realization dawned on Karyn. "Are you saying he was attacked by our killer and we're covering it up so that he or she doesn't know we're on to him or her? That doesn't make sense... The killer slits throats and he's never left anyone alive before...unless he or she was caught by surprise. Who brought Victor in?"
T'Lan arched an eyebrow. "I've concluded no such thing based on the available evidence, Commander. I'm merely telling you what I observed, so you can do with it whatever you wish. Lt. Krieghoff initiated a site to site transport to sickbay. He was alone."
"Wait, you're telling me that Victor was nearly beaten to death, possibly by several assailants and no one saw or heard anything? He was on patrol by himself? How is that possible? What the hell is going on, and what exactly do you want me to do?" Karyn's temperature was rising by the second. *Just tell me what you want, dammit!*
T'Lan's demeanor was like ice compared to Karyn's fire. "Based on his personality profile and his background, I have calculated a ninety-nine point eight percent chance that Krieghoff will attempt to retaliate against his attacker(s), possibly bringing about his death or those of others. Dr. Malgin is bound by the wishes of his patient, who does not wish others to know what happened, but I disagree with his decision to withold information related to this incident. Humans also tend to suppress their negative emotions, but unlike Vulcans, they do not purge them regularly. Holding on to his rage in the hopes of retaliation is a foolish and potentially dangerous endeavor which can only hurt the Lieutenant and the crew. I have no desire to see further bloodshed, Counselor, and it would be illogical to believe the desires of the one outweigh the safety of the many."
Karyn sighed and despite T'Lan's emotionless logic couldn't disagree. "I'm assuming Dr. Malgin isn't aware of this conversation?"
T'Lan's voice was even. "He is not. Commander Corgan will be notified, as procedure dictates, but I expect the Lieutenant will be returned to duty soon. I would suggest that you speak with Lt. Krieghoff yourself before then, Counselor."
Karyn nodded. She couldn't deny Victor's history, and Corgan wasn't very well going to pull an officer off duty when he himself was already prevented from assisting in the murder investigation. She may have been pissed that
no one from security was with Victor, but she wasn't very well going to tell them how to do their jobs.
Victor's emotional well being, however, was her domain. "I'm on my way, Doctor, thank you."
Without another word, the Vulcan physician ended the transmission.
The last time Jeremy left the bridge during a tense situation, he got stuck in and almost killed by a turbolift, only to have Bhrode chew him out when he got back. So it was understandable that he wasn't too thrilled with leaving the bridge again now, even if his shift was over. In fact, if Bhrode hadn't ordered him to get his shoulder checked out, Jeremy would have stayed through another shift, pain or no pain.
Moving through the corridors with grim reluctance, Jeremy arrived at sickbay, a place he generally preferred to avoid. It was quiet for the moment, and the helmsman half expected one of those annoying EMHs to pop out of nowhere asking to 'state the nature of the medical emergency'. When that didn't occur, he knew the quickest way to get out of here was to get someone to take care of his shoulder and send him on his way.
"So does anybody actually work here?" he called out impatiently.
It was his mistake. IT was what might have been his fatal life-costing mistake. To say something which might offend the evil overlord of aspirine and insidious master of hyposprays... To Vladimir Malgin... Door slammed opened and figure stormed into the room "God dammit! Who the hell is in here avoiding duty? Whose quacking I am hearing?" He stopped in the door way and stared at officer. Wicked smile went on his face and he said "Ahem, I am still waiting for reply on above-mentioned questions. More of that - one more. What I shoudl do to you if I find your reasons unworthy enough."
"Oh fuck . . ." Jeremy muttered, rolling his eyes. It was that strange doctor he had first met back at Utopia Planetia before launch.
"Look -doc-, I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here, and frankly, I don't give a shit whether you find my reasons 'worthy' or not, so take a sedative and examine my shoulder," he said irritatedly.
Vladimir threw evaluiating glance at officer and grinned "First - I am not 'doc', but SIR for you. 'Cause lieutenant's pips are in past and I am Chief of this house of horrors. Second - I never need sedatives, because I am angel-like being. Third - I don't care about your shouler, but..." He sighed ironically "I gave damned Hippocratic Oath, so I am mandated to help. Come to any biobed, they are all clear from patients, because others are wise enough not to appear here, and sit still. I will come back in seconds." He turned around and closed door from other side.
Jeremy stared at the man incredulously as he disappeared into his office. "Uh, yeah," he mumbled to himself, wondering what kind of twilight zone he had fallen into. This guy was certifiable. As much as he disliked them, even an EMH seemed preferable at the moment, but Jeremy thought better of trying to activate one.
He didn't want this nutcase doctor going after him with a scalpel over it. Awkwardly sliding himself up onto the nearest biobed -- the pain in his shoulder was still pretty bad -- he sat and waited for Malgin to return.
... Which he did few seconds after Jeremy had that thought. Doctor closed the door and walked to biobed. "Well, well, what do we have here? Problems with shoulder? I see. No need to prove my conclusions. Tell me other things. Why? How? When? Anything more I should know about it?"
"I dislocated it falling in a turbolift shaft," he muttered in reply, feeling a little stupid. "I popped it back into place myself, but it still hurts like hell."
While Jeremy said his words, Vladimir was scanning shoulder of the 'victim' and listening him half-eared "Turbolift? Hehe... Was you sleeping? To get injured by turbolift?! I understand - such an opponent, such a formidable opponent... Don Quixote fighting windmills - it is what this reminded me." Doctor closed put tricorder back on the table and walked to the cabinet with medicines. ~What to infuse? Cyanide maybe?~ he thought ironically ~Or somethin' worse? Nah, I am not a sadistic doc...~ HE took a painkiller and a bandage and walked back to Jeremy.
Jeremy's mind flashed back to the discussion in the staff meeting earlier. All these mysterious killings that were going on aboard the ship . . . suddenly he wasn't too comfortable being alone with this guy.
"I wasn't fighting the turbolift," Jeremy said, trying to keep the conversation off things like cyanide and knives. "It was dark in the shaft and I hit some release that retracted the ladder as I was climbing it. OW . . . take it easy, doc!" he snapped as Malgin pulled on Jeremy's arm to see how much he could rotate the shoulder.
~...Gosh, I really start to think that this guy is somewhat suspicious. He is so strange... Vlad, don't lie to yourself! The murderer is maniac. THIS guy is a maniac too. Why? He's fighting turbolifts. Is it sign of mental unstability? Absolutely!..~ Vladimir shook his head to shake away nasty thought. He picked up hypospray and threw evil sarcastic glance at Jeremy, "This won't hurt... A lot... Or would? Who cares?"
Resisting the reflexive urge to knock the hypospray out of the crazy doctor's hand, Jeremy just sat still. His whole body tensed, reflecting his inner conviction that this nut case was suspect number one, as far as he was concerned, as the person killing everyone all over the ship.
And now he was sitting here alone in sickbay with him, allowing the loon to inject him with a hypospray.
Vladimir threw hypo back on the table and applied bandage on unlucky helmsman's shoulder. Then he stepped back looking at results of his work. "Does it hurt? I hope painkiller is good. Now, listen here. Don't move that arm. Preferably totally..."
"I don't care if it hurts . . . I just don't want it to kill me," Jeremy replied in a slightly accusatory tone. "And don't worry about the arm, I'll be lucky if it still has any circulation in it," he complained, referring to the doctor's tourniquet-like bandaging. He jumped down from the biobed, all too eager to get the hell out of this chamber of horrors.
"... Get some sleep, bath or something else. You won't need more painkillers if you follow this rules. Any questions?" before Jeremy could even blink, he continued "No questions. That's good. Now I count down to five and I don't see your sorry butt here. If I still see it - GULAG is guaranteed. One... Two...Three... Four..."
~Fuckin' whack job,~ Jeremy thought, keeping a suspicious gaze focused over his shoulder on Malgin as he left sickbay.
"Five." Vladimir sighed "Good guy... I hope that I didn't mistake that painkiller with Corgan's stool sample..."
OOC: Directly after the end of the meeting and right before ‘mo better Brhode’)
“YOU!!!”
“Me?” asked Dr. Quick innocently.
“Yes YOU!,” repeated DeVorah, High Princess of the Klingons, “You dirty P’Tagh of a human! You diseased maggot-infested husk of rotting meat. . . . you slug-brained messy-haired, Targ-breathed ape!!!”
“Well no need to get rude sister.” Quick sniffed, a little sensitive about his messy hair. “You’d think you weren’t happy to see me again.”
The two speakers were standing in the narrow passageway just outside of the Galaxy’s main Briefing Room. The place had rapidly cleared out following a rather lengthy gripe session by the esteemed Captain Brhode in which Quick was hard pressed to figure out what had been accomplished.
The little Fat-dude with the Karma problems had yapped a lot, and Brhode had overflowed with a fountain of Negative-Yang, but other than that. . . . .
Shrugging his lanky shoulders in indifference, the bushy-haired scientist had been bent on returning to his class in interpretive art when the rather feisty (and snaggle-toothed) form of Princess DeVorah had intercepted him.
“YOU!” she repeated for the third time. “You dare to ignore my presence. .. You dare to ignore the grievous insult you have dealt me. . .have dealt all Klingons!?!”
Quick inclined his head towards the furious Klingon, preferring to answer softly. (Speak softly and carry a Daisy) was Quick’s personal motto. “I didn’t date ‘All Klingons’ Luv. . . .only you, and that was over years ago.”
Impossible as it would seem, the Princess screwed her face into an even more contorted mask of rage. “You dare mock me?!”
Quick rolled his eyes. “Enough with the ‘YOU’s’ babe. . . . I think we established who I am. You’re disturbing my Inner-Tribble.”
The sarcasm of course was lost on the irate Klingon. “You told me you’d cut out your own beating, pulsating heart and eat it before you left me. . .
. .You promised me you’d swim a river of blood, pus and bile . . . that you’d rip out the festering eyeballs of a Tyborrean Gort-Dragon with you TEETH before you left my side!!!”
“Yeah well, all that stuff about blood and pus. .. that’s what we humans call Pillow-Talk babe.” Quick explained wearily.
“You took advantage of me!!” she stomped her heavily spiked foot in frustration.
Sighing Jeb Quick leaned his gangly form against the bulkhead and resigned himself to a long drawn-out argument. If there was anything his travels across the Galaxy had taught him, it was there was no getting away from a female (whatever the species) when she wanted to point out your shortcomings.
“Took advantage of you?” he repeated. “Whoa whoa cool your spike covered jets little Klingon-sister. If I remember correctly it was YOU who sent your personal goon-squad out to ‘convince’ me to drop by for a visit. I was just on Qu’Nos as part of a Student Exchange program.”
He bobbed his head at the memory. “ I was supposed to be snug in my bed under the watchful eye of a Vulcan Dorm-Mother. . . . not promoting interspecies relations with the Living Sword of Kahless!”
DeVorah ignored his protests. “I was a young warrior woman!” she insisted. “You beguiled me with your human mind tricks, and took advantage of a girl’s weakness.”
“Weakness? “ Quick chuckled a bit, “Au contrair my bumpy headed babe. . . . If I remember correctly you had me in a headlock and crying mercy to my dear Aunt Matilda. Heck, I had to crawl out of your bed with two fractured ribs and multiple contusions.
The Princess waved away that excuse, “I was playing hard to get.” She spat. “A true warrior would not let concussions, and a little blood loss impair his manly duties.”
“ Is that what it was all about for you my close-minded friend?” Quick ‘tsked at the Klingon. “Mere mating rituals and medical bills? How woefully close-minded.” Sighing he gestured about him. “It was not about sex dear sister. . . . It was rather a deeply philosophical and artistic statement about the political difficulties between our two races. What we did was mold a living sculpture with our bodies to protest the in-humane. . . .the in-Klingonase treatement of our fellow brothers and sisters on both sides of the border. “
Quick was in a rhythm now, “In this union, our bodies prophesized the day when both our peoples would become ONE, and how all the children of the Cosmos would gather together to suckle at the fertile teats of the Mother-Goddess. . . .you remember the suckling at the teats of. . .”
