By Lieutenant Commander Rose Isis MacAllen
Chief of Archaeology, USS Galaxy
And Lieutenant Cutter Kara'nin
Chief of Astrophysics, USS Galaxy
USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 50210.14 - 50210.21 |
Betty looked around her sic and span, spartan quarters and grimaced. One of the drawbacks to her profession, was that the Marines didn't really get too attached to places.
So the 'Marine Land' Barracks that had been installed abaord USS Galaxy featured the drab, Fleet Issue Grey on Grey non-decor that only the Klingons found 'somewhat pleasing, if you care about that sort of thing' in it's stark efficiency. And Pakleds loved it, if you used primary colours and rounded corners.
Still, being a Marine had it's advantages. She wasn't stuck back on the Mining Colony, with her dumbass brothers, for starters. And she'd seen a lot of planets... although most alien planets she'd visited in the Corps had featured someone trying to kill her. Funny how many planets are uncomfortable, too. Of course, you blow up Risa, and it'll look like Deneb Seven. Mud was Mud was Mud the Universe over.
Still... you got to shoot back at the Nerps, so that was another advantage.
AND, you got to prove to the Fleeties, what useless wastes of protoplasm they are. Distinct advantage there.
She settled her white Dress Beret on the waves of her lusterous black hair, and practiced a scowl in the mirror.
Perfect.
The chronometer showed 05:54:03 a.m. ship's time. Marine PT was done for the day... the youngest Marine, Rifleman Cletus Tanner III had drawn the 'Run the Fleeties' PT Instructor duty today. It wasn't a sought-after post for the Marines, physical Training was bread and butter to them, done as a group daily and in most cases, as the individuls' 'recreation' time as well. It was the sad state of affairs amongst the Fleeties Physical Condition, that drew Marine disgust and laughter. Still, Bhrode had ordered the Marines to whip his crew into shape. And orders are orders. And he had used the word 'whip' which led to all sorts of interesting regulations twists, in the Marine mind.
Betty exited her quarters, and stomped her way through the halls. With the upcoming meeting between the Orions, the Klingons and Bhrode, she had been forced into her Dress uniform by Major Log and Captain Bhrode's orders. MOST people saw the Midnight Blue jacket with the scarlet and yellow Three Chevrons, Fouled Anchor and Four Rockers on her sleeve, and cleared the way. You don't see many Gunnery Sergeant Majors around the Fleet, let alone a Master GSM. The scowl on her face made up the minds of those who didn't know who she was by the uniform.
There are.. always exceptions.
Betty almost slammed into a pimply faced Security Officer, who was goggling at something.
Ensigns eyes met the Sergents.' The Security officer sneered. It was the old battle.. Security versus Marine. Betty's calm, hard blue eyes met the kid's in challenge.
"Don't Marines know how to salute an officer?" the kid asked, clearly intent on making a scene.
"Sure we do. Sir." Betty answered, remaining at attention, arms locked down her sides.
"Well?" the kid demanded, clearly seeing a chance to score a 'point' on the Marines and going for it.
"I was waiting for you to do so first, sir." Betty replied, using a tone of voice that implied she thought the guy was dumb, perhaps even a cretin.
The Kid goggled. "What rank do I have here, Sergeant?" he asked, indicating his collar, where a tarnished single gold pip was marred dull by a fingerprint.
"I believe the oficer is an Ensign, if he is not sure. Sir." Betty replied.
"Darn straight I am! And you're not." the kid replied, hands on hips.
"No sir, I am not a Starfleet Ensign. I thank my stars daily, for that fact. Sir." Betty replied, deadpanned.
"Well! Where the HELL do you get off, asking me to salute YOU first? That is the most, gawwdamn ignorant FU*KIN thing I have ever heard! the Fragging NERVE! An Officer? Saluting a NCO? FU*K that SHI*!! " the kid began, tiny specks of spittle flying off his livid face.
"Ensign." said a cool voice over his shoulder.
The kid spun, to see the midnight black and Command Red uniform of a Fleet NCO. Even dim ensigns know the face of the Chief Boatswain aboard their duty post. The smart Junior Officers get along with the Enlisted crew, earning their respect. The Dumb ones usually find themselves carefully ushered out of the Fleet, if they'd made it that far.
"Chief Westwell. You look nice today." the kid said, carefully trying to feel his way through a potential career ballbuster here.
Elizabeth Westwell had been in the fleet longer than this kid had been alive. She was a 'legend,' having risen to the highest possible NCO Rank that the Fleet had. She knew her job in spades, and four other people's jobs as well... a lot of the guys who'd been HER ensigns over the years were wearing Admirals' stars now, if not having their own commands. And they tended to listen to her and her opinions. She was one of the few pople who had NOT been hand picked by Bhrode to serve here on this ship. She was one of the few who'd asked permission to come aboard, and she was the only one, for whom the question had been a mere formality.
"Thank you Ensign." the Chief said levelly. "May I explain something to you.. sir?" she asked, her face showing understanding of his awkwardness.
"Uhhhh... sure." the kid said.
"Look at the Gunny's decorations. The top row, that ribbon all by iteself." the Chief said.
The kid did so.. and his eyes widened as comprehension set in.
Starfleet protocol says that Junior Crew must salute their superior, and hold the salute until the superior acknowledges it. There are 2 exceptions to this rule. The first, is that the salute does not have to be rendered under combat, or if the Commanding Officer has declared it 'not necessary' outside of Dress Uniform Occasions. The second... is that any member of Starfleet regardless of rank, salutes a holder of the Medal of Valor FIRST, regardless of their rank.
And Betty's uniform had the tiny Federation Blue ribbon with it's distinctive scattering of white stars that indicated she hel 'The Medal.'
"Sorry Gunny! Carry on. Err.. you too.. Chief.... as you were ladies." The Kid said, firing off a redfaced salute and scurrying to escape the smirk Betty was wearing.
The Starfleet Master Chief Petty Officer eyed her younger Marine counterpart with amusement. "Just can't break down and wear the damn medal with the neckribbon, can you?" she asks goodnaturedly.
"Captain said to break out the Monkey suits, we break them out. Didn't say nothing about fruit salad decorations." Betty said.
"If the Captain said to break out the Armour, you'd have beaten him to it. I swear you sleep in that rig. But your decorations? Just hate to wear it, don't you?" the Chief asked, matching Betty's shorter strides as they progressed down the halls.
"Always be prepared." Betty shot back.
"That's the Young Space Scouts motto." the Chief returns.
"Dumb assed rules. Fine if you're sitting aboard some ship... get your ass shot down in the mud. Hey, why do all Commander Corgan's Nerps try to swear?" grumped Betty, pressing the turbolift buttons.
"Eternal Mystery. Young men seem to think it makes them tough. Which reminds me... you'll find your PT sadists on Deck 39. Maintance crews are complaining about 'pools of sweat' down there. If The Old Man wants you to run us ragged, at least mop up after yourselves." the Chief said, with a smile.
"I have to go 'liberate' one of your guys right now." Betty said with a smirk, tapping a PADD with her thumbnail. "See you around the NCO Mess, Boats." she added, as the doors closed.
=/\=
The main science officer's lounge wasn't the most happening place on the ship. The main reason for that was probably its clientele. Although other people weren't restricted, the lounge was pretty much scientists only. Many of the officer's would come here during their break and grab a bite to eat, play one of the various games, or sit and talk shop with their colleges.
Cutter visited the science lounge very infrequently. He preferred to eat alone and spent the remainder of his time on his work in his office. Today, however, the Chief of the Geology Department had asked Cutter to meet him for lunch. His excuse was that the department heads should get to know each other.
However, after ordering his food from the replicator, the geology chief hailed and said that he would be unable to make lunch and requested a rain check. Apparently, there was a bit of a geology emergency. It was unfathomable to Cutter as to what a 'geology emergency' could consist of, but he didn't complain.
Instead of sitting alone in such a populated place, Cutter scanned the room for an eating partner and quickly spotted Commander MacAllen. Perhaps it would be best to complete today's purpose, and get to know his fellow chief science officers better. He strolled over to her table, holding his tray in his hands, and asked, "May I sit here?"
Rose looked up from her PADDS with an smile at the young man while eating some spicy Betazoid chicken, her Asst Chief of Archology, Kay MacFarland was watching her one year old daughter Karyn Shinta. It was great to have alittle break from her only child since Karyn is an hand full.
"Tola. How are you?" Cutter asked, trying to make conversation.
"I have fine Cutter, how are you?"
"Lene. I'm fine. I've been spending a lot of my time working around the Quick virus. How about you, has it struck Anthropology at all?"
"Yes it did but my Asst. Chief fixed it right up, she very smart in that area of computer." the young woman said with an smile while playing with her wedding rings alittle, she misses him very much and there was no word from him.
*********************************************************
James was apprehensive about approaching the main science lounge. He was under strict order, from Brhode, not to do any murder investigation. He was also under strict orders from his own ethically sensitive conscience to investigate the murders anyway. He had to go past Brhode and talk to people with a direct ear towards him.
Science was his best bet. He had a friend, make it a friend and an acquaintance, who knew him there. He knew he could count on Lieutenant Commander MacAllen to help him out in his clandestine 'investigation'. But there were gambles as well. He still couldn't trust a telepath fully, and Rose could read his mind like a book, and later tell the captain. As for Cutter, he was loyal to the ship and had no reason not to tattle.
He had to take the plunge anyways. James entered the lounge, with a small petrii dish containing a sliver of wood.
"Well, I .... " Cutter began, trying to answer a question posed by Rose, before he was interrupted by the opening of the lounge door. He reflexively glanced over to see who had entered, and was surprised to see James Corgan.
"Well, I, uh ... " Cutter tried to finish his thought, while still watching Corgan, but the train had derailed. He gave up, when he noticed Corgan approach their table.
"Lieutenant," Cutter acknowledged, both a hello, and an offering of assistance.
James laughed half heartedly, "Commander actually." He touched his black and brass pip, "I'm the new Chief of Security. Who would have thunk it?"
The young Betazoid looked up with an gentle smile to one of her best friends and godfather..James.
"Hello James how are you this evening?" she asked the young human male in an sweet, gentle voice trying not to read his mind even though it was very hard.
He begrudgingly shrugged his shoulders, "I've been better. Exile to quarters until further notice. Marines are running my damn department. Can't go anywhere on this ship without one of those stupid buggers getting in my way. And then..." His voice took on a mournful tone, "There's the Princess. My god... i'll be glad when we reach Rigel III. But enough about me. How's Karyn?"
"She fine James, she also been asking for you."
After hearing from Rose, James moved on. "I'd hate to cut the conversation short," James abruptly changed the subject, "But I have something to give you."
He produced the petrii dish with the wood sample, handing it over to Lieutenant Commander MacAllen. He felt vulnerable at this point, because there was still his explanation behind the sample. He was visibly nervous by Betazoid standards, his feeling easily registering. Lying to her wasn't what he wanted to do.
~"Quick. Say something."~ He thought, and then he spoke. "I need to have this analyzed. It's a wood sample that I retrieved." ~"Please, for the love of God Rose, if you are mindscanning me, don't look surprised,"~ "I cannot say what it is from due to the sensitivity of the assignment handed out to me..." ~"Please Rose, don't give a hint that I'm hiding something... please, I can't say it outright,"~ "But it has to do with the safety of the Klingon delegation."
~"Please Rose, don't blow my cover..."~
Rose understood then took the wood with an nod, "I will look over it, this will take me about an hour or two come by my lab then. 'Commander is there anything else?"
The young Betazoid knew what was going on, she would never betrayed James or any of her loyal friends who been with her though the good times and bad.
~"Good, she understands."~ James thought, breathing a sigh of relief. The hardest part was over. He won the understanding and trust of the Betazoid. But as for Cutter, whom he didn't know on a personal level, would be more difficult to keep in the dark. At least with Rose, he could tell the truth and worry less about her selling him out to Captain Brhode. But Cutter was different. He was as perfect an officer as they would come. Cutter was more likely to consider James' clandestine investigation as a violation and threat, and thereby report it to Brhode.
But then again, Cutter once worked with James, and he knew that Cutter wasn't one to sell people out easily.
"What is it?" Cutter asked, grabbing the container from the anthropologist, his wings fluttering in curiousity. "Splinters? Is this for the Security investigation?"
James didn't flinch, didn't show any outward sign of annoyance, but if he was allowed the luxury, he would have slapped his hand on his forehead and groaned loudly. ~"Dammit Cutter... will you please shut up?"~ He thought dejectedly, ~"Bad enough that I have to sneak around like this, but I have to worry about you trying to blow my cover too? Great...."~
"It is sensitive in nature, and all I can tell you is that it may involve the safety of the Klingon delegation. For their safety, I have to have this piece of wood analysed, and that is all I'm going to release." James answered like a statue of ice, the tone that implied, no, demanded that Cutter not dig any deeper.
"We can at least start the analysis for you now, if you would like. The determination of the species of wood should be relatively easy," Cutter offered. "We can take it to one of the general scanning labs, down the hall."
"I would greatly appreciate it." James spoke frankly.
Rose walked towards the door with James right behind her as the young senior officers walked towards the lab.
Cutter followed suit, and took several quick large bites of his food before he carried his lunch tray over to the disposal area. He followed Rose and James out of the lounge and a short distance down the hall to a general scanning lab.
The scanning lab was designed for nonscientists. People could come to this lab with some material and get a rudimentary analysis, whether it be a child analyzing a stone for a school geology project or a security officer trying to get an analysis on some splinters of mysterious wood for a crime investigation. The lab was a small room, about three meters by three meters. In the center was a large table; inside the table and above were several types of sensors. And there were a couple terminals for scanning results and computer access for comparison.
"Thanks for taking the time to scan this material." James watched in facination as the blue light of the scanner engulfed the tiny wood bit, probing it's biological material for clues. He then addressed Rose, "Sorry I couldn't visit lately. Been tied up with work, guarding the Princess and whatnot. And when I do have an hour off, I have to stay in my quarters. Like i'm in a prison or something... Brhode's prison ship. But no worries. In a few months, i'll be free and all this nastiness will be a memory."
"It no problem both Karyn and I understand, we can't wait to see you again outside of work." Rose told him while trying to hide some saddness about not hearing from her husband who is on an deep-space mission.
Cutter half-listened to the conversation. They weren't talking to or about him, so he had little interest. He was more curious about the wood sample. Although Corgan wouldn't say, Cutter suspected that they were from one of the murders. Like any other crewman, he was interested in who the culprit was; no one was safe while they were on the loose.
"The wood is Risan," Cutter read as the results were coming up. "Carapa guanisiro, is the Risan species name."
"Carapa guanisiro? Should I have heard of it?" The Chief of Security inquisited.
Rose stepped over and looked at the screen, too. "Its a deciduous hard wood, with nocturnal blumes."
"You can access the computer from there, to see where that wood is used on the ship," Cutter said to Corgan, gestering to the terminal next to where James stood.
James accessed the terminal. His fingers deftly flew over the controls and accessed the information he needed. He first started with the manifests, followed by replicator patterns (in case it was replicated Carapa), orders, and a biolog from the waste reclaimators.
What he found was startling. There was a ninety nine percent jump in the amount of carapa guanisiro thrown into the waste recycling systems, according to the waste logs, all at different times during the Galaxy's mission. According to supply manifests, orders for huge amounts of replicated carapa showed up in Cargo Bay 5, but was later taken away and recycled. Logs from the cargo bay noted that the Risean wood was to be used for wall panels. Most of the goods were signed by Dr. Jebediah Quick.
~"Christ no... not another Quick Virus error..."~ James sighed deeply. He ignored the replicated carapa for a minute and tried to focus on some genuine samples of the hard wood.
Past records of bioscans revealed that there was still a Carapa Guanisiro source that came from Ten Forward and from the arboretum, but according to the mass estimates, the arboretum had only a sapling. The real big sample was at Ten Forward. Upon further inspection of the manifest list, he found another piece of the puzzle. There was a shipment that included wood door panels for Ten Forward.
"Those big gawdy things..." James clicked his tongue, "The Ten Forward doors are made of the same wood. Everything else was replicated. This wood splinter either came from a replicated source, or from those doors. And with all the deconstruction of those wood panels, there could be a number of sources. How can we narrow this?"
Cutter shrugged. "The analysis shows that there are traces of paint finish on the sample. That doesn't nessecarilly narrow it down, but you can download the atomic structure of the paint. Perhaps you can compare it to a sample from the doors? But, haven't they been dismantled, destroyed, and reassembled a few times? I suppose, if thats the case, that there's no garuntee that the current paint finish is going to match the sample."
"I'll see what I can do." The scanner was flicked off. James gathered up his wood sample and placed it back into the petrii dish with a pair of tweezers. In his haste, he slid the dish back in a small case, closed it up, and tucked it under his arm.
"I wish I could tell you more, but right now I have to keep quiet as much as possible. I thank you for your co-operation. Without futher adieu... I must be going."
When the lab doors shut behind Corgan, Cutter turned silently towards Rose, his facial _expression casually asking, 'what now?'
"We will wait and watch our backs my friend." the young Betaziod replied then looked back at Cutter with her dark eyes.
The line of Fleet officers were clad in a motley assortment of sweatsuits and tee shirts. All the members of this group were here, because the Marines had deemed them 'needing physical or attitudinal re-adjustment.' They pounded around the curve of the boring, grey Deck 39 corridor. Basically an oblong corridor, running aournd the massive Cargo Storage bays and Supply Nodes that littered the deck. Isolated from the rest of the ship, down here in the bowels... it was a perfect running track.
If deadly boring.
To alleviate the boredom, the Marines took turns supplying their more rabid members as PT Instructors to the Fleet.
Today, was Rifleman Cleatus Tanner the Third... a backwoods member of the Colonial Human race, who hailed from the rural backwoods of some interstellar swamp-planet. He sported piggish eyes, copious nasal hair, and a neck that existed only in rumour buried between the massive sloping shoulders. He currently was indicating to Lieutenant Curtis Geluf,his desire that Geluf accelerate his movements.
"SIR! If the Lieutenant could MOVE HIS ASS in time with everyone ELSE? Maybe the Lieutenant would FIND THE TIME to stay out of the Captain's Ready Room if he HUSTLED? Not to sound DISRESPECTUFL, but you RUN like a Horta! I've seen Flows of Lava that move faster!" the Rifleman screamed, his florid face micrometers from Geluf's sensitive ears.
Curtis cracked a slight smile. In reality, Curtis could easily outrun the Jarhead, but he didn't want to cause a stir. The yelling was not helping, though, and Curtis had quite a headache. Still, he didn't want to show it, and if the Rifleman felt he needed to move faster....
"Yeah, sure thing there pal." Said Curtis who suddenly picked up his pace considerably, passing the crowd and moving out in front, away from the ear-piercing noise of the Rifleman.
"SEE? If the Engineer can move, the rest of you wastes of perfectly good protoplasm can HUSTLE YOURSLEVES! You people want an ENGINEER showing you up? Maybe a little-girl Deltan can come along and MOVE IT HERSELF?" The Gyrene was screaming at the rest of them
The ragged and huffing group rounded the curve for the fifteenth time today... and found a small, solid figure in Marine Dress Uniform waiting by the turbolift.
"Take a breather... before some of you die." Curtis' nemesis observed, eyeing a wheezing Tellurite sporting a "Corgan LIVE! Interplanetary Tour '70" tee shirt streched tight over its' portly tummy.
Groans accompanied the collapse of bodies to the bare deckplates. As one of the few 'non-wheezers', Curtis squatted on his heels, away from the dissarray.
"Everything okay Tanner?" Lady Deathstrike asked, eyes moving over the bodies with clinical amusement.
"Yes Gunny. Got some slackers, one Tac-Weenie who puked and wanted to go to sickbay. Got a few hotshots, think they can outrun me and everyone else." Rifleman Cleatus reported.
Betty looked over the bodily wreckage with a smirk. Her eyes came to Geluf's and froze. She was obviously trying to place Curtis.
Curtis didn't move, praying that whatever it was Lady Deathstrike wanted it, had nothing to do with him.
"Well... you know how to motivate slackers, Tanner. And as for the hotshots. . ." Stepping daintily over the bodies sprawled in the corridor, she stalked closer to Curtis.
~~awwwww HELL~~ he thought.
"Didn't recognize you, what with your not being outlined in a rifle scope. Do you know.. I'm beginning to REALLY dislike searching for you?" she asked airly, waving a PADD at Curtis.
"Funny," said Curtis, hiding his fear, "I'm beginning to dislike being found."
"Whatever. I should have recognized the name. If it involves the Captain telling me to go track some idiot down, I should KNOW you're involved in it somehow." She cut into his speech with, as she handed him the PADD.
Curtis sported an inquizative look, took the PADD and read:
From: JQ Bhrode, Commanding, USS Galaxy
To: C. Geluf, Lt. USS Galaxy Engineering
CC: CMDR Hawksley, CMDR VonErnst, LtCMDR K'Etylanna,
LtCMDY Reece,Starfleet BUPERS
By my order, you are hereby transfered to the position of Assistant Chief Officer of Operations, USS Galaxy. No promotion accrues with this transfer. Report to LtCMDR Reece at 0700 hours today in the OPS complex.
"Gee, it's 0640 hours. Better get moving, cleaned up and report in. Wouldn't want the Captain to find out you were late, get fidgety and send ME after you, would you?" Betty said with a smirk, clearly hoping just such a thing happened.
"I'll make sure you don't have to waste your time." answered Curtis. ~~~'Don't let her get to you'~~~ he thought to himself.
"Yeah, You do that. Sir." Betty replied, clearly thinking he'd already wasted quite a bit of her time already, and that she wished him off the ship (preferably in small pieces) as a result.
"Sorry pal!" Curtis yelled to the Rifleman, "Wish I could stick around, but duty calls you know. Try not to miss me ok?"
"Miss you? Yeah, I miss you, pallie...Every phaser bolt or bullet so far..." muttered the Gyrene, chivvying his groaning charges up, for the remaining twenty laps on the deck.
"Rifleman? Add another klick to these fine folks' total for today, courtesy of Lieutenant Geluf, who won't be joining them. And another fifty reps of each of the Calisthentics" Betty announced.
"Aye Aye Gunny!" an overly bright and chipper Rifleman Tanner crowed out, clearly relishing the thought.
Groans and muttered curses came from the huddled masses, as they plip-plopped down the hall.
"O642 hours. I hope you got a personal transporter to get back to quarters, shower, change and get to the OPS center in time." The Marine NCO observed, checking a wall display.
Curtis, without another word, shot down the hallway and out of sight.
*I CAN'T BE LATE THIS TIME!!!!!* he thought.
James was in too much of a hurry to bother with any quaint introductions, attempts at niceties, or anything else involving a gentler touch. Armed with his investigative PADD, a type two phaser on his hip, and a scowl that could disarm a Naussican, James went back to his duty station, keeping guard of the Klingons in their quarters. But what he approached the bodyguard for was not to relieve, but to question.
There was a murderer loose, and he narrowed down his suspects.
One of the men was Curran, and for good reason. Curran was part of the Kelvan species, discovered by the legendary Captain James Kirk (Corgan's mom was a huge admirerer), was reputed for being bigoted. They were also capable of so much more outside their humanoid form. Powerful attacks, both physical and telepathic, were in their repertoire.
