"Crossing The Line"
Flight Officer John Davidson
Vanguard Pilot
****
The waves of sonic energy washed over his muscular body, cleansing it of the dirt and sweat from the day's activities. It did it's duty quietly and efficiently, like most of the technology aboard the Galaxy class starship he was stationed on. Not that he noticed. He was too deep in thought, trying to figure a way out of the mess he was now in.
For two days now he had been up and about, trying to get back into a normal routine. The Katra had been removed, and his injuries had healed enough that he had woken up. The doctor had mentioned that due to the injuries sustained during his crash on the planet, his body had given up, and it was only the persistence of one doctor that he had survived. Initially grateful, John had found over the past two days that perhaps that gratefulness was misplaced.
Nothing was the same. Though the Katra's had been removed, he could see changes in just about everyone he knew and as limited as that number of people was, he had a fair idea that it was the same with just about every other crew member on the ship. Worst of all, for John anyway, had been the realization that he was afraid. Not afraid of spiders, or other people, but something more chilling to him.
And he had tried everything he could think of to get rid of the phobia. But nothing had worked. Closing his eyes and walking had not helped. Trying to jump forward hadn't either. He'd tried some medication from the medical staff and even a little bit of hypnosis, but nothing had worked. And it scared him to death to think that he'd have to give it all up. Heck, even having the deck chief blindfold him and sending him in a maze of directions intended to get him over the threshold had failed. Somehow, inexplicitably, he had known just where the edge of the deck was, and nothing, not even drugs had allowed him to step into that hanger bay.
His heart had raced, his hands had gotten all clammy. Knots in his stomach, the shakes.. Every time he got close, he got the symptoms, and every time he had to turn away, unable to take that final step. He was afraid to step onto that hanger deck; afraid to fly the fighters stored within. And he didn't know what to do.
Finally unable to take any more, John shut off the shower and stepped out. Picking up a towel, he wiped himself down, despite there not being any need to. Wrapping the towel around him, he looked at his reflection in the mirror. Time spent in the coma had taken away some of his muscle mass and he knew he was gonna have to hit the gym again. Moving upwards, he looked into his eyes for a moment before shaking his head.
"You're a fu*ken pussy, John!"
Turning away, he headed to his bedroom to get changed.
****
Ten minutes later saw him sitting in Ten Forward getting a drink. A strong drink at that. Wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, he sat in silence as he drank. He wanted to be alone, to drown himself in drink, hoping beyond hope that it was all a dream. Even if, deep down inside him, he knew it wasn't.
He was a coward, wasn't he! Can't even do a simple thing, like step into a room. As he nursed his drink, he continued to chide himself.
Finally after what seemed like an hour, but was closer to three minutes, he rose from his seat and marched out of Ten Forward. Bound for the Hanger Bay, he left behind his drink, having only drunk two sips.
There it was in front of him: the door to the Vanguard hanger bay, some thirty feet away. He felt his heart being to race at the sight. He clenched his hands a couple of times as he took another step forward. And then another.
Licking his lips he continued forward. His mouth felt dry, and his tongue felt like it was rubbing against sandpaper. Step after step he made his way to the door. Yet as he took each step, he felt his stomach twisting more and more. JD reached up and massaged the knot in his neck.
"Damn!" he swore to no one in particular as he realized he was still in too much fear to go through the door. He began wringing his hands together, not noticing the drops of sweat that fell as he did.
He was only a few feet away, but each step took a larger effort than the last. John's body tingled as he drew near, and he began doubting everything he came to believe.
The door opened automatically before him. One more step and he'd be inside the hanger bay. One more little step. His foot rose off the floor and crept forward. Fear gnawed at him and with his body shivering, he turned and walked back the way he came.
"Fuck!" He came to a halt, not wanting to walk away like a coward. He wasn't giving up. Not yet, anyway.
Turning back, he walked towards the shuttle bay again, but still his mind wouldn't let him cross the threshold. His fear wouldn't let him return to what he loved.
One step. That's all he needed to take, yet with every fiber in his body screaming out for him to stop, he couldn't muster the strength to enter the hanger. Defeated, with his shoulders slumped, he walked back to the turbolift.
"Behind Enemy Lines, Pt. 1: Starfleet Marine Corps"
First Lieutenant Steven Jonas, Marine (APC)
****
Day 29
Thaeneria Colony,
Tau Cygna
****
If he had known that a simple Ambassador protection detail duty was going to lead to over four weeks of hell, he might of turned down the special request. Though truth be told, getting a personal call from the Commander-in-chief of the Marine corps, Brigadier General Gessekensett himself, asking for him to help lead the detail meant that he hadn't been likely to refuse.
The the days gone, he had often wondered why he had been asked to lead the small protection detail. It wasn't like he was a model soldier, having had his fair share of issues throughout his career. Not to mention that he had only had one major battle to his name in the past two years, that being the battle for Romulus. Given the situation with his wife, he had jumped at the chance of doing something else for a while. It was only supposed to be a three week job. One week prep, a three day visit to Tau Cygna and then the ride back to the Galaxy at Deep Space Five. Three days. Steven sighed.
A shot rang out and two of the protection detail fired back. That's how it had been for as long as he could recall. The back and forth fighting between his protection detail and a number of Breen soldiers. Why they had attacked, he didn't know. Sure the war with the Triad was nearly upon them, but this didn't make sense. She was only an Ambassador. She knew nothing about any war plans, or even troop movements. There was no logical reason behind why they had targeted her.
Steven looked over his shoulder towards the small cave. The woman, a Cardassian at that, sad quietly, playing with her nails. She had been under their care for so long now, that she had finally gotten around to 'living like animals' as she had put it. It had taken many conversations between himself and her for her to realize that her regular soft pillows and latte's were gone, and until they found a way off the planet, she'd have to do with water and a bundle of leaves for a pillow like the rest of the protection detail.
Her clothes were torn and dirty, and her hair looked like a giant mess. If he had the time to think about the difference with her normal self, he might have smiled, but he couldn't afford the time to think about it. They were out numbered, out gunned and surrounded and no help was coming. Only two things had saved them, until now. One was that they had the advantage of high ground, and the second was that the magnetic interference in the surrounding rock, make communication of any notable distance impossible. So, until the Breen could get their shuttle fixed, and Steven thanked Corporal Smith for that little piece of luck, they were also on their own just like Steven and his protection detail.
Steven sighted down the scope of his customized rifle. Breathing slowly, he worked his sight onto a target and paused for a moment. Breathing out slowly, he waited until his breath was almost all exhaled before gently squeezing the trigger. A shot lanced out and struck the Breen soldier in the face. Steven watched him fall, and the two nearby Breen diving for the floor.
That should stop their advance for a while, Steven thought.
They had a weeks worth of rations left, as far as he could see. Enough water for about ten days but only enough power packs to last one or two big fights. Things weren't looking so good, but Steven had been in worse before and knew the secret to getting through situations like this. He had drilled it into the men for the past few weeks.
Looking back at the Ambassador, and the Thaenerian minister who was now sitting next to her, he wondered what the rest of the Furies were doing back on the Galaxy. Was training still working out as scheduled? Was Bran back from her leave? And what of Saul and Nara. Were they okay? Had they had their Katra's removed?
"Sir!"