“I REMEMBER the thrice-cursed suckling!!!!” DeVorah snapped actually blushing a bit.
Quick shrugged, “Well it was only an artistic abstract. . . . .”
“I was 16 years old!!” DeVorah hissed.
Frowning and unconsciously smoothing back his messy hair, Jebediah Quick considered the woman before him. Sure enough DeVorah HAD been a young girl when they first met all those years ago. Still a young Klingon girl was dangerous enough the make lesser men blanche in fear. Fortunately for Quick, his own nerves had been artificially buoyed by some illicit hallucinogens during that long ago encounter.
Still, the woman before him was not that girl any longer. DeVorah had obviously grown up in more ways than one. Still he could still make out the youthful passion blazing in her eyes, the familiar flair for the dramatic, and the intricate tattoo barely visible on her. . .. . .
Quick blinked and looked close. The tiny Lovers-Tattoo on her left breast was no longer visible.
~~Odd.~~
Her choice of revealing armored breast-plates (that was all the rage among Klingon females) should have provided easy view of the loving token of her and Quick’s time together. The stylized Tattoo of Einstein’s E=Mc2 was their private little joke. He still remembered her summoning the royal Tattoo artist to their shared room at four in the morning to have the equation emblazoned across her cleavage.
It was supposed to be an artistic display of the womanly nature of creation and how the speed of light varied inversely with the size of a woman’s cleavage. . . . .
~~~Where is it now?~~ he wondered. Klingon Tattoo’s were famous for being irreversible. It was considered the act of a weakling to change one’s mind and remove a mark once it was inked. Sorta like a battle scar he supposed.
Raising his eyes from her un-marked bosom and back to her eyes he dismissed the oddity from his mind. “Look, my little Targ-Puff.” He soothed, “Let’s not get all into he-said, she-said. Lets just remember the One-ness we became with the universe. How we became the Adam and Eve of a new race of spiritual pilgrims”
“You arrogant P’tagh!!” DeVorah snapped. “Thanks to your thrice-cursed ‘reefer’ that you beguiled me with, all the memories I have of that time are a drug-induced blur! We Klingons do not need to drug our bed-partners. . . . Brute physical force is considered adequate foreplay.”
“Different strokes dahling.” Quick grinned giving a hasty ‘peace-sign’. “And this ship!” DeVorah gestured about her to indicate the whole USS Galaxy. “My spies reveal that this Battleship is your lover’s token to a human female who spurned you! You claim to have loved ME and yet you have never designed an Ultimate Killing Machine in My honor!!”
For a moment it seemed as if the Princess was actually going to pout. “One little Mass-Destructor or Battle-Cruiser . .would it hurt you to have do something nice like that for me?” she sniffed.
Quick threw up his hands at that. Speaking of drug-induced hazes. . . .the mess with Leah Brahms was too complicated to explain. “Now look little Targ-Puff.” He began, “Don’t you go trying to convince me you’re jealous of some little eggheaded girl.”
“Besides,” he said, “Rumor has it you have a new ‘liaison’ at the moment. Making eyes at the Chief of Security I hear."” He teased.
The Sword of Kahless opened her mouth to reply (or maybe utter a battle cry) but fortunately it was cut off by the booming voice of John Q Brhode from the adjacent bridge.
“QUICK!!!! Where the bloody blue-hell is my PPC!!!???!!!”
“Duty calls sugar-mamma.” Quick said leaning forward to kiss the surprised De Vorah on her bumpy little forehead. “Happy trails with your new boy-toy.”
And with that he whisked off onto the bridge.
~~~I must remember to ask Commander Corgan later about that missing Tattoo~~~ he thought as he went, ~~~Once he gets a chance to explore more thoroughly. . . .~~~
=/=
OOC: Set sometime during the current crisis--after the staff meeting
Rebecca was in rare ‘Ice Bitch Mode’ as she idly checked off one final notation on her PADD during an impromptu inspection of the Deck 11 Tactical Offices. The situation with the Klingons, and now the Orions swarming about was growing tense, and she wanted to be sure HER Department was ready.
Once upon a time aboard the original Galaxy, the skittish young redhead had been in charge of the spacious computerized offices, but that was several months and one lost soul ago, and she was not here for any warm- fuzzy reunion.
“In addition to my other observations, “ she said in her usual quiet but menacing voice, “I have noted a distinct lack of general cleanliness in the Tac-Center.”
Rebecca gestured about idly, “To wit, note the prevalence of small coffee-cup stains on many of the LCARS panels, and Little finger smudges and scratches on the simulator tanks.”
As Rebecca continued on with her soft spoken but deadly serious litany of transactions, ticking off a veritable encyclopedia of irregularities both major and minor, the young pimple-faced Ensign standing at attention before her merely gulped and nodded at each charge. A fine sheen of sweat was already beginning to appear on his brow.
Ensign Peter Coakley, Assistant Phaser Control Director had been aware of the coffee stains for some time, but so far the Department had been unable to remove the stubborn marks.
(Urban Legend had it that they were actually rings from Cups of hot Co-Co that the infamous ex-Dept Head had left herself, and the scuff marks on the LCARS panels were from her frequent habit of dropping things clumsily upon them. Fortunately the young lad was smart enough not to bring those subjects up to her face.)
He merely nodded and nervously agreed with whatever the XO said. “. . . . . Tactical Analysis submissions for the current crisis is likewisefiled incorrectly,” Rebecca continued with a ‘tsk “Furthermore I need to have a Departmental Brief on Theoretical Low Intensity Combat with Vor’cha Class Klingon Cruisers, and a smattering of assembled Orion Vessels.”
She paused flashing her sharp brown eyes at the sweating Ensign. “Not that Klingons know the definition of Low Intensity, but General Order 34 Subsection B revision 6 mandates we use the lowest level of force necessary to defend ourselves.”
The last part of the sentence trailed off into sarcasm and Rebecca rolled her eyes a bit. The little Redheaded Commander had developed a reputation for not knowing the concept of limited conflicts herself. For Rebecca the simplest equation was one that resulted in the enemy blasted into as many small pieces as possible. It cut down on the variables she had to compute.
Gulping again the poor Ensign Coakley nodded his agreement. Everyone in Tactical was well aware of the tiny shoes they were expected to fill.
~~~Why o why did she have to pick MY shift to hold surprise inspection?” the boy fretted. ~~~Why could she have waited until Lt. Black was here instead?~~~
Unfortunately the Department Chief was off coordinating another aspect of Tactical Preparations, and the only other team-members present was a gaggle of NCO’s pretending to be busy at the other end of the room. Barely 3 months out of the Academy and Peter Coakley was senior officer on watch.
Noting the young man’s nervousness, Rebecca furrowed her eyebrows a bit and studied him intently. “How old are you Ensign?”
“T. . .t. . . twenty t . . two sir. . . .ah. . . m . . Ma’am.” He stuttered. “I. . . uh. . .I have a birthday n . . next week.” He added.
~~~stupidstupidstupid!!! She didn’t ask you when your birthday was!!~~~ the nervous Ensign’s brain chastised him.
Rebecca digested that without comment mentally dialing up the Ensign’s bio from the depths of her impressive memory. In her minds eye she shuffled through over 1,000 personnel files selecting one with a photo of a pimple-faced youth in the top corner.
“Coakley, Ensign Peter David.” She stated, “Class of ’79, with qualifications in Tactical Theory and Advanced Phaser Control.”
~~~Its eerie how she can do that.~~~ Coakley thought.
“A,.. .a . .aye Ma’am.” He managed, “Minor in Phaser Mechanics.” ~~~She knows that you dip. . .shut up.~~~
Rebecca watched the internal struggle play out on the boy’s face, feeling for the first time in a long time a sense of irony growing on her.
Something else however about the lad’s speech patterns especially grabbed her attention.
“Ensign. . . “ she started before amending, “Peter. . . .How long have you been stuttering like that?”
~~~I knew it I knew it.~~~ Coakley’s mind freaked. ~~~She noticed, you stupid tounge-tied goom-ba!~~~ “I. . uh. . .I .. it kinda comes a. . and goes. .sir. . .uh. .Ma’am.” he replied.
“How so?”
~~~ Because you scare the bejesus out of me little lady!!!~~~ his mind accused but Coakley merely shrugged. He may have been twice her height, but if rumors were true there was more of a bloodthirsty killer in that tiny package than in the rest of the fleet combined!
“I see.” Rebecca said sadly lowering her eyes. She had read the answer in his face, so familiar she was with her own feelings of fear and diminished self worth. “Dismissed Ensign. . .uh. . .forget the clean-up. Don’t worry about the small stuff, just bring everybody up to speed on the Vor’cha’s okay?”
Blinking in surprise at the sudden change in tone, Coakley almost forgot to be relieved. “A. .aye ma’am. . . .We’ll get right on it. . Y . . .y. . you can count on us!”
But Rebecca was already turning away to depart. A heavy cloud of confusion weighed down on her fragile shoulders. There were more similarities between herself and that stuttering Phaser Technician than met the eye. The gangly awkwardness, the nervous stuttering and inability to quell one’s inner fears were traits she still struggled with (but had managed to bury deep). From the mental file in her head she could also see that Coakley, Ensign Peter David was originally from Paducha, Tennessee on Earth. His Family was 6th Generation Cotton Farmers, owning a small land plot alongside a babbling stream.
A Farm Boy.
Like she, the Farm Girl.
The doors hissed aside and Rebecca turned down a random corridor not consciously aware of where she was heading. The words Doctor Quick spoke to her back in the Turbolift came back to her. He had commented on the ‘negative Vibes’ she had been putting out. IT was apparent that those same vibes were what scared the poor Ensign Coakley to death a few moments ago.
What had Quick said? Something about balancing out with some positive energy? Taking up a hobby? Poetry or Learn to play an Instrument?
Rebecca had never been good with words, but music?
Who could she ask. . . .. The thought crystallized in an instant., and she made an abrupt 90 degree turn heading for a nearby lift.
…..shortly outside the quarters Of Lt. Commander Corgan…..
“James, “ she began eyes fixed shyly on the deck, “I . . .I wonder if I could have a word with you?”
tbc………
Bleary eyed and fatigued from hours of work, James Corgan looked blankly at the last of his forensics reports with an air of aggravation. This was the last, thank whatever god was watching over him at the time, and he needed sleep before his shift began anew. But he was driven. His comrades, the people that were supposed to be under his command, were dead. Copperpot was a good person who didn't deserve to die, and Jody Brenton was a good man, one of the people he chose, the best he could find.
James resented the fact that Brhode threw him in the brig over a minor infraction, and started to think that Jody's death could have been prevented by fair judgement.
~"Don't get into that mindset."~ James willed himself, ~"Brhode may be an @$$hole, but I can't start blaming him for Jody's death. But dammit, it's hard to ignore. If Brhode was more fair with the kid, he would still be alive."~
~"Then wouldn't it be Brhode's fault after all?"~ His conscience asked, ~"Wouldn't it be his fault for setting up the murder? The kid was slashed helplessly in his cell, and for what? Because he tried to talk to the Captain? Because he stood up to a bully marine? How fair is that?!? Brhode left that kid to be slaughtered!!!!!!!! YOU HEAR ME?!?!?! HE'S DEAD BECAUSE OF BRHODE!!!!!!!!!"~
"NO!" He screamed back, throwing his fist to the side and knocking over a vase of red roses. The vase shattered into a dozen porcelain pieces with an audible crack. He was surprised to see his reaction, his fists shaking as he realized what had happened.
The voice was back. It was starting to gain control. Always when he was under stress, when he was at his weakest, James was under assault.
He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be attacked both on the outside by his commanding officers, and the inside by his own besieged mind.
"No..." He whispered softly, "Can't blame him. I won't let you do this to me."