Perfect for immobilizing and slaying victims. But James couldn't be sure. The Kelvan had a reason, that being the contempt they may hold for humans for accepting their mercy, but other than that, it was speculative.
Curran had been addressing some concerns with the Brigadier General attending the Princess' party, listing off a multitude of infractions that was noticeably irritating the General. The Klingon was tapping his foot in consternation, looking for all intents and purposes about to rend the smaller framed Kelvan apart chunks at a time to toss the pieces to the Targ he had tied down in the cargo hold assigned to the entourage.
"Excuse me, Legate Curran." James asked stately, "I'd hate to cut it short, but I have to talk to you about something important. May we speak in private?"
The Legate stopped mid-sentence listing infraction number 47. The General's face lit up, slapped Corgan hard on the shoulders and grunted something incoherent as he grinned a huge toothy smile, then walked away to join the rest of his crew.
"What is it, 'Commander? State it with haste. We are only hours from Rigel VII, I have much work that has to be done before then. Brhode has made a mess of things once again, and it needs to be cleaned up before the Princess disembarks."
"Follow me, sir." James spoke grimly, leading the Ambassador away from the halls, "So'ka, take my position until the Legate and I return."
"Yes sir." So'ka complied.
This made Kylar rather curious. The Security Chief was armed, and had a hardened look upon his boyish features, save for the scar. He accompanied the Chief through the attaching corridor into a quiet secluded alcove.
James led the Legate to the adjoining hall. Careful to watch if anyone was around, James then took the Legate aside to talk. "Legate Curran, I believe that you're a suspect for those murders."
~"This ought to work."~ James thought connivingly.
Ask the questions, pretend
to ask in the Legate's best interests, and then move on. That way, he didn't
look like he was pointing the finger.
"Really, 'Commander? Of course you would assume it was myself." Snide oozed from his words. "I do fit the profile of the criminal in attaining the degree of physical damage discovered on the bodies." He hesitated and held the stare of the Security Chief. Kylar had thought the human may have been testing him, making a joke. How could he assume the Kelvan would make his own personal issues more prevalent than those of the Liaison Corps?
"You must have me mistaken, 'Commander." He voice grew cold at the accusation. "I have better things to do than kill humans. It is my duty to defend the Federation and its standards, not defeat them." Inwardly he laughed at the half-truth. In time the Federation would fall to the Kelvans from the inside. Eventually. Along the way, obstacles would have to be removed to achieve the grand scheme. Those pawns have already been moved into position and sacrificed in many arenas.
"Sir, I believe that you may be innocent, however, you're still a suspect, and quite frankly, I can't be lax when it comes to the security of the Klingons. I believe that they are next, and I want to prevent it. And to do so, I have to keep an eye on the investigation. But if you're so innocent, why not try to prove it? Nothing to hide, right?"
"Of course not! What do you take me for? Get on with your questions."
"Right o..." James whipped out his padd in rapid order, "According to the forensics reports of all murder victims, they died at random times during the day, with a slight tilt towards Beta and Gamma shift attacks. Legate, where were you on Stardate 50307.21, at 21:00 hours?"
"I was in my quarters, incinerating my uniform and preparing the itinerary for the Princess activities of the following morning."
"There are a few other dates that can be cleared up. Let's see... Stardate 50307.22, 12:00 to 4:00 hours?"
"I was resting in my quarters. Sleeping. Such a weakness on you humans part. Makes for an easy kill by a merciless opponent."
"I bet. Stardate 50307.25, 18:00 hours?"
"In my office. I was analyzing potential candidates for the Attaché positions that have been approved."
"Stardate 50308.01, 22:00 hours?"
"I was participating in a fencing training session. Invigorating, it is."
"I bet." James joked, "Must relieve the stress and frustration of hanging out with us limited humans, eh?"
Curran sharp blue eyes searched Corgan for any signs of what he was thinking, but he either was simply observing character traits of the Kelvan or he was hiding his true thoughts very well. He couldn't pierce the veil of suspicion being cast by the Security Chief.
"Humans are not so limited as you would have me imagine, 'Commander. There are aspects of the human physiology that still defeat my logic." The stoic visage on Kylar softened somewhat, a rare occasion for one who did not share his emotions.
"In fact, the instinct for preserving the lives of others is admirable, but lacks reason. Why would a stranger give up his life for another they do not know? There is no logical procession of thought. To save the life of one against many is a dangerous emotion." He grew silent as he considered his words.
"The Klingons..." He glanced down the dimly lit corrider separating the two parties. "...they may be emotional, but they do not hesitate when lives are in danger. They would leave the one behind to save the many, no matter the importance of the individual. It is honorable to die in battle. To stop the goal to come to the aid of a single individual could put the whole situation at risk.
"Have you questioned the Klingons when it comes to the murders? They fit the profile as well. Strong, efficient, cold. They have shown contempt for humans openly, and the Princess has desired to see areas of the ship that are strictly off-limits, such as the security brig." Unlike himself, who kept his contemptuous thoughts to himself lest he betray himself.
"Finally, the last one. Stardate 50308.08, 14:00 hours?"
"You had mentioned the crimes had taken place during the Beta and Gamma shifts. This took place during Alpha shift." Corgan had the look of 'get to the point'. "I was exercising in the Zero-G gyms on Deck 11." He sighed, casting a glance back to the other quarters. "Are we done here, 'Commander? Or do you have any more interrogation techniques to attempt on me? If I do not take my leave soon, I may just confess to the murders just to finish this line of senseless questioning."
"I apologize for the time it took, but it looks like everything here is clear. I'll double check to confirm these times. All the other times... it looks like the times we were on duty... so I think you're in the clear."
In reality, James thought, ~"What a nutjob. I can't confirm many of these. This doesn't really answer anything. But what it does do is make me more suspicious. Jeez, couldn't he be a bit more descriptive about weaknesses and killing?"
~"Curran's a bigot."~ Conscience blurted out clearly.
~"Excuse me?"~
~"You heard me? The way he talks about humans. This guy's a full blown bigot! Who ever let him into the diplomatic corp with that kind of attitude? Seem a little suspicious?"~
~"How so?"~
~"DO I HAVE TO SPELL IT OUT?!?! He takes an unhealthy interest in fencing. He talks about human weaknesses and how they will get someone killed. And not to mention, he's stronger than he looks. Face it, this guy's the killer."~
~"We don't have enough proof. So sit down, boy!"~
"Hmmm... of course, 'Commander. Now go find someone else to irritate." Kylar tucked the padd under his freshly changed uniform, still starchy from its conception in the replicator earlier that morning, and went on his way.
"Alright then..." James watched helplessly as the potential suspect walked out of the way, "See ya..."
After being subtly interrogated by the Galaxy's Security Chief, Kylar had returned to the Klingons to complete his tally of reparations being demanded of from the Klingons. The protocols and contract signed by Martok and his own supervisor, Ambassador-General Natasha Mol, had specifically stated that any damages caused by the Klingons would be repaid in full either through repayment of credit, confiscation of goods, or replacement of damaged parts.
The problem was, Klingon currency was seriously lacking in value on the Federation unless you were purchasing from the Empire. Since anything valued in Klingon nature was unnecessary in the Federation, or could be easily replicated, that option was unavailable. The Klingons did not carry replacement parts either. Therefore, that left the Kelvan no choice but to scour their goods for anything equivocal in value.
Kylar really didn't care much for material goods, and nothing in the cargo manifests of the Klingons dictated anything of any true value, so instead of confiscating anything in value to what was damaged by the Klingons, he instead took items of extreme value to the Klingons themselves.
Down in the deeper holds of Deck Four was where the Klingons had their cargo stored. It was a tad chill, as the cooling systems were protecting the perishable goods stored here. A shipment of crystallized tetrachlorizine was stored here, en route to Rigel VII for the next leg of its precarious journey. A mean temperature of 46 degrees centrigrade was required or the product would become unstable with possibility of implosion. It was stored several levels up closer to the cooling vents to retain this.
Barrels, crates, and storage bins littered the huge expanse of the hold, arrangd in neat stacks inside their marked grids. Kylar glanced at his manifest Padd as it guided him towards the Klingon stores. The map glowed in the soft light of the bay, its crisp colours sharply contrasted against the black of the padd face. In the lower section of the unit was the listed stores of the Klingon goods.
Around the corners of the jutting husks of Rigellian modulars. He felt a strange sensation fall over him..... he snapped a quick look out from around the edge of the bulky modular, and saw something flit between two units. Curiously, rather than calling out as a stupid human would do, he climbed atop the modular discretely.
Standing above most of the units, he had to bend down somewhat to avoid bashing his head on the cooling conduits passing above. He crouched, and walked across the top of the unit, tucking his padd into a sidepocket of the trousers. He peeked down over the cargo husk... and saw nothing. He did this with the one he stood upon, and crossed to others where he had seen the shadow move to. Nothing.
He swiftly clamoured down to a pair of crates stored beside this unit. He focussed on his hearing, knowing the sharpness of it could pick up the slight shuffle of human trudging. He searched for anything out of place with his hearing. He sought out smells that did not belong.
He was at a disadvantage though. The hold was filled with the thrum of shuttlecrafts warming their engines below to maintain peak efficiency. The phaser ranges were in use as well nearby. The soundproofing in here was slight as there was no need for it. The only extras they put in here were reinforced cargo bay doors, but those were far away, and he was in an inner hold detached from the main dropoff area, which he could not see from this vantage.
The Klingon Targs growling somewhere behind and to his left also interfered with his sense of smell as they had a wretched odor of death and sweat to them. It made the cargo area smell of rotting waste. He half expected to see flies scattering about.
The murders on board the Galaxy had set everyone in a nervous pinch. This had not concerned him, up until he'd been outrightly told he was a suspect in the murders. This had told him his thoughts were not being hidden from the chaotic eyes of humans. He wondered if Corgan truly knew the events he'd set in motion shortly after coming on board the ship.
He kept his eyes sharp as he progressed towards the Klingon stores.
Had he been discovered? All his efforts in being discrete in his movements were at risk now. Had Corgan's suspicions travelled among the ship's crew? Everyone was pointing fingers, and now that six crew members have died, paranoia was beginning to run rampant.
He stopped in front of a Klingon unit, and glanced at his manifest to compare the contents against the serial number contained on the identifying panel.
This was the Princess' personal stores and foodstuffs. The giant 6 X 9 unit allegedly contained several cases of Bloodwine, a library of original Klingon opera, several valises of garb, and various artifacts for personal reasons.
He'd been down here earlier in the journey to retrieve some Bloodwine, but this unit hadn't been here before. The Galaxy had made several stops along the way to pick up shipments bound for other ports and had caused some movement around in the bay for some objects. This unit had now been batched in with the other pieces of cargo.
The stench was livid now. Targs growled nearby, smelling the scent of fresh meat on the air.
Kylar keyed in the unlocking sequence to the cargo module. The lights flashed red, then green signifying over-ride. The latch clicked open, revealing a gap as the lid lifted slightly.
He turned around and placed his padd on the crate behind him. Lifting the module lid up and over, it crashed against the bulkhead behind it, blocking the small emergency light behind it casting a shadow over the corner of the hold he now occupied.
The hair raised on the back of his neck as he was basked in the soft glow of refracted light casting its prismatic effect around the metallic crates several feet away. This was all the light he had as he craned his neck to peer inside the unit.
Wishing he had a light with him, he dug through the packing material searching for anything of value. He rushed something rough, wooden, and heavy when he tried to lift it. Instead, he pulled it closer to him, shifting the fabrics aside to make space for it. Something hard was in the fabric; it wasn't pliable. He lifted the small rug up and out into whatever light he had to work with and unwrapped the heavy canvas-like material from around it.
His eyes nearly bulged out when he recognized what he saw laying on the canvas in his hands and wondered how it got there, for its silvery sheen led to the grains of the sharpened edge ..... then everything went spotty red in his vision as pain rippled through the back of his head.
The object clattered to the floor as Kylar reached up behind him as he dropped to his knees. His hand came away clotted with blood when he instinctively brought his hand to his wound. He turned to face what had taken him so easily by surprise to find the blunt end of something large fill his vision as it rammed into his face, with all the cold efficiency of a Kelvan in sending him into oblivion.
"What goes around, comes around, Kelvan. You shall pay for your sins in blood."
* * * * * * * * * *
(occurs after the Lys-Sam post, and after the Leo-Vic
post)
Samantha Widdlestein (Aged 10) had wandered off to the Holodeck
Control Room with some Engineer named Gray or Grey, to try and re-verse decompile
the Holodeck's recorder functions, leaving Lysander alone for a while.
Malgin's technicians waited for the Security guys to finish their 'evidence'
sweeps and let them move the body out.
Lys' brain had pretty much been occupied lately. Aside from
the usual mind-twisting task of trying to decipher one Runty Redhead's behaviour
into anything that resembled sanity... Lys had also had Bhrode in a rampage
over
his 'secret' Anti-Klingon Allies and these pesky murders of some crewmembers.
Of course, not having Samantha tell Lys what her Mummy thought of everything
was a blessed relief.
He was engaged in rapt examination of the holoprogram Sam Widdlestein had been coding. Lys' brain could handle the complex personality Algorithims as they scrolled in hard-data form... and he was chuckling at a few 'tweaks' Ensign Arel Smith was going to get when she ran her birthday present.
~~Wait until she and the Bug Face fight their way through eight Klingons in this Snow White Dream sequence, to find out she was to wear a silly pink paper hat, and a frilly dress and blow candles out and...~~~ Lys was cackling in his mind, as his fingers flew over the PADD and encoded his changes onto Sam's isolinear chip.
This he was only slightly surprised when the top of a blonde head, barely the height of his elbow which it was standing next to, sqeaked up to him "Hey, umm...Lysol my darling? Wow, thatsa lotta blood! You didn't kill that guy when I wasn't looking, did you? You can tell me."
"Nope. told you already.. and don't leave holoprograms running if you've turned the safety protocols off. Maybe this guy got killed when you came looking for me." Lys muttered, wondering if Arel would notice that all the Klingons were going to bear a resemblance to Kahless himself. Lys glanced down at Sam.. and did a double take.
"Yeah. Okay. Gotcha Hot Stuff. Pookie Pie. But. . . if you wanted to kill this guy... wouldn't you . . . tell me? Schnookums? " Sam Widdlestein (Aged 10) muttered right back at him.
"And Leo, no ten year old girl needs a shave. Slap some depilatory cream on next time, will you? That is almost as bad as your 'Horta' disquise, when you lit parts of Starbase 412 on fire...." Lys muttered, frowning at the program. It needed 'something.'
"LEO? Imma dainty young girl! Not some impossibly buff and sexy guy! That Leo guy SURE is irrestiable to the ladies! I know I wanna do him myself... when I get legal and all." the blonde head screeched at him, still in a ludicrious falsetto.
"Ummm humm.. . " Lys muttered.
"Hey hey HEY! Cute kid! Hehehe.. run along lil girl. Just got here! What's going on?" Leo grumbled, sticking the blonde wig into his back pocket in an irritated manner.
"Another murder. Isn't someone going to be mad you stole a mop out of some closet and..." Lys began, still peering at the holoprogram.
"WHAT MOP? Mop? Moi? Leo? Sheesh.. whaddya think? I'm in a closet or something? I ain't like that! I heard all about it on my commbadge. My DEPUTY Com Badge!" Leo screeched.
Lys glanced at the flashy looking star-shaped chunk of metal Leo was waving around.
"Is that a Young Space Scout-Ranger badge? I had one of those when I was ten.." Lys started, attention still on the program.
"NO! Back to the murder. Or should I say murder-S?" Leo demanded, eyes rolling, as he stuffed his badge back out of sight.
"You should. Plural and all." muttered Lys.
"A-HA!" Leo shouted
"errr.. smeg. Ah-HA what?" asked Lys, feeling a migraine coming on.
"You admit them then!" Leo shouted.
"Err... me? Admit they happened or admit TO them? Smegging well not. Look, I'm rather busy here." Lys muttered.
"Killing people!" Leo crowed.
"No, actually, doing this holoprogram for a friend. And then I have to get ready for the Summit that Bhrode set up for the Orions and Klingons tomorrow. And there's these murders too." Lys nattered.
"But... damn. Okay tough guy.. you want it like that?" Leo demanded.
"Err... unless 'that' involves your being over there and
quiet...I'd really rather smegging well not." Lys began, waving a hand
at the blood soaked
crimescene.
"Hell NO! This is Leo Streeley! I have people to do that
stuff for me!"
Leo crowed.
"Do what? Don't they need help?" asked Lys.
"All the dames need some of the Big Hoss!" Leo boasted, hiking up his Sans-a-Belt perma-prest trousers and leering grossly.
"Do you ever feel.. like you're talking in a conversation, and people are having a different one around you?" asked a visibly confused Lysander.
"Alla the time. What's with them goofballs? Crimping my style! It's like a conspiracy!" replied Leo.
"Is there a point in here anywhere?" Asked Lys, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers, feeling a migraine coming on.
"yeah. yeah yeah.. gimmie a second..." Leo rummaged around in his pockets, finally producing a dog-eared and pencilled piece of flimsy paper.
"Right o...Buy deodorant and foot powder and a FLEET enema kit and go to the clinic... wait...wrong list...that's ALL for Raven, by the way! okay... right...where were you on Stardate 50307.21, at 21:00 hours?" Leo demanded.
"Sleeping." Lys replied.
"And can the Red Headed chickie confirm that?" Leo demanded.
"Nope. I was alone. More's the pity." Lys muttered , staring at the Holoprogram PADD.
"Damn! What's with that? I still got -that- pool open from the OLD ship! Just stuff it to her! Grab her and show her who is the Daddy! Give her the old Mojo Magic one day in some dark..." Leo began.
"Errr.. rather. Anything else?" Lys demanded.
"There are a few other dates that can be cleared up. Let's see... Stardate 50307.22, 12:00 to 4:00 hours?"
"On the Bridge with Captain Bhrode."
"I bet. That Steaming Pile of....Stardate 50307.25, 18:00 hours?"
"In my office. I was going over the Tactical Roster and several reports. Well, actually.. I was going over Tactical Analysis Reports about that damned Vor'Cha and shoveling the rest into Rebecca's mailque. Smegging stupid reports." Lys grunted.
"Stardate 50308.01, 22:00 hours?"
"I was teaching a fencing training session. Have to keep the old spring in the old steel, you know? I think there were three crewmembers, all girls... and the Legate there." Lys quipped.
"I get it..'Spring in the Steel.' Hehehehee...errrrr... I don't get it. How's that gonna get you the Red Head? Look, when you DO score her, can you at least do your old pal Leo a fave? Make sure it's on Tuesday, 50310.22? Because that guy died on the Hirogen mission and if he wins, I get to keep the whole pool."
"Anything else?" asked Lys.
"Finally, the last one. Stardate 50308.08, 14:00 hours?"
"Bridge. With Bhrode."
"DAMN! I was hoping you was gonna say Bhrode had slipped away, come back all coverd in blodd and stuff." Leo chattered.
"Think it's the Old Man?" Lys asked, a little too alertly to be casual.
"Sort of. You ain't noticed any members of the crew, espicially Bhrode... with like... metal whoosits coming out of their butts and plugging into the electrical systems at night, have you?" Leo asked.
"I think there's a few with metal whositts going *into* their bu..." began Lys.
"RIGHT! Enough of that! HEY! Can you get me a phaser?" declared Leo in a rush.
"Errr... I suppose so. Why?" Lys demanded.
"There's all these suicides, and now a buncha murders too! I gotta watch out for me AND Raven! That big lug won't USE a phaser! Can you imagine it? Running around with a stone tomahawk is all right, if someone is behind you packing a Big Gun in thier pants at the same time." Leo insisted.
"Errr...was that a simile or a metaphor?" began Lys,
clearly confused at
the comparesion
"Analogy, I think." Murmered a pensive Leo.
"stress is on the middle syllable, not the first, Leo." Lysander corrected.
"I knew that. Forget my gun, I gotts the hookup there. Who do YOU think the killer is?" Leo demanded.
"The Princess." Lys replied, in a markedly mournfull manner.
"No WAY! I was scoring her every way but sideways! Every night this week!" Leo proclaimed. "No... wait... we did it sideways too, over the weekend." he added with a worried frown.
"You and Rebecca? You laid a grubby finger on MY SMEGGIN' PRINCESS PHASERBANKS Rebecca???" demanded Lys, several rumours he'd heard from the crew about Rebecca wandering around the ship during the wee hours, springing to his over-active mind.
"Rebecca? Which one was she? Is she the Orion babe in OPS? No.. the PRINCESS! DeV'oraH! Or whatever her name is...I usually love them and leave them before I find out their names. But this dame is different.... The biting! The Screaming! The whips!" Leo raved.
"Too much information" moaned a whitefaced Lysander.
"Yeah. Me? I think it was one of her Klingon Buddies. Went into Ponn Farr and got all horny and started whakking folks right and left. 'Hi, what's your sign?' WHAKK!...'Come here often?' WHAKK 'You know what would look good on you? ME!' WHAKK WHAKK..." Leo began, waving his hands in what he fondly believed were martial arts 'expert' Kung Fu moves.
"You thought it was me five minutes ago. And Vulcans have Ponn Farr, not Klingons. And people of both genders have been killed." Lys commented, interrupting Leo (It's pretty much the only way to slow Leo's mouth down).
"ME? Leo thought it was YOU? You're my buddy! My rich buddy from wherever you-are-from-again! No way was it you! Rich people NEVER get caught whakking people! Maybe it's one of them Vulcans. One of THEM Vulcans. Know-whudd-I-mean?" Leo winked at Lysander.
"No. We have only ten or so aboard." Lys replied honestly,
with a confused
expression.
"Sheeesh! One of THEM VULCANS! Do I gotta draw a picture here?" Leo repeated, waving his hands in some fluttering mysterious gesture.
"No, I've seen Vulcans before. Have you? Because if it's got smeggin' forehead ridges, it's not a Vulcan." Lys replied.
"I've done Vulcan Chicks before. They say my logic 'dazzles' them into a stupor, and my loving 'reduces' them into..." Leo began.
"What happened to the robot theory?" Lysander asked, cutting off THAT most-likely-false story.
"What robots? Yours? It blew up. Or Crazy Corgan got to it." Leo replied.
"Not mine... your theory that some battle-android was killing people and that..." Lys began.
"Oh THAT!" Leo replied airly. "I gave it up. Too hard to prove. You'd have to jump on EVRYONE on the ship and push all over them, looking for a button to turn them on." Leo paused and considered his words. "Or off." he added a moment later.
"Isn't that what you already do?" Lys asked, with a smirk.
"Sheesh! Imma trained observer! I watch all kinds of stuff!" Leo screeched.
"That reminds me, LtCommander Darkstar mentioned he'd like you to stay out of the gym showers when he's in there. And you can consider this a ship-wide ban on 'towel-snapping' as well. And peeping through the sensor net at different species mating is not 'observing' by any..." Lysander began.
"It's BROKEN! Like Crazy Head Corgan's...head! Which reminds me, when are you people gonna fix that?" Leo demanded.
"Corgan or the net?" Lys let the joke hang in the air a moment. Leo chorteled "GOOD one!" to it.
"Neither is really my department. I can only read the reports and pass them on to Bhrode." Lys said, to empty air.