Steven stopped the thoughts and focused on the voice. It was Corporal Smith. "Yeah?"
"Sir, there's a small Breen squad coming up the south side."
Steven shook his head. Would they ever learn? Looking to the other members of the protection detail. "Keep watch. They'll likely come from another direction shortly. Smith, I'm coming over to you."
When would the Breen give up? Didn't they know who they were facing?
These weren't just regular people. These were members of the Starfleet Marine Corps!
"Wake Up and Read the Notepad"
Saul Bental
Ella Grey
***
USS Galaxy
Sickbay
Settokillsettokillsettokill...!
Saul's eyes moved feverishly behind closed eyelids.
He knew that giving up old habits was a bad idea. He just knew it.
In the past, whenever he carried a weapon, it was set to kill, and the safety was off. Always. Before he joined Starfleet, there was no point in aiming a muzzle just to stun him. Stunned people wake up eventually, and then they often want to kill you. No. When a weapon comes out of a holster, someone is supposed to die. There was no 'in between'.
In the academy they didn't carry weapons on the campus, but on his first assignment Saul always carried a concealed ion pulse pistol set to max-freq. It was only after he was reassigned to Earth that Stom and the guys at the bureau haunted him about it until he eventually agreed to set his personal sidearm to stun.
'You'll just shoot your arm off.' Stom used to say, that Bolian bastard.
Saul opened his eyes. The last thing he remembered was shooting at the red-head figure charging straight him. After two hits, he realized that the weapon must've been set to stun, and when he moved his left hand to change the setting...
His stomach convulsed when he recalled seeing his own fingers flying in the air. He gasped.
Ella started and then smiled. She let go of his healthy hand to grab a notepad and pen. HI.
Saul forced himself to calm down in an impressive speed, and smiled sheepishly at Ella.
"Shalom there."
I MADE NARA GO TAKE A SHOWER AND GET SOME FOOD - Ella wrote. HOW ARE YOU DOING?
"Nara?" A few details aligned themselves in Saul's mind. His eyes landed on Ella's hand. "She knows you're here?"
Ella nodded. WE USED TO WORK TOGETHER. IT'S NOT UNREASONABLE THAT I'D WANT TO HELP. DOES IT HURT?
"Five centuries of medical research in the area of Human pain paid off. I feel nothing, just numbness in my left shoulder."
Saul glanced apprehensively to the left. What was left of his arm was hidden inside a metallic box-like medical device. At least the limb wasn't severed, he thought.
I'M SORRY, Ella wrote.
He reached for her out of instinct, wanting to pat her hand for the sweet comment, but the biomedical devices fixed him to his place. Ella made a sympathetic noise.
"Don't be. I'm right-handed, unlike Sotha, so I still got my pickpocketing arm intact. I'm sure the good doctors will eventually regrow the other. Never mind me. How are you doing?"
GOOD, CONSIDERING. Ella shrugged. I NEVER LIKED THE IMPLANT ANYWAY.
"Did they force you to install it?"
NOT EXACTLY. BUT I KNEW IT WAS GOING TO BECOME A PROBLEM FOR THEM THAT I WASN'T SPEAKING. SO IT WAS A NECESSARY EVIL. I'M NOT SO SURE I WANT TO RE-INSTALL IT THIS GO AROUND.
She stopped writing to flip a page. THAT BASTARD WAS QUICK.
No shit, thought Saul. And strong.
"Who was it? Did they get him?"
HE'S SOME EX-ANGOSIAN MILITARY NUT JOB. AND NO, NOT YET.
Saul's eyes narrowed as he read from the notepad. "M'Kantu probably wants to catch him alive and send him somewhere where he could correct his ways." He hissed.
PROBABLY, Ella wrote. She didn't think it would end that way though. I SHOULD LET NARA KNOW THAT YOU'RE AWAKE.
"She'll drive me nuts and I can't even escape." Saul chuckled. Then a thought dawned on him. He was immobile, vulnerable. And sickbay was an area prone to accidents. Suder knew that Saul wanted to get rid of him, and a preemptive strike against Saul would be a walk in the park right now. At least, that's what Saul would've done if the tables were turned.
"Ella... more urgent than Nara, we need someone from security here... in case the nut job likes to finish the job he started. Could you please talk to Burton and Corgan see to it?"
THEY'RE ALREADY HERE, SAUL. THERE ARE TWO OFFICERS POSTED AT THE ENTRANCES AND A COUPLE DISGUISED AS NURSES, JUST IN CASE.
"Good." Saul's face softened. "Can I let you in on a little secret?"
The pilot tilted her head.
"You have a cute face when you sleep." He smiled. "I spent the night here when you were hospitalized. Never imagined I'll find myself on a biobed instead of next to one."
Ella made sure no one was looking (they'd have to get past this, she decided. It wasn't like they were having a fling under Nara's nose but sometimes it sure felt like it) and pecked him on the cheek for being sweet. YOU'RE CUTE SLEEPING AS WELL, ALTHOUGH YOU HAVE A HABIT OF TALKING IN YOUR SLEEP.
"No I don't. People who talk in their sleep are not accepted to intelligence, Ella; It's bad for the business."
She grinned at his reaction. YUP, YOU SURE DO. IT'S ALL VERY FASCINATING, WANT TO HEAR WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT ... LEO STREELY?
The Dutchman looked absolutely horrified. "Say it ain't so!"
Ella laughed soundlessly. LET ME GO GET NARA.
Sure, it was mean to tease an intelligence officer while he was in Sickbay but at least it would preoccupy him for awhile.
And it was pretty damned funny to see that look on his face.
"Perception"
Lt. JG Faylin McAlister
Location: Personal Quarters
---------------------
Completely pitch black, except for the small amount of light from an overhead light bulb, the woman found herself in the coolness of her quarters alone with only her thoughts.
Those thoughts had snapped like a dry twig. There was one thing that was for certain, once a killer always a killer. Nothing was more evident than that fact at this exact moment in time.
Glancing down, her eyes froze upon the bone weapon that she held in the palm of her hand. The blade, shaped much like a dagger, was dark with the blood of someone or something. Who's it was, she couldn't remember. If it was hers, so be it. If it was someone else's, damned if she could not remember what lead her to take another life so late in her game.
That was the most upsetting part. For the erotic, emotional high that came from taking another life was why she did it. *My mistake* She thought. It would just mean, that she would taste that familiar longing yet again. Once that desire planted itself in her head, she would need to fuel the fire.
Running her palm along the sharpness of the knife, she was aware, yet un aware of the deep cut that was impaled upon her usually perfect skin. The trace like state she found herself in was difficult if most to escape from. It was that 'need' that clouded her usual state of awareness. All other responsibilities dimmed in the light of the need to feed the monster of death she felt rising from her soul. It was dormant for much to long. Her future be damned, her past be damned, her mind be damned. Blinking her inner lids once, the reddened orbs stared into the darkness as her tail lightly curled around her legs.
Smiling somewhat, her hand caressed her cheek lovingly. Leaning her head into her palm, the blood of her cut smeared its fluid on her face, making her eyes roll back into her head from the sensation. "Yesss...." She hissed in her native tongue. Death was near, and as her tongue lashed out to taste the air, the sensitive buds on her tongue picked up the scent of blood around the ship. Blood that was freely flowing in to the corridors. It drew her to it as it once did years ago, birthing the longing to feel it flow from her enemies.