The doorbell cut through his thoughts like a hot piece of jagged metal. He immediately dropped his train of thoughts and went straight to the door. But upon arriving, he thought carefully for a second, staring back at the pile of notes and busy LCARS console behind him. ~"It might be Krieghoff, but if it's Brhode here to 'talk to me..."~ He looked away from his work in worry, ~"The investigation will be shut down on my end. I better be careful with this."~
He used the manual controls to slowly open the sliding doors a crack.
Timidly, his head and neck peered out to see what was beyond his doorstep.
The sight he saw was not exactly Brhode, or even large, looming, nor commanding. But nonetheless, it was more than intimidating, and the red alert sirens rang ceaselessly inside Corgan's thought crammed skull.
"James, " she began eyes fixed shyly on the deck, "I . . .I wonder if I could have a word with you?"
~"SH***T!"~ James thought alarmingly, ~"Brhode couldn't talk to me himself? Why did he send Rebecca?!?!? Oh f**k... oh sweet motherf**king Jesus f**king Christ, f**k!"~ He took one last look at the autopsy reports and wood splinter evidence before he looked back at his red headed friend, ~"I have to hide this sh*t before she's on to me!"~
"Umm... ummm. ummm... sure, ma'am... sir... sir-ma'am! Could you excuse me for a second, ma'am?" He laughed heartily once, his head bobbing up and down while his body was hidden, "I just got out of the shower, and I'm not fully dressed. If you give me one minute, I'll be out to address you. Heh heh... bye now!" The door swooshed shut and he wiped his brow in relief.
Mildly surprised, Rebecca took an involuntary step back from the door slamming in her face. ~~~Oooooo this is so silly!!~~~ she berated herself. ~~~He's gonna think you're a loon, and laugh at you! Besides that there was another sudden thought of concern: ~~~Holy smoking Noodles!! What will Lexa think!??!~~~ Rebecca took a quick nervous glance up and down the passageway as if the svelte 6 foot goddess would suddenly appear and smash poor Rebecca into jelly for daring to talk to her boyfriend.
Thankfully the hall was bare.
--***--
Back inside, James made a mad scramble for the investigation materials. He gathered up the autopsy reports, the forensic reports, all under his arm, and found the nearest, simplest hiding spot he could find.
Upon spotting it, he threw all his reports haphazardly under his bed, covered the area with his sheets, and then scrambled to shut off his LCARS console, while on the way to the bathroom to hastily splash water on his face and hair.
A moment later, James Corgan opened the door to his quarters while hastily combing his hair. He had a look of innocence that was hard not to notice.
"Sorry about the delay, ma'am." He apologized profusely, as if overcompensating for another social faux pas, "I just got out of the sonic shower, and I was butt freakin'... nevermind. The point is, you caught me at an embarrassing moment, but now I am free to answer your questions.
So..." He paused, his hands folding into each other, "How can I help you, ma'am?"
Fortunately for James, Rebecca was not the sharpest knife in the drawer so she fell for the old 'hang-on I'm in the shower trick' easily. She even failed to note how the Security Chief was DRY the first time he opened the door, but now only few moments later had the faint glistening of water about his cheeks.
(She never forgot something, but sometimes she failed to put clues together.)
"James," she began again, "I wanted to ask you. . .uh. . .well you said I could ask you things if I need too right?"
He honestly spoke, "That's what I thought... until that incident at the farm. When you said... you just wanted me to not talk so much, that sort of restricts... conversation. You can ask me what you want, but I thought you didn't want to hear it anymore. Are you sure you want to hear it?"
Rebecca raised an eyebrow at the warning. What did he have in mind?
She nodded.
"Fine. Ask away."
"Well," she licked her lips nervously and took another guilty peek up the hall, "Uh. . . You don't think that I'm too. . ." she stopped in mid-question and asked instead, "Uh. . . .Lexa wont get mad if I talk to you right?"
Aghast, James mulled over her question for a moment. ~"What is her concern?"~ He asked himself, ~"Is she trying to hide something from her? Or from me?"~ It was easy to see her deception... somewhat. She was unpracticed and sloppy, but at the same time James was debilitated by a natural trust in her.
He answered back, "Lexa considers you her friend. You don't need to be afraid of her."
"Oh, ok." She didn't seem convinced, but decided to plunge ahead any ways. The incident with Ensign Coakley in Tactical and Quick's strange insights bore heavily on her.
"James. . . ." she said, "You don't think I'm . . .uh. . . . too negative of a person do you?"
Something inside James decided that it wasn't time to hold back. He hated what he had to do, risking Rebecca's fragile pride and brittle backbone all for the sake of venting, but it was something he had to do. For her sake, and himself, he needed to tell the truth.
"Are you sure you want to hear it?" He snapped sternly, "You're going to hate it."
~~Hate it?~~ she wondered surprised at both his harsh tone and the words themselves. ~~What does he have to say that's so bad?~~ Part of her was curious, part of her was frightened , and yet another part of her was coldly calculating all the possible statements the Security Chief could utter.
It was the latter persona that won out, as Rebecca instinctively raised her shields in the face of James sudden harshness. She may have arrived at the door in an open and questioning, but she had learned at length that it was best to respond to hostility with impassive coldness. (followed up by a massive volley of Photon Torpedoes)
"No Commander, perhaps you are right," she replied the icy mask washing away her concerned features like an eraser across a schoolchild's chalkboard, "Perhaps I do not wish to hear it, and I think you have just reminded me why I never before sought your opinion on the matter."
"Right... I rant and rave. You don't like to hear me like that, so i'll spare you the boredom." James spat, then added, "But you're curious, aren't you?"
"No." she responded honestly. Never in her life had she ever been interested in people being mean to her. She just wanted a simple answer, and maybe some help in improving her reputation.
~"Oh for f**k sakes, can't the girl take a hint?"~ James sighed in frustration, ~"Fine, she'll hear it anyways. F**king stubborn b*tch..."~
"Tough crap. I'll sum it up in a couple of sentences, if that will help you." He said, "Two... no... three. I promise. Real simple. Real fast.
It'll hurt, but not as bad as what you are doing to yourself. Now, are you ready?"
She sighed. He wasn't listening to her.
"Rebecca." James sat down, folding his arms and saying softly. "You are known on this ship as the 'Ice Queen', or the 'Ice B*tch' when you... do what you do. Your humanity, your kindness, your warmth, all are suppressed by your 'Ice Queen' attitude."
Rebecca just stared at him. If other people wanted to be a potty mouth that was not her concern. She just didn't want to have 'negative waves' as Quick had described them.
He could tell by Rebecca's face that she was uncomfortable, and that made him hold back. ~"What is wrong with me? Am I a coward?"~ James hissed to himself. He wanted to rush out, tell Rebecca how much of an awful monster she has turned herself into, berate her for her lack of humanity, crush the poor little girl's spirit as a karmic balance offering for all the universe to witness. To punish her for neglecting friendship, tossing people by the wayside like so many bad divisions, to tear her down so that she had a hope in hell of rebuilding herself.
He kept his anger in check. He couldn't hurt her, not now, not yet.
And if his promise, already broken, meant a damn to him, then it would be not ever.
"Rebecca, I kept this away for so long because you didn't want to hear my opinions anymore. How I wish you never made me do that..." He regrettably muttered, "But... I broke that promise today. It's out in the open. I hate how you're so cold towards people."
He then shrugged his shoulders, "Doesn't mean I hate you. I get mad at you, but that's about it. Nothing that can't be patched up, eh? So tell me, why do you ask about negativity?"
She then briefly ran down the strange words Quick had for her in the Turbolift about being surrounded by negative waves. She worried if this was indeed the case, and if James thought there might be problems arising from that.
"I could have told you that." He responded, "Oh... wait. I did. What Dr. Quick means is that people can feel how hostile and cold you are.
It's not so much as an aura, but reading people and how they feel. And face it, you're transparent, whether you're an ice-b*tch, or a scared little girl. Everyone can sense how you feel, and it's not pleasant. Hence negative aura."
Rebecca wrinkled her nose at James's rather filthy language. She really wished he would not be mean like that, but she supposed he was mad about something. Sighing in confusion, Rebecca then mentioned Quick's suggestion to try some positive activities, like a hobby or some such thing.
James was surprised to hear what she was saying. It was a complete reversal of fortune, or rather, of Rebecca's icy self. What surprised him the most was that a hobby, possibly useless for a person who learned the practical, was in her interests.
~"Whoa..."~ His mood lightened in light of his confusion, ~"Maybe part of her is still alive in there."~ "Uhhh... I never took you as a hobby person. What do you have in mind?" He asked.
Actually she really was NOT a hobby person, (unless you counted her cross-stitching) but she had figured somehow that the unusual Dr. Quick was referring to something more social than needle and thread work. "I dunno James," she asked in all seriousness, "I had a few hours available and was wondering. . .Do . . . uh. . .you think you could teach me to play the guitar tonight?"
"Whoa!" James stuck out his arms in surprise, "Slow down, Rebecca. You're not going to be able to learn how to play the guitar all in one night, you know. I spent every day that I could, from the age of three until today, playing the guitar. I was playing the electric guitar at the age of ten. I spent my entire life playing the guitar. And you know what? I don't know everything there is to know about playing the guitar. What you're asking me is to teach you how to play an instrument that could take years to master. Are you sure you're up for that?"
~"Especially after what I just said to you?"~ He thought.
Glancing up at the much taller officer, she merely shrugged. How was she supposed to answer that one. "I dunno. . . .It was just a random thought. . . . .I guess I could pick another hobby, but this seemed easier than Lysander teaching me to prance around in a white suit and wave his silly bendy-swords about.. . . . .That seemed a little girlish to me."
James snickered, then started to giggle, holding his hand across his mouth to suppress the noise.
She looked at him as if he had suddenly sprouted turnips from his ears. What was so funny? Was he making fun of her?
"You know." James confessed, "Come to think of it... He doesn't look very manly when he fences. That's funny. I didn't know you had the potential..." He laughed some more, "...For humor and observation ... HAHA! Nice one!"
For a few moments the infamous 'ice-bitch' glare returned indicatingshe most definitely did NOT get the joke. He coughed and regained his cool composure, "Well then..." James smiled lightly. He stared at the broken guitar he had displayed on his wall.
It was a classic 1997 Fender Strat, a rare instrument. Any older, and it would have been in a museum. But after the Hirogen attack, the guitar was broken. A priceless artifact, destroyed. He then looked back at his new guitar, a brand new RezX Sonic Slayer Limited Edition. It was a bright cherry red, with a white center. It was a beautiful guitar, and almost as good as a classic. Almost, but it would have to do.
He picked the cherry red guitar from it's hooks on the wall. Holding it gingerly in both hands, he handed the guitar over to Rebecca, and said, "With classical music being the norm, it's hard to find a good teacher.
Luckily for you, you've found the best electric guitarist in the Sol Sector.
Try it. Feel it's weight. Strap it on your shoulder. See how it looks on you."
TBC.........
As the heavy leather guitar strap settled around Rebecca's frail shoulders, she had to take an involuntary step forward to keep her thin body from toppling over.
"Noodles. . . its heavy." She muttered more to herself, running a skinny finger behind her neck and under the strap to relieve a bit of pressure.
By altering her stance a bit she was able to maintain balance and remain fairly upright, but there was another problem that was instantly apparent.
"Oops strap's bit too long for you." James smiled, while thinking, ~"Maybe I should dig out my RezX Junior guitar for starters. She's a bit small for this one. God knows, maybe i'll have to get a smaller strap. Geez, why did RezX have to make guitars for tall, lanky rockstars and not for red headed midgets?"~
It was unfortunately quite true. Where the sparkling guitar fell about waist-level on the 6 foot tall Corgan, the same instrument dangled awkwardly above Rebecca's skinny little knees. She was clumsily trying to heft the guitar to a higher level, but as she bent forward to try and grab it, the instrument (which was looped around her neck) quite naturally dipped lower as well remaining out of reach. There was a rather solid ~~Twang~~ as the Rez X bounced off the floor due to her movements.