"Hello? Leo?" Lys whirled around. Only the lingering stench of cheap cologne and feet, indicated Special Chief Deputy Investigative Security Deputy Leo Streeley had ever been there. The two lingering stinks, and a nagging headache in anyone who'd been forced to hear him.
With a puzzled glance around the now-empty Holodeck, Lys finished re-coding the Seven Dwarves and slipped the isolinear chip from the PADD and into his pocket. He thought Arel was going to REALLY like his 'changes' But where had Leo Streeley disappeared to, so fast? And why?
~~why is it always the SHORT people who are so smegging confusing?~~ Lys grumped to himself, as he tried to think of a way to blame it all on Rebecca, when exiting the Holodeck and nodding at the Security Officer sealing it off behind him.
Ella frowned as she fiddled with the computer's memory banks. So far she was having no luck in retrieving any visual record of the killer. What she had found instead was an enchanted forrest, a wicked stepmother, a bunch of Klingons, and several copies of that little man who Ella had flipped the bird to awhile back. Strange, what some people did in their off hours.
She tucked her hair behind her ear, cracked a few knuckles, and prepared to go through the whole program again. Maybe she had missed something. That annoying little girl, Samantha Widdlestein, had been distracting her, asking all sorts of questions from her love life to why she didn't speak (What do you have an ugly man-voice or something?) until Ella had finally sent her on an errand. Maybe now she would be able to finally get some- Ella's eyes narrowed.
Was someone grabbing her ass?
She spun around and stared into the hairy face of Leo Streeley, who was twidling his thumbs and whistling innocently.
~~Hands off, you ugly little mutant~~ Ella signed to him angrily.
Leo grinned, having no idea of what she was saying, assumed the best and winked saying "Don't worry, Toots. I like a girl that can't speak her mind. So whatdaya say? You. Me. Holo-bed? "
Ella rolled her eyes. ~~Like you can handle me, sweetie~~ she scoffed. She rolled her eyes again and then pulled out the computer PADD, hoping the moron knew how to read. She entered her message and handed it to him, giving an arched eyebrow as she regarded his cheap looking cracker-jack box deputy badge.
*WHAT DO YOU WANT, DIRTBAG?* it read.
Leo's face turned red. "DIRTBAG! DIRTBAG!" He howled. "Show a girl a little compassion and you get called names! Well, you ain't no prize either, Baby Doll. Lucky I even took the time to say HELLO to you, CHICAS lined down up and down these halls to get a piece of THIS, and I can call you names too, what are you? Some friend of Sansky's, batting for the..."
Ella turned back to her work, trying to tune him and whatever he was babbling about out. Perhaps, the killer had been disguised as one of the holo-Klingons? Could have even been a real Klingon...seemed a bit too much trouble. Probably more likely the record had been tampered with...
"HEY! THAT'S TOTALLY RUDE LADY! I'm talking to you! You just don't turn your back on someone when they're talking to you!" Leo suddenly paused, drew in a sharp breath, and made a strange face like he was constipated even though it was actually the face of DEEP-THOUGHT. "Why, I bet YOU'RE the killer. Yeah, I can see that. It's always the quiet one's you have to look out for. They look so innocent and then suddenly you find yourself with your throat all slit and missing out on this weeks re-run of Melrose Place, er..Yeah, I bet it was you!"
She turned back to him, hand on hip. Ella seriously hoped the investigation did not rely on this man's sleuthing skills. She could think of several ways to get rid of him but only one that would probably satisfy her. She just stared at him, coldly assessing the deputy as if he were the next meal at her supper.
Leo gulped. "Well..." He said as he began to back up. "I'll be watching you...so no funny business and all...yeah, um, bye."
He ran from the room.
Ella grinned and went back to work.
Deep down in the bowels of the creature known as Galaxy, the cargo holds reeked of something fetid. Death had come this corner, its twisted fingers grasping the life that had existed down here and rending it from the physical world.
This corner of the hold rankled stronger than any other, the ship's systems fighting a losing battle in sanitizing the scents of the locale. Drawing in closer, the symbols of the Klingon cargo grew brighter to the eyes that see without being seen. Around the bends of fallen crates, toppled over in random sense, until coming to an end before a larger crate. Pools of spattered blood dribbled across the base of the hold, streaks ending at the face of the crate. Others were creased along the seams of the floor towards the Klingon pets housed nearby.
Targs growled and whimpered, sensing the fresh blood that had been spilled recently. In their deuterium cages, chunks of a rotting carcass were sprawled about between the freshly fed animals. Pale meat was strewn between them, bones protruding from the limbs, like a ghastly symbol of a grim ritual.
Tap... tap... tap.
Tap... tap... tap.
A rhythmic resonation echoed from beyond the unsated creatures so recently stuffed on fresh flesh. The sniffed the air, the leathery jaws flaking off the dried blood that still resided there, to fall like snowflakes to the cage bottoms under them.
Tap... tap... tap.
Tap... tap... tap.
We move past the cages with their snarling occupants, who'd risen on their haunches in anticipation of their next meal. The scene pans over them, around a stack of tied barrells, and around to come to a halt before a large cargo unit.
Tap... tap... tap.
Tap... tap... tap... Pop!
The upper casing of the crate flew open as the lock was broken from the inside.
Peering into the darkness, it is gloomy. We can't see anything. Then, a hand comes out of the darkness and grasps the side of the crate where the hexagonal front panel met the upper half as it curves upward. Streaked in blood, the well-manicured nails grimed the greyed surface of the unit, leaving its own grisly trail of plasma.
Another hand comes out of the darkness, still holding the Klingon shiv that had picked his way out of the entrapment, followed by the matted features of a dark-haired humanoid, face smashed into almost no recognition could be identified. One eye was swollen shut, and it was obvious the jaw was broken due to the sickly unsymmetrical jut to the left.
Kylar Curran, the superior species to humans had been defeated; beaten, bloody, and broken, as he crawled out of the place of his imprisonment to fall to the floor in a heap, biting back the pains when he landed on a dislocated shoulder.
He quickly took survey of the damage that had been done to him now that he had light.
His jaw had been broken cleanly, the purple bruises already welled up dictating such. His left eye was caked in blood and sealed shut in its swelling healing process. His nose was shattered. He felt the back of his head, and felt the goose-egg.
His neck had a slash to it, but not deep enough to cause any life-threatening damage. Dislocated shoulder and a pair of broken fingers. He felt his ribs were fractured, maybe broken. He may have internal bleeding. He struggled to rise, and almost cried out in pain as his knees buckled under his slight weight. He squinted his one good eye shut and wrapped his bad arm around his belly as he pulled himself up with his good arm, still holding the blade.
He forced himself to walk, even though his eyes were swimming in red and spotty, with one destination in mind.
He had to find Corgan.
How dare this individual interfere in his endeavours! As he stumbled through the cargohold, pausing only to catch his breath when his vision swam, it came to him that he was attacked for no other reason than this person or creature knew something about him or his actions that he'd thought to keep discrete. His heart beat harder now, pulsing blood through his veins, making his head throb more.
Had he been discovered?
For more than an hour, Jeremy reveled in not being under Bhrode's barking shadow. It was also nice to feel some relief from the pain of a recently-separated shoulder, and having survived an encounter with 'Doctor Weird' in the process. And, he was looking forward to a date with Erin tonight.
In fact, you might even say that probably for the first time since this bucket of bolts launched, Jeremy was actually -happy-.
It must have been the drugs Malgin gave him.
Sporting a freshly-pressed pair of black pants, white shirt, black bowtie and a crisp, white dinner jacket, the dashing helmsman almost danced across his quarters, giving himself a wink and a side click of the tongue as he passed his reflection in the mirror. Now, just a couple special touches . . . .
"One pink carnation and a Terran orchid corsage," he said to his replicator with an uncharacteristic lilt in his voice.
It had to be the drugs.
Affixing the carnation to his own lapel and snatching up the orchid, he headed for his best girl's quarters.
Jeremy moved quickly through the corridor, paying little notice to those he passed along the way. But they sure noticed him. It wasn't every day that a guy in a white dinner jacket whistled his way down the hall while God-only-knows what was going on with a standoff with several other ships. But Jeremy didn't care. He was off duty, lovin' life and feelin' fine.
Yep, definitely the drugs.
Finally arriving at Erin's quarters, he gave the door chime a poke as if he were playing cutesy with the tip of a baby's nose. He had told Erin to 'dress up' for tonight and had never been so wracked with wonderful anticipation as he was now, waiting for her to answer her door.
What greeted him when the door slid open was a vision any man would have gladly shot his own grandmother for the chance to behold. Standing in the center of the doorway, Erin flashed a dazzling smile, her luxurious red hair flowing halfway down the open back of a sleeveless, low-cut, ankle-length black velvet dress. The form-fitting garment and black pumps exquisitely accented every curvaceous millimeter of her body, and a simple diamond pendant dangled unobtrusively just below her neck.
Jeremy didn't need drugs anymore. A piano could have dropped out of the sky on him and he wouldn't have felt a thing.
"Hi," Erin said almost shyly, her head slightly bowed as she admired Jeremy from the tops of her eyes.
Jeremy swallowed hard. He opened his mouth but instead of words, could only produce a strange rasping, breathy sound. Tongue-tied, he brought the corsage from behind his back and handed it to Erin, his eyes oblivious what his hands were doing.
"Oh, thank you," she replied gratefully. Her years of working bars and lounges rarely afforded Erin the chance to meet the kind of guy who would bring her a corsage. This was truly a special evening. "Would you come in and help me pin it on?"
"Iyuh . . . I don't think I should," Jeremy stammered, his hands gesturing nervously. "I'd probably stick you with the pin and pop your, uh, I mean, prick your . . . UHH, not that I'm thinking about sticking you with my prick or . . . oh shit," he trailed off, covering his eyes with his hand in total embarrassment. Erin had to cover her mouth to keep from bursting out in hysterical laughter. Of course she knew Jeremy was attracted to her, but she'd never seen him like this.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," she managed, holding back all but a few snickers.
After a few minutes, Erin had the corsage secured to the left strap of her dress, Jeremy's awkwardness had subsided -- even though he still felt like he was walking with a goddess -- and the two headed to a nice restaurant on the promenade. They had talked several times about going there and tonight were looking forward to finally having the chance.
Arriving at the door, the handsome couple was greeted by an Andorian maître-de, who eagerly escorted them to a secluded, candle-lit table. Apologizing for the relative emptiness of the place -- due to the latest diplomatic 'tensions', they were one of only three couples in the restaurant tonight -- the Andorian hastily presented them with menus, filled their glasses with water, and then disappeared to tend to other things.
"This place is fabulous!" Erin squealed under her breath. "I'm so glad we had the chance to be here."
"Me too," Jeremy agreed softly, reaching across the table to gently take her hand.
Erin looked into his eyes with her bright smile. "You sure are in a 'special' mood tonight," she quietly observed, enjoying a side of Jeremy she had really never seen before.
He met her gaze with an uncharacteristically-wide grin of his own. "How could I not be?" he replied. "I'm sitting in a great restaurant with the most beautiful woman in the galaxy instead of on the bridge of a broken-down ship with Attila the Hun breathing down my neck. What more could a man ask for?"
"How about an appetizer?" the Andorian maître-de inadvertently replied, re-appearing as suddenly as he had vanished earlier. Erin snickered at his timing. Surprisingly, Jeremy just smiled with amusement instead of swearing at the blue man as he would more typically have done under different circumstances.
"What do you recommend?" he asked calmly.
"Ah, we have THE most AMAZING Ligonian mushroom caps stuffed with Terran chèvre and . . ." the Andorian raved excitedly.
Jeremy held up his hand, smiling and shaking his head in a gesture of surrender to the man's rush of words. "We'll take it," he chuckled, looking over to Erin, who found the exchange equally entertaining. "And a bottle of your best red wine."
"Very good sir!" the Andorian replied, and with a turn on his heels, was gone again.
Leaning over to Erin, Jeremy whispered conspiratorially, "Did he say -Ligonian- mushroom caps? I hope they're not using the same chili sauce you gave the Klingons in Ten-Forward."
[A little more than an hour later . . . .]
The meal had progressed through successive courses of appetizer, salad, soup, entree, and now, next to their table in splendorous flaming glory, Bananas Foster awaited Erin and Jeremy for dessert.
Quite full from the meal's previous courses, it was all the two could do not to refuse the eagerly-awaited dessert. When they finally managed to finish the generous portions that were prepared for them, they were more than ready to call it a night.
"What a fantastic meal," Erin declared as the two walked arm-in-arm back to her quarters. "But -oh- am I stuffed."
"Yeah, I'm right with you," Jeremy agreed. "But if I die tonight, it'll be as the happiest man in the quadrant," he added, a smile and squeeze of his hand indicating to Erin that not just the fabulous meal, but her company, would have had everything to do with it.
"Speaking of dying," she responded, shifting to a different topic, "what's going on with all these killings on the ship I've been hearing about? It's kinda creepy," she said, pulling a little closer to Jeremy. Their conversation throughout the evening had encompassed a variety of subjects, but so far, consciously or unconsciously, they had avoided this one.
"Damn if I know, but whatever's going on, it's sure got Bhrode raving like a mad man. You should have heard him at the senior staff meeting."
"Who do you think's behind it?" Erin asked, a hint of intrigue in her voice. "Do you think it's one of those Klingons?"
"I seriously doubt it," Jeremy replied. "They'd be risking an interstellar incident . . . unless that's what they want," he suddenly thought.
"Oh . . . or what about that creepy little deputy guy or whatever he was?" Erin asked. "You know, the one who came in and blew up at us in Ten-Forward before we launched?"
"That little freak?" Jeremy asked incredulously. "I don't think he could kill a hamster without running out of breath. Nah, if you ask me it's that big totem pole's marine twin brother who's been lurking around. The Indian's bad enough, the way the captain uses him as a human wrecking-ball, but at least we know he's on Bhrode's leash. I've only seen his twin once but from what I overheard from a couple of guys in security, he's at least as spooky and pretty much answers to no one."
"Maybe it's Bhrode, maybe he's finally burst a vessel in that head of his from yelling so much," Erin said jokingly now, as they arrived at her door.
"Maybe it's me," Jeremy suggested in a thick, Bela Lugosi-like accent, pulling Erin around and nibbling on her neck.
"Stop that!" she squealed with laughter as she slapped him lightly on the chest. "You're gonna scare me."
Jeremy feigned remorse. "Oh, well I don't want to do that."
"And why not?" she said, standing in her now open doorway, her tone suddenly becoming much more suggestive.
"Huh?"
"Don't you know we scared girls need big, strong men to stay and protect us through the night?" And with that, she pulled the smiling helmsman into her quarters and closed the door.
* * * * * * * * * *
The Divine One stood in the old fashioned water shower and let the blood swirl off the Divine Body in looping coils of pink.
Idly, the Divine eyes considered the remnants of the blood, mixing with the water these monkeys so adored.
One of the chattering little monkeys had ventured too close. The amusement that only a divine wit could understand, watching them chatter and scurry trying to predict where the next blow would fall; even that paled.
Compared with the fun of actually gutting one of the meat-bags.
One of those chattering monkeys had possessed the GALL to question the Divine one? Was it fluke chance? Or perhaps the thing possessed even a glimmer of intelligence?
The Divine one studied the gleaming, fresh crimson scars on the Divine Torso. Spilling Divine blood kept the rages in check. Spilling Monkey Blood fueled them.
But the last one... the crawling pathetic thing with delusions of grandeur that named itself 'Legate'... that monkey had ventured too close to the Divine One. And for that, it would have been next.
But for the intervention of time... it would have died then and there. No doubt it was laying in the dark right now...the rest if its blood pooling out. Too bad that one swipe of the Divine Knife would have ended it's mewling existance, if the Divine one had expected to take the thing.
But, the monkeys were agitated. They sensed that Divine Death walked amidst them.
Six have died already. Seven if you counted the Kelvan.
It is time to end this charade.
It was time for Divinity to reveal itself.
And Bhrode's Summit Meeting was just the place to do it.
A divine chuckle breaks the shower stall.
More monkey blood to flow.
=/\=
OOC: Bhrode's meeting gets posted Saturday! So get your posts wrapped or start marking them as 'backstories' now! For the 'Summit' it'll be the same lot as the 'Staff Meeting'... only in your Dress Uniforms. only THIS time.. Bhrode's gonna do all the talking! You're welcome to post your reaction posts, because when the killer gets fingered (Not like THAT Joe! Kelly!) they're going to make a break for it.
The room was filled with everyone in their best dress uniforms. Other than the sea of white and the splashes of color of each decoration... the only new things in the room were the Three Orion 'merchants' lounging in black leather aginst the one wall, smirking at the Klingon Delegation. The room was very quiet.. tensions were runnign high and no one wanted to be the one to explain to Bhrode why THEY were the one who'd started anything.
Most of the smaller tables had been cleared and the large Conference Table had been broken out of Ships Stores. The Klingons sat on each side, the two camps facing each other, surrounded by the Federation Crew.
The Thought Admiral and his Aide sat in armoured, stoney silence, across from the Princess, Geberal Kragg looming behind her in silent support. The rest of her Honor Guard lined the portholes behind her, interspersed with the Security and Marines that protocol demanded. Bared Bak'leThs and phaser III's were much in evidence between the three 'Honor' Guards. Behind the Thought Admiral, the Orions snickered and muttered comments to each other.. their Leader Deth O'key seeming to bore holes into Karyn Dallas with the intensity of his stare.
The door swooped open. Only a few were missing... most of the crew had enough sense to be there when Bhrode had told them to be. Even Curtis Geluf had slid into his seat with mere moments to spare, after his conversation with his OPS Chief.
Of course, the newest arrival has NEVER been accused of having any sense.
"Hey! Whaddya! Nice doors, huh! SOMEONE around here has class and taste!" Leo Streely's voice broke the silence like someone breaking wind in an elevator. He paused to carress the nude and wooden bottom of a carved Nymph, beaming at the crowd.
Appalled silence reigned, as Leo's 'Dress Uniform' was being taken in.
A white polyester jumpsuit, slit open to the top of a round and hairy little potbelly had lapels that jutted out past his shoulders. Not surprisingly, the deep Vee neck showed more hair on the belly than on the chest. On one collar point, a ludicrously over-sized 'star' proclaimed "SPECIAL DEPUTY" to anyone caring to read it. On the other side, the rhinestones spelled out the words "Big Hoss Leo" A golden belt buckle, easily almost the size of Leo's beaming head strained its way around his tummy and bore the legend 'Made you look! If you can read this, you'd better be a dame! Rent this space, 50 credits.' picked out in rhinestone chips, to the discerning eye.
Leo smirked and did a half-pirouette, his rhinestone studded Green half-cape flying out behind him, revealing the Rhinestoned words 'Federation Bureau of Investigation' on the back of the jumpsuit, and a rhinestone arrow pointing at his ample backside boasting the legend 'Check THESE Buns of Dura-Steel!'. He paused to adjust the gold toned anti-flare shades with 'Mack Daddy Deputy Leo' engraved on each arm, and to shoot a saucy look over his shoulder at the room.
"You like?" he asked the room.
The appalled silence continued.
"You think the boots are a bit much?" Leo asked, gesturing to the thigh-high yellow boots with the leopard skin turn-downs at their tops. Leo used his walking stick, which was apparently carved fom the ivory of a Risean Rhino (now extinct) and topped with a flashy version of his Deputy's Badge to kame the gesture. Both the boots and the cane had the words 'El Leo Magnifico, the BIG Daddy-o' in rhinestones down their lengths. The cane started playing a curious 'theme song' which sounded suspiciously like Leo playing a kazoo to the tune of 'Pomp and Circumstance.' Several thumps of the cane on the floor silenced it.
"I was going for subtle. . .dames think subtle is sexy." a smiling Leo chattered to Lysander, as he squeezed his pudgy way into an open seat next to the Alpha Centaurian.
"You seen the Kelvan?" Lys whispered to Leo, drawing yet another glare from Rebecca across from him. Like it was HIS fault she had to wear her dreaded Dress Uniform?
Leo was staring at Rebecca with his mouth open. He pointed at her negligible chest.
"You ARE a dame! I knew it! Hehehehe! All those guys who bet you were some freaky hermaphodrite just LOST big! Lookit that, Mister Listerine! She's getting boobies! Keep trying,Tootsie, they're almost there. Who's Kevin?" Leo's attention veered back to the question, leaving Rebecca blinking and obviously re-paying her photographic memory for proof that the outrage had just occured.
"The Kelvan. The Legate?" Lys hissed.
Leo turned to Cutter Karanin and rolled his eyes, a gesture lost behind his hades. "Yo! Wings. You Calvin? Kevin? And lay off the beans...sheesh!" Leo waved a be-ringed hand in front of his nose and turned back to Lys with a smirk.
"Somebody's baking brownies." Leo muttered. His eyes swept the room.
" He's the only one not here...You'd better be ready to do what we talked about..." Lys hissed.
"Relax! This is me. ME! Leo here!" Leo replied, still searching for Raven.
"Don't remind me. If you screw this up..." Lys moaned. Rebecca was staring at the pair with an arched eyebrow, plainly wanting to know what was going on. The expression on her face showed that she thought it was Non-Regulation, and therefore Entirely Suspect.
"Me? ME screw something UP!? I may screw the ladies... I may screw you in a business deal (but only that way, because I'm not LIKE that!) but I never ..ever ... screw... RAVEN!" Leo shouted, waving at the silent Indian who loomed in a dark corner, a clear area around him kept clear by his glower and scowl.
"Don't wave at him, you'll ruin everything!" Lysander hissed.
"Oh. Yeah." Leo muttered, making 'call me' gestures at Raven, who merely scowled deeper and pretended not to see Leo. A nervous looking Klingon glanced to his right, only to have the Indian fix him with a black eyed stare that left even that Warrior gulping, before looking away, and shuffling himself further away from the corner the Big Indian had staked out.
In the opposite Corner, Major Log loomed. Leo considered the Marine a moment. The Marine also looked Leo's way, seemingly as big and silent as Raven. Leo flashed him a quick smile. No response. Leo bobbled his head in a nod. The Marine visibly exhaled and went back to his impassive looming at his younger brother. Turning back to Lysander, Leo shook his head. "I dunno how them two are related. Raven's so warm and friendly, and that guys' -sooooo- anti-social. They're like some weirdo cloning experiment gone bad."
Dr Quick looked up from the smiling and rapt attention he'd been paying to teh Princess.
"Cloning? Did someone say 'cloning?' Rightous talk little guy! But you can't really have a true clone, because that's like all the physical! You have to totally get past the physical, petty bougeois hang ups with the body, and implant the phsyce of the original too. Or else you'd have, like, just this body of the person. It's all in the mind." Quick nodded his head, his hair flying.
"Hey! Did he just call my mother 'little?'" Leo demanded.
But Quick's gaze and fervid imagination had settled back on the Princess. "Cloning.... groovy..." he was head to mutter, as he dumped two PADDS, a slide rule and a kazoo ontot he table top and started on one of his projects, referencing the computer LCARS before his seat often.
The Door Swooshed open. JQB was here.
"Atten-HUT!" the Marines barked, offering the Rifle Salute. Even a few of the Fleet Officers came up out of their seats. The Klingons even rose, at the Princess' example and scowled at everyone, to show they only did it because it was 'diplomatic' and therefore suspect.