Standing, the woman turned and stared at the beige coloring of her wall. It was dull. Lifting her hand, she slashed against the tip of her finger, watching the steady growth of the amount of blood flow. Curling her fingers around, she permitted her index finger to set to work, scribbling a few words on that off white wall of hers.
Tilting her head to the side, she rested her fist under her chin, studying her work. "Much better..." She whispered. "Much, much better."
Manslaughter Revelations PART III
USS Galaxy Briefing Auditorium
Victor nodded, "Second question is this: How did you catch him the last time?"
Hux actually balked at that question, and for a moment looked more annoyed than usual, "Well." he replied, "Truth of the matter is....I didn't catch him......She did." he jerked his chin up at his partner against the back wall.
There was a rustling of chairs and uniforms, as one, the gathered crew turned to take new interest in Marshal Daugherty who had been quiet up to now.
"Marshal," Captain M'Kantu motioned gently towards the center podium, "if you would be so kind?"
Pushing herself off the wall where she'd been leaning, Mel slowly worked her way down center, her thin black boots clomping softly on the steps.
She was tall, blond and dancer-slender, having indeed been a performer prior to her enlistment in the Marshal Service.
"Before I start she said, her voice soft, "I need to expand on a few things Marshal Hux has told you about Mann."
"First of all what he said about the mental abilities are true. Mann is able to access the primitive function of the brain and literally change the information as relayed by your optic nerves convincing you he is not there."
"Coupled with the fact that he does not appear on sensors, or cameras, or the like this renders him largely invisible. It is not however.....a completely foolproof system."
"Vision is broken up into direct sight...what you see right in front of your face, and peripheral vision...everything off to the sides. Our killer is only capable of overriding the latter."
Mel reached the podium and considered the group. "Before you get your hopes up however, you have to realize how much we depend on this peripheral vision to keep up informed on what's around us." She pointed out a random Ensign in the third row. "You there....without moving you eyes...staring straight at me, can you tell me how many people around you that you can count, or describe?"
The Ensign fidgeted under the attention for a moment but replied, "Uh...I can see you...the two guys in front of me, and the people sitting next to them...I can see three or four guys on either side of me, so I guess I can see 10 to 12 people all together without moving my eyes."
"Correct", Mel nodded, "Now if you would be so kind make a sort of a 'telescope with your hands and look through that right at me...don't laugh....how many can you see?"
The Ensign shrugged and made the silly hand telescope peering through, "Uh…I see you, and just the tops of the heads of the two guys sitting right in front of me....that's it."
"Thanks Ensign." The lady Marshal smiled and turned back to the group. "It may seem like a silly exercise, but it radically illustrates the nature of how our killers mental powers work. The brain will automatically disregard anything that its not getting input on, and so while you may think you are seeing the whole picture ...Mann could be sitting anywhere right next to our young Ensign here, and he would not even be aware of it. This is why victims tell us that this guy seems to pop out of nowhere."
She glanced directly up at Ella, "Isn't that correct ma'am?"
Ella nodded slightly.
Hux stifled a yawn, while Mel continued her part of the briefing, "Thank you....The practical side of this is obvious, get your heads on a swivel. When you search a room, don't assume it is empty because nobody is in their at first glance. Physically turn your head and scan every corner carefully. It may sound easy, but its not. Human nature is to rely on peripheral vision to fill in a lot of details, and we simply cannot afford that luxury."
"Interesting - and useful - information," Victor observed. "But it doesn't answer my question, Marshal."
Mel nodded, "You're right officer....I didn't answer your question into how I caught him.....well to start off, I had an advantage....I'm Esper-Blind."
"Esper-Blind?" Victor repeated questioningly.
"Esper-Blind," Mel repeated. "Is sort of an anti-telepath...a rare and frankly mysterious condition of individuals who are completely and 100% incompatible with any sort of telepathy or mental powers."
She glanced around. "I see some Betazoids in the group....surely you guys must have been wondering why you couldn't read me?"
"You're a blocker." Commander Corran Rex noted, speaking up for the first time during the briefing. He'd been sitting quietly, trying to keep his own skull from falling apart on him. After what had happened with Ella in Sickbay, he was starting to have some nasty suspicions about just what all those Romulan katras had done to him. That given, he envied the Marshall greatly. "Handy ability."
"It's not a power so to speak." Mel clarified..."I can't do tricks or anything, but for the purposes of telepathy, I simply don't exist. You cannot mind-meld with me...you cannot read my thoughts...precognitives cannot read my future (that sucks kinda), but for the purposes of our killer." She smiled slightly. "He can't tap into my optic nerves....I'm the only one who can see him."
Eve had perked up at the whole rendition of "tunnel vision" and the like. "Excuse me Ma'am, but what about personnel who don't have peripheral vision?"
...........TBC Definately
“What a fascinating place” - Ens Larkin J. Kelley
Star liner ‘Whitestar’
“Hey, Starfleet!” the man yelled. Larkin blinked his eyes as he was jolted awake by the rude crewman. He took in a deep breath and looked around to see the empty seats all around him. The cobwebs cleared from his head and he realized it was just a dream. He was still on the transport ship. He quickly got to his feet and looked at the man. “Thanks” he said shortly as he grabbed his duffel bag next to his feet.
Deep Space 5
Kelley walked through the airlock doors and as soon as he cleared the scanners they activated, making a most unpleasant sound, with lights flashing and klaxons sounding. "Sir, please put down the bag and step away!" barked a security guard. He had one hand extended as if to stop someone and the other hand poised on his phaser. Larkin was trying to remember what it was that could have set off the scanners as he slowly complied with the order. Then it hit him like a brick. Kelley smiled and with his easy Texas drawl began to explain what it was that was causing all the commotion. The security guards however weren't having it. A female security guard came around the corner and had Kelley turn to face the wall and put his hands up, flat on the wall. Larkin turned his head to the side and smiled at the female. "Sweetheart, you don't have to go through all this trouble. It's just a little ol' knife." He started to turn and the buxom blonde pushed her phaser into his side and made sure he wasn't going anywhere. "Don't call me sweetheart" she snipped. Still maintaining a good humor about the situation, Kelley let the yellow-suited robots do their duty. He had been trained throughout intelligence academy that the security officers were nothing more than automatons performing menial tasks and never being allowed to think for themselves. Now another officer was there and with the first one they began to rifle through Kelley's duffle bag. Larkin turned to the female again and winked at her as he smiled down at her, appreciating her attributes. "Sorry miss, I meant no disparagement. I'm just a good ol' boy from Texas, and I know what I like and when I see it, I can't help but say so." Her expression softened just the slightest bit. Not too much though, and she still held the weapon up into his ribs.
