"The Eagle, Ensign, and Anchor" Prologue, Part II
Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC
Commanding Officer
188TH Starfleet Marines Detachment
And Newly Minted Resistance Fighter
(With T'Kith'kin Consultation from Eric)
===========================================
(Cardassia Prime- January 3, 2386)
Hundreds of teams of special forces and special operators had to be pre-positioned if the scattered Cardassian resistance was going to play the role it was needed to prior to the invasion. The Triad forces in Cardassia were substantive and had strong defensive positions and supply bases within the Cardassian Union. They were mostly T'Kith'kin... probably the Triad member that most struck fear into the hearts of the Allies because of their Borg like ability to assimilate, the massive armies they could seemingly send in endless supply, and animalistic thirst for forced procreation and blood.
But shit, someone had to kick in the Triad's front door, right? Why not him?
Colonel Arvelion finished his ritualistic prayer. It was the same prayer he uttered over the skies of Romulus two years prior, over Delta IV so many months ago... just before the Vered mission, and in any number of engagements throughout his career. The familiarity, if nothing else was comforting.
The other Marines with him all had their own various pre-operation rituals. Leah for example had a habit of closing her eyes, and humming, very quietly a song that For'kel imagined she was dancing to in her head. Must have been a great way to relax.
Ugahlo on the other hand was far more physical, stretching out on the final approach to Cardassia.
Sergeant Ilal slept.
Private First Class Pe'sip, part of the last crop of Marine recruits to transfer into the 188TH, busily clicked away at his weapon, checking, re-checking, and re-re-checking every nook and cranny to insure absolute readiness.
There were precious few pilots willing to undertake such an operation. Cowboy or Ella Grey back from the Galaxy probably would have done it, but their fighter group needed them now more than at any other time what with the impending invasion at all. Likewise his Marine pilots had either been called away to serve temporarily with the SFFC, or were more valuable as foot-soldiers helping in the effort to bring the various groups behind Cardassian lines together for the mission.
What he got instead was one of his fellow Stagnorians from the Alpha KS-128 operation. Avelina silently busied herself at the helm of the heavily modified runabout, pushing it's systems to the fullest to insure they didn't get picked off by any one of the dozens of Triad warships in the Cardassian system. Doing that was no easy task... a journey that should've taken no more than 18-20 hours had taken the better part of 3 days as they hopped from star-system to star-system, using nebulas, spatial anomalies, and stellar ionization to shroud any signature they left behind. It was a scene likely being replayed all across Cardassian space right now, in hundreds of different ways.
The statistics didn't bode well for them. Starfleet Command's Bureau of Special Operations Planning, or whatever the hell it was called (Fork never paid attention really), had determined that 1/4 to 1/3 of the insertion teams would get picked off before ever making it to their targets. Either eliminated because their ships were detected and engaged, or somehow captured... and there were no illusions among anyone in the operation as to what would happen if they got picked up.
Of the ones that made it, Starfleet figured another 1/3 to 2/3 of the teams would go 'off grid' for one reason or another. Maybe they'd never find their intended rendezvous points or contacts, maybe they would die in an ambush or sweep, suffer some kind of mechanical failure, or simply have the unfortunate luck of being killed trying to accomplish a mission. In short, supposing Starfleet had sent 1,000 Marines in for these missions, they were 'hopeful' that 250 would live long enough to accomplish their missions, let alone see an end to the Cardassian campaign. It was most definitely a 'high-stakes' mission, the kind that awarded medals, made widows, and became part of the lore that formed around the Starfleet Marine Corps...
Oohrah.
The modified runabout entered the Cardassian system's solar plane. Ava was a clever woman, actually using the radiation emitted by the propulsion systems of a T'Kith'kin destroyer type vessel to obscure and hide the minimal signature emitted by the runabout. By the time that ship veered off, she already had the runabout in a gravity-induced orbit around one of the systems' outer planets... the incredibly low signature going unnoticed, and the dark hull giving next to no visual signature of the runabout.
Nobody said a damned thing... somehow you felt safer when you didn't talk.
The fleet surrounding Cardassia Prime was impressive. Precious few sentients had witnessed such a sight and lived to tell of it. Organic vessels littered the space-scape, of any and all imaginable, conceivable shape and size. Thin, silvery darts flitted in formation while bulbous hulks drifted to and fro in an incomprehensible pattern amongst their brethren.
Once she had a path, Ava took it. "Firing bow thrusters at two-degree incline, aft thrusters ahead full... five second burn..."
The Runabout's nose slightly tipped up. As it did the gravity of the moon pulled it down, and the thrusters kicked in at full, creating a downward drift that bounced the runabout free of the planet's gravitational well without the use of it's higher powered propulsion systems. The runabout quietly and quickly drifted to the next planet... and the next... by the 4th one you had to admit she was pretty damned good at this, though the sight of a T'Kith'kin battleship outside the view-port had a way of blanking your thoughts.
"Strap in." Ava called from up front, and with practiced efficiency the Marines all clicked their restraints into place.
Artificial gravity was deactivated... 'every' watt of power they conserved made them that much more invisible to the multitude of starships, defensive platforms, and spy satellites around them.