Bhrode went to his seat and sat, tugging his jacket lower and twisting his neck at the sky blue ribbon of his Medal of Valor.
"Princess. Admiral. Captain-General. General." Bhrode nodded at each individual in turn. His eyes swept his crew... and settled on Leo Streeley.
"Heyas! I been wondering John...can I call you John?" Leo ventured.
"No." Bhrode grated out.
"Good, because it sounds like the toilet. I been wondering..." Leo began again.
"Shut up!" Lys hissed at Leo.
"No one in this room told me a damn thing about what was going on." Bhrode snapped out.
Slipping unobtrusively into Ten-Forward, Erin moved toward the relative safety and isolation afforded behind the bar. Her bar.
Shortly after waking, she had checked her messages while Jeremy remained asleep in her bed, and came across a ship-wide notice that all senior staff were to report to Ten-Forward in dress whites per Himself, John Q. Bhrode. She hastily woke Jeremy out of his slumber and as he stumbled out the door to his own quarters to change, she had gotten herself ready and went down to Ten-Forward to see for herself what was going on.
Quickly scanning the see of white-clad officers seated in the center of the room, Erin saw that Jeremy hadn't made it yet.
A few more officers quietly arrived, but for one, 'quiet' was a foreign language.
"Hey! Whaddya! Nice doors, huh! SOMEONE around here has class and taste!"
~Oh my God,~ Erin thought to herself, her skin crawling as Leo screeched on.
As the scene unfurled itself in all its hideous glory, the doors slid open again and Jeremy slipped in unnoticed. Except by Erin, that is. It was the only time she had been happy that Leo was in Ten Forward causing a commotion. It distracted everyone from Jeremy's late arrival.
Finding an unoccupied chair very near the corner where Raven's twin has positioned himself, the helmsman seated himself. Generally not too easily intimidated, Jeremy couldn't shake the odd feeling of unease he had around this guy. This was only the second time he had laid eyes on the warm-blooded (he assumed) totem pole, but he felt like he knew him in a creepy sort of way. It was as if an unspoken reputation had preceded him, at least in Jeremy's mind. A reputation that involved killing, perhaps?
Strangely, Jeremy didn't have the same uneasy feelings toward Raven. His first encounter with the glowering security officer had been back in the holding cell at Utopia Planetia when Bhrode made his grand tour. Like a faithful pit bull, Darkstar had given Jeremy 'the look', but it had had little effect on the cocky lieutenant, except to make him reflexively more defiant.
Yet even though he was Darkstar's twin, the marine seemed more like something out of Jeremy's nightmares, even though he had never so much as blinked at Savoie, let alone stared him down.
Catching sight of Erin looking over to him from behind the bar, Jeremy winked to let her know that he had made it here and everything was fine.
"Atten-HUT!" some Marine bellowed as people began standing all around the room. From his relatively remote seat, Jeremy didn't bother. It was bad enough he had to -be- here in this monkey suit.
With a nod, Bhrode acknowledged the dignitaries assembled before him. "Princess. Admiral. Captain-General. General."
"Heyas! I been wondering John . . . can I call you John?" Jeremy heard from somewhere in the sea of white. It was that little freak ball security guy, he could tell from the grating tone of his voice.
"No."
Jeremy was actually surprised that Bhrode didn't have the little creep instantly hauled out of the room by a security mob. First the staff meeting, now this . . . Bhrode surprisingly tolerated a lot more from that guy than he would have expected. Whatever the creep said next, Jeremy missed it, but he could tell from Bhrode's glare that it wasn't something nice.
Then things got down to business.
"No one in this room told me a damn thing about what was going on." . . . .
Phaser Chief Tim “Terror” Mirapoints stared at the bewildering scribble of wiring schematics and allowed an expression of complete befuddlement pass over his grizzled old face.
“Dag-Nabbit Doctor, I’ve been crawling in and around phaser-housings since the days they still arrayed them in single banks, and I’ve never seen anything like this mess you’ve designed here.”
Doctor Jebediah Quick looked wounded. The display PADD he held lovingly in his bony fingers was the result of several weeks of feverish (and possibly drug-induced) labor. The Pulsed Phaser Cannon was the pinnacle of Quick’s reputation as both a scientist, as well as an artist.
The fact that a grubby little enlisted man like Mirapoints couldn’t see the sheer aesthetic beauty of the whole design was. . . .well. . . . .insulting.
“No, no, no, “ Quick chastised the Chief, “You’re blocking again. Tear down the walls of preconception little phaser-dude. Look beyond the notions of mere phased light energy and see the beauty within. Try to see the design as a whole.”
Mirapoints scowled at the PADD, and then back a t the mass of smoking, half-melted machinery behind him. The beleaguered Phaser Chief had invited the enigmatic Doctor down to the central core of the Galaxy’s new massive PPC cannon, to try to make sense out of this cavernous computer-filled bay slung underneath the Primary Saucer.
It was a mess to say the least. Instead of the familiar, well-known pieces of equipment that the Chief had spent several decades becoming an expert in. . . .instead there was a virtual maze of crude lump metal blobs that in many ways looked random and half-melted. In addition to that, the entire bay was filled from top to bottom with an annoying array of twirling red lights, hissing geysers of hot steam, and an eerie array of diffuse shadows transforming everything into a surreal nightmare.
Still in the back of his mind, the Chief prayed the designer could make some sense out of this hellish mess and explain it to him.
So far however, the Chief had received little in the way of clear explanations and too much in the way of humanistic psycho-babble from the Doc.
“Look Quick,” Mirapoints growled, “I don’t really care what political statement you were trying to make with this cannon, but right now we got a whole gaggle of Klingon’s breathing down our necks and the Captain needs this thing WORKING!!”
“Herd.” Replied Quick simply.
“Excuse me Doc, but what?”
“Herd.” Quick repeated, “Swarm of bees, gaggle of geese, Flock of Birds . . . . . Klingons come in Herds.”
Tim blinked for a few moments at the utterly serious face of the Doctor wondering if shoving the damn hippie’s bloody corpse into the phase couplers might fix the problems with the cannon.
~~~Probably not.~~~ he figured unhappily.
“Whatever,” Mirapoints said at last, “I don’t care if it’s a herd of Klingons or a Flock of Romulans. The point is your big Wonder-Cannon here isn’t working, and you seem to be the only person on this ship that might have a clue why!”
“Really?” Quick sounded mildly impressed, “Hunh. . . “ he mused to himself looking about the huge bay as if noticing the mass of red-hot equipment for the first time. For a horrible moment it seemed to “Terror” that the scientist had a look of unfamiliarity as he took it all in.
“You DO know about this equipment right?” he had to ask.
“Allay your fears little worrisome dude.” Quick said dismissivly as he experimentally tapped at a nearby LCARS display. “After all its only been about 15 years or so since I made this stuff up. . . . . “ ~~~I’m sure it will come back to me. . . .~~~ he finished the sentence silently.
“So then,” The Doc turned back to the Chief and rubbed his hands together eagerly, the picture of perfect cooperation, “What seems to be the trouble?”
The Chief had a list a half mile long, but he decided to start with some of the basic stuff. “Well hell Doc, the whole thing is a mystery. Take this hardware for instance. . .” he gestured to an odd lumpy-looking piece of metal that sat innocently in the middle of the deck. “We think this is an Regulator for the Pre-Phaser Chamber Injector, but. . . . . well. . .. but we cant seem to find a way to prime the charge. What’s its problem?”
Shrugging Quick leaned against a random strut, “Search me Chief-y. . . Have you tried asking it?”
“ASKING IT?”
“Sure,” Quick bobbed his head crazily, “Its been sitting here in this room the whole time. I just got here 15 minutes ago, and cant have any possible idea what it’s upset about.”
The Chief paused wondering whether to address the ‘chief-y’ comment first or not. “What it’s upset about? What the hell?”
“Tsk tsk vulgarity is the poison of the soul.” Quick waggled his finger at the gruff old spacer, “You did ask me what it’s problem was. Maybe its upset about something. Maybe you set it on overload in another life. . . maybe its just having a bad-wire day. You should ask it. “
The “Terror” didn’t know what to say.
“Oh go on you big galoot!” Quick urged with a friendly shove. “Show it you care about how it feels. You two are going to be working together for a long time, and you may as well break down the walls. Say something Cheerful. “
“CHEERFUL!!”
“Sure,” Quick grinned goofily, “Don’t you want Happy-little-phasers?”
HAPPY-PHASERS!??!!!” Mirapoints sputtered, point of fact but he wanted mean, pissy-little phasers with bad attitudes, but that was besides the point. . . . “I meant tell me why its not functioning you long-haired baboon!!! Not to psychoanalyze the blasted thing!!” Mirapoints was sputtering.
“Oh,” Quick seemed saddened, “Pity, Phaser-Psychoanalysis could have been a fascinating new field of study.”
“Okay, okay. . . . Forget the blasted Chamber Injector, “ Tim waved his hands, “How about this piece of equipment here? What is it? The Focus Aperture?”
“Oh don’t be silly Chief-y.” Quick chortled, “Remember if it Looks like a Phaser and Quacks like a Phaser. . . . Then it must be a Duck!”
~~~I see only one QUACK in this room.~~~ the Chief grit his teeth silently.
“A Duck.” He repeated. “ No really?”
“Totally honest-injun!” The Doc was bobbing his head again grinning madly. “ I call it. . . . Mating Flight of the Mallard.”
Tim looked back at the lump of misshapen metal and cocked his head to one side. . . . .Sonuvagun but if it didn’t actually look like a . . . . ~~~Crap!!~~~ “You put a Metal-sculpture of a DUCK where my Focus Aperture is supposed to be!!??!!!” he screamed.
“Yah, Free form ironwork.” Quick replied, “I got the scars from the welding torch to prove it. . . . . . ahhh to suffer for the art.”
“Where the hell is my Aperture then?” Mirapoints was glancing around the rest of the bay wondering how many other of these ‘machines’ were actually art-projects in disguise.
“The Focus Aperture?” Quick repeated, “Oh I put that dirty old thing behind the panel there. . . ugly little piece of machinery. . . no sense of aesthetics at all.”
Sure enough, when the Chief pulled out a large monkey wrench and peeled back a section of innocent looking wall paneling. . . .there was his precious Focus humming and blinking innocently.
“Sonuva. . . .So the Power Relays? Behind the wall panels?”
“Behind the panels.” Quick confirmed.
“The Charger Coils?”
“Them too.”
“The Phase Inducers. . . .The Circuit Breakers. . . .all of it?”
“Yes Chief-y” Quick replied, “Why? Are you upset?”
~~~Upset?~~~ Mirapoints opened his arms wide to indicate the huge PPC bay filled with hissing half-melted lumps of metal. None of which. . . .it seemed. . . . had anything to do with Phaser function.
“You put all the necessary equipment behind hidden paneling, and filled the rest of the area with. . . with THIS? What the hell for!?!”
Quick considered the bay and furrowed his brows. “Why for atmosphere of course, haven’t you been listening?” He gestured at the ominous hissing and steaming pipes. “I went for a sort of Dante’s Inferno meets Techno-Babble look. Fitting don’t you think for such a weapon of mass destruction?”
~~~Dante’s—flipping—Inferno~~~ the Chief didn’t know whether to scream or giggle insanely. Instead he contented himself with busily tearing open wall partitions to reveal the TRUE inner workings of the Galaxy’s Pulse Phaser Cannon. It was all there. . . . all there and easy to understand.
Sighing he tapped his Comm Badge wearily, “Mirapoints to Bridge.”
=/\= BRIDGE HERE. . .GO AHEAD CHIEF. =/\=
“Reporting in, on the PPC. We . . .uh. . .straightened out a few problems down here. I should have full phaser power for you in about a half hour.”
=/\= GOOD JOB CHIEF, GIVE DR. QUICK A BIG PAT ON THE BACK FOR US, AND LKET HIM KNOW HIS PRESENCE IS REQUESTED IN TEN FORWARD ASAP. DRESS IS FORMAL IF HE DOESN’T MIND. =/\=
“Copy that” Tim growled, wondering what ‘formal’ attire for the bewildering scientist would entail, “Mirapoints out.”
“. . . .and this one here. . . “Quick was busily referring to another of his metal monstrosities, “. . .I call this one. . .Flight of the Pink Snow Bunny.”
****
~ I don't believe it! ~ Victor stared at the readout on the screen in front of him in shock. ~ I do not believe it! The little weasel wasn't lying after all! ~
He dropped back into his chair, still staring at the screen. ~ Okay, could this have been faked? Is it possible that he.? ~ Hands starting to move over the LCARS panel inset in his desk, he leaned forward, watching the screen as he checked sensor readings for the time in question. ~ All right, there she is. there he is coming in the door. there they. ~ He blinked, cross-referenced the room's climate control sensors, displaying them next to the sensor readings and speeding the playback up. ~ Individual heat levels rising. joint activity.~
It took only a few seconds before Victor leaned back, flicking the search off. ~ I can't decide if I want to be ill, or what. He wasn't lying. He really was there, with her, and they really.. Twice. ~ Victor shook his head. "Unbelievable," he sighed out loud. "He really did it; he really did sleep with her. I thought for sure he'd just faked the logs, but the climate control logs. no, he wasn't faking those. No one thinks about those. Leo really did."
"No," he said firmly, pressing his palms down on the desk and standing up, glad that his latest session with Dr. Malgin had ended with him free from pain for the first time in days. "I am not going to think about this. Bad enough that my personal life as been in the toilet since Risa and I broke up a year ago, I do not want to think about Streeley having more of one than I do on top of everything else."
Scooping up his PADD, Victor moved through the bathroom to the empty adjoining quarters and set about bringing up the holographic master list he' d programmed to track the ship's crew as he cleared them - all the while trying to think of anything *but* the brief glimpses of what the thermal images had shown. Once the list was up and running, he called up his cleared suspects for the day and started to tap them over to green, checking them off verbally as he did so. "Leo Streeley - clear. Lt. Commander Samara - clear." He snorted. "I suppose I ought to clear the targ too - at least he's one suspect I don't need to check the alibi for."
He created an entry for the animal and tapped it over to green. "The three ratings from Operations down in Waste Management - check. First Marine Platoon - check. Got to hand it to the Marines, arrogant or not, at least they know where their people are at all times. The enlisted ones, anyway, their command staff is as big a pain to lock down as the ship's. I still haven't cleared Major Log or Gunny Goldstein, or three of the pilots." He stopped. "Didn't Hanley say something about taking a pilot to dinner today? I'll have to ask him in the morning and see if she's one of the ones on my list."
He worked his way down the list, clearing off crewmen until he reached the bottom. ~ That's it for today, then. Not bad, but still a long way to go - looks like. about five hundred names left, mostly thanks to the Marines keeping such good records ~ He made a note on his PADD for delivery to himself in the morning to take the bottle of 50-year old, unreplicated Glenlivit he'd promised the Master Sergeant in Marine Records in return for his help in clearing out the Marine enlisted personnel. ~ Not like I'm going to be drinking it, anyway - and Chief Galdo wouldn't mind the Marine having it as long as it was in a good cause. ~
Looking up from the PADD, he ran his eyes over the list for a minute, trying to see some pattern, something that might have eluded him so far. ~ Nothing, nothing that I can see, anyway. The victims have to fit some kind of a pattern, but I can't see it. ~ Under a sudden inspiration, he switched the hologram to a graphic map of the Galaxy in profile and plotted the sites of the killings on it, then checked for a pattern match. ~ Nothing. ~ A few keystrokes altered the view to a top-down orientation and he replotted the killing sites and checked again for a pattern match. ~ Nothing. ~
Frowning, Victor studied the hologram. ~ I guess that's a good thing. At least the killer isn't like that guy they caught on Markev-6, the one that was picking out a historical constellation pattern as seen from the southern continent of Alpha Centauri on a map of the capitol city, and then writing out a classical Tellarite musical score using the heights of the victim's residences in the buildings for a scale. The only reason they ever caught him was a Betazoid tourist in the right place at the right time - no one would have ever figured his pattern out otherwise. ~ He sighed tiredly. ~ And I don't think I'm going to get any help from a Betazoid aboard ship - the last one I was in a turbolift with ran into the doorframe in his haste to get out. ~
"Okay," he told himself. "Forget the Betazoids and their dislike for you. One more time tonight - what is there left that I can clear off?" He clicked the hologram back over to the master list and stared at it, hoping for inspiration. "Besides a couple of people on the Command Staff that need to be cleared there isn't anything. wait." He opened up a display window. ".the Klingons. I still need to clear General Kragg, Attendant K'vala, and. no, not the Princess anymore." He paused, "No - Streeley only clears the Princess for a single killing. That doesn't mean she's alibied for the rest. Hell, she could have sent K'vala out to do it if she wanted to - the woman's good with a knife."
Unbidden, the image of K'vala backed into the corner of Dargha's quarters, fending him off with a chair and one of her sleeve knives came to mind. ~ Tough woman - got to respect that, even if she does want to kill me. What was that she said to me then? '.I do not wish to harm you tonight?' ~ He smiled suddenly, an odd sense of anticipation slipping over him. ~ I wonder if tonight's the night? ~
Shutting down the hologram, he cleaned up the empty quarters, secured things to make it look like he'd never been there, and moved back to his quarters. ~ I really shouldn't do this without telling the Commander - but I know he's going to refuse permission when he realizes there isn't any way to do this but just accuse them out in the open and see what happens. ~ As he slipped his hold-out phaser into the hiding spot of the day - the left sleeve this time - he mulled over the pros and cons. ~ no, better that I say nothing. That way, it'll just look like me being my normal self - no sense dragging Corgan down with me if it all goes bad. ~
Decision reached, Victor checked the charge in his Phaser 2, slipped it into the holster and clipped it to his uniform. ~ Be nice if I had some body armor if it comes down to knives, but it'd just slow me down - and let them know that I was onto them if the Princess or K'vala are the killer. ~ That same sense of anticipation was back as he checked his tricorder to make certain that it was performing the constant low-level scan of him as programmed and that the preset locations to broadcast if it detected a change in his condition were still in place. ~ Corgan and the Security Main crowd will be expecting it, but I bet the Captain and Dr. Malgin won't. ~
He stopped, looked at the settings, and on a whim added another broadcast point to the list. ~ Bet the Marines will be surprised, too. Corgan will want to catch the killer himself if they get me, and he'll wait too long to call in the Marines. ~ He smiled wolfishly. ~ But if they get me, I want them dead - and the Marines will do that. ~
With a final look around the room, Victor started for the door, the sense of anticipation he'd felt earlier still with him. "Looks like tonight's a good night for a diplomatic incident," he whispered to himself as the door closed behind him.
****
"Ummm. sir? Are you sure that you."
"It's all right , son." Victor held up his PADD. "This is just a business visit - got to go over some itineraries for tomorrow with the Princess."
The young petty officer - the same one that Victor had encountered the night he'd come for the Klingons that had attacked him - appeared skeptical as he eyed Victor. "A business visit?" he repeated.
"Son." Victor sighed. "We can stand here for the next hour and the answer's going to be the same as it was the first three times you asked it. If you're worried that this is a repeat of the last time, you can relax. I wasn't ambushed, there isn't going to be some sort of grudge brawl - nothing like that. The bodyguards and I understand each other now - no sense in holding a grudge. Besides, why the hell would I be taking it out on the Princess if I *was* nursing a grudge? She wasn't the one that ambushed me, and she didn't order it. Fighting with a couple of idiots is one thing, starting a war with the Klingon Empire is another thing entirely." ~ At least, it's another as long as she's not the killer. Even if she is, I think they'll hush it up to prevent a war. ~
The petty officer looked both ways, shuffled his feet nervously, and then relented. "All right, sir, I'll sign you through. But."
"But, what, son?"
"Well. it's just that she's not alone, sir - the Princess, I mean." His discomfort increased markedly.
~ Not alone? General Kragg, maybe? She can't go anywhere without him holding her hand. An Attendant? I don't recall K'vala being too far away from her at any point either. Hell, I need to see both of them, anyway. ~ "Nothing to worry about - this shouldn't take long." Victor tried to smile in a non-threatening way. "Besides, if she's busy, they'll just ask me to leave, right?"
"R-right, sir." The petty officer logged him in, his face still showing a dubious look. "Look, sir, that Counselor lady - Commander Dallas - she really chewed me a new one over letting you walk off like that the other night. Just so you know. if you get busted up this time, I'm calling the medics no matter what you say. Okay?"
"Fair enough, son," Victor agreed. "If I get injured, you call whoever you need to." He stopped, looking down at the petty officer's tricorder. "You all set up in case *you* get in trouble?"
"Yes, sir - and thank you, sir," the younger man replied. "We all know who worked the specs out and made sure the information got out about it. It might not help me if I roll to the top of the killer's list - but I'm glad to see that *someone's* trying to do something to catch this bastard."
For a moment, Victor was left with nothing to say, the surprise that someone - anyone - would want to thank him for just doing his job wiping out his thoughts. When they finally came back together, all he could manage was, "Thanks."
"You're welcome, sir," the petty officer nodded. "I've got you logged in." He nodded towards the Princess' door. "Ahhh. good luck, sir."
~ Good luck? ~ Victor mulled the parting comment over as he nodded and started for the Princess' door. ~ Does he know what I'm doing? Did someone say something? Hell, does *everyone* on the ship know I'm looking for the killer? ~ He reached the door, buzzed for admittance, and paused, waiting for it to open. ~ Great, just great. With my luck, the killer's already figured out I'm coming here and is waiting for me. ~
As the thought crossed through his mind, the door swished open, triggered from the other side. "What is it that you want?" Attendant K'vala snapped angrily in passable Federation Standard, as the door opened. Despite the late hour she was still wearing the black leather armored clothing that Victor had never seen her without. "Have you not. you!" Her face darkened, and she shifted position, preparing for an attack. "What is it that *you* want?"
~ Speak of the devil.. ~ "I need to speak to the Princess on a matter of importance. If she's busy, I can wait." Victor kept himself ready, but made no provocative moves. ~ If you're the killer, you're going to have to swing first, lady. I'm not starting anything, but I *will* finish it. ~
The Attendant frowned, and she shifted position slightly, enabling her to look to the side where Victor knew the door to the Princess' sleeping room was without looking away from him. "The Living Sword of Kahless is." She struggled for the right word or phrase for a second, her disposition not helped by the fact that she was stumbling in front of Victor, then spat out, "This is important?"
"Yes," Victor replied neutrally, hoping to avoid provoking an incident until he had confirmation that K'vala was the killer.
"Important enough to die for?" the Attendant pressed, her expression making it plain that she'd welcome the chance to help Victor along that path if he' d let her.
~ Interesting choice of words - is she trying to tell me something? ~ That odd sense of anticipation returned as he studied the woman in front of him. ~ Huh, she really doesn't have one of those stupid cut-outs in her armor like the Princess and the rest of the Attendants do. Never noticed that before. ~ "Yes," he repeated, shifting his grip on the PADD slightly so he could bring it up to block a knife thrust. ~ It'll be a thrust - doorway's too constricting for a cut. ~
Instead of attacking him, however, K'vala stepped back, her expression clearing slightly as if his words had resolved some sort of issue for her. "Enter then," she invited him, her tone free of the earlier confusion, leaving only her scorn for him present, "and hope that your words are valued more than your worthless life."