The two other guards finally found what Larkin had termed a 'little ol' knife'. He had brought with him his favorite knife in the universe. A six inch Bowie knife that had been in his family for several hundred years. One of the guards whistled as he unsheathed it and held it up to view. "Be careful with that" Kelley said as he turned the other way towards the two men. "Now you folks obviously can tell by the color of my tunic that I am Starfleet Intelligence. So let's get this over with so I can get out of here and on my way." The senior of the two men gave the pretty female a quick nod. With that, the phaser was gone and Larkin turned around to the woman again. "Thank you, that was quite embarrassing" he quipped with a big smile again. "Now tell me where I can find some fun around here, miss." The woman rolled her eyes and turned to walk away. "That cowboy stuff won't work on me" she said as she walked away. Kelley frowned slightly. "Always worked back home" he said as he shrugged and picked up his duffel bag. "You intelligence people think you can just do whatever you want" one of the security officers sneered. Kelley began to walk away and the guard put his hand out and stopped him. "Just don't let me catch you getting into trouble around here on my watch." Larkin looked down at the hand and watched as the security guard removed his hand. "That's better" he said. "Now don't you have something better to do? Like ruffing up some little old lady somewhere?" He smirked as he walked off and went to find the visiting officer's quarters.
3 hours later
"A steak with baked potato and a beer" Kelley said as he sat back at his table. The waiter looked at him with attitude. "Sounds good, where do you get that?" Larkin was deflated. "You've got to be kidding me. There's no meat out here in space?" The waiter shook his head and tossed a menu on the table. "The Klingons have something close to a hamburger if you're interested" said the waiter. Larkin let out a deep breath and sunk in his chair. "Alright, I'll try that and please tell me you have beer." The waiter nodded and turned to walk away. "That we have he said" and then was gone.
"Perchance to Dream"
Lt. JG Faylin McAlister
Location: Fay's personal quarters
------------------------------------
"I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?" John Lennon
----------------------------------------------
Gasping with a startled expression, McAlister's eyes frantically searched her bedroom, until her brain sent a message to her nerves that she was indeed awake. Opening her left hand, she cradled it within the confining comfort of her right hand as frantically she searched for some type of reality. The deep laceration was not there, a sign that her nightmare was not of reality.
Audibly sighing, she vigilantly wiped the beaded sweat off her brow, causing the saline mixture to smear into her pores. It was of no matter, she had not gone mad....just yet. That fact set her at ease somewhat. The realization that she was bordering on insane was well known to much of the crew. Smirking as she tossed back the covers, sleep was now a dream as well.
Retrieving a cup of tea after requesting adequate illumination of her surroundings, she found herself grabbing a photo disc that recalled her most infamous cases. Today, even with the early morning, was the anniversary of one of her cases to which she did not come out victorious. Not that defeat was rare to McAlister, it was a requirement of the job as a defense attorney. At times, the evidence was so convincing, so horrid, that guilt was the only plausible conclusion. Especially so, when a murderer freely and outright confessed to killing people for the 'thrill' of it.
She kept a well written account of her trials, for the sake of prosperity or so she thought. Just as she was an attorney, she was a killer. It was known that attorneys were known for keeping mementos of the cases that affected them. She did. It was also known that killers, certain types, kept mementos from the crime scene to evoke an emotional response. Glancing to the left, she caught sight of the silver plated case that rested securely underneath her chaise lounger. Nodding to the air, her posture stiffened just a little bit.
When she felt the need, she would open the case and remember what she enjoyed about her specific assignments. However, that time was not now. She did not feel the urge like she usually did. That in and of itself was not particularly strange, it was just 'Fayish'. Turning her attention back to the killer that she defended, she shook her head. He made so many common mistakes. Those mistakes were easily traceable, causing his capture to be equally as easy. It was, after he was interviewed, what he wanted. The publicity, no matter how short, gave him an erotic thrill that to most people would be disgusting at best.
McAlister understood the criminal mind. That was why she was so successful at defending the people that took the law into their own hands. To defend, one must understand the person being defended. Criminals know criminals. Murderers know murderers. Sighing, She shut the album and attempted to head back to bed. It was a few hours until the class she taught would be filing into one of the spare rooms. Smirking, she gave a second thought to the young, naive 'detectives' that would be assembling into that room. If they only knew what she did, they would turn around and run the other way.
Manslaughter Revelations PART IV
.....the briefing continues.......
Eve had perked up at the whole rendition of "tunnel vision" and the like. "Excuse me Ma'am, but what about personnel who don't have peripheral vision?"
"No periphial vision?" The Marshal seemed intrigued, " How so?"
"I possess artificial ocular replacements of a technology far beyond the Federation's capabilities to reproduce. They are capable of viewing a wide range of input selectively or collectively, in a 175 degree arc, perfectly. Hence I do not process peripheral vision in the same way unaugmented personnel do."
Mel pondered that one for a moment, glancing at Hux who merely shrugged.
"In regards to the technological aspect, your 'eyes' may or may not be affected by the normal Angosian invisiblility to sensors......thats easy to answer....if you can see Marshall Hux standing here, then thats not the problem since he shares that particular skill."
"Then perhaps I have an advantage others do not. I see Marshall Hux as clearly as I see anyone else." For this Eve was both gratefull and a bit concerned. She held a distinct advantage, but it also meant she was going to have to face this man at one point or another. She knew how well she was against the borg, but those were slow, akward Drones.
"In regards to Mann's telpathic abilities, it depends on how the interface between your eyes and brain functions.....if its tecnological....then telepathy wont affect it....if its biological.....then you may be blinded as well. Until you are face to face we wont know, but it may be worth looking into using you as a scout of sorts."
"Another point -" Rex brought up. "How at risk are ESPers going to be?"
"ESP? As in precognitives or telepaths in general?"
Rex merely shrugged as if to indicate both.
"Well," Daughtery explained, "Precogs should be able to pick up traces of Mann since they doont technically tap into people minds per se. Telepaths however run a risk of being overwhelmed by his insanity as his mind runs on a different frequency as it were. Just like you cant read my mind because I have no connections, you cant track or read his because it operates on different principles."
"Also interesting… but back to my question, Marshal," Victor prompted again.
"Yes sir....how did I catch him.....I uh....blew him out an airlock."
"Shuttlebay," Bin Hux interrupted for the first time, clarifying, "She blew him out a decompressed shuttle bay sending him.....four shuttles and ME by the way tumbling out into space."
Rex raised an eyebrow in interest, noting the way Victor met his vision at that. Rex also knew that his friend fully expected that the two of them would be the ones to catch the psychotic.
Meanwhile... Raynor hadn't truly been paying attention to what was going on... but instead was quietly running his universal translator tracking program and putting it up against ships internal sensors... looking for someone who didn't appear on the latter, looking for a brainwave pattern without a bio sign to support it. Since the target from what Raynor could gather universally translatable... that meant his brainwaves... at the very least could be detected. Furthermore his sense of hearing was open to direct manipulation and to a lesser degree his sight in more subtle ways...
He had used these applications of the universal translator applications the few times he had a chance for ground combat during the Dominion war with great success... But he was only starting the program and he wouldn't be able to pinpoint any location at all until after he got out... If it worked at all...
Meanwhile Hux was still talking, "Yes it hurt....Angosian soldiers are tough.....gas doesn't work on us, but we cant survive in vacuum anymore than a human can....maybe 10-15 seconds longer than most, but that's it. Now normally have the ability to resist being transported against our will, breaking transporter lock. This keeps us from merely 'beaming' our man into the brig. However given the choice of dying in space, Sergeant Mann wisely didn't resist the beam that swept the two of us up and plopped him in a steel box for transport back to prison."