~~~Oops oh gawsh!!~~~ Rebecca straightened back up with a horrified look on her face, her hands flying to her face in alarm, "Oh noodles James. . .I . . . I. . .broke it or something."
Astonishingly, James noticed the worry and panic in Rebecca's face. It was her old face, back again, but the worse of her old self was starting to come out. Still that timid little girl, the person he once tried to help. It led him to thinking about the full circle of their friendship, and how once again James was trying to help out a friend. He had to be more careful, especially in areas where she didn't want any help.
But what did she really want? Did she want some guitar lessons to connect with her inner child, or whatever that sprout munching hippy wanna-be scientist told her, or did she want something else? If so, what? Somedays, he hated how withdrawn she became. No matter what she was, girl or ice b*tch, she was always secretive. James calmly bent down to pick up the guitar, still distracted by thought.
~"What if she's trying to say or do something else? Is that possible?
Normally, her social skills and acting are somewhat rudimentary, barely functional in society. Yet, she has shown so much cold control over herself during the last year and a half that her attempts at clumsiness and foolishness are all an act. I mean, would the Ice B*tch really ask for guitar lessons unless she was looking for another tactical advantage? Would she still act like her old self if she preferred to be a Ice B*tch for self control's sake? What is she hiding? Rebecca, I wish you were more open and honest towards me, then I wouldn't be second guessing myself so often."~
"Sorrysorrysorrysorry..... " Rebecca whispered the mantra over and over her freckled cheeks flaring in embarrassment. "Oh maybe this wasn't such a good idea."
He swooped the guitar into his arms and readjusted the guitar straps to better suit Rebecca's short, spindly frame. He took on an apologetic smile to put her at ease.
"How strange..." James looked at Rebecca, "You don't bat a lash when confronted by Hirogen, yet you worry about one little guitar. Relax!"
Rebecca didn’t really see the connection. Battling the Hirogen. . .that was just something she did during her shift. Part of the job and all that.
After all it wasn’t like the Hirogen were ‘real people’ or anything was it?
Accidentally breaking somebody’s toy. .. now THAT was important enough to worry about.
James laughed contently, "Don't worry about it. This guitar can take a lot of abuse."
She looked doubtful, but didn't argue. However when James stepped nearer and reached around her back to adjust the strap, she sucked in an involuntary gasp of air, and bit her lip, not daring to move a muscle.
James wondered how Rebecca could stay so still and taunt, when but a few minutes ago she deflected his negative comments like laser beams on the common navigational shield. Her nature, like the two personalities that warred within her, was made of two faces. One, she could do anything within a split second, but mostly it was due to either enjoyment, skill, or urgency. Her abilities at solving complex math problems were legendary. He remembered the conversations they had, and how she could easily send James into a tailspin of confusion talking about the finer points of quantum physics. And on one occasion, they even helped each other out of their space suits, which normally would have brought bashful blushes on her side, but surprisingly ended up with James taking her share of the embarrassment.
But when it came to performing something out of her norm, or trying something new...
Or, heaven forbid, opening up...
It was a paradox that Rebecca herself was not even consciously aware of.
While she DID actually have the memories of all the events and actions surrounding her ‘ice-queen’ persona, afterwards she always felt a bit disconnected from it. Like her actions and attitudes on the bridge were something out of a dream, or another life.
For now however, in the privacy of James' cabin ( a boy – ick) she was deathly afraid of accidentally breaking something. She was sure James was going to yell again or something. She froze and waited to be ripped apart.
Corgan was having his own troubling thoughts:
~"Really, why is she like this?"~ James thought, ~"That girl's got confidence, yet she doesn't. She can perform, yet she can't. She can be a nice, kind hearted friend, or she can be a total b*tch. What is wrong with her?"~
"Hey Rebecca..." James asked a question, but held it back, "Want something to drink? Might relax you a bit."
~~~A drink? What’s he mean by that? Didn’t Momma warn me about guys trying to get me drunk?~~~ Shaking her head abruptly she quickly declined the offer, and decided to keep a closer eye on James. . . . .just in case.
Still regaining her composure, Rebecca fiddled awkwardly with the guitar a bit wondering which end the 'pointy end' was supposed to go to. ( James seemed to want it aiming off to her left) Unsure of what to do now she experimentally flicked a random string with her right hand. . .the resulting sound was surprisingly silent and quite flat sounding.
"Nerts. . . I knew I broke it." she fretted.
James said as a joke, "It made a twang noise. Sounds like it works to me." “Yeah but its not. . . uh. . .loud like on the holo’s I’ve seen. Its kinda quiet.”
~~~I broke the ‘loud-mechanism’ I knew it~~~
Despite his efforts to reassure her, James saw that Rebecca was still not moving a muscle, he decided that it was time to step in. "Rebecca, may I see the guitar?"
Limply she tilted her head forward inviting him to remove its bulky weight from around her neck.
James tried a few experimental chords, plucking each string and note variant that he could think off. The strings sounded thin and weedy. It was when he noticed that the guitar wasn't connected to an amplifier that he said, "Ohh... lesson number one. Hook your guitar to an amp."
“An amp?” Briefly remembering snippet from an Academy Physics class, Rebecca wondered what circuit diagrams had to do with music.
He snatched up a silvery, box like device that was the size of both his fists put together. He pulled a cord from beside a chrome like speaker, and attached the cord to the rear end of the guitar. The sound of the speaker was a slight pop as the plug entered the guitar. James fingers twisted a series of thumb sized knobs on the 'pointy end' of the guitar, then flew onto the instrument’s neck and went into complete synch with the other arm.
A second later, he was testing the strings. Each note was amplified to crystal clear clarity, a sort of ear busting boom and howling scratch combined. After testing the notes, his hands flew across the guitar strings, plucking a series of intricate, yet loud notes that resounded like sonic blunt force trauma. The pace was rapid to the point where even James was playing on reaction and practice and not following any pre-defined set of notes. This was rock and roll, raw, pure, and energetic, but with a harsh, primal quality that was reminiscent of another, more dangerous time.
"Do you see me? Not by far."
"Do you feel me? Not by much."
"Do you hear me? Not by chance."
"Everytime i'm ignored, it's the death of a friend..."
"Everytime you look bored, it's a feeling I can't end..."
"F**K IT!"
Somehow heard through all the noise was a thumping, repeating noise from above. He heard a fluty voice scream loud, something about wanting that damn infernal noise to stop so that the source of the complaint could enjoy his tango album.
James changed the tone of his guitar to a more melodious, mischievous, spritelike beat. It was merry, mocking, and fun.
"Maurice, my good dear neighbor..."
"Maurice, my good dear friend..."
"Maurice, shut the hell up..."
"Maurice, I just... wanna jam..."
"DON'T MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE!" The voice from below trembled.
James halted playing his guitar, handing back the warmed up instrument to Rebecca.
She cringed back a bit, seeing the guitar in a new light after that impromptu barrage. Gingerly she accepted it bewteen two fingers treating it like a loaded weapon.
~~~Oh please oh please don’t make any loud twangs and scare me.~~~ she pleaded silently with it. The strings hummed a menacing warning as she touched them.
"Sorry about Maurice. He's my neighbor, and Engineering's just cleaning up Dr. Quick's redecoration’s on that deck. They took out the sound absorbent panels... so he can hear everything I play." James apologized and shrugged.
Still in shock, Rebecca recovered from having her ears peeled back from her scalp she struggled to come up with something nice to say. (As Momma always taught her to do)
“Oh. . . .that was. . .. loud.” She managed.
"The thing about a guitar is... that it's capable of so many things." James went into his 'philosophical mode', taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes once before speaking again, "The guitar is able to convey so many emotions, from the abrasive and chaotic, to the downright tranquil and beautiful.
Eyeing the guitar with newfound respect she hesitantly wrapped her hand around the ‘pointy end’ like she saw James do. Taking a breath and scrunching her eyes shut she gingerly strummed the ‘fat end’ with her other hand.
>>BLORK<<
Rebecca's eyes popped open in surprise at the dull muted. . .. noise. . .that emanated from the amp-thingy. It still sounded wrong.
You have to press the strings down, and pluck them rapidly." James instructed.
"Push them down?" she repeated. "Why?
"You're muffling the sound otherwise." He explained.
"Ok. . . ." there was brief pause as her knuckles whitened with effort. "OUCH! It's sharp" she yelped snatching her dainty fingers from the strings to her mouth.
"Oh... sh*t!" The lightbulb in his head turned on as he finally realized, "You need a guitar pick! Oh... i'm sorry. I totally forgot. I'm used to playing with a slide or my fingers. My hands..." He displayed his nimble, but callused fingers, "...are used to the abuse. After playing awhile, my hands grow a thicker skin.
"Oh I don't know James," Rebecca cast about the room in confusion suddenly having second thoughts about this 'pain' thing "Maybe I should play with Lyander's bendy-sword instead?"
James held back a laugh at her apparently innocent comment. After restraining himself, he dug through a drawer on his work desk, and then produced a plastic chip that looked like a fat, amber colored teardrop.
"Yeah..." He joked snidely, "I bet he would really LOVE that. Heh heh... forget his little bendy sword. I'd rather see you strap on a huge guitar than piss away your time on Lysander's little fencing foil."
A snicker, then a full out laugh, came out of Corgan's subconscious.
"Could you make that sound a little less... sexually implied?" His conscience guffawed.
James cheeks turned a bright crimson upon realizing his mistake. Conscience was right. It did sound a little sick, comparing his 'big, manly guitar' over Lysander's tiny fencing sword, but at the same time the total absurdity of it all was laughable.
James snickered and closed his mouth.
"Oh my god, that sounded so bad. Sorry, that was so dirty!!!" He snickered, laughed, then broke out in a fit of hilarity.
Again the joke went right over the girl’s crimson covered head.
Raising her eyebrow, Rebecca carefully examined the guitar again. Other than having a few smudged fingerprints on it, it didn’t seem too ‘dirty ‘ to her.
"Rebecca," James handed the tiny red head her amber guitar pick, closing it in her fists. He then pulled the amplifier off the floor and handed the instrument to her, the combined weight of them both threatened to topple her yet again.
James commented, "You give up too easily, break too easily. I'm exiled to my quarters for the time being. Once this mess with the Princess is over, I’ll teach you how to play. Ok?"
Surprised that ‘that was all’ aparantly, Rebecca wondered what the heck she was supposed to do now. She didn’t feel less ‘negative’. ~~~Here’s your pick, here’s your amp, the pointy-end goes on the left, and that’s it??~~~she wondered.
Shaking her head she focussed in on what James was saying. The Princess? The Murder investigation? Oh yes. . . .
“The investigation. . .” she repeated, “I hope your behind the scenes inquiries are meeting with more success than Brhode’s official investigation?” she asked calmly watching the surprise spread across James’ face.
James was shocked to hear what she said. He thought he hid all the evidence so well, under his bed, where she would be the most embarrassed to look (and quite frankly, he didn't want her to see the PADD containing the complete works of the Kama Sutra that he was planning to learn for Lexa's sake). But what gave him away? Was it the face? The nerve? The way he tried to hurry things up?
~"Geez"~ James thought, ~"I totally underestimated her. She really was trying to put on an act!"~
He scrambled to answer, but rather than cover the truth, he decided to go clean, by taking the dirty way out. "How did you know?"
“Know what?” she asked innocently, “That you decided to defy orders and conduct your own investigation?” Letting the guitar dangle for a bit she nonchalantly tapped the side of her skull. “Easy-as-Noodles. I computed a 93.4% chance that you would try something unofficial like this.” It had been a simple exercise in Chaos Theory applied with Psychoanalytic laws of Human Behavior and Probability.
"So, that's it?" James sighed, "I've been broken down to an equation? How pathetic... dehumanizing... and so flawed. There are too many factors to explain and calculate. You might as well by trying to do Psychohistory! But... what can I say? You're right. I'm investigating behind Brhode's back. Now that you know, when can I expect to get my ass kicked off the ship? I assume you'll want to talk to Brhode right away."