The internal lights even went out, and internal life support was reduced to the point that the heating system was shut down. They were relying solely on the insulation material installed by assembly technicians paid by the lowest bidder in a military contract. Not like their lives were on the line or anything...
Oh, wait...
As if it were nothing more than an oddly-shaped asteroid, the runabout was sucked into orbit of Cardassia. If their contact's agents had done their job, this was simply a precaution because the satellites near them in Cardassia's new 'defense grid' were down anyway. None-the-less, one could never be too careful.
With all this twisting and 0-Gravity hard maneuvers, Fork was glad he forewent a big lunch that day.
The new guy Bolian was looking greener than his color seemed to permit. As they drifted, it got noticeably cooler in the runabout's cabin.
Leah crunched herself up as if she was cold.
Ugahlo's teeth were chattering.
And then they were through. Past the high-orbital defense grid, through the 'low' orbital defense grid, past the Armada's worth of warships above and the automated defensive network, and totally unrecognized by any automated defense systems or manned flak cannons below.
Ava skillfully brought thruster systems online only as they were needed, slowing the runabout down enough that they were able to make a very controlled bump and skid onto the planet.
"Ladies and gentlemen we have arrived at our last stop, Cardassia Prime. It is currently 01:11 local standard time, and the surface temperature is a balmy 29.5 (85) degrees. Please remain seated with your restraints fastened until the runabout has come to a full, complete stop. Thank you for flying 50/50 Star-lines this evening, and we hope you remember us for all your transportation needs. 50/50 Star-lines, why not take a chance?"
Fork was getting a little sick of that joke.
Ilal had already been sick.
Leah and Ughalo were just glad to have some kind of heat.
Fork snapped his restraints off and grabbed his equipment. "Gear-up Marines, let's see what we have waiting for us."
The landing zone for this particular detachment was at the base of an impressive mountain range. Towering peaks rose into the clouds in one direction, and in the other was the muted skyline of the nearest city scant kilometers away. Though much of the world lay unchanged, the cities and industrial/population centers had been quickly taken over by the t'Kith'Kin, their organic technology covering and consuming the present architecture to inevitably convert it into something more suitable for the Hive's purposes. Towers of bilious green stretched into the evening sky like a tumorous stalagmite, anchored to one of the bloated 'cargo' carriers in orbit to literally feed the cityscape.
Little was left of the original construction that would identify this as one of the territorial capitol districts, save for segments of the city's exterior walls. The familiar curved buttresses and spires were completely at odds with the growth of greens, blues, and tans of a Hive City.
Of the surrounding environment, other than the grotesque pustule of a city, one could have imagined that there was nothing amiss with Cardassia Prime. The plains, mountains, and seas still looked just as they did before, though hulks and scars of the ongoing conflict marred the landscape with the detritus of war.
"It's almost beautiful, in a way." Leah couldn't help but notice the tranquility of the humanoid-less city and natural surroundings from this distance.
"As beautiful as a puss-filled blister." Ugahlo snorted.
"One that's ready to pop." said the Colonel as he and their pilot outstretched the camo netting over the body of their runabout. He took out his tricorder and made a quick passive scan. There was no incoming signals in the immediate vicinity... no recognizable power signatures, and most importantly none of the gravitic or seismic abnormalities associated with a sizable force of armed insectoids. He glanced over at Ava. "You and your co-pilot going to be okay on the runabout by yourselves for a few days?"
She nodded. "We'll be fine. Just remember to come find us if we have to activate the self-destruct."
"Not a problem." He gave her their equivalent of a hug. "Good luck."
"You too Colonel."
"So what next Colonel?" The eager Private Pe'sip, weapon in hand looked at his CO brightly. 'This' was what he had gone through Marine training for. To go to some foreign world and save billions as their avenging angel, reaping destruction upon the forces of evil and casting their shadows away in favor of the light of civilization, self-determination, and the more Vulcan inspired concept of IDIC.
Fork tossed him his field bag. "Now, we walk."
==========================================================
It was no easy task avoiding wandering T'Kith'kin patrols and surveillance equipment in the mountains outside of Lakarian City, that historic Cardassian urban center devastated during the Dominion War. It was an unfortunate happenstance that the T'Kith'kin hit this city first... many of the buildings were so new that the thermal bonding hadn't even set and cured when the T'Kith'kin assault began. The ghost town, shrouded under the biological shroud of T'Kith'kin occupation, made it hard to believe that at one point more than two million people inhabited the city and it's suburbs.
Difficulty aside, none the less the squad of Starfleet's best made it's way through the narrow paths, and steep rock-faces of the mountain chain undetected. To accomplish that task, they'd gone as dark as they could go. Tricorders, rifles, and hazard suits had been powered down. They'd even gone through the task of powering down their universal translators... the Colonel would be sticking to his Federation Standard and hastily learned rudiments of Cardassian for this mission. No advanced communication devices, no sophisticated means of transportation or navigation... not even so much as a field replicator; the Marines were making their journey in the 'old school' fashion. There was nothing but the boots on their feet, the packs on their backs, and the knives in their scabbards.