"How likely is he to let us do something like that to him again?" Victor privately considered it unlikely – he'd personally not let someone do that to him more than once - but then he was, even by his detractors' estimates, more rational than Mann appeared to be.
"We may presume that he will have an instinctual aversion to being spaced again," Hux shrugged, "However if you suddenly blow out have a dozen hull panels what can he do about it? Even if he chooses to resist the transporter, he would quickly lose consciousness and be susceptible to beaming."
Victor nodded. "All right, Marshal, I'll keep that in mind. Back to the discussion on detecting him; I know that he doesn't register on sensors, but what about the secondary effects of his presence. He displaces air when he moves – that can be detected. He creates vibrations, even if minuscule ones, when he walks on the floor – that could be detected. There must be other ways I haven't mentioned. Have you tried to track him that way with any success?"
Both Marshals were shaking their heads before Victor had even finished the question. "You're gonna have to get sensor scans out of your head. Directly or indirectly they just wont work, at least not in real time."
Mel explained. "Now there have been occasions where in depth analysis of sensor scans have been able to pick up traces after the fact....for instance if we know he walked down Corridor B at 1700hours , we can take those logs and process the images under a number of filters and such to eventually reveal evidence that yes indeed he was present........however this is useless for locating his current position, only where he was."
"Unfortunately the filtering process is rather complex and drawn out."
"Basically, then, " Victor observed, "everything that I'm hearing suggests that our chasing him all over the ship is going to waste a lot of time and garner few results. All right, then, what about luring him to a specific location and trapping him there? Is there something we might use to do that? A song that might trigger memories? Possibly a marching cadence from Angosian Basic Training?" He thought a moment. "Or perhaps something further back. You mentioned that your school and his played Zipball against each other, Marshal Hux. Do you think he might respond to the sounds of a recording of one of those games?"
"Games no.....military recordings possibly." Hux replied. "He has shown evidence of possible flashback to his service days, however I should point out that the nature of his responce may not be predictable. I have served with Mann personnally and held a rank above his own....however he does nto respond to my orders, and indeed he frankly hates my guts."
His eyes flashed over to Raynor, "However if you want to coordinate with Tokyo Rose there, I'll make some recordings available."
Rex nodded silently at the notion. It fit the conclusions he and Kreighoff had already come to - that the killer operated largely on impulse and instinct.
"Why don't we take it a step further. Why don't you take off the military sensors on the some of these other faces in these photos and throw those at him?" Raynor asked.
Bin Hux stared at Raynor for a moment, and then motioned Melissa to back up the slide projector to the aforementioned photo. Four tough looking men in cameo and blurred faces flanked the grinning redhead.
Hux walked up to the large screen and started pointing.....
"Corporal Yenry Gent... Killed in Action, Battle for Hill 102 , Private Holl Kelleny... arm blown off trying to escape the Lunar V prison... Major Bin Hux... thats me... and lastly this jokers name is Cianan... he's still alive somewhere... some say he joined starfleet, so he's your problem."
"Cianan is actual due to transfer here... he's probably waiting at DS5... Marine detachment..." Raynor said staring at the Corporal. "He's already losing his mind... how close was he to the ghost from Christmas Past over here," he asked pointing at Yenry Gent.
The Marshal was focussing on something else Raynor said. "Cianan's coming here huh?" the old warrior seemed lost in thought for a moment. "Not sure if I should be encouraged or feel sorry for you poor bastards......Old 'C' was a tough old cuss back in the day......" Coming back the question at hand, Hux replied. "Look....everybody in that photo.....and in a thousand like it were close. It was war. Even if you hated a guys guts, he was still your buddy and you'd give your life for him. Mann was a good soldier....they all were. the only reason I'm using these 20 year old photos is because these were taken before the military conditioning.......modern cameras.....security or otherwise dont work on us. Thats why we dont have any more recent pictures."
"On The Good Side" [DS5]
Lt. Nathan Everett
Dr. June M'Kantu
****
Deep Space 5
Level 12, Promenade Upper Deck
The Hanging Noose
June stared at the PADD in front of her, the most recent message to arrive while she was trying to eat - it was the fifty-seventh - leaving her speechless.
She'd known that it was going to be difficult here on DS5 when she'd agreed to come back and oversee the installation of the new bio-neural systems on the ships that were still undergoing repairs from the damage they'd received during the defense of Romulus, but nothing she'd imagined had been close to the reality of the situation. She'd also known that Livia Proctor hated Daren, and that she was going to be the recipient of that hatred because of her past marriage and current relationship with him, but even knowing that had left her unprepared.
She understood the snideness, outright rudeness, ill-concealed hostility, and even petty bureaucratic interference - she didn't feel much like forgiving it, but at least she understood it - but obstructionism on a level that rendered her incapable of getting the repairs done and the ships back in the fleet? That was simply insane. The woman was a Hawk; surely she wanted every ship the fleet could muster back in space in fighting trim as soon as possible?
Her PADD chirped its announcement of yet another required status report form, the soft musical tone providing June with all the answer she needed.
She couldn't even get out to the shipyard to check the work that had already been done, because Livia had blocked her access to transport off the main portion of the Starbase until the ever-lengthening list of ever-more-detailed forms was completed. No shuttles, no runabouts, not even an EVA suit was allowed to be checked out under her authorization.
She was trapped here.
June leaned back and crossed her arms as she thought and her PADD chimed again. She had to get out to the ships and check them and she had necessary upgrades to the software she needed to ensure were done, and if Admiral Livia Proctor wanted to play games, well then June could do that too. God - Allah, as Daren would say - knows she was smarter than that woman upstairs. The centerpiece on her table was probably smarter than Livia, and it was a colored rock. So, if she couldn't get authorization to get a shuttle or runabout and fly out, then what she needed was someone who could....
"Excuse me," June asked the tall man sitting at the table across the aisle. "You're a pilot, correct?"
He looked up in surprise, not having expected anyone to address him. His eyes met the unfamiliar woman, and he offered her a polite smile. "What gave it away?" he asked with a short laugh. He turned to face the woman, revealing his flight jacket. When he noticed the Starfleet combadge on the woman's jacket, the pilot nodded respectfully. "Lieutenant Nathan Everett at yer service, ma'am," he drawled. "What can Ah do fer you?"
"It was the way you sit, actually," June explained. "You're probably not even aware of it, but you've spent so much time in a cockpit that even when you're not in one you're not really comfortable unless you're sitting in the same position you use while in one. Your arms and hands were in the correct position to reach the controls, your head was tilted forward at the right angle to see the instrument arrays, and you have a slight tilt of your head to the right, which is compensation for the fact that the Federation fighter pilot's helmet is 8% heavier on the left side." She offered him a smile. "I'm June M'Kantu, and what you could do for me is request some flight time and then let me tag along with you so I can get out to the shipyards."
Nathan stared at June, blinking in surprise. He'd never paid attention to the way he sat before. "Huh," he uttered with a slight shake of his head.
"Why do you need to get out to the shipyards?" he asked a second later. "If you don't mind me askin', Ah mean..."
June considered that for a moment. Was it likely that he'd report the conversation to Livia Proctor? Did it matter? If this plan didn't work on the first try, then it wasn't going to and she'd need to do something else anyway. The Hanging Noose was one of the three establishments that Livia wasn't watching due to diplomatic protocols - protocols that she wasn't likely to break given the number of diplomats with conspicuous personal sensor scan detectors sitting on their tables as a subtle insult that June thought was probably going over Livia's head.