Rebecca frowned. “James. . . .do you forget where we met?” Like all memories this one was crystal clear to Rebecca. “It was in the middle of Counselor Anquinsos’ group therapy session. . . . .I’ve had so many therapists in the last few years that I was bound to pick up few things that I could apply to Mathematical laws.”
She shrugged. . . .”As for the whole ‘unauthorized bit. . . . Well I suppose I could ‘forget’ to mention it. Just keep me up to date personally on what you find out.”
The chances of Rebecca forgetting anything was practically nil, but James knew a deal when he saw one.
"Look, whatever. I'll give you what you want and need. Just know that being court marshaled isn't the worse that anyone can do to me because Brhode makes my tour of duty here miserable. Other than being separated from my friends and Lexa, and letting a murderer loose in this ship, being court marshaled would be a godsend. I might as well give what I can to you because... what more can I give? Nothing? Not even dignity."
The XO’s frown deepened. She too had been court-marshaled once. An incident she didn’t like being reminded of.
James added, "Were you here to ask about guitar lessons, or was that an excuse to ask about the investigation?"
Rebecca looked hurt. “James!” she complained. “You brought it up. . . . I just . . . .look. . .what do you think?”
"Alright! Chill! I believe you! What's wrong with a yes or no answer?" He snapped, the apologetically, he replied, "Sorry... nerves a bit shot up to hell. You don't get dressed down in front of everybody, or go sneaking around behind others backs... you don't learn not to speak up or question anything here without becoming a little bit paranoid."
She merely glared at him.
"It's time we should part." James opened the door for Rebecca, "Come by when the investigation is over. Right now, I have some work to take care of. Meanwhile, I have a holodeck program on the public holodeck directory called Corgan zero one. It's a guitar tutorial that I made myself. And don't worry... you'll learn how to play 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star in no time!"
And with a sudden click of a door lock, Rebecca was alone again out in the hall.
A passing crewman raised an eyebrow at the guitar slung around her skinny little neck, but wisely chose not to comment.
=/=
****
“All right, that takes care of that,” Victor sighed, tapping another name over to green on his master display.” He stepped back to look at the names, the green ones slowly starting to outnumber the red and yellow, checked the time, and made an irritated growling noise. “That leaves only about seven hundred or so more to go. At this rate, I’ll be done by the time the killer gets around to me by sheer force of attrition.”
He swiveled, offered up a silent prayer of thanks that the half-dose of the pain medication Dr. Malgin had prescribed was taking enough of the edge off his pain that he could move and breathe without wanting to scream, and shut the program down. ~ There has to be a faster way to do this, there has to. Or something else I can do. I feel so damn helpless just checking alibis and watching the hours slip away! ~
Moving back to his quarters, the lights shutting down behind him, he tossed the PADD onto a chair and slowly settled behind his desk, glancing at the time yet again. ~ I’ll think about it and see what I can come up with. There has to be something. Maybe a way to modify the combadges to make tracking them easier, or… ~
A soft chime interrupted his thoughts as the computer signaled an incoming message. ~ About time, I was beginning to wonder if they’d forgotten. ~ A smile crossed his lips as he turned the desk screen towards him, the stress of his hunt momentarily discarded. ~ Right, they haven’t forgotten in the entire time I’ve been in Starfleet. Why would they start now? ~ “Put it on screen.”
The desktop screen lit up, displaying an older man and woman, both with dark hair touched with grey and the kind of tanned complexion that only comes with lots of outdoor exposure, seated on a comfortable wood and leather couch. “Hello, son,” Victor’s father spoke up before Victor could respond – winning the silly contest over who would speak first after the connection was made they played with each call. It was a game started on a whim when Victor was in the Academy, and grown over the years into a playful contest between father and son, a contest Victor rarely won. “It’s good to see you.”
"Yes,” his mother laughed, seeing from the expression on Victor’s face that he was irritated at losing yet again. With a glance at her husband, she smiled impishly. “You shouldn’t pout like that, Victor; it makes you look like you’re eleven again. Besides… he cheated this time.”
“He what?” Victor blinked.
“Dominica!” his father said simultaneously, giving his wife an injured look.
“Well, you did, Klaus,” she returned with a smile. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t tell him?”
Klaus laughed unrepentantly. “I hoped you might, anyway,” he conceded.
“You cheated!” Victor repeated, trying to look stern and failing as he suppressed a laugh. ~ I do not want them asking questions I can’t answer about why I’m wincing in pain over a laugh. ~ “I can’t believe you cheated, Papa!”
“It was only once,” Klaus returned.
“At the very least, this one doesn’t count,” Victor retorted, shaking a finger at his father. “No points for it – and if I find out you’re doing it again, we’ll be talking penalty points, you hear me?” ~ God it’s nice to have something less-than life threatening to talk about. Something mindless. ~
Klaus risked a look at his wife, saw the stern expression on her face and surrendered. “All right, son, no more. I was really only checking a new relay I installed in the system last night anyway – it scans for the source of the incoming transmission and routes it to whichever one of us it’s tagged for. That way your mother can get her messages while she’s out making rounds in the colony, or I can get mine while I’m taking care of something in town, instead of having them wait for us here. It holds the signal after receiving it for a second – plenty of time for me to speak.”
Shaking his head, Victor leaned back in his chair. “I thought you two retired so you wouldn’t be at the beck and call of your ‘combadge masters’ Papa. Is retirement getting dull?”
“No,” his mother interjected. “Your father is just tired of answering the phone and having to talk to a hysterical mother whose baby is running a fever, that’s all.”
“It isn’t the fevers I mind so much,” Klaus replied. “Or even the mothers – it’s the ones that think because I’m married to a doctor, that I automatically know everything she does and will dispense advice without her fees.” He slipped a burly arm around the smaller shoulders of his wife. “I learned a lot of things after marrying your mother – but medicine wasn’t one of them.”
Leaning against her husband, Victor’s mother blushed even as the three shared a laugh. “So, how are things there?” she asked. “Is everything all right?” She looked closer. “You look tired.”
“I am tired,” Victor admitted, knowing that it was pointless to deny. “There’s always a lot to do on a shakedown cruise, and on top of the problems that creates, I’m working a diplomatic escort detail and doing some extra work for the Security Chief - it’s keeping me pretty busy.” ~ There, not a falsehood in the batch. ~
“Extra work?” His father perked up. “Does that mean that you drew someone that…?”
“Doesn’t think I’m some kind of monster?” Victor finished, smiling to take the sting out of the words. “I guess so. He doesn’t seem to notice that he should be nervous around me anyway.” He thought a second. “Actually, I seem to have run into the unbelievable situation of having most of the Command Staff – the ones I’ve talked to anyway – not be bothered by it. The rest of the crew,” he made a face, “all seem to be pretty much normal in that regard.”
“Now, Victor,” his mother began.
“It’s all right, Mama,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “We both know it’s true. You even did all those tests and proved it. Just because you couldn’t point at something on a slide and say ‘that’s it’ doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”
“I know dear, but…”
“Hush, dear,” Klaus broke in. “We all know it happens. Just be grateful that this time he’s got so many superior officers that don’t seem to be affected.” He looked back up at the screen. “Aside from that, is everything going all right? No other problems?”
~ Like someone killing the crew, the ship being a rattletrap, and us flirting with starting a war with the Klingons? ~ “I don’t have a roommate, so that’s not a problem,” Victor offered. “No squabbles over the shower in the mornings, no loud music, none of that sort of thing.”
“No fighting for the shower,” Klaus mused thoughtfully, one eye on his wife. “I wonder if I remember what that was like?”
Victor’s mother turned and looked up at him, shaking her head. “That’s not what you said last Wednesday when I…” she began innocently – but with a wicked spark to her eyes.
“I think that’s enough of that,” Klaus continued rapidly, darkening at the collar. “We’re supposed to be talking to Victor, remember?”
Dominica laughed, poking her husband in the ribs before turning back. “We’re very proud of you, Victor,” she said, suddenly serious. “We want you to know that. Being chosen for the Galaxy’s shakedown was something special. It’s about time that someone in Starfleet realized that you were capable of more than you’ve been doing.”
“I’m not certain that’s exactly why Captain Bhrode picked me,” Victor cautioned. “If I had to guess, it was that mess back in the Idras System, but it isn’t like I’m going to walk right up and ask him.” The image that statement brought to mind was not something that he intended to dwell on.
His father nodded. “I never served with Bhrode, but I’ve known several people that did and I checked with them when you told us what your new posting was going to be. They all agreed that he was a hard man to serve under, and a harder one to like – but that if you gave him your best effort, then he’d go to the wall with you.”
“Let’s hope I never have to find out about that wall part, Papa.”
“Definitely,” his mother agreed.
“So, what’s happening there on Vendras Seven?” Victor asked, shifting the subject. “Anything interesting? Did Papa finally get that pesky skyshark that was raiding the neighbor’s herd?”
“He did,” his mother smiled. “Just last week. Caught him coming in at 1000 meters and dropped him with one shot.”
“Closer to 1100,” Klaus spoke up proudly. “And it was a snap shot at that.”
“Stop bragging, dear,” Dominica chided him. “This is Victor – save the stories for the boys down at that pub the Chandler’s opened up in town last month.”
Victor leaned forward. “You have a pub now? And I thought you wanted to live someplace quiet. At this rate, you’ll be building a hospital soon and they’ll be trying to get you to run it, Mama.”
“Oh no,” she laughed. “Not again. All those years with the Diplomatic Service cured me of the desire to be in charge of anything that generated paperwork again.”
“Likewise,” Klaus nodded. “The most complicated form I want to see these days is the invitation to the next family reunion.”
~ Family reunion? ~ “Oh, God,” Victor sighed. “That’s next year, isn’t it? I’d forgotten all about it.” He looked at his mother hopefully. “Unless you’re moving it back another year?” ~ I do not want to suffer through another one of those things again. The whole family’s only got sixty people in it, and I think every one of them asked when I was going to get married and start a family. Six times. ~
“No, dear,” she answered, dashing his hopes. “You’re not getting out of it that easily. We don’t have the dates worked out yet, but we’ll be sure and let you know as soon as we do so you can request leave.” Her tone left no doubt that there would be no escaping attendance. “Your cousin Greta has already said she’s coming, and bringing someone for us to meet.”
~ Greta has a boyfriend? Thank God, maybe that’ll get them all off my back! ~ “Really? Who is he?”
“Name’s Riordan,” his father answered. “Flint Riordan. He’s a Lieutenant on board the Belasarius with her. He’s in Tactical, I believe.” He glanced at his wife for confirmation.
“Lieutenant Commander, dear – she said he was promoted in her last letter. I don’t think he’s in charge of Tactical though, so he’s either going to be transferring, or the current head is. The Belasarius is too small a ship for that much weight in one department.”
Victor listened to his mother, while running the name through his memory. ~ Riordan… no, I’ve never served with him. Haven’t arrested him either, which is a lot better from my point of view. ~ “Don’t think I know him,” he decided. “I can ask around though. Maybe pull his jacket and see if someone aboard ship served with him if you want.”
Klaus smiled. “That’s my boy.”
“Just remember,” Victor cautioned. “If I turn something awful up, I’m not taking the heat again. I still remember what happened when I checked out that guy she was seeing at the academy and found out he was under investigation for those three sexual assaults. I’m not going to be dodging crockery in a restaurant this time.”
“It was only one plate, dear,”
“One plate, Mama – but three cups, four saucers, that serving platter with the Swedish meatballs on it, and…”
“All right, Victor,” his mother sighed. “We’ll handle it this time. I promise.”
“Okay, then.” Victor winced at the memory of the platter’s just-shy of boiling contents sliding down inside his tunic after the initial impact. “Just remember that. Not again. Nie weider.”
“We promise,” Klaus repeated. “I might even get one of your aunts to do it – they haven’t had the pleasure of seeing Greta lose her temper like that.”
“Klaus!” Victor’s mother looked at him aghast.
“What dear?” he returned unrepentantly. “Rexa’s a big girl. So’s Ar’resh if it comes to that. As long as they remember to cover their antenna, they’ll be fine.”