Victor restricted himself to a nod as he moved into the room. Aside from K' vala, it was empty, although signs of a meal still littered one of the tables, a single escapee from a demolished bowl of gaak working its way across the table in a bid for freedom. ~ Must be some that they brought aboard with them - replicator versions are dead. ~ As the Attendant closed the door behind him, Victor waited for signs of an attack, but none came.
Instead, K'vala moved to an intercom and buzzed once, signaling
someone on
the other end, but saying nothing. She then moved to the Princess' door, disgust
and something that might have been anticipation on her face. "Wait here,"
she ordered sharply, sounding in her anger more like a princess of Khaless'
blood to Victor than DeV'oraH did with her petulant rages.
~ Oh I wouldn't want to miss this, whatever it is that you're planning. ~ Victor shifted position slightly so he could see into the Princess' room once the door opened, and swung the PADD around in front of him to conceal his draw if he had to go for the phaser holstered just above his left wrist.
Buzzing for admittance, K'vala waited for a moment and then repeated the gesture when no acknowledgement came.
~ Is something wrong? ~ Victor shifted position again, drawing a sharp look from the Attendant that he ignored. ~ If the killer's gotten to the Princess then we're all. ~
"Just a minute, just a minute! Give a man a second, willya?" sounded a muffled voice from the other side of the door. "Okay, come!" The last words were followed by a snort of what sounded like laughter.
~ What did the petty officer say? 'She's not alone?' Oh God,
no. Not again.
It can't really be. ~
The door slid open under K'vala's command, the wash of light entering the darkened room and falling on the Princess' bed, where Victor's worst fears were confirmed.
Scattered about the floor of the room were a series of whips and rent garments, both Klingon design and not. The Princess lay sprawled across the bed, the mattress and a stack of pillows having been reintroduced to it sometime since Corgan's earlier visit. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and her mouth agape, her hair spread out and damp with sweat, and an expression of almost drugged contentment covered her face. The torn remains of a sheet were more-or-less strategically draped across her, but did little to conceal anything, and a great deal to make it quite obvious that she'd just been engaged in amatory activities of a heroic nature. One foot twitched repeatedly, as though some random neuron in her brain was still firing erratically.
Beside her, wrapped in a violet silk lounging robe with contrasting leopard skin trim belted with what looked like the electric whip that the guards outside Commander Corgan's quarters had described the Princess as weilding, a pair of matching slippers by the side of the bed, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, and an unlit cigarette in his hand, was neatly perched the last person Victor either expected - or wanted - to see in the Princess' chamber.
"Hey! Whaddya whaddya whaddya! Vic! "The Vicster! The Vic-man! Vic-Tanny! What're you doing here? I thought they'd send some Bolian Midgets like I asked for three hours ago! I hate to ask... but you don't have a pair of Molecular Binder-cuffs and some cream Cheese on you, do ya?" Leo asked, waving his unlit cigarette around. "Have you got a light? I've looked everywhere!" He glanced at K'vala. "What about you? You're one of Della-baby 's Attendants, right?" Leo leaned back, waving the cigarette at her. "I just took care of some of Della-baby's needs that you can't fulfill - the least you can do is take care of one of mine! How's about a light, there Tootsie, huh? Attend me!"
Leo looked closer as K'vala stepped into the room, emitting a low sound reminiscent o f a growl and started to advance on the bed. "Hey, you're the one without the... uhhh...." he made a gesture over his chest roughly approximating the cutout on traditional Klingon women's armor, "the display panel whatsitz. I know a guy who can fix that for you - let you get that padding out of your armor and show 'em off just a proud as the rest of the girls. No need to be embarrassed - lots of people have augmentations, even some guys have 'em. Theirs are a little different though. well. some of them are, anyway. Not that I need something like that myself, you understand, I just know a guy who knows a guy, who."
****
"Now that we have that straightened out," General Kragg rumbled testily with a glance towards the Princess' now closed door. "Why are you disturbing the Princess'. rest, Lieutenant? If this isn't an emergency, I can assure you it soon will be!"
Victor glanced around the room, checking everyone's positions before he answered.
The General was standing beside and slightly behind De'VoraH's chair, the permanent scowl on his face deeper than normal at having been awoken and dragged into the Princess' quarters by K'vala's earlier page. His mood hadn' t improved any at discovering K'vala advancing with homicidal intent on an unsuspecting and babbling Leo, the Princess sated and naked on her bed, and Victor standing there trying to decide who to shoot first.
On the other side of the Princess' chair, K'vala stood rigidly, hands clenching and unclenching in anger at her sides, the leather of her sleeves creaking softly now and then under the force of her restrained rage. Her eyes bore holes in Victor, the impact of her gaze like twin polaron beams, digging into him to sear him to death from the inside out. There wasn't any doubt in his mind that she blamed him for everything that had happened, and would be glad to demonstrate the level of her anger at the slightest provocation.
Between the two of them, sat the Princess, her hair hastily combed - presumably by K'vala while the two were closeted in the other room - and a dark-colored robe wrapped around her in a robe reminiscent of a Terran sari. She was flushed, but Victor couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment, her recent activities, or anger. After a glance at her eyes and the set of her jaw, he decided on anger.
"Yes," she hissed, "what is the meaning of this disturbance? Speak, before I have your eyes ripped out for daring to turn them on me in the privacy of my rooms!"
Victor nodded, to her neutrally in receipt of the threat. ~ Well. I said this was a good night for a diplomatic incident.. ~ "That's easy, Princess - it's about the murders."
"Murders?" She barked a laugh at him and tossed her head back. "What about them? What concern is it of mine that someone is killing weaklings aboard this ship? Perhaps it will improve the breed to have a few culls made!"
Victor smiled, noting that the Princess didn't seem to realize that it wasn' t another polite diplomatic gesture, but rather the grin of a stalking predator. The General also ignored it, but K'vala's eyes narrowed and her hands unclenched as she watched him closely. "That's also easy, Princess - you're suspects. All three of you."
"What?!" DeV'oraH's screech drowned out the General's equally angry response. "You dare? You dare to suggest that *I* am a suspect? I, the Living Sword of Kahless?" She started to rise, her hands crooking into talons. "I will rend you limb from limb myself for that insult! I will."
"Sit down!" Victor roared, the sudden violence of the words shocking the Princess enough that she did just that, her eyes widening slightly. General Kragg started to speak, and took a step forward only to halt when Victor turned his gaze that way. "Stand down, General," he snapped, meeting the older man's eye. "We can do this easy or hard - your choice."
"Hard!" Leo yelled from the other side of the door to the Princess' quarters where he'd been locked to keep K'vala away from him. Despite the activation of the room's privacy field, he was obviously able to pick out bits and pieces of the conversation. "Hard is always better! Hard, glistening muscles! Hard liquor! The harder the better! Easy is for wimps, not real men like me! Just let me outta here and I'll show them what hard men are *really* like!"
"You presume to." Kragg rumbled, starting to take a step forward.
"General." K'vala's voice was flat, cutting through the tension in the room like one of her knives. "This is the officer I told you about. The one that Dargha and the others attacked. The one that came for them afterwards and left them all on the floor like broken dolls."
The General stopped in mid-step, his hands rising slightly towards a defensive posture. "Ah. Thank you, Attendant," he said slowly, his eyes now paying a different kind of attention to Victor.
The Princess looked from K'vala to the General and back. "What? What are you talking about, K'vala? I thought you said that Dargha and the others were injured fighting among themselves while drunk?"
"Not now, Princess," Kragg rumbled. "I will explain it to you later."
"No!" the princess snapped back. "I wish to know now! I am the Living Sword of Kahless, not a child! You are keeping things from me, and I wish it to stop this instant!" Her foot struck the ground once for emphasis as she looked up at the General, the hand that K'vala laid on her shoulder all that was keeping her from rising. "Did this happen as she says?"
~ Now that's interesting. I wonder what else they're not telling her. ~ Victor looked closer at the petulant cast to the Princess' features. ~ In fact I wonder. ~
"Yes." Kragg replied curtly. "It did."
"Then why was I not told?" The Princess turned on K'vala angrily. "Why did you lie to me, K'vala? Why did you keep this a secret? What else have you been keeping from me? Who are you really loyal to?"
Caught up in her fit, the Princess failed to notice the sudden stab of pain that ran through her Attendant's eyes - but Victor did. ~ Direct hit there - she really does care about the Princess. ~ He glanced at the General. ~ Bet she only did it because Kragg made her, which means that things aren't the way they were represented as being.. ~
"Princess," K'vala began, "you know that I..
"The only thing that I know is that you lied to me!" DeV'oraH replied, shaking off K'vala's hand and starting to rise. "Everyone lies to me! You treat me like a child, and not the Living Sword of Kahless! I won't stand for it anymore! I won't be lied to any more!"
"Lied? Who said I lied?" Leo banged on the other side of the door, obviously still trying to eavesdrop. "I never lied to her! I never promised anything! Well, maybe there was that part about the eternal devotion. and that thing about the biting. and the one about being a descendant of Admiral Kirk. But she wanted me - they all want me! They all want a piece of me! I'm the King of the World!"
"Princess," Kragg rumbled, stepping forward to put his hands on her shoulders. "Calm down. There is no reason for this display. Your Attendant is as loyal as you could hope for - she would not lie to you until I forced her to." His tone left no doubt that he spoke the truth. "Even then, she would not tell the lie I wished her to and changed it without telling me. She is no spy for me - or anyone else."
Victor followed the back-and-forth play of the scene carefully. ~ Huh, from the look Kragg just gave her, he's not too happy about what she told the Princess either. Looks like *another* thing she'll add to her list of reasons to hate me. Like it matters - one is enough for someone like her. ~
The Princess' head snapped back and forth as Kragg and K'vala took turns speaking to her, calming her down. Finally mollified, DeV'oraH allowed them to ease her back into the chair, where she sat, her expression not unlike a thwarted child who knows they were doing wrong but resents having it pointed out to them.
~ I think that's enough 'togetherness time.' This bunch is never going to be a happy family, even if I wait until I'm ninety. ~ "Are we done now?" Victor asked pointedly, and as offensively as possible. ~ If she's the killer, she' ll blow her top before taking too much of this and confirm it. ~ "I can wait another few minutes if you need to pitch another fit, Princess."
DeV'oraH straightened up, eyes flashing, but both the General and K'vala pressed hands down onto her shoulders, keeping her seated. Unable to rise, she settled for snapping sharply, "You cannot address me in that tone - I do not wish it!"
"Princess, what you do and don't want really doesn't matter to me one way or the other." Victor leaned closer, never losing track of K'vala or the General. "I don't care who you sleep with, I don't care how many Bolian midgets with cheese whiz you invite along for the ride."
"Bolian midgets? Are my midgets here?" Leo called out. "Damn it, what took them so long? Wait - did you say cheese whiz? CHEESE whiz? The stuff that beer cheeses do when they have too much to drink? That's disgusting! Send them back! I ordered CREAM cheese - not that other stuff! What sick mind thought of that? Cheese WHIZ? That's. that's. Hey, you know. that's not such a bad idea.."
Victor sighed once Leo fell silent again. "What I'm trying to say, princess - and what they already figured out," he waved at Kragg and K'vala, "is that I don't care about your status. The only thing I care about is catching the killer, period. That's all. If I have to offend you, him, her," he pointed to the trio in turn, "along the way, then that's just too bad. If I have to knock some sense into someone to get an answer out of them, then that's too bad for them. I'm done being nice - I'm no diplomat, I'm a hunter, and your answers are all that's standing between me and my prey. Understand?" His voice dropped lower and lower as he spoke, ending as a growl.
The Princess licked her lips once and nodded wordlessly.
"Good." Victor straightened up, his voice returning to something that resembled normal. "Then let's get this over with so you can file your complaints with the Legate and the Captain, all right? It's simple really - all three of you don't have alibis for the killings. You," he nodded at the Princess, "have an alibi for *one* of the killings, but that doesn't mean much. You could have sent her" he indicated K'vala, "out to do it for you if you were busy with your friend back there and whatever dairy products he had sent in."
K'vala straightened up stiffly again, about to say something, but Victor cut her off with a wave of his hand. "I'll get to you in a second, Attendant."
Turning back on the Princess, he continued, "That means you're still a suspect, Princess - and will be unless you can alibi yourself for one of the following times." He rattled off the dates and times of the killings. "Before you say anything, I know there was one time when you were in the holodeck, and that won't wash - no way for anyone there to know if you were really there, or if you slipped out and left a hologram to take your place. ~ Crap, I didn't think of that before. That invalidates one of Commander Corgan's alibis as well. I know he'll be happy to know he's back on the list. ~ "So, what about it, Princess? Got an alibi for any of those times? Any of them at all?"
DeV'oraH looked towards the General, but Kragg was watching Victor now, and he ignored her. "I." she started, then straightened up, some of her normal self asserting itself. "I think that you should."
"Answer him, Highness," K'vala urged softly. "It is not wise to place one's self between a Kolar Beast and its prey."
The Princess turned. "Surely he is not.?"
"Yes, he is." K'vala's voice was still low, but the tone shifted, flattening and losing any emotional context. "I saw him destroy Dargha and the others. He was badly injured by their beating, but even with that they could not stand against him. At the end, Dargha was crawling away like a baby, trying to escape, and he was the only one of the four that could move."
Victor kept his face expressionless as the Attendant spoke. ~ Gotta love that Klingon sense of honor. As much as she hates me, I bet every one of those words hurt like hell to get out. ~
Eyes narrowed, the Princess studied Victor for a moment and then laughed once, cruelly. "Ha! I never liked Dargha, anyway. His mouth always ran further than his legs could carry him." She turned to face Victor. "Perhaps I should answer your questions then, if only for that. Aside from the death while I was in the holodeck, I was either here in my quarters, which K'vala can attest to, or I was in a meeting with General Kragg." Had the glance she threw the General been a phaser blast, his molecules would be screaming as they dissipated and scattered.
"So your alibis are one of your Attendants, and the General?" Victor shook his head. "You might as well not have one at all then. You're still on the list."
"You think I would lie?" the Princess hissed.
"I think *they* would," he countered. Turning on K'vala, he asked, "Is your duty to see to the Princess' needs and protect her, with your life if necessary?"
"Yes." The Attendant's voice was still flat and cold, like ice. "Since you've already lied once to protect her - and that's how Kragg forced you to do it, wasn't it? - we can assume that you'd lie to protect The Living Sword of Kahless, right?"
K'vala's words dripped frozen scorn. "Yes, that is how he forced me to lie to her. He told me that if she knew, she would make the situation worse, and bring more trouble down on herself. I couldn't allow that."
"You didn't answer my question, Attendant," Victor bore on ruthlessly. "Would you lie to protect her?"
"Yes," K'vala spat after a moment's struggle.
"Fine then," Victor nodded. ~ Her face turns an interesting color when she's angry. ~ "If you'd lie to protect her, then you're no good as an alibi - and any alibi you give yourself is tainted as well." He regarded her coolly. "Can you offer any alibi for your whereabouts that can be corroborated by another person?"
Clipped and precise, the answer fell out like ice cubes falling from a tray. "Only the Princess - and the General."
"Then you're still on the list too." ~ Dammit, this is not working. I need to clear *one* of them, and it doesn't look like I can. ~ "What about you, General?" he turned to the scowling officer, noting the clenched fists and gritted teeth that betrayed the Klingon's efforts to remain in control. ~ Wonder if provoking him will get me anywhere? Hell, I might as well - I'm already gonna roast for this. ~
"I will not answer your questions," the officer snarled. "You have no power to compel me. If you do not leave right now, I will." He stepped forward, raising a hand.
"I wouldn't, General." A sense of calm fell over Victor as the words left his mouth. ~ Good. No more tough choices, no more diplomatic games. *This* I 'm good at. ~
"And who will stop me?" Kragg asked, stepping forward.
Without giving ground, Victor shook his head and gave a cold sneer that did nothing to help the Klingon's mood. "You'll do it yourself."
"What?" Kragg paused, confused, his anger momentarily in abeyance.
Leo's screech of outrage from the other room was instant. "By MYSELF?! No way! You think the 'Big Hoss' does ANYTHING by himself! I've got women lined up down the hall, BEGGING for it! Just ask Della-baby there, she can tell you! You think Raven does anything by himself? He's got 'em begging for it too! Only losers like 'Broken Head' Corgan have to do things by themselves! Real men like me and Raven, we don't have to do ANYTHING by ourselves. We know what to do and how to get it done - together! Uhhh. with WOMEN! Yeah, WOMEN! What did you think I meant? WOMEN, I tell you!"
After Leo's rant wound down, Victor didn't try to resist needling the Klingon. "You're not listening well, General. I said 'you will.'" He tilted his head to the side, gauging the distance between them. "If you take another step, there are only two ways this is going to go - and neither of them end well for you."
Kragg's scowl reached epic proportions. "What are you talking about, coward?"
"It's like this, General," Victor explained, his voice as insultingly disinterested as he could make it. "If you take that step, there's going to be a fight. If you win the fight, I'll be dead, but I can guarantee that you 'll be hurt - badly - before I go down. In that case, one of these ladies," he indicated K'vala and the Princess, both watching the byplay intently, "is going to take the opportunity to stick a knife in you, claim I did it, and then there won't be anyone to ride herd on the Princess, will there? Doesn't sound like a win for you to me." Kragg grunted, but his eyes calmed and shifted to study the two women. K' vala was as expressionless as ever, her eyes never leaving Victor; but the expression on the Princess' face told anyone watching that if she hadn't thought of doing that before, she certainly was hoping for the chance to do it now.
"The other way it'll work," Victor pressed, "is that you come for me and I win - in which case you'll either be dead, or busted up badly enough that you might as well be. If you're dead, no one's riding herd again - you lose. If you're that injured, there's nothing to stop the Princess or her Attendant -both of whom love you to death," he stressed the last word, "by the way - from sticking that knife in you either. I certainly won't be inclined to stop them." His smile was ruthlessly cold. "In that case, you lose again. No way out, General. Take the step, and you lose."
Kragg's frustration increased with each word, until Victor stopped speaking. He trembled, the muscles in his neck cording and his face dark with rage. "Rrrraaaggghhh!!" he finally roared, and whirled to smash a hand into the table, scattering the dishes and the remains of the repast they contained across the floor. "Damn you!"
"So what's it going to be, General? Seems to me, offering an alibi is the only way that doesn't cost you everything." Victor prodded, sensing that he had the Klingon on the ropes. "Not that hard a choice - if keeping the Princess under your thumb is that important."
Kragg roared and hit the table again, cracking it and pulping an escaped gaak-worm under his scarred fist. Chest heaving, he faced Victor, refusing to look at the Princess and acknowledge the unabashed look of glee at his humiliation she wore. "I will."
"Answer my questions like a good little boy," Victor interrupted. "We both know it, they," he indicated the women, "know it, we all know it. Don't waste time making threats we all know you can't keep, General. Just answer the questions and you can slink back to your room and pray that no one outside this room ever finds out about this."
This time, DeV'oraH couldn't restrain her laughter, and she threw her head back and howled it out. "The great General Kragg reduced to a whipped targ by one man who did nothing but speak to him! No epic battles, no warrior's death - just crushed into submission with words!" She howled out her glee again. "No need to fear, General - I won't tell anyone. as long as you treat me with the respect that is my due." Her smile turned crafty, and she leaned forward. "And I *will* tell if you do not, General - you know that."
Kragg's face darkened to the point that Victor wondered if he was about to have a stoke. ~ Do Klingons *have* strokes? I thought all their organ duplication prevented that sort of thing? ~
"I." Kragg looked from the Princess to Victor and back. "Damn you, damn you both!" He turned and started for the door, without another word.
"General," Victor started, "about those." "General Kragg!" The Princess' words drowned out Victor's. "I know your alibi for the killings is the same as mine, but I think I have the perfect way to prove to the Lieutenant that we are not the guilty ones."
~ What? ~
K'vala turned to the Princess, obviously thinking that she knew what was coming. "I do not think."
"It's so simple, really," DeV'oraH continued, ignoring both her Attendant and the look on the General's face, her voice syrupy sweet. "He'll just have to stay here with us so he can see for himself. All day, every day - right here. Wherever we go, he goes. Whatever we do, he does. That way when another killing occurs, he'll know it wasn't us."
Victor's stomach lurched as a gaak-worm crawled across the floor in front of him. ~ All day, every.? Oh Hell no! ~ "Princess, I."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you, General?" The Princess moved in for the kill, her smile pure evil. "Why, we can have little talks like this whenever we want - just the four of us. In fact, I insist. We need to have a chat like this at least once a day. Won't that be fun?"
~ Crap - she's going to use me a pawn to get back at Kragg for pulling her strings. Between him and K'vala, I'll be lucky to live out the week! ~ The General stopped, his face almost black. "Enjoy this while you can, Princess," he whispered past the rage clogging his throat. "This human will not bee here to protect you forever - and I have a very, very long memory!" He turned, and was gone, the door sliding shut behind him incongruously softly.
"Princess," Victor began for the second time, "I don't know that this is such a good idea." "Of course it is," DeV'oraH waved her hand dismissingly. "K'vala will take care of everything. She's good at all those letters and messages and other things; she can sent something to the Legate and your Captain, and," she frowned, "your Commander Corgan. Won't you, dear?" The look that accompanied the question guaranteed that it was understood there really was no question at all. "They won't refuse me."
K'vala's voice was frigid enough to cut with its edges. "Yes, my Princess, consider it done"
"Then it's settled," the Princess said, ending discussion on the issue. "The Lieutenant stays here with us. We can put him somewhere - K'vala, you take care of that too - and I get to watch Kragg's face every time he sees him and thinks about tonight. It will be wonderful!"
With a sigh, Victor lifted a foot and twitched another gaak-worm off of it. ~ This is *not* what I needed. I'm trapped with a homicidal petulant child that thinks Leo is a sex god, an even more homicidal Klingon General who wants to kill me to expunge the humiliation from tonight, *and* the most dangerous one of the three, K'vala with her knives and yet another reason to want me dead. This would have been easier to deal with if the damn killer had been here! ~
From the other room, to the accompaniment of K'vala's angry fingers firing up the LCARS and starting to send the messages that would trap Victor with the Klingons and keep him from investigating any further, came Leo's voice: "Wonderful? You BET it was wonderful! No one walks away from the Big Hoss without having a good time! Hey! Hey! Where are my Bolian midgets? I know they're out there - you said they were here!" His voice rose in pitch. "Waitaminute! I see it now! You're keeping them to yourselves! Them and the cheese whiz too! You can't do this to me, I'm the Big Hoss! I'll get you for this! I'll get Raven to get you for this! Those midgets are mine! Them AND their little cheese whiz too! Vic-Tanny, you can't DO this to me, man! Who's your buddy? Who's your pal? Who's gonna get those implants for the Attendant-babe at a discount? Those Bolians are MINE, MINE I tell you! Viiiiiiicccccccc.."