"No, I don't mind," she returned. "I'm supposed to be supervising the installation of the bio-neural systems on the ships undergoing refit at the shipyards and performing some software upgrades on the computer systems, but I'm currently... well... let's just say that the Admiral finds my last name reason to make things difficult for me. In this case, 'difficult' is a polite euphemism for 'preventing me from doing my job.' Bluntly, I'm denied authorization to arrange transport to the shipyards. You, however, are not so limited - if you don't mind risking the admiral's considerable ire for helping me."
"You mean Admiral Proctor?" Nathan asked. June nodded, and the pilot's smile widened a touch. "Oh yeah, Ah've heard of her. Ain't met her before--thank God fer that--but anything that'd piss her off sounds lahk somethin' worth doin'. When do ya wanna leave?"
"As soon as possible," June admitted. "I'll need at least an hour to start the software loads running, and another hour for all of them to complete the way I'm going to have to do it. Is that much flight time going to be a problem?"
Nathan grinned at the woman. "Ma'am, Ah've been stuck on this damned station fer...well, longer'n Ah'd've lahked. At this point, there's no such thing as 'too much flight tahm' fer me. Let's go."
***
Shortly thereafter, Nathan sat at the controls of a small shuttlepod, humming quietly to himself as he powered it up.
"So, where exactly'm Ah flyin' us to?" he asked June as he guided the shuttle out of the Starbase's landing bay and pointed it toward the shipyard.
Aside from the fact that the one crewman on the Starbase that had seen them depart had obviously thought Lt. Everett was taking her out for a different sort of ride than the one they were on - which, while flattering in a way was not something that June wanted being bandied about - the whole operation had gone smoothly. Now if the Lieutenant was as good a pilot as he obviously believed himself to be.... "One moment," June typed on her PADD and pulled up a diagram of the shipyard. "I've flagged all the ships that I need to make upgrades on in green. With my access codes, all we need to do dock once on any shuttlepod attachment point to allow me to gain access, and then stay within uplink range of them for seven minutes each to transfer the compressed files - the ship's systems will handle the installations." She pointed at four ships flagged in red. "These, though, need extra work; I'm going to actually have to do some diagnostics on them. They're the ones with bio-neural systems that have been totally replaced, and I can't certify them for release without checking to make certain that they're all working properly. That may require as much as thirty minutes of attachment." She leaned back. "The order isn't important, so long as we get to them all, even if it takes two or three trips."
Cowboy stared at her as she explained. "So...this is gonna take a while, then," he clarified. He turned to face the controls again and sighed as he sent the shuttlepod toward the nearest of the ships June had flagged. "Guess Ah shoulda brought a book'r somethin'," he joked.
"Yes," June acknowledged. "Nowhere near this amount if I'd been allowed to actually do my job, but there's nothing that can be done about that now." She looked at the flightpath Nathan was setting up for a moment. "As for something to do, and since I've been rude and not asked, are you assigned to the station, or are you in transit to a duty station? No one," she added, "would choose DS5 as a spot for recreation if they could help it."
"Oh, believe me, Ah ain't here by choice," Nathan explained as he sped the shuttle up, lining it up with the first ship's docking attachment. "Ah used to fly off the USS Miranda, but mah wing got rotated off to a new assignment. Ah'm actually waitin' fer the USS Galaxy to show up; that's gonna be mah new home."
"What about you?" he asked, glancing over at June for a moment. "Yer wearin' the badge, but you don't seem lahk Starfleet to me."
June laughed and smiled for a moment at the realization that it was one of Daren's crew she'd picked to help her. "I'm afraid you can take the girl out of the uniform, but not the uniform out of the girl. I served as an engineer on the same ship as my husband for a number of years, but after the Yamaguchi was destroyed at Wolf 359 I... couldn't; not anymore. So I transferred over to the ASDB, which just means I spend more time designing and figuring out how to repair the ships I used to fly on." She indicated the combadge. "Hence the combadge."
Nathan glanced over at her, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Yer husband?" he asked. He thought back to when she'd introduced herself, and suddenly it clicked. "Wait...yer Cap'n M'Kantu's wife?"
He smiled and extended his hand to June. "Well, this is an honor. Ah haven't met the Cap'n yet, but Ah've heard a lot about him," he said. "Seein' as Ah'm helpin' you out here, does that mean you'll put a good word in fer me next tahm you see him?" he added jokingly, his smile widening into a grin. That Cowboy was expertly piloting the shuttle without looking and with only one hand as he asked that question may or may not have been coincidental.
"Why?" June replied, shaking his hand. "Have you done something that you need me to help smooth over?"
The pilot smirked as he let go of June's hand. "Not yet," he said as he turned his full attention back on the flight controls.
A few moments later, the shuttle neared the first ship, and Nathan deftly maneuvered it until the docking hatch was lined up correctly. With only minute attitude adjustments, the shuttle docked to the ship with a soft, soundless hiss.
Nathan smiled and sat back in his seat, folding his hands behind his head. "Well, here we are. Work yer magic, Mrs. M'Kantu."
June nodded and keyed in a long, complex authorization code from memory, watched as it was accepted, and started up her program download. "We're good to undock now if you want," she reported, leaning back. "As long as we stay with a kilometer, the download will proceed normally. We'd have been able to do it all from that range back at Utopia Planetia or the Jupiter Yards, but I'm not going to transmit that access code where it could be picked up out here. There's no one on this station that needs to know it."
"Gotcha," Nathan said as he undocked the shuttle. "Y'know, Ah feel kinda lahk a spy, what with all this secrecy. Could go fer a vodka martini right about now."
He set off for the next ship, making sure to stay within a klick of the previous one so that the first download would continue. They flew along in silence for a few moments before he finally spoke up again. "So... exactly how many of these do we have left to do?"
"One less than when we started," June replied smoothly. Which means seventeen - plus the four ships I have to run diagnostics on - so a total of twenty-two." She ran the numbers in her head. "At this rate, and assuming there are no snags... 250 minutes. Plus," she added, "or minus about 30 minutes for flight time and so on."
The pilot whistled under his breath. "Good thing Ah didn't have much planned fer today," he joked, laughing quietly.
"If you're anything like my husband - or any other pilot I've ever worked with," June observed, "you'd rather be doing nothing behind the controls of a ship than most things elsewhere. True?"
Cowboy raised an eyebrow at that and glanced over at June. "Definitely," he agreed with a smile. Sure, this wasn't the most exciting of tasks, but he'd take this over sitting around in the Hanging Noose and feeling useless any day of the week.
Besides, it never hurt to get on the good side of your future captain's wife.
OOC: Hey everyone! We last saw Dr. Richardson, Galaxy's newest Diplomatic Officer, sprinting from his office on Deck 17 to meet with Galaxy's Commanding Officer, Captain Daren M'Kantu (Speaking of which Robert, lets do a JP!). The next series of posts are excepts from Richardson's personal journal. They'll be spanning the course of 21 years, and will provide all of you (and me) with an idea of who John Richardson is as a person. Any feedback would be wonderful.