“How are they doing, Papa?” Victor asked, hoping to shift the topic so he could stop thinking about the look on the medic’s face when he reported to Sickbay to have the burns treated. “Did they have any luck with that guy they were looking at as a possible husband?”
“No,” his father sighed, serious again. “It didn’t work out, unfortunately.”
“Damn.” ~ I *like* Rexa and Ar’resh, I was hoping that they’d finally found someone to start rebuilding their quad with. Hell, they deserve some happiness after losing Uncle Bernhard and Uncle Thalik in the War. ~ “Would you give them my love, and tell them that I’m thinking of them?” Victor asked quietly.
“Of course we will,” his mother assured him. “But you could do it yourself, you know. They’d love to hear from you directly.”
Victor squirmed slightly, the movement ending as his ribs threatened to protest it. ~ She’s right you know, you should call them. You’re acting like a child. So what if talking to them embarrasses you? They’re only trying to help you in their own way. Besides, they’re over two sectors away, it isn’t like they’re going to run right over and start trying to set you up on dates with the crew. ~ “I’ll… I will,” he finally promised. “I owe it to them for all the calls they made to check up on me after I got injured at Idras Station.”
“Speaking of that,” his mother leaned forward again. “Are you all right? Did everything heal up? I know you said that you were tired, but you don’t look well.”
“I’m fine, Mama.” Victor tried to sound as reassuring as possible under the circumstances. ~ I am not telling you about the Klingons. ~ “I’ve just… I’ve got some problems with the special project I’m working on – it’s an investigation – and they’re bothering me tonight.” He smiled crookedly. “The old ‘I’m useless, I should be able to figure this out faster’ thing, I’m afraid.”
“You know better than that, son,” his father spoke up. “Just relax and stop trying so hard.” He raised a hand to forestall the comment Dominica started to make. “I know dear, those words coming out of my mouth are a sign of the Apocalypse or something, but they’re still true.” He turned back to Victor. “You’re not going to do anyone any good if you try so hard that you start missing things. Relax.”
Shaking her head, his mother agreed. “Your father’s right, you need to relax more. When was the last time you went hunting?”
“Ummm…” Victor thought back. ~ The meeting with the Engineer doesn’t count – I would have crippled myself trying to fire even a downloaded round. That means it was… ~ “Back on Idras Station, Mama. Something over four months now.”
“Four months?” His father’s disbelief was obvious. “What’re you thinking, son?”
“There just hasn’t been any time,” Victor sighed. “After I was injured on Idras, they wouldn’t let me use the holodeck, and I spent the better part of the first month I was aboard on restricted duty in my cabin. When the CMO finally signed off on me, they dropped me straight into this diplomatic escort thing. Once it almost got settled so I could get some time to go hunt, the other problem came along” He shrugged. “There are only so many hours in a day, and none of them seem to have ‘hunting’ labeled on them right now. Not until I get this other thing dealt with, and I’m spending all my time chasing my own tail over it.”
“You need to make time, dear.” His mother was firm. “You’re not going to do anyone any good if you don’t. Take some time off and go hunting. Once you relax, I know you’ll find a way to solve your other problem. It’s just a matter of making the problem come to you instead of you chasing it, after all.”
“I wish it were as easy as you make it sound, Mama.” Victor relaxed a little inside, even this distant talking about the problem helping to relieve some of the stress he felt over it. “But I’ll see what I can do.” ~ No way am I going hunting in this condition, though – I’m too messed up still. It’ll have to wait until I heal up some more. Another week, I think. ~
The conversation drifted away from Victor’s problems after that, with his parents updating him on the status of the rest of the family and an assortment of family friends. Before he realized it, an hour had passed, and his parents were starting to sign off. “Just remember son,” were his mother’s last words as they signed off. “Make the problem come to you.”
Victor sat there for a few minutes, thinking, after the screen went dark. ~ Make the problem come to me? Easier said than done. Unless I hang out a big sign that says ‘Victim Here – Serial Killers Apply Within’ I don’t know how I’m going to get this particular problem to come calling. ~ He stopped, thoughts churning into action suddenly.
“Hell, why not?” he added out loud. “I just need to convince the killer that they need to come visit one particular monkey, that’s all. That’s basic hunting technique. The right kind of bait will do that – I just need to figure out what to use….”
He leaned back in the chair, eyes wandering about the room as he worked on the problem, still talking to himself. “They won’t bother coming after me unless they think I’m a danger to them” He laughed, his teeth bared in a feral grin. “Well I am, and the sooner they know that, the sooner they’ll come calling. I just need to send them a little invitation so they can sort me out from the other monkeys, need to find a cheat just like Dad did… dammit, that’s it!”
He spun around, hands flashing across the LCARS panel in his desk, calling up one of the remote learning programs he was working on. “I saw it, I know I did,” he repeated in an undertone as he worked. “Dad’s little stunt reminded me of it… I know it’s here… aha!”
His eyes moved across the scrolling text, sifting the schematics and diagrams that accompanied it. “I’m right, it will work.” His grin widened, becoming a tiger’s stalking smile. “Now how to let them know… Perfect! One of them’s almost certainly the killer, so….”
****
From: Lt. (JG) Victor Krieghoff
Date: Stardate 50309.19 0217 Hours
To: Captain John Q. Bhrode; Commander Rebecca von Ernst; Commander Lysander VanderPuls-Hawksley; Commander Karyn Dallas; Lt. Commander K’Eytyanna Samara; Legate Kyler Curran; Doctor Vladimir Malgin; Major Laughing Coyote Log; Lt. Commander James Corgan; Lt. Commander Raven Darkstar; Lt. Commander Electra Reece; Lt. Commander (brevet) Donovan Black
Subject: Proposed Security Measure
Attachments: Monitor1.exe
First, let me apologize for using this method to disseminate the following information. I realize that I am going around proper channels, but in the interests of preserving the lives of as many of the crew as possible until the killer operating aboard is caught, I felt that passing it on directly to the Department Heads and Command Staff was the fastest way to ensure this.
My proposal is as follows:
We cannot track the crew and monitor their conditions because of the current computer problems. What I propose, then, is to circumvent the main computer entirely and instead utilize personal tricorders to perform the same function.
Individual combadges are geared to their wearer’s biosignature, and are not affected by the Quick Virus, except through interface with the main computer. If, however, a tricorder were programmed to perform that same monitoring function, then the problems associated with the Quick Virus could be eliminated in this specific case.
By programming the tricorder to take a baseline scan of an individual, and then tying it into the combadges monitoring software so the combadge (identified by the unique internal inventory control serial number so there will be no multiple entries for the same individual) and the biosignature are linked as a unit, (See attached program Monitor1) the tricorder can them be configured to maintain a constant low-level scan of the wearer, mimicking the monitoring capacity currently denied to us.
In the event of an alteration to the monitored individual’s biosignature, such as that caused by injury, the tricorder would then initiate an immediate series of high-level visual and sensor scans of the individual and their surroundings, broadcasting that information to a pre-set group of individuals. In this manner, identification of the individual committing the killings may be obtained, or at a minimum, clues leading to their identity may be found. It also allows the fastest response by medical personnel to the injured individual.
Notes and Known Issues:
1) Tricorder Count: There are not currently enough tricorders aboard the Galaxy to issue one to each individual solely for the purpose of this monitoring. Checking the parts stores inventory, I estimate that if all available tricorders (including those assembled solely for this reason) were utilized in this manner, that there would be a shortage of approximately 487 units. Additionally, many tricorders are needed to perform maintenance duties and other functions, increasing the actual discrepancy to 655.
2) Tricorder Capacities: Medical and Science tricorders will require no physical modifications to perform this task. Security tricorder require the addition of a BQ47Alpha sensor node to their main board to perform the task properly. Engineering tricorders will require the removal of their VX7Gamma sensor node, and the addition of a BQ47Alpha and a JKX23Zeta node to perform properly in this manner. Ship’s stores of those parts are factored into the numbers above.
3) Degradation of Performance: Altering the capacities of tricorders in the stated fashion, and tasking them to perform the constant scan will result in a loss of 42% of standard performance to Medical and Sciences tricorders due to loss of system resources tied up in the operation. Security tricorders will suffer a 49.5% loss of performance due to the new node and programming, and Engineering tricorders will suffer a 62.73% loss of capacity with the removal of the VX7Gamma node, the addition of the two new ones, and the programming. This loss of performance will have an effect on crew performance.
4) Combadge Count: Also factored into the numbers above is the issuance of all combadges currently in ship’s stores. Current civilian personnel, Diplomatic guests, and supercargo do not have badges issued to them, and this would be required under the proposal.
I have tested the modifications personally, and they do perform as expected. There are, of course, difficulties associated with implementation of the plan, but I urge you to consider it nonetheless. Even with the gap in coverage at full implementation, this proposal reduces the number of unmonitored potential victims by a factor of slightly more than half, and allows for the use of crewmen with monitors to act as escorts for groups of non-monitored individuals if needs be.
Respectfully,
Victor Heinrich Krieghoff, Lt. (JG)
****
James arrived at his quarters, exhausted and on guard. The past few days events were unnerving. For some reason, Orions were hovering around. There were murders everywhere. And somehow, he was in the middle of it all by bodyguarding the princess.
He stumbled into his quarters, grunted once, and answered the call of his tribble, Mudball. The little ball of fur wanted food. He wanted food as well, but he would have to wait. Mudball, however, trilled that it could not. James fed the tribble an allotment of Quadraketrecele and slumped himself on a chair beside his dinner table.
He watched blankly at the PADD's that piled up on his desk, the results of investigating almost non-stop for the murderer prowling on the ship. Instead of narrowing the field to acceptable levels, the suspect list was growing. Instead of providing answers, it wasn't coming together like the jigsaw puzzle that be planned.
The doorbell rang. Thank god for another person on the case, James thought. Krieghoff was here, just on time.
"Come in." James croaked.
Victor, tired as he was, was taken aback at Corgan's appearance when the door opened. ~ Gott, he looks worse than I feel - and that's not a good thing. ~ "Evening, sir," he nodded, glad he'd taken half of a pain pill before starting out. The practice of taking half doses of the drugs Dr. Malgin had prescribed for him seemed to be working to the extent that he could function without crippling pain or a drug-induced haze.
"Come, take a seat Lieutenant." James grimly spoke. His throat was cracked and dry. He got up and replicated a regular Absinthe mix, then took his seat again. He took a sip of the glowing green liquid, and felt himself recharge. He could imagine, in this setting, smoke and fine jazz music playing in the background, like some twisted film noir gone bad.
Victor nodded tiredly, looking around the room before finding a place to sit down that wouldn't put too much strain on his ribs. ~ Mein Gott, what is he drinking? It looks like radioactive waste! ~
"So, what have you got for us?" James swirled the glass and watched the luminecent fluid dance.
"I've checked alibis and placements on the crew until I'm about to drop, and I can eliminate about five hundred of the crew," Victor replied with a sigh. "The good news is that the Captain is one of them. The bad news, of course, is that we've still got about a thousand to go. I don't have anything new on the killer, though. He thinks we're monkeys or something, and he's killing us to amuse himself is the best I can do. There's more to it, I know, I'm just missing the data to tell you what."
"Well, here's what I've got so far." James pulled one of the padds off the pile on his table, activated it, and handed it to Lieutenant Krieghoff, "Here are the autopsy reports, stating the method of murder. All are the same. Terrans, virgins, all killed by the same slash to the throat. Suspected that it's a monofiliment knife or standard blade, and even with the keenest weapon, no standard human could possibly do such a wound so cleanly and so deep."
Corgan pulled out another padd, activated it, and took a second to look at it, "This is the results of some forensics software I have used. It matched the strength curves that are needed to do such a wound, from the lowest to highest strength needed. It counts only a few species on board this ship that are capable enough to do this, and I'm sorry to say, it doesn't look good."