Victor closed his eyes and sighed as the Princess started to laugh again, Leo continued to yell, *another* escaped gaak-worm made a bit to climb his pants leg, and K'vala glared daggers at him from across the LCARS console. ~ I am now, officially, in hell. ~
[OOC: Takes place just prior to Leo's entrance to the Conference]
****
~ All things considered, it could have been a lot worse. ~ Victor held onto that thought as he eyed the Living Sword of Kahless in her full ceremonial regalia at the table the Captain had requested be installed in Ten Forward for the meeting. ~ At least I got some sleep after K'vala and the Princess retired to their rooms. ~ He glanced at the Princess, noting that General Kragg's expression hadn't improved any since the night before as he loomed behind her. ~ More than Kragg did, anyway. He looks like a few more miles of bad road than normal. ~
The General chose that moment to turn and favor Victor with a look that promised slow mutilation and torture as the opening act of what he intended to do to Victor in repayment for the humiliation he'd suffered the night before. ~ Oh yes, he's in a good mood today. ~ Victor nodded politely to the Klingon, doing nothing to help the General's mood. ~ Can't be every day he's forced to back down in front of the Princess and one of her attendants - especially after that revelation that he was the one that was really in charge. Couple that with the Princess' gloating and it had to be a really bitter pill to get down. ~
Victor took a moment to glance around the room from the position by the main doors that DeV'oraH had imperiously waved him to as they entered. ~ The Klingons are nervous, the Marines are twitchy, and the rest of the guys aren't too happy at being in the middle of them. ~ He caught the eye of one of the four Klingons that had attacked him as the bodyguard tried to surreptitiously watch him , and smiled mirthlessly, allowing himself a tiny moment of satisfaction at the way the bodyguard's eyes snapped back to their proscribed straight-ahead position when he realized he'd been caught. ~ At least that problem is taken care of. I don't think any of those boys are going to be trying anything like that again - not on this ship anyway. ~
He let his eyes move further, acknowledged a nod from Hanley on the opposite side of the room with one of his own, and kept his gaze moving. ~ Lots of anger in here, I hope the captain can bully everyone into being reasonable long enough for this to be over. ~ He studied the Orions for a moment. ~ I wonder what their part in all this is? They never do anything without a profit motive, but I'm damned if I can see it right now. Maybe some sort of trade concessions with the Klingons? I haven't got their angle yet. ~
He shifted his gaze again, stopping when his eyes met those of the lone Attendant present to tend to DeV'oraH's needs - K'vala. ~ I don't need to figure out your angle - I already have it down. ~ He traded look for look with her for a moment, almost able to feel the heat of her suppressed anger through the ocular contact. ~ If you didn't want to kill me before last night, you do now. That's twice I've humiliated you personally, and a woman like you wouldn't let the first time go by without retaliation. When's the day you'll pick to settle things... today? Tomorrow? ~ He raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, as if she could understand his thoughts and smiled thinly as the Klingon woman's eyes flashed and she looked away.
~ Must be hell wanting to kill me that bad and not being able to. ~ Victor watched her a moment more, waiting to see if she'd look back, then moved on again. ~ But I'm keeping the Princess happy by pissing Kragg off, and that's more important that killing me - at least right now. Later...? That's something else entirely. ~ He shrugged mentally. ~ What fun is life without a few homicidal people out to get you keeping you on your toes? ~
His sweep of the room complete, he looked back at the Princess, studying her for a minute. ~ I wonder how long she's been under Kragg's thumb? Since she was born? That'd go a long way towards explaining why the daughter of Kahless was such a bitc... wait a minute! Kahless wasn't born long enough ago to have a daughter her age! ~
He frowned, thinking. ~ Okay, slow down. Kahless was cloned, what, five years ago? Six? No way is this girl his daughter - not the traditional biological way, anyhow. She looks like she's twenty - at least when she's not throwing a tantrum - and that's too much development for the time frame. So what does that leave? ~
He looked at the Princess a moment ore, comparing her face to the ones he'd seen of Kahless. ~ Not much of a resemblance, but I'm hardly an expert on Klingon genetics. Lots of kids look nothing like their parents anyway. Still... ~ He rolled the idea around in his head, looking for options besides the obvious and not finding them. ~ Nope, no way around it. She's either adopted - or she's a clone herself. ~
He looked away from DeV'oraH, sweeping the room once more as he thought. ~ so which is it? Adoption? No... no, it doesn't feel right. If she was adopted, then her original clan would be cowing to the stars that Kahless the Magnificent chose *their* daughter for that honor. Since we don't have a clan queuing up at the microphone, that's out. That leaves the other choice. ~
His eyes dropped back to DeV'oraH as he thought. ~ She's a clone. Maybe of Kahless with a few chromosomes tweaked, maybe a mixture of Kahless' genes and some lucky female's genetic sample. Doesn't matter which. She was force-grown to marriageable age in a vat somewhere, had her head stuffed full of... No, wait a moment. She encountered the original crew of the Galaxy before, didn't she? So why does she keep acting like they're all strangers? She had to have known Corgan before, but didn't act like it. Same for Streeley and the rest, she acted like they were strangers. ~ He concentrated, bringing up the memories of her interactions with the crew. ~ Every time the lanjep mission came up she... I'll be damned! Kragg was covering for her all the time! This might not even be the original Living Sword of Kahless - if that's true, then she's not just a clone, she's the *clone* of a clone! ~
Victor straightened up, checked the room again - and locked eyes with K'vala again, the Klingon woman's gaze full of scorn and anger. ~ Great, just great. That's worse than her usual 'I'm going to feast on your spleen in front of your eyes' look. What is her problem now? ~
K'vala's gaze bored in on him for another few seconds, flicked once to the Princess, and then turned away, dismissing him.
~ Oh, I see it now, it's the Princess. She caught me looking at the Princess just now and thinks I have the hots for the Living Sword of Kahless. ~ Victor tried not to laugh at the idea. ~ Oh yeah, right. I may not have the greatest track record in the world with women, but I've got enough pride that I won't follow Leo Streeley in anyone's affections. ~ He suppressed a shudder at the memory of the sounds that had penetrated the privacy field after the Princess had retired the night before. ~ She's just going to have to add that to the list of reasons she already wants to kill me for without any proof of it. I don't sleep with homicidal five-year-olds. ~
Beside him, the doors opened and further speculation on the Princess' nature or K'vala's need to remove vital organs and eat them in front of him was blasted from his mind as Leo Streeley, clothed in all his horrific splendor, entered the room.
~ I think the breakfast of cold, dead gaak was a bad idea. ~ Victor didn't bother to suppress the shudder this time, although he did avoid going for a weapon as Leo winked at him while spinning about to show off his... uniform.~ I should have shot him last night when I had the chance! ~
Impatience mingled with fear and excitement. All these emotions, rushing through the Chief of Security's head, crushing, mingling, snaring each other in an intertwined battle for attention. At this point, he didn't know how he could or should feel. There was the rush of discovery, the fear of being caught, and the excitement of doing good and redeeming himself.
~"How selfish of me."~ Corgan distastefully critiqued himself as he entered the Diplomatic office of the USS Galaxy. On his way to meet Kylar Curran yet again, James couldn't find the diplomatic officer. The Galaxy was a big ship, and without a reliable tracking system, it was almost impossible to find anyone nowadays.
But on with his problem, he felt himself disgusted about his feelings. What was he trying to do, save some lives or grab for some personal glory? He couldn't deny that there was some personal motivation, pushing himself to greater lengths of audacity to solve the crime, but he couldn't allow it to be his prime motivation. It was selfish to investigate a murder for personal glory or gain. Though he had a lot to gain from solving the crime, such as regaining respect from the bridge officers, he also knew that being reliant on such motivation was dangerous.
Not to mention, it made him feel like a self centered @$$hole, kind of like Lysander and Brhode.
He entered the main office of Kylar Curran. His assistant, a young attache with dark skin, curly black hair, and deft fingers, was rapping away at a LCARS console, preparing a preposterous amount of diplomatic work for the boys back at Starfleet.
"Excuse me." James asked the young terran male, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but do you know where Legate Curran went?"
The younger terran replied, his voice as soft and whispy as cotton, "He left, sir. Went to Cargo Bay Three to check on the Klingon's supplies."
"Thank... mr..."
"Lemie." The young black terran spoke in almost a whisper, "Consular Attache Lemie DeGbon."
"Well... thank you, Mr. DeGbon. I must go find your superior officer right away. Any way to contact him?"
The soft spoken attache whispered submissively, "I don't know. The Quick Virus has affected communications. We can't reach the Legate because the computer thinks he's Dr. Quick... like everyone else."
James annoyedly sighed, "Dammit. Guess i'll have to flag him down myself..."
******************
A deck below, the Kelvan was rasping for breath as he forcefully dragged himself out of the cargo hold and into the main corridors. Not a soul was about but for this, he did not care. Through clenched and bloodied teeth, he dragged himself along the bulkheads trailing wispy strands of woody dust in his wake.
He reached the turbolift doors, and reached up to activate the sensor that would open the doors, but an excruciating shockwave of pain rippled through him like he'd never known before. He was too taken by the pounding in his temples to admonish himself. He fell to the floor, tears running from his eyes, and this was a new sensation to him.
Helplessness. Was that fear? He then did something that no Kelvan had done since Rojan. He screamed. He hauled himself to his feet, raised his arms wide, and let loose something so primal, it echoed off the corridors walls for meters.
The turbolift doors opened, distracting Kylar, and he turned to march into them.
As soon as he took his first step, though the pain increased a thousandfold as blood flowed through his veins in a rush that was assisted by the last surge of adrenaline available to him, and with a garbled wheeze he doubled over and collapsed, blocking the turbolift doors from closing.
*********
*Huff* *Puff*
~"Just a little bit closer."~
James wheezed and gasped as he transversed nearly the whole length of the ship in search of Legate Curran. Nevermind the monsterous task of searching every possible place the Legate could be, but the turbolift transit and the jog to get there as soon as possible alone was enough for a seasoned runner to balk. How he wished the damn halls weren't so long.
What was Curran up to? The question looped over and over in his mind. He could swear, after Darkstar was interviewed, that the murderer was Curran. He couldn't see Darkstar, or his stranger brother, as the murderers. Duties conflicted and besides that, both brothers had a strong sense of duty? But the Legate? His sense of duty was somehow scewed, possibly conflicting between his obligations to the federation and outright loathing of the bipedals whom made up the majority. A classic case of a murderer. And it was better to reach the Legate before anything else happened.
He was close. Rounding a corner, James picked up the pace and ran full tilt. It was expected without communications that runners took place. James network of runners (established before his untimely demotion) were searching for the Legate while he went for Lemie's co-ordinates.
Why was Curran the killer? What did he have to gain from it? Bigotry being vented out on lower species? Weeding out the weak in the herd? What was his motivation?
Almost there! James slammed his fist on the open button of Cargo Bay Three. It slid open in a dramatic whoosh, opening it's pitch black maw to those who wanted to observe....
Hundreds of silouetted crates of nameless supplies. No humans, not even an engineer. Nothing but crates. James walked in for a closer look. Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.
"Dammit... nothing there." James withdrew his fist from the edge of the door. He wondered why the lights were still off. The last he checked, lights came on whenever somebody was in the vicinity. With a verbal command, James voice echoed in the desolate room.
"Computer... lights!"
The lights flooded in with brilliant shining tide. The room was fully illuminated in shining whites, glittering metal handrails, dull gray boxes, and beige and gray wall and floor panels, appearing to be more white than their usual pigment. By god, was the room so bright! James had to shield his eyes to adjust to the sudden change.
He saw one of the crates, a contrast of Klingon amber and rust color in the bright void. And by the look of it, the container was open.
James took one step forward, towards the Klingon crate. This must have been the supplies Lemie was talking about! James called out Curran's name once. Perhaps the Legate was taking a break, or off to waste extraction?
But a crimson red on the edge of the crate that then spilled down into a small river on the floor shattered his previous theory.
~"JESUS F**KING CHRIST!"~ James jumped up from the floor. The red fluid was everywhere. On the floor, over the crate, and even smatterings of the fluid were imprinted on crates and walls where the victim must have used their vertical incline as supports.
Immediately, James was ready to attack. His danger senses were ringing off the scale. His hands were acting faster than his body, too used to years of war, by bringing out his type two phaser. The pistol's broomhandle rested firmly in his hands, his two hands as they enveloped in a standard pistol grip for better accuracy. His knees bent down and his eyes were ever alert and shifting. Then slowly, as his good eye scanned for an intruder, James slipped his glasses off and tucked them onto the collar of his shirt.
This was perfect ambush territory. Whatever was in here could still be in here, and James was a easy kill. He followed the trail of crimson, first ducking behind the exit, then while scanning both sides with his phaser and his eye for another being, tip toed cautiously out like a seasoned Starfleet SWAT officer. He was being led by a trail of red smear towards the opposite direction of his arrival. The blood was starting to become less plentiful. The person who was attacked was losing it fast. He had to hurry! His feet trotted, then ran, his phaser still held in both hands and pointing out in front of him. He was in the danger zone, his past worries a mere memory when confronted with cold fear, the unknown, and an overrush of adrenaline.
In the distance, he saw feet! They were protruding from a turbolift, the lift unclosed as the rest of the body must have obstructed. The blood ended at the poor victim's feet.
The tailored suit was unmistakable. Kylar Curran was stuck in the turbolift, drowning in his own blood. The ash gray face of the diplomat was devoid of feeling, and obstructed by pure pain.
"Jesus Christ Curran, who did this to you?" James holstered his phaser and cradled the diplomat's limp body in his arms. The Chief of Security threw off his overshirt and tore it to fat ribbons, then bound the wound to stabilize the bleeding. The wound was the same as the others. A quick, simple slash to the neck, nearly penetrating the spinal column. That is, if a Kelvan had one. James saw fleshy chunks, and what he swore were disconnected tendrils, but the slash wasn't as deep as the others. The killer had a harder time slashing through the neck of a Kelvan than the others.
Kylar didn't move, but as James shifted, Kylar's hand dropped a large, glittering black blade. Its bone handle was wrapped in a strange, cobbled leather that looked like Targhide wrapped around what looked like a leg bone of a small mammal. The blade was black with amber sparkles. From his geology class, James thought it was obsidian or onyx, with a flint mixture.
"What in god's name is going on? Who did this to you?" James begged for an answer.
From far in the distance, the sounds of battle thundered. Faint rumbles of musical tones droned lightly on around him, and he felt rain patter on his face. He opened his eyes, and saw rolling clouds drift methodically across the sky, driven by sheets of wind that brought the first signs of an incoming storm.
He raised himself up out of the long strands of cat-tails that were enveloping his sojourn. He felt the cool breeze touch his cheek and he felt at ease among the ecru stalks. He ran his fingers through them as he looked around his surroundings. He could hear the devices of war far off, but could not see it. Rolling hills to the north, the foliage chasing it in uninterrupted splendor, scattered with the whites of blooming pods. To the east, a forest broke the vista, the great trunks reaching far into the mettled sky. To the west, a pristine lake untouched by time or nature. A voice to the south rose on the currents of air, an echo of something past. He turned..... and was pulled into a dark tunnel of pain and away from peaceful death.
He sputtered up blood over caked lips, his teeth stained crimson as a new streak dribbled down his chin.
"I... finish... kill... peace... rest... " He coughed and a splotch of blood flew out of his mouth and onto the Security Officer's shirt. His eyes rolled back in his head.
"C'mon, Legate. You're not going to die on me. Now while I'm here!" James slammed the badge painfully on his chest, "Commander Corgan to transporter room one. Emergency site to site transport to sickbay! Energize ASAP..." His words were drowned out by a flashing blue light centering around three orbs of energy, as he and the Legate turned into energy.
*********
They materialized a moment later. Blue suited goons from Malgin's House of Horrors (formerly known as sickbay) flew right in. They attacked at the wound with tissue regenerators, pumped him with drug laden hyposprays. They were as methodical as vultures picking a corpse clean, right down to cutting the Legate's clothes away and throwing on a surgical gown.
The knife was still in Legate Curran's hands. One of the medical technicians saw the obsidian knife and made a grab for it.
"Hey!" James piped and pointed at the knife, "That's evidence! Get your gloves on and put that aside!"
He left the medical technicians to work on the injured diplomat and the one medical technician to gingerly pick up the knife with latex gloves, and set it aside on an examination table. The initial shock of the feared attack was starting to wear off Corgan. It was now the nervous dread, of losing Legate Curran, of realizing that he didn't stop another assault. With a track record like that, James was fearful that he couldn't stop the murderer... especially since his prime suspect was the one being murdered!
"Dammit... back to square one." James felt the futility of the investigation get to him. How it annoyed him, angered him that he was wrong. Now what? How was he going to find the murderer now?"
Helplessly, James had to admit that finding the killer was beyond his means. He begrudgingly tapped his tricorder, "Commander Corgan to security. Come down to sickbay. There's been another assault."
Seated in his chair Major Bolivar watched the settings, Princes D'Vorah the living sword of Kahless or whatever her title was, seated near the general, the Orions sitting around, and controlling this mess was John Bhrodie.
No clue what would happen with these negotiations, maybe some alternate negotiations, Mak'ta herbs for the Klingons, one sip we retire for a few hours and a coupel of Generals are found dead in their sleep. For the Orions maybe some... He tapped his fingers on his leg, forget it, no chance of Starfleet stooping like that, and he wasn't sure if Betazoids could pick up his idle speculations, while he had telepathic resitances, even idle speculation could have disasterous results.
Just then his combadge chirped, interrupting his mental monologue.
"Excuse me." He rose fluidly and headed to a quiet corner, not to disturb the party.
Once in a quiet corner he spoke, "Go ahead."
"Major, Legate Curran was taken to sickbay, Lt Corgan is with him."
"Very well I'm on the way." He turned and left the lounge, ignoring the foolish Mr Streely and his gaudish attire.
=Sickbay=
Medical personell were running around like ants on a sandwich as they worked on Legate Curran. Standing there was Lt Corgan in the corner.
He walked over, "Mr Corgan I presume?"
* * * * *
"No one in this room has told me a damn thing about what is going on!" Bhrode snapped.
General Kragg stepped forwards to protest, until a curt motion from the Princess cut him off. He glowered his hatered, and reluctantly stepped back.
The Thought Admiral gave a snort. The Federation crew traded glances with each otehr and kept their mouths shut.
The Princess rose, and smoothed her chain mail skirt over her hips." You are correct Captain. You have become embroiled in something that you have no business in. It is time for me to tell you the real reason I am here..."
"Silence woman!" both the Admiral and the General shouted at her, to lock amazed glances with the opposing leader in mutual surprise.
"NO! You would silence ME? I am of the House of Kahless! Millennia ago, your ancestors swore their honor to follow MY HOUSE! Are you p'Taq, to throw away the honor of yourselves with those of all the generations?" she challenged back to their faces, the low growl of approval from the Honor Guard behind them indicating that her words fell on receptive ears.
"Actually. . .she. . .wow. . . gnarly... she..." began Dr. Quick.
"Not now, Doctor." Bhrode snarled at Quick. "Do you Klingons all think we are stupid? We KNOW why you had that conference last year on lanjep... your slaves are seeing a weakened Empire and that you can't feed everyone. Every occupied planet is growling and starving, and your fleet is half what it was. Your whole Empire is a pressure cooker, waiting to blow. You were forced to open those trade routes! " Bhrode continued.
"Lies! We wanrted to..." shouted Kragg.
"TRUTH! Even the Emperor. . ." shouted the Admiral
"He is Kahless REBORN! The First Emperor has returned to us! We will rebuild the Empire." thundered General Kragg, cutting off the debate.
"Demon spawn! He is no more Kahless than SHE is his daughter." the Thought Admiral snarled. "That Changling lover Gowran started wheels no one can stop."
"I am of the House of Kahless. Who are you" the Princess repeated, ending their debate. HEr tone was cold and formulaic... and the Federation was watching intently. Klingon 'debate' usually involves sharp and pointy things, so this rare verbal Display of Authority was rare.
"I am of House Daggit. We stand with our honor intact, asking for vegnance. What of him, who would sully the Divine...?" Kragg sneered.
"House Wendoth claims me. We serve the Empire. The TRUE Empire. We cast this claim in the face of our enemies." the Admiral thundered.
"What the HELL!?!" screeched Leo, as Bolivar rose and slipped out the door.
"Simple, Deputy. Before the Dominion war, nine years ago, the Klingons decided they wanted to have an Emperor again, so they picked one from legend. Kahless the Mighty, the First Emperor. They cloned their new emperor from his blood DNA. They thought the Chancellors were getting too upity, and that restoring the Throne wold end the politicing that was tearing them apart." Bhrode replied.
"As you said, Fleet Captain. My Father was all our Fathers. He gave us honor and taught us it's value. And he promised to return one day." the Princess replied.
Lysander ventured a gape at Rebecca, who was intently memorizing every nuance. Lys' expereinces with the Klingons had lead him to an appreciation for their culture... and a glimmer of understanding into the mind of the 'new' Rebecca.
"Yeah, so he's back? So?" Leo demanded.
"So he's a nine year old in an adult body. His irrationality almost made the Klingons invade the Cardassians and alienate the Federation before the Dominion war erupted,a ll because he was throwing a temper tantrum. And its causing problems now, the least of which is the answer to "how does a man-child of nine have a daughter pushing thirty, born before he was?" " Bhrode replied.
The Klingons compressed lips and glared at each other. The Junior Officers had obviously never considered the fact themselves. Leo scrunched his eyes closed and muttered to himself. Surprisingly, he was not the only crewmember doing so.
"Professor Quick, in Engineering , with a Sonic Screw...wait...okay... forty-two? What is France? DAMMIT I hate games! Nevermind." Leo announced.
The Princess looked Bhrode right in the eye.
"It is simple. The Current Emperor was not the first attempt at a clone. I was. They made a mistake in the genetic replication of the sex chromosones. I AM the Daughter of Kahless, born of his blood. I am also the Hidden Regent of the Empire; until the Emperor Reborn is ready for his throne, we... I rule." and she let out a breath of relief.
"Actually. . . like.. the cloning...like I was saying to the lil dude...there's no way you can have one clone.. it's got to like... ever read Huxley?" began Quick again.
The Princess turned deep eyes on Jebediah.
"Shut up, Doctor. There were three of us. Myself, my Sister (who you met on lanjep), and my other sister who Dr Quick met on Earth, years ago. 'The Three Furies' is what Martok calls us." she replied sadly.
"And from the moment they were born, they have been squabbling with the Great Houses as their toys. Because blind DeKo'ragH like Kragg there have dreams of..." the Admiral declared.
"NOOOO! She IS Kahless Reborn and you WILL obey her!" shouted Kragg "I am NOT Kahless, reborn or otherwise. I have thought long and hard upon this, Spock and I spoke at length. I am Dev'oRah." she replied sadly.
"I liked the tattoo. It was all... groovy and like.. cool. It spoke to me." Quick announced, to more confusion.
"Triplets? I could have scored triplets!" Leo screeched into the hum on conversation.
"What do you want.. to go with Kragg or to go with the Admiral and return to the Empire?" Bhrode demanded.
The Princess eyed both Klingon Senior Officers.
"If I stay as I am...I remain the third block of power. My one sister supports The current Emperor Kahless, you spoke with her on Lanjep, and the Allaince with the Federation. My other sister opposes Kahless... Jebediah dallied with her on Earth years ago and she wishes the Empire to go its own course without your Federation. She vows to feast on your heart, by the way, doctor. If I go with the Admiral, I die as soon as your ship is out of sight, for I am too dangerous to her cause. If I stay with Kragg... I will someday become useless to him and will be cast aside when my other sister decides Kahless is capeable for himself. I choose. . . neither." she replied evenly.