-----
(Inscription)
The Personal Journal of John C. Richardson, SFMC
A Gift From his Uncle and Namesake, Jack Richardson, SFMC
Happy 18th Birthday, Johnny! Ol' T.S. Eliot once wrote that "...we shall not cease from exploration, and at the end of our exploration we shall arrive where we started…and know that place for the first time." Welcome to the finest fighting force the galaxy has ever known, kiddo. It's pleasure to not only call you my nephew, but now my brother-in-arms. I hope this journal lets you remember the beginning of your "exploration" when you come to the end of it.
Semper Fidelis, and Happy Birthday!
(Signed)
Jack Richardson (Your Great Uncle, knucklehead)
Master Sergeant, SFMC (Retired)
------------------------------------------------------------
Pvt. J.C. Richardson, SFMC
July 28th, 2363 (old Earth calendar)
Well, I have to say, this journal is beautiful. Uncle Jack really outdid himself this time. He says the leather on the outside is real, and the pen I'm writing with belonged to my great great grandfather. It's a "Parker" pen, and Uncle Jack says President Mitchell himself gave it to Gramps when he was the Secretary of Education back in 2265. I can't believe it still works so well…
Or, I guess, the irony of it belonging to a Secretary of Education. I know Uncle Jack said he was happy when I joined the Marines, but I think this journal was a 'subtle' indication otherwise. I got accepted to Berkeley and Brown, so the 'rents feel like I "have" to go to school right now. I mean, they were really upset, but I wish they would just listen to me and relax. It's not like I'm not going to go to college, and (honestly) it's not like Starfleet's going to war anytime soon. The galaxy is at actually at PEACE for once! The Romulans haven't been seen in…jeez…a long time, and we're actually on good terms with the Klingons. I can't imagine anything disrupting that.
But I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when Mom was almost threw up after she heard I got accepted for Force Recon training when Boot Camp's completed. Uncle Jack's stories were always a bit over the top, but it's like I said, I probably wont ever even see any combat. I'll do 5 years in the Corps, and then I'll go to school. I mean, what's the rush, right? Recon is a great opportunity, and it could lead to a job at Starfleet Intelligence when I'm done. Who knows, maybe one day I'll be "Special Agent Richardson."
Wow, writing with a pen is really weird. I'm going to have to practice more. I leave for Basic Training on Mars tomorrow, then Recon School. It'll be the first day of the rest of my life. God, I can't wait. I hope Mom and Dad come to the recruiting station to wish me goodby...no, I'm not going to let that spoil it. First day of the rest of my life. Semper Fidelis!
-John
The Personal Journal of John C. Richardson, SFMC
A Gift From his Uncle and Namesake, Jack Richardson, SFMC
-------------------------------------------------
Sgt. John Richardson, SFMC
July 30th, 2367 (old Earth calender)
Jesus Christ, I can't believe I reenlisted. What in the fuck was I thinking? After I literally broke my back in the Force Recon indoc, ya know, I figured "What the Hell, lets give Marine Security Guard a shot".
It's been 3 years of some of the most boring duty known to man. The only real upside is that I've been able to study in my free time. I should have my degree from Notre Dame's non-resident program in the next few years. I guess I don't really have anywhere else to go when I leave the Corps, so why leave?
I was able to secure a Instructor billet at the MSG school on Earth, so I'll finally get to see Mom and Dad again. I'm glad we're back on speaking terms. I felt so bad having Uncle Jack be our intermediary. It was childish, sure, but I still can't believe they didn't come to my Boot Camp Graduation! Well, we can't hold our grudges forever, right?
Actually, I have to admit; I have learned some pretty interesting stuff here on Denobula Traixa. Ambassador Jorax is an ok fellow, and he loves (as much as a Vulcan can 'love') to sit down with the Marines and talk diplomacy. Most of the guys don't get into it, and spew out their "I'm a Marine, we kill people and break things" nonsense. I hate that stuff. I feel like my Marines have been brainwashed by the system. I want to throw a Walt Whitman collection at them and say "READ, JARHEAD!" We work to protect the diplomatic process. How can they have such an ignorant contempt of it?
Speaking of the Ambassador, just two days ago the he and I were up until 0300 talking about the Trialon Accords of 2297. I thought they were misguided and a somewhat feeble set of treaties, but Jorax pointed out that it created a foundation for many other protocols to follow. He mentioned that diplomacy was, how did he say it "…a series of logical decisions that become outdated and systematically illogical. It is the job of a diplomat to find the original purpose of an agreement…or to forge a new one."
I told him that I thought "good diplomacy" must be a myth, because it seemed hypocritical that we would promote a diplomatic solution to anything while keeping a standing military. And following that logic, then, diplomacy must not be good enough to keep actors from going to war.
Jorax drew five dots on a peace on his PADD, and began to connect dots. He pointed down to the figure on the page, in the rough shape of a star, and said "Let this design represent a concession for Actor "A", but a call-to-arms for Actor "B". We did not know this concession was also a call-to-arms for Actor "B," however, because we have never encountered this actor before. We must do all we can to "learn the signals", Sergeant, so we can prevent these kinds of miscommunications from ever happening. Sometimes, as you say, our art is imperfect. But it is certainly not from a lack of trying. And my mistakes can be your future diplomatic victories, so we both will ultimately win. Diplomacy is an ever evolving system, Sergeant, and quite elegant in it's imperfection"
Well, maybe that's all true..I don't know, I'll have to think about it. He makes some good points. Oh God, I'm on duty in 5 minutes! Here's to four more years in the Corps. Maybe I'll get lucky today and actually get shot at!
-John
"Saul Bental gets a new toy"
Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief Intelligence Officer
Lieutenant J.G. Eve
Intelligence Technical Officer
Sickbay. Somehow Eve wasn't surprised he'd landed there, but then again given their particular lines of work it was inevitable. What was surprising was that he'd asked for her. Personally. This had never happened before, but then again, she hadn't been on board THAT long. Entering sickay it wasn't hard to find him. Everyone on board knew who Saul Bental was.
"Oh, Shalom Val, good to see you."
Since Eve's original personality had returned to its original state of partial repression (plus a few odd quirks), Saul developed a habit of calling Eve by her original name, Valentina. For her part, Eve maintained a neutral air of professionalism - and called him by his first name in return. "Good day, Saul." Definitely not your normal protocol, but then again, what was normal anymore?
The intelligence chief was leaning against a puffed pillow, a book resting on his lap. He looked fine, but his left arm was all but covered by a long medical device that was attached to the biobed's console with several cables.
"How are things back at the department?"
"Business as usual," Eve replied laconically, sitting in the chair next to his bed. "Every thing's running almost as if you were still on duty, though with Raynor in charge things .... can sometimes get interesting."
"So everyone is not running around screaming and begging to the divine for salvation from Zev? I'm really proud of you guys."
She shook her head. "Mostly it's due to the fact that I'm said salvation," she smirked.
"Good job. Knew I could rely on you."
Saul decided it was time to move on to the subject at hand; Eve wasn't the best partner for smalltalk, anyway.
"Speaking of which, Eve, I need to ask you for a very big personal favor. I need help on a project, and I think you're the best suited person on this ship to help me."