"It's not the Klingons, sir," Victor insisted."Or if it is, then they're getting away from our security so easily that we might as well all be retired - and I know that's not the case. I've gone over that angle thoroughly, and I can't see how they're involved."
"Hmmm... you may be right. However, the if a Klingon found a way to sneak out of our patrols, that might leave the possibility open. After all, we still have Jeffries Tubes. Make note, that my findings doesn't include genetically modified humans, or any other race that's been modified. But the odds of that are less than likely. Also look at the psychological profile. It suspects the murderer as having some sort of bigotry towards humans. Sounds familiar? Check out the Kelvan psychological profile." James tossed another padd to Krieghoff, "And note the conflicts we seem to get into with the Klingons."
Victor scanned the reports. "Interesting, but it doesn't prove anything, that's the problem. If I wanted to, I could make a circumstantial case against Streely - it wouldn't hold up, I already checked him out - but it wouldn't be any more damning that what we've got." He double checked one of the reports. "I still don't trust this strength rating either. The program works from normal averages, which in most cases is fine. But it doesn't seem to make account for the application of hysterical strength on the part of a human, or even hypermuscularity on one. Commander Darkstar, for example, invalidates the rating systems all by himself."
James sighed, "You've got a point. I can think of a few people that also circumvent that search. Commander Hawksley is strong and he's half Alpha Centarian. And Chief Engineer Samara is a strange case altogether. But I found that it did narrow things down a tad. We shouldn't disregard the ideas altogether. And as for Darkstar, he's straight and narrow. So by the book that it would make me blush. He isn't known for having psychotic episodes or murderous sprees. I think he's less than likely."
James narrowed his eyes, "We're close. I don't know what this means yet." He handed the final padd, indicating the analysis on the wood piece found on one of the murder victim, "But I think this will get us close. This was an analysis on a wood piece found on the murder victim. The wood comes from the Risa sector, most notably a pleasure planet owned by Leo Streely. The wood is primarily used as decorative paneling, which you may have seen all over the ship and on Ten Forward's doors. I suspect it could be an engineer or security officer on the cleanup crew after Quick's little redecorating nightmare, or it could be someone connected to Ten Forward."
"Possibly," Victor conceded. "I just... it doesn't feel right. Whoever this is, if they really do think that humans are just ants, that we're nothing - then they can' be in a position where they spend all day catering to us, serving us. They're going to need to be in control, in command of something. I still think it's someone of rank or position that we need to be looking at."
"That would fit well in Legate Curran's profile. However," He said with forboding, "This is unacceptable. We need to narrow it down some more."
Victor nodded slowly. "I agree - if you've got an idea, I'm open sir. Short of some lame stunt like calling everyone into a room and announcing that we'll reveal the killer to them in the hopes they'll confess and save us the trouble, I've hit the wall for doing it quickly. All I've got now is slow, steady elimination unless something else happens to make someone stand out."
James replied, "We have to look around, ask some questions. I believe we have a list of the suspects narrowed down to an acceptable level. So far, I have Legate Curran, Commander Darkstar, Chief Engineer Samara and... possibly... Commander Hawksley. I just remembered... he's pretty strong himself, and vain as ever. I'd say he's a suspect."
"Of course he's a suspect, sir. We're all suspects." Victor shook his head. "I still think you're making the list too tight with restrictions, but I'll bow to your judgement on it. Hawksley's on it, in any event. Do you want him? You know him better than I do."
"Lieutenant, I can't talk to Commander Hawksley, or he'll sell me out in a heartbeat. He knows I'm exiled to quarters and he's on the investigation. Therefore, you'll have to talk to him. Also, of you can talk to Samara, that would be great as well. I will talk to Darkstar and Curran, see what I can find. Then send me a message if you suspect them of anything. Be sure to check where they have been during the murders, just in case."
Victor nodded, still watching the drink as Corgan swirled it. ~ He's really drinking that stuff? I'm going to have to to a search just to see wht the hell it is. ~ "All right, sir, I'll take Hawksley and Samara - I have an idea on how to approach her, anyway." He stood, nodding to Corgan and picked his Padd up, using it to conceal the Phaser 1 he slipped out of his sleeve. ~ Might as well get this over with. ~ "Before I go, though, sir - I do have one question?"
"Lieutenant, ask away. Unlike Brhode, I don't mind a few questions," he answered.
"Where," Victor spoke clearly and distinctly, "were you during the killings, sir? I checked the timing on the Brig murders, and you *could* have committed them and met me where you did. Can you alibi yourself for at least two of the others, sir?"
He couldn't believe what he was hearing! The Lieutenant was pinning him as a suspect? Well, James couldn't argue with his logic. James didn't have the most pristine reputation on board the ship. The legacy of his mental instability was still lingering with the older members of the crew. Any of those together would have pointed James as the murderer. "The murder of the brig couldn't have been me." James replied calmly, "I was at the holodeck with the Klingons. After that was over, I went straight to security, where I ran into you. The rest, you know."
"Easy enough to confirm," Victor nodded. "I'll need one more to push you off the list, sir. Perhaps the most recent killing? Assuming they both check out, then I can knock you off the list." ~ And stop worrying that I'm working for a serial killer. ~
"Hmmmm...." He recalled carefully, "During that murder, I was in my quarters, working on this investigation. Check the sensor logs during those hours near my quarters. You'll find two biosignatures that identify as Dr. Quick. In reality, that is me and my tribble. During the times I went out to investigate, you'll see only one signature, again, the tribble. So, I'm sorry, but I'm not the one you're looking for."
"No need to be sorry, sir. All things considered, I'd really rather not have to kill you," Victor returned politely. ~ At least you're not telling me that your *alibi* is a tribble. ~ "I'll double check the logs and match the lifesigns to you and... Mudball. As long as they're lined up, we can move on."
"Don't worry about a thing. I could use someone who's impartial." James answered, "But what about you? Can you prove you are not the murderer? 'Tis only fair, I would say."
~ I wondered if you'd think of that. ~ "Perfectly reasonable, sir. I've got two different proofs." Victor smiled, a gesture oddly reminescent of a tiger baring his teeth. "For the first and third killings, I was on duty with the Klingon diplomatic detail. You can check with Hanley and So'ka if you like. They work with me well enough, but neither of them like me well enough to lie for me." ~ No one does. ~ He nodded and turned to the door, the phaser still concealed behind the PADD. "Good night, sir."
"Lieutenant," James asked as Krieghoff reached the door and it started to open. "You said you had two proof, but that was only one. What's the second?"
"That one's easy, sir," Victor responded, the feel of a tiger's smile more pronounced now as he turned slightly so that his superior could see the phaser he'd concealed behind the PADD. "If I were going to do something like this, then I'd tell the person I was coming for them first." he tilted his head slightly, regarding Corgan. "There simply wouldn't be any challenge in it otherwise. Since all of the victims were taken unawares, that obviously didn't happen. After all," he started to turn back to the open door and step through, "I don't doubt that any of the crew would believe it if I said something like that to them. Do you?"
The doors closed behind him before Corgan's answer reached his ears.
****
Victor looked back over his shoulder carefully, trying not to overstress his
right shoulder or the opposite arm, and winced as he failed. ~ Dammit, maybe
I do need one of those pills Malgin gave me. If this keeps up, I'll be useless.
~ He slowly turned back, satisfied that the guard at the other end of the hallway
hadn't seen him. ~ No, that won't work. If I take the pills, I'll start depending
on them - can't depend on anything but myself. I need to just suck it up and
deal with it. ~
Tapping a few keys, he used a borrowed access code to open the boat's hatch and looked around the small craft, drawing in impressions. ~ I thought they hadn't bothered to delete the victim's own access codes. I really ought to speak to the Commander about that - bad lapse of security. ~ His eyes wandered over the room, drinking in the marks left by the forensics team and the small forcefields sealing off the evidence. ~ All right, no internal monitors - that's nice. I'm not sure the code I got from Commander Corgan would have worked to shunt them into a loop the way he said it would. Too risky. ~
Moving into the boat with a careful, silent step, Victor let the door close behind him and turned around once, orienting himself. ~ The victim was there, facing that way from the blood spray. ~ He moved to the closest spot the forcefields would allow and stopped, shifting position with short, precise steps. ~ That means the killer stood about... here, allowing for the fields. Judging from the victim's height, the killer had to be...~ He adjusted his stance, shifting his arms when an attempt at moving his torso sent white stabs of pain through him. ~ About this tall... ~
The door popped open again, and a short figure popped into the room. A stocky and well known figure.
"I knew it! They always return to the scene of their crimes! I KNEW IT! Reach for the sky, you Steaming Pile of Monkey ....Bhrode! Hey... you're not Bhrode!" the seemingly Pakled civilian declared, brandishing a Phaser II. On closer inspection, the Phaser II was carved of soap... and the Pakled looked suspiciously like Leo Streely, dipped in flour and with the better part of three packs of 'Chu-More' Bubble Gum chewed and stuck all over his eyebrows and face.
With an effort, Victor didn't flinch, knowing that it would make him scream and collapse to the floor in pain. Slowly lowering his arms, he turned to face the figure at the hatch. ~ You have got to be kidding! ~ Victor regarded the bizarre figure for a moment. ~ No, unbelievably, he *isn't* kidding. ~ "No, I'm not the Captain. Is that who you were expecting?" ~ Is he really trying to investigate things, and this is the best he could come up with? Or is he really the killer and this is a bizarre way of throwing us off the track? Even if he isn't, he's seen me and this whole covert investigation thing is now in the toilet. Oh well, it was getting old, anyway. Much easier to make my waves out in the open and see if the killer comes to quiet them down. ~
"Of COURSE I was expecting Bhrode! Who do you think I was expecting, Sanity Clause? Keep 'em up, tough guy." Leo sneered, waving the 'phaser' at Victor with a maniacal glint in his eye. "Don't let my disguise fool you! I'm no Pakled! I'm LEO STREELEY! Bet you never would have guessed? huh? huh? Huh?"
~ Let's see what Streely has to say for himself. If he's the killer. well, we'll just see what happens. ~ "The Captain's clear of the murders - he was in plain sight on the Bridge during most of them - couldn't have been him. How about you - can you say the same? Where were *you* when the killings occurred? Don't bother with anything other than occasions when there are witnesses that can corroborate your alibi. "
"What? Me? ME? This is Leo STREELEY here Bub! Let's see.. far as we can tell.. the FIRST killing.. I was with this dame. Gimmie a minute... her name will come....there are so many..." Leo mused, scratching his butt.
~ He was with a woman? Are there women that desperate? ~ "'Some woman' isn't going to do it - either give me a name that will check out when I talk to them, or stop wasting my time." Victor raised a hand slowly, glad the gesture appeared menacing since he doubted he could do more than 'appear' to do anything without aggravating his injuries.
"Notintheface! Her name in Ensign Brumhilda... she's a Security Girl...she MADE me do her! I swear! And then it was the Princess. Twice. Ohhhhgawwwdddd.. not in the face!" Leo blubbered.
"You were with a Security Officer during the first killing?" ~ Is that the good-looking Nordic one who spilled coffee on herself trying to get out of the room after sitting next to me at the last morning briefing? She *slept* with Streely? ~ "All right, if that checks out you're clear for one of the killings. What about another one. say the double murder in the Brig?" Victor 's voice was low and as menacing as he thought safe to make it. ~ What *is* his rank anyway? Is he a superior officer-equivalent or what? ~
"Them ones in the Brig? I was down in Waste Reclamation Center Three , that geek Corgan sent me there! There was all kinds of dudes that saw me down there! Big sweaty dudes shoveling and sweating and flexing and ...I GOT an ALIBI!" Leo screeched. "What about YOU tough guy? I remember seeing YOU were some kind of 'Big Gun' freak. Boy was MY face red, when I found out that it means you like Hunting and not.... never mind!"