Both the General and the Admiral growled.
"I choose to go with these Orions, to Rigel, to act as spokesperson for ALL the Klingons... omerely those of House Kahless." She continued, pointing at Deth O'key.
"We'd be honoured to be having one so lovely as yourself joinin' us." The Orion Captain General murmered, but his eyes were still on the flame tressed Chief Counselor, and it was clear he'd rather have Karyn Dallas joining him.
"You act without honor. You are unworthy of your Divine Blood" General Kragg told her. "My vows are no more." He crossed his arms and turned his back on her.. several of his Guards joining him. But not all...
"I can only speak for One Fury. The other may still try to eliminate you. You play a dangerous game. Join your sister and I will protect you both. There is no honor in skulking with thieves and humans and other trash. We will sweep them all aside, when the time is right." The Admiral wheedled.
"There is honor, where I say there is honor. If you truely believe me as being Kahless." She replied evenly.
The Orions and the Princess disappeared in a haze of Transporter shimmer. Those Honor guards who had stepped forwards, went with her. Those who had turned their backs with Kragg (traditional when Klingons dclare someone a traitor) remained nose to wall.
"Enough. I grow weary of the softness of this Human ship. I promised this Bhrode I would transport some humans to Breen.. I have need of your Marines there as well. Come along General. I am sure I will see you meddling humans again." the Admiral sneered. At his barked command, the other Klingons transported out with him.
Leaving a surprised Kragg with the Federation crew.
"Oh no General... You're still a suspect in a murder investigation." Bhrode announced. The room erupted in a buzz of hushed conversation.
"Me? Do not be a fool. It is one of your weak human crew." The General announced.
JQB stood and tugged down the front of his jacket.
"If you can prove that, I'll let you get away with saying it. Legate?" Bhrode said, simply and quietly.
Kyler Curran, in a state of disarray that had to be seen to be believed, stalked into Ten Forward. Caked in blackened and flaking, dried blood... the Kelvan limped to the long table, Corgan and Major Bolivar at his heels. Without a word... he cast an object down the length of the table... it skidded and bumped its way through the PADDS and Computer Terminals that dotted the long length...
. . .and a leather wrapped, obsidian knife, made of volcanic glass, spun for a lazy moment in front of JQB, before the point of the knife swung and pointed at.. Leo Streeley.
Eyes widened. Leo blushed.
"Look familiar to you DEPUTY?" Bhrode roared.
"YEAH! I thought it was Raven's! I saw it in the armoury.. and since no body EVER gave me a phaser... I took the knife, thinking I was gonna give it to Raven once YOUR sphincter relaxed and SOMEONE thought to give old Leo a gun! That was, until someone STOLE it from ME! Nice ship you got here, buncha petty crooks and..." Streeley shot back, hands on hips.
"But... does that mean...?? I mean.. SMEG! Is Leo the Killer? Raven? WHoever stole the knife from Leo? I am SOOooo lost!" Lysander nattered.
"NOT ME! Ever since Raven told me about them... you know... brotherhood rituals.. You couldn't PAY me to touch something like that! I know where it's been! Musta been some other crook...errr.. whoever stole it from ME!" Leo screeched, pointing at the stone knife.
Raven Darkstar loomed in his corner, his face impasively neutral, seemingly bored by it all. "Darkstar? You're the one checked this thing into the armoury? ANSWER ME, MEAT-TRUCK!" Bhrode roared.
Raven's hard obsidian eyes glittered with anger. People near him began edging away, in case he was the Killer.
"I liberated the knife of my people, from an unbeliever. And I turned it in to the armoury. It is a holy item, not a toy." he admitted in a scary growl.
Gasps rocked the room.
Major Laughing-Horse Log scowled more, from his dark corner opposite Raven. "Old Crazy Pony always did like you best. Why'd you care if he gave me that old piece of junk? I thought your little 'friend' there took it from my quarters. " Log grated out.
"Crazy Pony was the shaman..." Raven began.
"He was crazy as a coot. Why do you think I left? Joined the MArines? I had to get away from all that stuff he was pouring in your head. Foreskin stretching and secret hunting rituals and..." Log shot back. "You have NO HONOR for our ancestors or people! You are jealous that MY birth was marked and yours..." Raven flared, his usually impassive face hardening. The few Klingons present sucked in their breaths and got ready for a 'Clash of the Behemoths' Intersibling rivalry is almost a given in Klingon families, and the resulting damages are quite spectacular to all concerned. The betting on a 'Mom liked YOU more!" fight on Quo'noS could make you a rich warrior, if handled correctly.
"Where was your mumbo-jumbo when mom said you walked in front of a knife on lanjep?" Log taunted.
"Raven.. old buddy? Kemosabe?" Leo asked, concern writ large on his pudgy face.
"Do not use that term, outsider. You speak with forked tongue." Log answered Leo, as Ravan merely loomed and flexed his huge hands, seeming like for all the world he was trying to decide who to rip apart first.
"Raven... didja... kill those people? SAY IT AIN'T SO BIG GUY!" Leo screeched.
Raven's silence continued, he resolutely stared into empty space, stoically quiet.
"OWWWWWW GEEEEZE RAVEN! Why'd you go and kill them people? WHY WHY WHYYYYYY?? DIdn't you learn NOTHING from me, tagging along this whole time? " Leo pounded the table, tears in his eyes.
"He didn't." the voice cut through the room. Every eye turned to the speaker, Kyler Curran stood even straighter.
"Oh. I suppose you'll say I did it, stole my own knife back from these two Wea'Ko'Nokohee and disguised myself as Raven? Typical White Man thinking.. 'Must be the Inidans, they're all Indan Givers.' That what you thinking, Litle Man?" Log demanded.
" WHITEMAN THINKING! Geeze, nice mouth, you Racist! I HATE Racists! All racists should be stuck into some camp, with dogs patrolling the edges... all together where normal people ain't gota look at them! Yeah! And whatever that 'Wikky' thing you just called me and Raven means, it BETTER not have nothing to do with my mother!" Leo screeched.
"It means 'men who dress as women'in the Manatau tongue." Raven growled.
"What? WHAT? who told him about THAT! It was Halloween, Everyone was doing it!" Leo screeched.
"It wasn't either of them. As I already informed you earlier." Curran told Bhrode, ignoring Leo's side-track.
"What? I suppose you know who it WAS then?" Leo screeched.
"Of Course. It is elementary. I was getting c\lose and teh Killer tried to Kill me." Curran replied, evenly
"Alien Androids sticking metal whassits up peoples Butts! I KNEW IT!" Leo screeched, turning to Lysander. "And YOU thought it was Corgan! Pay UP sucker!" he demanded.
"I'm still trying to figure out how the Captain knew about the Orions!" Lysander announced.
"Simple, they contacted Fleet Commmand and informed us the Princess was seeking political asylum with them, and asked nicely if we could rendevous with their flotilla and let us escort them back to Rigel VII. It turns out they did us more of a favour though, after I'd asked them to remain cloaked until I needed them. They were the wild card in my plan. Always have a plan. Number One, make a note of that bit of my Wisdom. ALWAYS HAVE A PLAN!" Bhrode snirked.
"Waiddaminute... that's all nice and dandy... but...WHO
IS THE KILLER?"
shrieked Leo
"It should be obvious. Major Bolivar, please do the honors." Bhrode commanded.
"All I did was share some observations with the Legate, who confirmed them with his own thoughts." Admitted the Nietschean Lencer Exchange Officer.
"Of course, But I owe my breakthrough to... Commander Corgan?" the Kelvan Officer from the Liasion Corps replied, passing the buck.
Corgan looked like he was ready to chew nails. "Commander Hawsley provided me with the data *I* needed." Corgan admitted, obviously hating every second.
"Thank you, Little Jimmy. Leo?" Lysander replied.
"What?" Streeley shot back, his head swivelling trying to follow what was going on.
Lys let out a sigh. Trust Leo to blow his cue, even after extensive prepping.
"WHAT? First everyone blames me... then Raven or his Brother...then Bhrode says it's the Nazi guy... who then fingers the Frou Frou guy, who fingers Corgan... hehehehe...'Fingers Corgan!' heheheh.. I kill myslef! Then Crazy Head blames you.. and YOU bring it back to ME again! SOMEBODY MAKE THEIR MINDS UP!" Leo screeched.
"There's only one guy that ain't nobody tried to lay it on...in teh last five minutes, and that's That Klingon! He's the ONLY guy who no body was watching!" Leo screeched, pointing a chubby finger at General Kragg.
"Watching? IS THAT why you kept popping up in the gym showers every day, after my workout?" demanded Raven.
"POPPING UP IN THE SHOWER? Geeeze, could you... you know... make it sound WORSE? YEAH! I thought it was you!" screeched Leo.
"ARRRGH!" screamed the Klingon. "SOMEONE SHUT THAT FOOL UP!"
The General growled and backhanded a Marine, heading for the door. Raven launched himself from his corner, as Log hurled from his. Obviously, the Indians planned to make a Klingon Meat 'san-wej' between their hulks. Surprisingly, the Klingon did NOT try and grapple both Indians. HE checked his flight for a moment, and let the brothers slam into each other.
Mighty Indian bodies smashed together, coming close to creating free form fusion with the power that had launched them... and the Klingon leaped over them and was out the door in a flash.
"HOLY MAJOLEY! IT WAS HIM!" screamed Leo Streeley.
"Gunny Goldstein? Lieutenant Kreighoff? Fetch." Bhrode told the pair nearest the door.
“HA! Corgan, you smegger! Caught ya! I been looking for you... why aren't you in quarters?” Lysander’s annoying voice intruded upon James privacy.
James Corgan was trying to make a discreet exit from sickbay. The medical technicians were working as fast as they could on Legate Curran. James was a liability in sickbay, only a person who got in the way. He was forced to leave by a few hasty technicians, and the possible wraith of a ranting, raving and rabid Dr. Malgin. He wanted to leave and go home to take a sonic shower. Curran’s blood was still smeared lightly on his hands and his torn uniform shirt was a testament of his improvised methods of doctoring.
James was just thinking of how much of a mess he was in, between the thoughts of worry now that his chief suspect was now a victim, thereby canceling any theories of having Curran being the real murderer. All the effort and work, and it was now down to nothing?
He was thinking, ~”Now what?”~ Before Lysander’s dreaded voice screamed into him like a sonic slasher.
“So… Corgan, what are you doing here? Playing with the morgue inhabitants for giggles?” Lysander chided.
~”Dipsh*t. That wasn’t even original.”~ James thought about that, among other things, such as how many times he would love to repeatedly slug Lysander in the face until the pretty boy was as ugly as Commander Riker. But Corgan knew better than to act out on his fantasies. He was calm, in control, not like his old, emotional, or chilling self. He said, “As much as your constructive ‘criticism’ amuses me, I don’t have time for pleasantries. I have to go… NOW!”
Lysander’s tone took from impudent and arrogant, too angry, impudent and arrogant. He was the classic example of a young little brat who didn’t deserve his rank, but was given to him anyways. Inherited was a better word for it. But such was the type of person. Too young to know better than to be a prick. He whined in James' ear like a mosquito, “Hold it right there, Lieutenant Smegger.”
The Chief of Security stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. “Sir, you call Lieutenant Commander’s ‘Commander’. It’s Lieutenant jg’s that are called ‘Lieutenant’. Don’t you know your ranks?” James defied the XO’s arrogance with a little defiance of his own.
Lysander didn’t take well to the biting insult (or correction, as James would call it). “I call you Smeggin Lieutenant because, if I bust you, it will be the ONLY time you hear the title, you;ll be wearing Ensigns pips so fast your head will spin before it freezes. Do you know the Klingons would have you beaten up for talking to me like that? When I tell you to stop, you stop. When I talk, you don’t. All you do is nod your smeggin’ head like a puppet and agree with what I say? Ok? Little Jimmy?”
James nodded his head exaggeratedly, and gave a cute, overly done, puppet like grin. “YES SIR!” He cried out eagerly, “ANYTHING YOU SAY, SIR!”
“Then shut the smeg up! Whatever you have stuffed up your bunghole, reove it.” Lysander couldn’t take anymore of James chiding. The Chief of Security knew that something was up that caught Lysander at an amazingly bad time. The first officer was under a lot of pressure from Rebecca for his spot (which James had eight to one odds in Rebecca’s favor), but that wasn’t it. It had to do with James directly. The first retaliatory insult he hurled back touched his nerve. But it wasn’t a ‘you’re a smegging idiot’ attitude, but more of a ‘watch the f**k out you smegging idiot because I have your ass in a sling’ attitude instead. Regular smegging idiot mode required that Lysander try another insult, and prevent James from being right or saying another word.
“Commander, calm the f**k down. I’m here, you stopped me, now what the f**k do you want? Can’t you see that my day has sucked major donkey DICK TODAY?!?! Make it quick so that I can put the rest of it behind me!” James impatiently screamed, taking the Commander off guard.
Commander Hawksley seemed to relax his guard, though his face and voice were still offensive to sight and sound everywhere in COrgan's Cosmos. James wanted to wipe the stupid, cocky little smirk from Lysander’s face, because he knew it meant that Lysander had him where he wanted him. Lysander had some sort of goods on James, and he was ready to let loose with his price… if he wanted. But such was not the case, because Lysander was more of a perfectionist and a torturer. He wanted James to squirm, flail, and scream.
Actually,Lys just wanted him to shut up and listen to Leo's plan... but...
Goaded to rage by Corgan's self-indulgent petulance, Lysander let out his next stream of verbal abuse. “Lieutenant Smegger, I know what you’re doing out there. Do you think Captian Bhrode is stupid? Do you think I’M stupid?”
James answered, “As a matter of fact, from time to time you have shown a total lack of social skills and ineptitude when it comes to sentient relationships, adding a lack of empathy… means that yeah, you’re stu…”
“Who asked you? Stop before you add another half dozen indecent comment reprimands to your record. SMEG! You’re such an….”
“Idiot?”
“I told you to be quiet, but rather. A total smeggin' idiot of a wanking...”
“Hey, just trying to help.”
“Shut up! Yes, you’re a smegging idiot. You can’t expect us to NOT find out what you were doing, you know. I caught you in the act, Lil Jimmy. You’re supposed to be in your quarters. I remember Captain Brhode distinctly telling you that you were not supposed to leave your quarters… not supposed to interfere with the investigation, and not supposed to investigate on your own? And what do you do? Break all his rules! You’re in such deep smeg, Little Jimmy. The Klingons would hang you by your balls for this!” Lysander was actually rubbing his hands together as he gloated.
“Will it be you that wraps the noose around my testicles, dear mother? Sounds like you can’t wait to punish me for being a bad… bad boy.” James sniped.
Lysander’s face turned deadly pale. James feared that Lysander’s strength was going to tear the poor officer in two. ~”Jesus Christ!”~ His mind sprang into motion, ~”Superior strength, hybrid that didn’t show up in my investigation… Lysander’s trying to stop me from finding the killer… could be him. Why not? Sucker for attention, affinity with sharp, pointy things. Has a crush on a girl only a psycho could love. It could be him!”~ Corgan's inner demons nattered to him.
“Will you shut up and listen James!” The Commander blurted. Nice slip on Lysander’s part. Calling James by his real name meant something personal, a deep hate, or a concern for a fellow being. “Look, Smegger, if I found out, you know that Brhode knows about your little investigation. Once Brhode finds out you called security to check out Curran, you’ll be found out. That is, if I don’t hand you over to Brhode myself. Which I will… because it’ll be for your own smegging good, idiot. They should deep freeze you.”
“Mind not saying smeg? Its annoying, sir.” James snarled.
“Yes, I do smegging mind not saying smeg, just as much as I do mind not saying idiot every time I see you walking in my direction! ANd another thing, lay off the potty mouth.. it's smegging annoying to hear you say 'fu*k' every three seconds. I can’t believe you… I catch you out of quarters during a restriction, and you’re off working a case that isn’t even yours! And to think I was willing to let it go, do a simple warning. But now you’re gonna smegging well burn! So smeg smeggity smeg smeg, smeg smeg!”
“Smeg.”
“I told you not to use my catchphrase. Ever.”
“And I told you to keep out of my life, yet here we are.”
Lysander growled. “I’m going to sell you out to Brhode. I hope Lexa doesn’t mind you being alone, cause after this you’ll never a Starfleet ship again. AND you can leave Rebecca the smeg alone too, you smegger.”
James heard the literal crackling of the branch of sanity. It made an audible crunching sound, as some of the bare facts hit him head on. Lexa was gone, seeing him in a compromising position with a Klingon dominatrix. Lysander had his career in his hands. Brhode would fillet him alive. The main suspect wasn’t Curran. He had nothing. Everything was unraveling.
And when everything was going out of control, Corgan felt there was no other alternative. It was time to flood Lysander with a hailstorm of information.
“You know what… SIR!?!?” James mockingly sneered, “I don’t care what the f**k you do to me at this point. Lexa’s gonna leave me, I swear it. Brhode’s gonna court martial me for this little stunt thanks to your treacherous ass. And it was all for nothing, because my main suspect is fighting for his life in the SICKBAY!!!! So go ahead, do your worse! I don’t care at this point, cause your worse can’t possibly be as bad as this….”
James sunk down his head. The thought of losing Lexa and being partially responsible for any more murders, was more than he could bare, “Lysander, you can’t do any more than this. I’m a dead man, do you understand? I accept what is going to happen, even though I’m royally pissed that you’re going to rat me out, and pissed that I couldn’t catch the killer.”
But he added with a sly smile, “Or did I? You’re a strong bugger. Bet you could cut through a gizzard like a turkey on thanksgiving. Are you trying to stop me to hide something?”
“What the… SMEG NO! Corgan, you’re talking more nonsense than usual. How do I know you’re not the killer, trying to hide behind an investigation?”
“You know…” James acted philosophical, “Victor Krieghoff once asked me that. If you find the Krieghoff, you find the answers. Now you. . .”
“No, you answer!”
“I was off doing my investigations. During four of the murders, I was on duty either protecting the Klingons or going about my security duties before Brhode decided I had to be bumped down. Are you happy now? As if nailing me for going rogue wasn’t enough to give you wood…”
~”That’s quite enough, jerking around with Lysander and whatnot. Let’s give him a break before he has an ulcer or something.”~ James snickered at his secret victory. Usually, Lysander could out insult him under the table, but power and ego must have made the usually wiry and sharp-minded bastard surprisingly weak.
The commanding officer turned back to cool placidity, before making his final comment, “HA! I don’t think you’re being truthful. For that, I think we should take you back to quarters… no… make it the brig.”
”What?!?!” James reacted in shock, “You’re f**king kidding me!”
“No, I’m going to nail your smegging carcass to a brig, whether you like it or not. Lets see…” Lysander stroked his chin and laughed, “Insulting an officer, sexual misconduct with an officer. You'll thank me for this one day, Lil Jimmy.”
“What? You were insulting me!”
“I'm allowed, becaue you're such a smegger.Insulting
an officer again, sexual misconduct with an officer again, disobeying direct
orders… indecent language…” He looked down at Corgan’s
torn shirt, “Indecent exposure of body…out of uniform.. destruction
of Fleet property...being a stupid smegger... that’s about three months
in Leavenworth pebal asteroid colony. If this were teh Klingon Deep Space Fleet,
they'd shoot you. Come on, don’t
make this any harder.”
"Either let me go to find the Killer, or you can arrest me… if that’s what you really want…” James narrowed his eyes.
“Mmeg this... I already had to listen to Streeley's babblings on the topic...Alright. What do you know about the murders?” Hawksley asked.
A communications console outside of their location flickered onto life. A crusty voice, complaining about the difficulties of finding an Alpha Centaurian/Human crossbreed lifesign crackled over the speaker. Both officers, as red as bloodworms and angry to boot, shot their heads back at the screen… and then waited in fear.
Brhode was staring down both of them.
=/\=”Corgan? What in the name of sweet Aphrodite’s snatch are you doing in Sickbay. WHY IS THE PRINCESS NOT RECEIVING YOUR PERSONAL ATTENTION??”=/\= JQB asked, as cold and unforgiving as iron.
”Heh heh… busted.” Lysander cruelly laughed is a low whisper.
~”F**k.”~ Corgan sighed. His gig was up.
=/\=”Number Two? WHy the hellare you down there too? Both of you clowns stow it.”=/\= Brhode spoke over the speaker, =/\=Get dressed in your tighty whities, boys. Both of you. We’re gonna have a garden party. Meet me as soon as possible. Oh… and Corgan… I want to talk to you later. Brhode out!”=/\= ~”Double f**k, couldn’t my week get any worse?”~ James sighed wearily as the screen flickered off.
“Hah! You hear that James?” Lysander decided on partaking in some last minute gloating, “Looks like you’re already busted, just as I thought you would be. Now come on. We gotta… HEY!” He caught James already running off to the nearest turbolift, “GET BACK HERE!”
“Sorry, got an invite to a party, and I need to freshen up!” James darted into the nearest turbolift, being fully consumed in it, then popping his head out to finish, “Gotta go! CAIO!!!!”
“Smeg…Leo had a bit for James in his plan...” Lysander looked absolutely crestfallen at James’ departure.
****
"There's only one guy that ain't nobody tried to lay it on...in the last five minutes, and that's That Klingon! He's the ONLY guy who no body was watching!" Leo screeched, pointing a chubby finger at General Kragg.
"Watching? IS THAT why you kept popping up in the gym showers every day, after my workout?" demanded Raven.
"POPPING UP IN THE SHOWER? Geeeze, could you... you know... make it sound WORSE? YEAH! I thought it was you!" screeched Leo.
"ARRRGH!" screamed the Klingon. "SOMEONE SHUT THAT FOOL UP!"
The General growled and backhanded a Marine, heading for the door. Raven launched himself from his corner, as Log hurled from his. Obviously, the Indians planned to make a Klingon Meat 'san-wej' between their hulks. Surprisingly, the Klingon did NOT try and grapple both Indians. HE checked his flight for a moment, and let the brothers slam into each other.
Mighty Indian bodies smashed together, coming close to creating free form fusion with the power that had launched them... and the Klingon leaped over them and was out the door in a flash.
"HOLY MAJOLEY! IT WAS HIM!" screamed Leo Streeley.
"Gunny Goldstein? Lieutenant Krieghoff? Fetch." Bhrode told the pair nearest the door.
****
Without a word, Victor wheeled after the General, gaining a step on Goldstein who lost a precious second barking back a “Yes, sir!” before following.
The hallway outside was deserted as the doors opened, and Victor glanced both ways, ears alert for the sound of the fleeing Klingon. ~ Which way? Right or… left! ~
As Goldstein exited Ten Forward, the roar of voices behind her blaring out as the door opened, Victor was already in motion, hand working at the fasteners of his dress jacket. She caught up in four steps, running easily with him despite the handicap of her dress uniform. ~ Damn, I bet she practices running in the damn thing just for moments like this! No way am I going to lose her so I can handle this, I’ve got to… Oh, crap! ~
As they rounded a corner coming up on the turbolifts, ahead
of them the still-moving form of a crewman, arms thrown out wide in the struggle
to retain their balance after the shove they’d just received, flew towards
them and blocked their path for the vital second Kragg needed to ensure that
the turbolift doors closed behind him. “Dammit!” Victor cursed,
catching the crewman and using their momentum to spin them to the wall, clearing
the way.