This could never be good. Eve had determined in her short existence amongst the Intelligence Community (and Humanity as a whole of this day and age) that if someone was going to ask you a favor, especially the Chief Intelligence Officer, it wasn't liable to be the best thing in the world. Especially since these 'favors' usually precluded standard channels. She simply nodded her response.
Saul made sure that none of the nurses and doctors was paying attention, and glanced to his left. "I don't know how much Raynor told all of you about my status, but my arm is all but lost. Now, eventually I will have to leave the ship and spend several weeks on a medical laboratory to regrow the arm. The good doctor wants me to either do that right now, or take off the arm altogether. With an upcoming war on our hands - or hand in my case - I was considering a third option."
Saul offered Eve the book he was reading. The cover was nondescript, but inside on the plastic pages was a catalogue of cybernetic implants. The catalogue was Orion, and some of the parts within it were unobtainable in the UFP without special authorizations.
"I was thinking of complementing my arm with cybernetics, so that they won't cut it off and it could remain the way it is until a time where I could afford the medical 'vacation' - in several months or a year, I suppose. Plus, I was thinking of adding a few enhancements that could come in handy. Now, as far as I know, you're the best cyberneticist on board..."
He let his voice trail, and stared into her eyes, looking for that glint of understanding.
Eve perused through the available devices presented by the catalogue. Orion sales were never the best of quality unless you were willing to pay cut-throat prices; it was usually your throat that was cut when things went bad. She shook her head and shut the book. "Everything in here is garbage."
"Low quality, I know, but what you can obtain within Federation borders isn't much better and requires a massive amount of bureaucracy."
"Just a moment." Eve departed the vicinity, approaching one of the nurses and obtaining an unused PADD from the office. Returning to Saul she popped the cover open and removed a device, then closed it back up.
" S.T.A.," she said offhandedly as she started entering information onto the PADD's internal isolinear memory storage. After a few minutes of silence permeated by the soft plunking chimes of button pressing from the information device, Eve turned it over to her Boss. The list was rather extensive - much of it was pure atomic mass of specific quantities and types, a few molecular substances, a selection of untreated duranium alloy, and a rather large number of processor components - nano chips of the variety used in nanites, miniaturized isolinear mediums, and other miscellanea and errata. The last line on the list was the most unusual however - complete and unrestricted access to one of the Galaxy's type 9 shuttles for a period of 96 hours, beginning when the parts and materials arrived. The entire shipment would weight in at approximately 200 LBS and fit neatly inside a medium sized cargo container. "This is what I require. After the 96 hour period, we'll talk about further procedures."
Saul's lips arched as he finished reviewing the list. "By 'unrestricted access' I take it someone is going to use the transporter for quantum-level manipulation rather than regular sub-atomic level?"
"Replicators don't have the finesse nor the resolution for what I need," she said. "And I'm not about to compromise standard shipboard transporter units. The devices you're interested in require precision, without single bit errors."
"I'll have to obtain a crate of bloodwine to supplement all that. It will take at least that to convince Jamson to give us access to the shuttle. The rest I can obtain from OPS or through 'other channels'."
Eve nodded. "How soon do you think you can get everything assembled?"
"I'll have to check with Operations when is the next resupply transport scheduled to rendezvous with us. I'll make sure everything is on it. Let's say four days tentatively."
She nodded, it would be plenty of time for her to review and revise the designs she'd quite literally just thought up. "With fair weather, I can have you up and operational in two weeks. 4 days for the shipment, 4 days of crafting, and 6 days of tuning and calibrations." She paused and glanced around, then spoke a little louder, in her normal voice. "If there's nothing else, Sir?"
"What else can I ask?" Saul attempted a shrug, a difficult feat to perform when your left arm is fixed to the bed. "Nothing else, no. I really appreciate your willingness to help."
"It's the least I can do," Eve said quietly.
The Dutchman nodded. Favors were like boomerangs, but he estimated that if and when Eve will come to collect the debt, it won't be very costly. And there were low chances that she will double cross him, although the possibility always existed. It was a calculated risk.
As she made for the exit, Eve paused then turned back to Saul. There was a serious blush to her face, and a shy little smile. "Tell Michael the Bloodwine's from me." And with that she was gone.
off: I haven't done one of these in awhile *grin*
"Let Down Your Golden Hair ... Oomph!" - part one
from the Fairy Tale Chronicles
Cmdr. Arel Smith, apc
Samantha Widdlestein (holographic representation) npc
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
USS Carthage
Holodeck
I.
ONCE upon a time there was a man and woman who had long wished for a child. From their little window they had a view of the neighbor's garden, which was full of the most splendid plants, the most graceful trees, the most beautiful flowers ...
"What the fuck do I care about flowers?" Arel Smith yelled down from her tall tower.
"Shut up and listen!" the holo-representation of Samantha Widdlestein yelled back up at her.
BUT no one dared go into the garden because it belonged to an evil witch who had great power and was dreaded by all the world. Every day, the poor woman looked out upon the garden and her longing soon turned towards the sweet, fresh rapunzel that ...
"You're killing me, Sam," The officer yelled. "You're really going to make me listen to this crap?"
"Yes," The girl shouted back. "Now shut up!"
AHEM, the Narrator said.
"Sorry," Sam and Arel said in unison.
THE woman stopped eating as she pined and her husband, in alarm, asked what was wrong. She replied that she would surely die if she could not have some of the rapunzel. So the loving husband snuck into the garden ...
"Breaking and entering," The ex-security chief counted off on her fingers. "Theft. Being a dumbshit ..."
... AND took it to his wife. She ate it greedily and it tasted so good that the next day she longed for it three times as much as before. So again her husband snuck into the garden ...
"Stupid pthak," Arel commented.
"bIjatlh 'e' yImev, Arel," Holo-Sam snarled.
... ALAS after he had climbed over the wall, he found the witch waiting for him.
"How can you dare," said the witch with angry look, "descend into my garden and steal my vegetables! You shall suffer greatly!"
"Have mercy!" He cried. "My wife saw your rapunzel and felt that she would die if she did not have any."
"I'm being punished, aren't I?" Arel yelled down to Samantha. "You're still pissed that you didn't get to design my wedding."
Samantha glared back at Arel, not that the officer could see it.
"I will allow you to take away as much rapunzel as you will," The witch said. "Only I make one condition, you must give me the child that your wife will bring into this world. It shall be well treated and I will care for it like a mother."
THE man in his terror consented to everything ["WHAT?!?!" Arel screeched at him] and when the woman finally gave birth to a child nine months later, the witch was there at once and took the girl away with her.
Arel scowled. "That dumb tralk is honestly going to let the witch take her child? I'd play jump rope with my own intestine before I gave away my child."
The Narrator made an exasperated noise at yet another interruption.
"Now you've pissed him off," Samantha said.
"Sorry," Arel grunted.
AHEM ... THE witch named the child Rapunzel and when the girl was twelve years old, growing more beautiful with each passing day, the evil witch took her into the forest and locked her in a tower that had neither stairs nor door but only one little window.
"Why one window?" Arel asked innocently.
THAT'S IT, the Narrator suddenly exclaimed. I CAN'T POSSIBLY WORK UNDER THESE CONDITIONS. I QUIT!
Footsteps were hear stomping away.
Samantha started swearing.
Arel shrugged. "Was it something I said?"
(tbc)
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