~ 'Big Gun' freak.? ~ Victor realized where that thought was going and stopped it ruthlessly. ~ I don't believe that crap. Why hasn't someone killed this guy yet? Is he a punishment from God for our sins or something? ~ "So they'll alibi you? Despite the fact that you were seen brawling with Lt. Brenton in the hall before he was killed? That gives you a motive, you know - more of one that anyone else. And those wood fragments on the first victim - they weren't from your precious panels were they? You didn't accidentally leave them while you were killing them?" ~ God, sad as it is, I really hope he didn't do it - if he goes off on me in here I don't know what 'll happen with the shape I'm in. ~
"Who's Brenton? Oh.. the guy in the cowboy hat? The Village People wanna-be? Hehehe... I nailed him but good! Right upside dah head. Hey.. I didn't want to say anything.. but.. you know.. you move REAL dainty for such a big guy." Leo observed.
"Just answer the damn questions!" Victor snapped.
"Whaidda minute! Hehehehehee... you said 'wood.' " Leo had to stop and lean against the hatchway to regain his breath from his snorting and chortling giggle fit. "What wood fragments? From those sweet-assed, ass panels in Ten Forward? I'll Murderize whoever broke them now!" Leo ranted "Hey... why DO you care? Huh? You still aint' said nothing about your alibi! And... you know... I been thinking. I think that first guy, the one who died in here was... sort of dainty and frou-frou... like you... no offense... and that the person who offed him MAY have been big... like you... no offense... AND that maybe he was...you know.. with his killer, no offence ...umm... it really wasn't smart of me to get in here with you, was it? What is this...some kinda closet? Closets are for CLOTHES! " Leo declared with forceful vehemence.
Victor laughed despite himself, the expression on Leo's face coupled with the horrible Pakled disguise too much for him to stop. It took only a second for the laughter to do what he'd feared any sudden movement would, and start sending knives of pain into him as his ribs shifted. The laugh turned into a groan and he sagged against the wall of the boat, holding his sides as he struggled to contain a scream that would only make things worse. "No, not smart," he gasped out. "About as. smart as. my not being in. Sickbay." ~ God, I'd almost welcome it if he was the killer. I'm going to have to take a damn pill, I can't function like this. ~
Leo looked at his 'phaser,' which was slowly dissolving in his hot lil hands... and he turns to the audience. "See? You SEE where that big Indian lug and his 'I never use a gun' crapola gets me? I'm inna damn closet with a crazed killer , here . Maybe. I should have stayed in the pimping business." Leo bitches to his fans.
Victor drew a breath, regretting it as his ribs screamed again. "So if it's not you, then you else can you alibi - any of the Command staff? What about Commander Raven, you're buddies with him, right?" he asked, drawing Leo away from his rapt contemplation of... nothing?
"Raven? The guy's a bona fide Hero! You gotta be nuts to ask me that! Of course I know what he was doing. the FIRST murder.. he was on the Holodeck with one of his 'Sturm und Drang' holos...the one where he stands there.. all chiseled in his wet loincloth, the supple leather molding itself to his firm buttocks.... and he's on a mountain top and the rain's beating on his smooth, cinnamon colored skin as the lightning flashes all around him, and the wind howls and makes his long and pretty hair fly all ..." Leo ranted.
"I'm going to hate myself for this, but how the hell do you know that?" Victor rasped. "What do you, follow him around? Spy on him in the shower?"
Leo broke off from his rapt daydream to blink in confusion at Vic. "What? WHAT? It's not like I... stalk Raven! Sheeeesssh! Whaddya think... that I'm all running around, peeking into his holoprograms and stealing his jockstraps or something? You make it sound so BAD! I gotta keep track of him! You got ANY idea of what kind of trouble that guy gets into, if I take my eye off him FOR ONE SECOND? Why, this one time... we were chasing these Borg.. funny.. he wouldn't let me have a gun that time either...." Leo looked down at his 'phaser' and scowled AGAIN . "Hey! Gimmie YOUR phaser! Come on..." he wheedled Victor.
"No." Victor's voice was firm, despite the pain it caused him. "No phaser. If you were supposed to have one, you already would." ~ Is he really this stupid? Maybe, maybe I was right before and it's an act, and he's really trying to solve this? ~ He took an experimental breath, winced again, and continued, "So is this really a scam? The running around, acting like a. well, like you've been acting? Insisting that they were suicides and all that? Are you really trying to solve the murders?"
"Scamming? SCAMMING? ME? LEO STREELEY? SCAMMING? Leo Streely does not even know the meaning of the word 'scam!' I never scammed anyone in my life! And anyone who says I did is either a liar, or can UNSEAL those records that Fleet Security told me they buried! DAMN YOU SANCHEZ! " Leo protested, his voice rising to shrilly indignant levels as he rattled a pudgy fist with his last curse .
"Of course they were suicides! Who else could it have been? The rich Alpha Centaurian guy's not smart enough to have pulled it off. The Red Headed chick's too small. The Counselor is in a wheelchair, Malgin is busy powertripping in medical. Corgan is too pussywhipped and would have done STUFF to the bodies. The Kelvan guy is... you know... too frou-frou. I'd peg him for the guy who ruined the beeyo-tiful decorations around here though. Them frou-frou guys have NO sense of taste! Anyways... the other Nazi guy just showed up. That Quick guy is too high, the Engineer needs to get laid...who else?" Leo had run out of fingrs to checklist off on, and was peeirnf with a puzzled manner ar his hands.
Victor shook his head. "They were murders." The words
were flat, inviting no differing opinion.
"Well... Duuhhhhh! The Suicide thing was part of my sca....errr.... plan."
Leo opinioned.
"Someone killed each of them, cut their throats like they were an animal.
And you're wrong about those suspects. Hawksley could easily have done it, he's
smart enough by a good margin - he just doesn't know anything about social interaction.
That's a possible indication of the killer. Von Ernst could have done it, too,
all it would take is a single pair of old-style lift boots and the height problem
is solved. She's got the same social interaction problems Hawksley does, and
she already treats people like numbers - not too far off from the way the killer
must think of us. Counselor Dallas might not be able to walk unassisted, but
you pointed out she has exo-braces in the staff meeting - she can walk when
she needs to. "
'I bet that, in the sack, she..." Leo began, hopping from one foot to the
other. Vic plowed on, over whatevr Leo's observations about Karyn Dallas were.
"Maybe she's taking out her frustration at being crippled on the rest of
us - that's a strong motive. Corgan?" he winced, shifting position, "I
read his file too. He's got a temper management issue and past incidences of
irrational behavior - and the killings didn't start until the Captain put him
on punishment detail with the Klingons. The Kelvan already thinks we're dirt,
and he's easily strong enough. The Nietzchean hasn't been here long enough -
he's the only one that's clear out of the batch. Quick could have done it, who
knows what the hell is going on his head? The killings didn't start until his
'baby' was being altered, maybe it's revenge for that. Commander Samara is violent
and unpredictable, and fits the physical profile. The damn ship is full of people
that could do the murders." He snorted. "Even the Klingons could have
done it - some of them anyway. There are about four I haven't locked down whereabouts
for yet."
"Hey whoah.. whaddya mean 'The Klingons?' I'll tell you.. I just SPENT the night with that Princess! If she was gonna kill you, it ain't gonna be through the throat, if you know what I mean. Let's go ASK her Highness about that!" Leo paused to wink meaningfully. And leer. Twice.
~ The Princess? No way, that has to be a lie. ~ "The Princess?" Victor asked, obviously disbelieving the claim. "You were with the Princess? Tell me another one."
Leo blinked. Usually people begged NOT to hear his 'stories' of his sexual exploits. "Okay!" he announced, rubbing his damp and chubby hands together. "One time? When I was a kid... there were these Frunian Triplets at band Camp? So this one time? At band camp.... "
~ I did *not* want that image in my head - ever. ~ "Stop. All right, even if it wasn't the Princess, there are still lots of other suspects. Commander Raven, for example. He's actually one of the best ones available. Strong, sneaky - and with huge gaps of missing time unaccounted for. Maybe that Hirogen didn't kill him, but he could have messed up the Commander's head enough that he's turned killer."
"Raven? A murderer? He's a HERO! I taught him EVERYTHING I know! Little kids adore Raven. Old ladies wanna see his Man Root throb! Don't let his scary act fool you, he's a creme puff!Whaddabout that brother of his? The Marine? HE looks fishy to me. Always stomping around with a scowl on his mug, scaring people into wetting themselves! Looming! You ever notice that guy LOOMS all the time? Alla the time.. Loom Loom Loom! I think he gets some sick pleasure out of scaring people! Not like Raven, you'd think they were two totally different people." Leo chattered
"They *are* two different people," Victor sighed. He paused. ~ Have I ever seen them in the same place at the same time? ~ "Aren't they? I can't tell them apart without looking at the uniforms. They're pretty much identical outside of that - they both loom, both use grunts for communication, everything." ~ That's insane - they have to be separate people. He couldn't be playing some sick game like that, the Marines would know. Major Log has a history that can't be gotten around - too many conflicting elements with Darkstar's. Right? ~
"Of COURSE they are different people!" Leo announced. "I seen them together." Leo paused a moment. "Not like... TOGETHER. Not THAT way. Because I'm not like that. And they're not either, I think. That is sick. They're family, for crying out loud. What kinda Hippies do you think they are? " he announced a moment later, looking flushed.
Leo looks around furtively. ( ed. Okay, he's already shifty looking, but this is a MARKEDLY furtive manner. Almost like the Leo of old, right before he scams a mark.)
Leo whirls to the audience again. "Shaddup! I never scammed anyone!" he screeches to the thin air, before turning to Vic again.
"Wanna know who I think it is?" he asks breathlessly, his breath smelling like salami in Vic's face.
~ I'm going to regret this, I know I am. ~ "Who?" Victor asked resignedly. ~ I suppose there's a chance he might have a sensible idea.... ~
"Robots." Leo breathes out in spicy fumes. " Terminators. Bhrodeniators. I think Starfleet made itself a bunch of Bhrode-Bot android cyber-clones , and disguised them like big, fat, ugly people and one of them is loose and killing folks with all its whatchmacallit circuits off. It's ASS...Ass-si....Assey... it's circuits. OFF! Out of control! THAT is why Corgan is all gung-ho to find it... it's like Christmas for Old Crazy Head. Dead bodies for...you now (wink wink)...AND robots to kill! Annnnd annnnooootherrrr thiiiiing..."
With a cry of success, Leo launches himself at Vic and wraps
his pudgy little legs around Vics' chest, ignoring the expression of pain that
accompanied the gesture as he pressed and prodded at the base of Vic's neck.
"Ahhhhh-HAAAA! Now I have you! When.... where.... hey.... you don't have
an OFF switch...what kinda freaky robot are YOU?" Leo muttered darkly as
Victor reached up to peel him off with a snarl. "Ummm... okay... the robot
thing? It was...a joke! Right? No hard feelings, right buddy? Pal? hehehe. .
. "
Leo's voice rose as he was pulled free to dangle in the air in fron of Victor.
"Hey, I know - let me make it up to you! Listen, I could maybe... fix you
up with the Princess... or that General guy if you, you know, like that sort
of thing. How about Corgan, do you like them all girly and frou-frou? Not that
there's anything WRONG with that, but... Hey! Hey! That's a closet! What're
you - Hey! Let me out of here! Hey! If I had a phaser, you wouldn't get away
with this! HELP! HELP! I'm being repressed! " Leos voice was muffled by
the closing closet door.
~ Pain pills. Definitely need the pills. ~ Victor admitted as he started out
down the Deck Ten corridor , Leo's voice muffledly ringing out behind him. ~
He'll be fine once he realizes the door's unlocked. I can't believe he actually
works for... well, anyone. Pills, where did I leave those pills? ~ He moved
off, intent on reaching his quarters, Leo's voice fading in the distance as
the hatch closed behind him. ~ Robot my ass. ~
=/\=
OOC: Looks like Mr. Streeley is in the closet again.
;) Will Raven 'come' in time to get Leo's ass... okay.. enough with the closet
jokes! I promise! Looks like both Leo and Vic are OUT of the suspect lineup!
how about YOUR fave PC? Hmmmmmmmmmm. . . . ?
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