“Dammit!”
Goldstein was reaching for her combadge as Victor reached the doors and barked out an override code, halting the turbolift car and demanding a location and status report for it. =?= Turbolift Car Three is currently stopped between Decks Twelve and Thirteen. It has one occupant. The Emergency escape hatch has just been unsealed. =?=
“Disable all automatic internal exit systems,” Victor snapped, adding a Security override code to the order. “Dammit,” he hissed again, turning back to see what Goldstein had been issuing orders about. “I can’t stop him from manually operating the exits – they’re designed to do that in an emergency – but that’ll slow him down.” ~ Now how do I get rid of you? ~
“My people are suiting up, he’s not going to get far.” Goldstein replied, confidence echoing in her voice. “We’re on a ship, there are only so many places to run to.”
~ Perfect! Thanks for the opening! ~ “But there are places we don’t *want* him running to, Gunny,” Victor countered. “If he gets to the Shuttle Bays or a Transporter Room, hell even one of the escape pods, he’s gone. People like him always have a back-up plan. There’s probably a ship trailing us under cloak just in case – we’d never spot it with all the drive wakes stirring things up in the area. If he gets outside the shields and calls for a pickup, they’ll beam his ass home and we’ll never get him.”
Goldstein nodded. “Right, I’m on it. He’s not getting past my people without getting his head handed to him.”
“Get some people on the Armory and whatever cargo bay the Klingon’s stiff is stored in too – no telling what other surprises he’s got stashed away down there under diplomatic seal,” Victor continued. ~ Where else? I need to spread them out some more… ah! ~ “Main Engineering and the other vital areas too – we need to keep him away from critical ship’s systems.”
“Can do!” Goldstein nodded, barking orders into her combadge. “Where are you putting your people?”
“Soft targets – the crew and the civilians will freak out less if it isn’t your guys in armor moving them around. I don’t want this turning into a hostage situation if I can help it, and we damn sure don’t need any more victims littering the halls.” Victor looked up as the voice of the computer spoke again, =?= The emergency escape hatch on Deck 12 has been opened. =?=
“Damn, that Main Medical’s deck. I’m on him,” Victor snapped. “You get with your people and lock those escape routes and ship’s systems down – I’ll get my people moving and try to catch him between us.” As Goldstein nodded, he tapped his own combadge, “Krieghoff to Transporter Room. Chief, I need a site-to-site to Sickbay – it’s an emergency.”
As the familiar shimmer washed over his vision, Victor wondered how pissed Goldstein was going to be when she realized that he’d sandbagged her.
****
“You got all of that?” Victor asked, as a pair of interns scurried by, eyes wide.
“Yes, sir,” the voice of the girl manning Security Main replied crisply. “All Security shifts on duty to provide maximum protection to ship’s personnel. Extra guards on the civilians other noncombatants, particularly the school. Suspect is General Kragg, presumed armed and extremely dangerous. Physical security handled by the Marines. Was there anything else?”
~ Something else… What was it… something I saw while I was checking files to track alibis… ~ “Yes, one of the teachers – Hugo Grant – has a Marine record – get them a phaser and let them know what’s happening. If Kragg goes for the kids, he won’t be looking for a combat vet teaching them.”
“Got it, sir. Anything else?”
“I think that covers it – you people stay alert, though – he’s hurt enough people, no reason to let him add another one of us to the list.”
Victor looked around, the shimmers of two transport effects as the security personnel he’d called for beamed in to secure Sickbay lighting up the room. ~ All right, that covers that. What else? ~ He went for his combadge again. “Bridge, this is Krieghoff. Anything on that internal scan I requested? Where’s he heading?”
“We’re running it now, sir,” the clipped voice of the Vulcan ensign at the Sciences Station answered. “I will have him for you in…” The voice broke off as the sound of an emergency warning echoed over the com. “The scan has failed, sir. There was a small explosion in the internal array’s bay as I activated the scan and specified Klingon life signs. The internal sensor pallet has suffered catastrophic failure indicative of deliberate sabotage. I am checking the system, but it appears to be inoperative, sir.”
“Understood, work on getting it back up ASAP. Krieghoff out.” Victor frowned, thinking. ~ All right, he’s sabotaged the internal sensors so we can’t track him that way – probably tied a microexplosive into the sensors and triggered it remotely. I *know* he’s not going to try and escape, he can ’t admit that he was run off by monkeys. So what does that leave? Anything that I haven’t thought of? ~ He started for the doors, stripping off the white formal jacket and removing his combadge.
~ No, I don’t think so. It’s all he has left. He has to kill us to prove that he’s not just another monkey too. He can’t kill us one by one, and anyone really important is in 10 Forward with Bhrode… it has to be the ship. He has to kill the whole ship. ~ Clipping the combadge to the grey vest worn under the formal jacket, he absently tossed the jacket to one of the newly-arrived security officers at the entrance and stepped out into the hall, his whole posture changing as the doors closed, shifting in an indefinable way to that of a hunting cat on the prowl.
Closing his eyes, Victor inhaled once, then again, letting the breaths out slowly. ~ He’s walked from one end of the ship to the other, so he knows where everything is – and he’s got to know we’re blocking access to all the sensitive areas, so he can’t just walk in and blow the Warp Core. Besides, that’s what he *wants* us to do, chase after him like a pack of dogs, prove that we can’t be his betters. He’d love it if we had everyone on the ship running here and there like ants, trying to find him while he raised his foot to crush us all like a god. No, no, I have this figured right – there’s only one place left to go. Only one way left for him if he wants to get us all with that foot and prove that he was right, that we were just stupid monkeys squalling in the trees. Only one way to prove that he’s got a bigger one than the whole Federation. ~
A slow smile spread across his face as Victor reached for his combadge again, a hunter’s smile. ~ Then all I need to do is make sure that he comes to me. ~ “Krieghoff to Transporter Room. Chief, I need a site-to-site transport from just outside Sickbay to…”
****
~ Should be any time now. The last sighting of him was five minutes ago up on Deck 14 when the security patrol chased him into the Jefferies Tubes outside the Counseling Centre – that almost enough time to get him here, maybe a little less assuming he’s never really crawled around inside the guts of a Galaxy-class. ~
Victor checked his preparations one last time before fading back into the shadows between conduits, satisfied. ~ I wonder if it’s occurred to him that he’s being herded yet? Probably not –this is the direction that he wanted to go in the first place, why would he think we’re trying to push him here? We’ re just monkeys after all, just sheep put here for him to prey on. ~ He smiled, the gesture lost in the gloom, as his teeth bared in challenge. ~ But these sheep belong to me, and he’s going to pay for taking them without going through me first. ~
The faint whispers of security officer after security officer checking in with status reports and ‘all-clear’s’ trickled through the outdated communicator earpiece he’d liberated from a nearby emergency supply locker and tied into the secure com channels being used. Interspersed between them were identical calls from the Marines and what volunteers had joined in securing the ship. ~ Got to love the guys in the Quartermaster Corps. We haven’t used these things on a first-tier ship’s Bridge in thirty years, but they still stick them in the emergency kits on everything larger than a runabout. I really ought to finish that training series on alternate uses for the rest of the gear in those things, no telling what else might be useful in there. ~
A single muted beep broke the silence, the sound so soft it would have been lost even in the silence surrounding Victor if he hadn’t been looking for it. ~ That’s signal from the connector airlock – he’s here. ~ He pulled the earpiece free, switched it off and curled it up into his fist. ~ Come on, General – no one’s here, there’s nothing wrong – we’re just monkeys, after all. How could a monkey figure out where you were going and why – and be here waiting for you? ~
The room went silent again except for the muted hum of the plasma conduits as they held the charge Bhrode had ordered loaded up earlier when facing off against the Thought Admiral’s Vor’cha and left suspended to prevent any delay in bringing the cannon up if there was an outbreak of hostilities, then a series of clicks and the sound of the heavy duty airlock cycling open preceded the sound of careful footsteps moving up the short ramp and into the main portion of relay control chamber, the dim light shining in for a moment as the airlock was open casting bizarre, threatening shadows. A bulky shape occluded the light, plunging the room back into darkness, as the lock cycled closed behind it again.
Modulating his breathing to lessen any sound, Victor pressed himself further into the shadows, knowing the sound of the conduits up would conceal any remaining sounds his breathing made. As he did so, the ship’s internal sensors, hastily programmed to ignore Victor’s presence, picked up a new arrival and started bringing up the console lights and the red emergency lighting used when the cannon was charged. ~ Right on schedule. ~
The shape moved into the main part of the room, pausing for a moment to orient itself since Dr. Quick’s redesign of the interior was anything but standard for a Starfleet operations center. After a second, the footsteps continued and the soft sound of an LCARS interface warming up echoed through the room.
Backlit against the panel, the General grunted, his hand moving over the controls, panel after panel starting to spring to dim, glowing life. ~ Wait for the radiation shields to go up, he’s got to stop people from beaming in after him and that’ll be his first step after locking down the external hatches. ~ The clanks of security latches engaging sounded like hammer blows as Kragg sealed the room an instant later. ~ Wait for it…. ~
Kragg grunted again, another panel winked to muted life, and the hum of the containment field generators starting up sounded from beneath the deck. ~ Wait for it… ~ Victor inhaled slowly, his mouth open to let the air escape silently. At the controls, Kragg cursed once, pounded his fist into the console, and tried something else when what he was doing appeared to fail. The second try took, and Victor imagined the scene on the Bridge as alarms and klaxons started to sound when the cold-start startup sequence for the PPC’s intermix chamber registered. ~ It won’t be bad until they realize that he’s not going to try and get fire at the Thought admiral, and they won’t know that until the overload sequence starts in the chamber. First though he ’s got to go for those shields…. Now. ~
Like a puppet that didn’t know he was being worked by strings, Kragg clicked on the shields at the lowest level needed to block incoming transports, not needing a higher setting for what he planned to do. “Fools!” he spoke for the first time. “Fools to think that Divine blood could be spilled by any but the Divine, that Divine actions could be judged by any but the same! Fools! Monkeys!” He spat the last word, his hands on the interface again, working as he spoke. “Time for the monkeys to scream in terror one last time... what?”
~ That’s my cue if I ever heard one. ~ Victor straightened up and took a single noiseless step forward. “Something wrong, General? The ‘Divine,’” he made the word a mocking insult, “computer skills not up to a simple code-lock on the intermix controls?”
Kragg whirled with a snarl, eyes searching the room. “Who?”
“Obviously the ‘Divine’ memory isn’t what it could be either,” Victor observed bitingly. “Maybe the monkey here isn’t who you thought it was?”
“You!” Kragg took a step forward. “The smart monkey, the one that…”
“The one that made *you* look like a monkey last night,” Victor affirmed. “And a particularly impotent monkey at that. Did you know that your ‘Divine’ face turns the most amazing shade of eggplant when you’re taking it up the ass from a mere monkey in front of the one of the Living Swords of…”
“Raaaaagggghhhhh!!!!!!” Kragg screamed out a basso roar of hatred and charged, boots pounding on the deck.
Victor dropped the earpiece, the clink of it hitting the deck lost in the thunder of Kragg’s bellow and the need to slip to the side. His hands reached out to grasp one of the General’s outstretched arms and send him flying into the wall with a pull and a slight shove.
Kragg slammed into the wall like a runaway freight train and hung there for a moment before whirling, shaking his head like a groggy bear. “Damned monkey,” he growled out, flexing his hands. “I’m going to enjoy making you scream.”
“So far,” Victor returned, “You’re the one doing all the screaming, Kragg.” He made a beckoning gesture, trying to draw the Klingon out to the center of the room where he had more room to maneuver away from the General’s ham-sized hands “Or is that the ‘Divine’ way of acknowledging that you *like* taking up the ass from monkeys? If that’s the case, then I think we’ ll let the Princess’ friend, Leo have go at you after I…”
Kragg’s scream of rage was deafening as he charged again, this time veering at the last moment so that he got an arm under Victor’s grab and crashed a blow into his newly-healed ribs, as Victor spun him again and redirected the General into a console which shorted out in a spray of sparks at the impact. Nothing broke, but it blow drove the air out of Victor, robbing him of his ability to continue insulting the General as he staggered back a step and tried to draw in a breath.
Kragg rebounded from the sparking console and tore a chair free from the deck, turning and swinging it at Victor as though it weighed nothing. The chair cut the air with a whistle, just missing as Victor threw himself back, then loping around again as Kragg spun completely about with it to keep coming. Victor dropped under the blow, tried a legsweep that bounced off one of Kragg’s stony ankles, lost his balance as his foot hit the discarded and forgotten earpiece, and tried to roll to the side to dodge as the chair came around again.
This time the blow landed with enough force to fold him the chair, his ribs giving way again with a series of snaps that ran together like a firecracker string going off. Thrown to the side by the impact, Victor slammed into the wall, scrabbled for a second as his feet threatened to go out from under him, then pushed away and stumbled to the left, ribs screaming, as Kragg slammed the chair into the wall where he’d just been, two of the chair’s legs breaking off and spinning away from the violence of the strike.
“Laugh, monkey!” Kragg bellowed, turning to follow Victor. “Why don’t you laugh?” He threw the chair aside and started for Victor again, his tread like the toll of doom on the deck. “Is it no longer funny?”
“Nah,” Victor coughed, left arm tight against his side, as he turned another stumbling step into a lunge forward that carried him towards the center of the room again. “You’re still the funniest thing going on the ship, Kragg – even funnier than the little dink that was slipping it to the Princess.” He turned to face the Klingon, his right hand coming up defensively. “And the best part is that you’re ‘Divine’ self doesn’t get the joke.”
“The only joke here is your attempts to stop me,” Kragg countered, slowing his approach and starting to circle Victor. “I killed monkeys one at a time until it was boring because no one stopped me – now I get to kill all of them at once, and you still can’t stop me.”
“See what I mean?” Victor taunted, “You still don’t get it, do you? You still don’t understand.”
Kragg moved in, and there was a flurry of blows exchanged, Victor taking several that he’d rather not have in order to land a single good blow to Kragg’s right eye, and another to the General’s nose. When they both pulled back, it was obvious that Kragg had apparently come out the better on the exchange, despite the rapid swelling at his eye.
“What is there to understand in your senseless chattering?” The Klingon kept circling, forcing Victor to turn and protect his injured ribs. “Monkeys have nothing to say.”
Warned by warned by instinct, Victor took a step back as Kragg lunged forward again at the end of the sentence, the move adding just enough distance to keep the bigger man’s hands off of him. Using the moment that Kragg was overreached and off balance, Victor spun around in a wheeling kick and hammered his heel into the back of his opponent’s head, sending Kragg to the floor.
“This one does,” he got out past the stabs of pain from his rebroken ribs as he tried to breathe. “You’re just not listening.” Victor considered dancing in for another kick, then discarded the idea as Kragg started to roll to his feet.
The Klingon moved in more warily this time, throwing blows to keep Victor off balance while he waited for an opening. “Enlighten me, monkey,” he rumbled after Victor picked off a right meant to snap his head back.
Victor sidestepped another right, got his leg up and blocked a low kick, and had to accept a blow to the left shoulder that spun him to the side and sent a tearing wave of pain down his side. “Ungh. Right… you asked for it,” he grunted past the pain, shaking his head as if to clear it in an attempt to lure Kragg in closer.
The General took the step in, reacted to the feint that Victor made with a shuffle like he was about to throw a left kick, then executed a hop-step and whipped his right foot up to strike the side of Kragg’s left wrist as the General brought it up to defend himself, the bone snapping with an audible ‘pop.’ ~ Not what I was really after, but I’ll take what I can get. ~
Kragg winced, retreated a step, and experimentally tried to work the hand. A silent snarl told Victor that at least the fight was on more even terms again. ~ Just need to break five or six of his ribs to be caught up – well, ten or twelve in his case, he is a Klingon. ~
“You see, Kragg,” he rasped out as they started to circle again. “The reason that you can’t get the joke is that you’re too close to it.” ~ Okay, he needs to be more to the left. Dammit, I’m going to have to take another couple of hits to make it work. ~ “That’s why you can’t see what’s right in front of you, can’t see – ungh – why I knew you’d be here,” Victor took a blow on his forearm, felt the arm go numb for a second, and kicked Kragg in the kneecap, knowing that the armor there would stop any real damage but needing to buy a few seconds.
Ignoring the kick, Kragg moved in for another exchange of blows that wore Victor down some more as more of them got through this time. “What am I too close too?” he laughed. “Your death? I might find that amusing monkey, but I doubt you will.”
Blinking at the blood dripping down from the cut Kragg had opened over his right eye, Victor started to smile. “Remember, you asked me,” he cautioned, kicking Kragg’s knee again. “It’s all about your manhood.”
The Klingon’s roar was everything Victor could have hoped for. “What?”
“Manhood, Kragg – weren’t you listening?” Victor started to weave slightly, making it look like he was injured worse by the last set of blows than he was. “This is all about manhood – the ‘Divine’ crap, you being here – all of it.” ~ Okay, be offensive – be really offensive! ~
Kragg opened his mouth to reply but Victor cut him off, stepping in and starting to throw punches – including some with his left hand for the first time since the start of the fight, rocking the General back. “You’re hooked on the ‘Divine One’ crap to explain away the fact that you haven’t got what it takes to make women happy in the sack aren’t you?” he taunted. “That’s why you lost it when you realized DeV’oraH was trying to shack up with Corgan. That’s why you’re killing people, because it’s the only outlet left to prove you’re a man. That’s why you’re here, trying to kill the Galaxy with the PPC, because you can’t stand anyone having a bigger one than you. That’s why you were so mad last night when the Princess ‘polluted’ herself with Leo.” He drew back, breathing hard. “Tell me Kragg, did she turn you down? Is that what it was? Are you too old to get it up, or is it just so small that you couldn’t stand the laughter anymore?”
The General exploded with a wordless cry of rage, and caught up to Victor in a step, hurling him to the floor, his foot lashing out again and again as Victor rolled and tried to diminish as much of the impacts as he could. “Kill you, monkey! Stop your chatter! Kill you!”
When Kragg’s rage finally subsided, he stepped back, breathing hard for the first time in the fight, and looked down at Victor. “I’ll show you what kind of manhood I have, monkey,” he ground out, eyes alight with madness. “When I set your cannon to overload and discharge within the intermix chamber, the feedback through the plasma conduits to turn your warp core into a bomb to carry me to Sto-Vo- Kor, the last thing you feel will be me giving you what the Princess refused!”
~ Okay, he’s further gone than I thought… and he’s standing right where I want him. ~ Victor struggled to rise, gripping the nearest console. ~ God this hurts. ~ “Before you get too carried away there,” he chuckled, his mouth starting to curve into a smile, “you might want to ask yourself something.”
“What, monkey?” Kragg laughed. “More games?”
“No, Kragg, no games. Just this: why did I let you beat me all over the room like this instead of just shooting you as soon as you walked in the door? Why did I suck up all this damage just to get you standing right there? Why am *I* the one that’s laughing right now? What’s *my* reason?”
Kragg started to laugh as Victor spoke, stopped, frowned, looked to either side, then down at the grated vent below his feet – and then slowly looked up.
“Fuck you and die, monkey boy,” Victor rasped, his smile gone cold as death as he depressed a single switch and opened the emergency shunt for the plasma conduit directly over Kragg’s head.
****
~ Screw this fancy macho crap, next time I just kill the bastard. ~ Victor thought as he lurched out into the corridor, waving off the Marine and two Security personnel at started forward after they got a good look at him – and what he was dragging behind him. “I got it,” he coughed, still trying to get the smell of scorched meat out of his lungs. “Just get the damn door at Ten Forward for me.”
The Marine nodded and took off at a run as the two Security personnel – one of them Victor abruptly recognized as Shelley O’Rourke – stared as Victor continued to drag Kragg’s still smoking body out of the turbolift car by his feet. As the Klingon’s charred, mostly hairless head bumped across the lip of the car and into the corridor, Kragg’s eyes opened and he let out a wordless gurgle.
“Sorry, O’Rourke,” Victor said hoarsely, swaying from the effort of dragging the Klingon and breathing past his broken ribs. “He was a little tougher than I thought – he’s still breathing.”
“N-no,” she replied, eyes wide as she took in the burns covering the General ’s body, and the faint wisps of smoke still rising where parts of his uniform had fused with his skin. “I… he was… No,” She stopped for a moment and took in Victor’s condition, from the torn uniform to the way he was favoring his left side. “You’re hurt.”
“Not as bad as he is, and that’s what counts.” Victor blinked, focusing on the redhead after two tries. “You okay with this, O’Rourke? Do I need to kill him here in the…”
“No,” she interrupted, horrified. “You don’t.”
“We’re square then?” Victor waited until O’Rourke nodded before he started moving down the corridor again. “Good. See you around.”
Behind him, O’Rourke stared in horrified fascination as Victor wove his way down the hall, Kragg dragging behind him and made the turn into Ten Forward. “Oh God,” she finally whispered in horror, as he vanished past the doors. “He did that because I asked him to…”
****
Victor had to back up and try twice before he got Kragg through the doors to Ten Forward, the room silent as he worked his way up to the Captain and stopped, dropping Kragg’s feet with a ‘thump’ so that he could salute. “Fetched, sir,” he rasped, stepping aside so that Bhrode could see the General. “He was trying to overload the PPC’s intermix chamber and blow the ship.”
Bhrode sneered and checked his chrono. "Ten minutes, and I'd have sent Gunny Goldstein and her boys in after you. Looks like you guys need the Marines to help you learn the meaning of speed and..."
Victor nodded. “Yes, sir, I…” His head snapped around as Kragg emitted a gurgling laugh from the floor.
“No… one… but the… Divine… can kill…” The Klingon worked out past the burns covering his face. “No… one…” His jaw twitched once, then again.
~ Poison capsule like the guy on the Leonidas! ~“Dammit!” Victor snapped, ignoring the pain as he dropped to the floor and tried to pry Kragg’s mouth open. “C’mon, give it to me you bastard,” he hissed, fingers working at the General’s throat to try and stop him from swallowing. “You don’t get off that…”
Kragg bit down, the soft pop of the capsule giving way lost in the rasp of the General’s labored breathing. He laughed one, spasmed, started to laugh a second time, then shuddered, his torso contorting painfully as he sat up and glared at Bhrode for a split second, fell back and gasped out his last breath with a puff of bluish smoke.
Victor leaned back out of the way of the vapor, waiting until it dissipated before he checked Kragg and stood and turned to look at Bhrode and the rest of the room. “Sorry sir,” he coughed. “Poison capsule. I should have checked for that – my fault.
"Damn STRAIGHT it was your fault!" Bhrode thundered. "Now I can't kill this punk myself!" The Captain vented his rage with a resounding THUD as he drove a Fleet Issue boot into the corpse.
The room paused in shocked silence.
Bhrode straightened his tunic and looked around the room.
"No one... but NO ONE kills members of MY CREW and lives to brag about it. Especially some whussy-assed Klingon jerk-off! Corgan! Get your Department up to speed," he declared, before stalking out of the room.
Victor watched the Captain stalk off, and then looked down at the burned remains of the Klingon at his feet. “Heh,” he laughed softly as people started to slowly approach, not caring if they heard him. “Who’s the monkey now, you bastard?"
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