Pe'sip was up front, scouting for the rest of the squad which moved in a single file to best conceal their numbers. Every Marine in the squad had memorized the route they needed to take from the LZ by memory, and the route from every alternative LZ to the pre-arranged meeting place. Not that any of that preparation mattered right now. All that mattered was making the rendezvous point by night fall, some 10 kilometers from the LZ and kilometer or so above it.
They made decent enough time, despite the climate conditions (which had been extremely altered by the T'Kith'kin presence, Cardassia had become far cooler and more humid than it's historical normality) the Marines had made it to the rendezvous point.
In fact, things had gone quietly. Too quietly despite a couple of close calls... Fork went for his knife when he saw the dark cave ahead. He knew someone or something was in it... whether or not it was their contact he figured they'd know soon enough.
Behind them, a barrage of explosions broke the silence, the cityscape defiled by the biogenic technology began glowing with smoldering flames and the flicker of shields.
"Whoa, what was that?" Ugahlo whispered, feeling the ground shake below his feet.
"Artillery." For'kel muttered, taking his hand off the handle of his blade.
"Good call, Colonel." A voice in Federation standard replied, and from the shadows of the gave that Fork's eyes never left emerged a Bajoran mad clad, ironically, in the uniform of a member of the Cardassian 1st Order under an outer covering of blankets and garments customary of Cardassian civilians during the short winter they experienced around these parts. "The Cardassians are a proud and determined people, they won't let anything of value fall into Triad hands. If they can't have Lakarian city, nobody can."
Fork gave a grim nod. Unfortunately that was what things around here had devolved into. "This is 1st Lieutenant Raben Kahal, Starfleet Marines."
"I wish this meeting was under different circumstances." The Bajoran offered by way of greeting. As one might expect from a man who'd gone a while without seeing an available woman, his eyes drifted over to Leah and a flirtacious smile crossed his lips. One that didn't go unnoticed, or unreturned for that matter.
Fork played dumb and managed to limit the eye-rolling to the internal. "Lieutenant Raben here was the executive officer of the Marine Embassy Security Force here on Cardassia before the war."
Kahal caught the hint. "Yes sir, looking forward to a ticket home."
"A few more days before that happens, I'm afraid." Fork smirked. "How about you lead the way?"
=============================================================
Those Cardassians not made wholly subservient to their T'Kith'kin overlords now lived exclusively in the most elaborate and extensive system of underground tunnels ever constructed on a planet of any type, with the only surface entrances typically in terrain hostile environments to provide the maximum amount of protection possible from infiltration. It was almost as if all Cardassia had been sunk under (at places) 200 meters of soil and bedrock. It was a long walk through the labyrinth of interlocking caves and tunnel structures down to sea level, before an old mining shaft lead them still further down to the heart of this tunnel matrix; far enough down that you could literally bury an entire Galaxy Class starship with the peak of the bridge and grave depth so that nobody could find it.
It was dark and fairly cramped. Power was at a premium as too high a signature would risk detection even at these depths without proper shielding. Lieutenant Raben lead the way with a hand-held light, Leah right behind him, Ugahlo behind her, and Ilal, Arvelion, and Pe'sip brining up the rear. Once you'd past the first half a dozen check points, each one guarded by guerilla fighters, you made it to a make-shift lift, literally something that you could picture as being from ancient Earth, completely dependent on a system of pulleys and counter-weights. Manually, Kahal lowered their elevator... allowing it to transverse down 10 levels at a time. At 30 levels down they had to transfer to another elevator, and following that had to repeat the process once more before they were actually on the lowest sub-level of the structure.
The tunnel system was for all intensive purposes a functioning city. There were small studios which served as family apartments, a functioning school system, cafeterias (or what passed for them), hydroponics bays where food was grown and farmed, an outdated but none the less functioning sanitary system, hospitals to treat the wounded, armories to store weapons and needed supplies... everything one would expect in a city.
Despite everything the Cardassian people had been through in the last two years, life still continued on.
"Wait here. They get a little antsy when new arrivals come in. I'll go get the man you need to speak to."
For'kel nodded and looked around. No less than six guards were in the room with them. It was sparsely furnished, the reason for that as obvious as the need for an underground fighting community to begin with. In the center was a simple metal table, similarly designed chairs around it. Above them a single, battery powered flood light provided illumination for the entire room. Sufficing to say, it took a bit to adapt to the low level of lighting.
Ugahlo on the other hand made light of the situation. The boisterous African grinned with a broad white smile at the much smaller American native. "So, Raben Kahal ah?"
Leah blinked. "Huh?"
"Handsome guy, don't you think?"
Leah crossed her arms in annoyance. "I didn't notice."
"Oh yes you did." Pe'sip chuckled. "We all 'saw' you noticing..."
"Oh shut up newbie, don't question a superior."
"Oh snap, burn!" Ugahlo chuckled.
Her gaze fixed on him after the put down. "And you of all people questioning how anyone acts... how many times has a woman slapped you in the face?"
"Oh, burn!" Pe'sip shot back at Ugahlo.
"Shut up newbie..."
While the three younger Marines kept up the banter. in the background and the Cardassian guards kept them all under close scrutiny, Ilal pulled out his lap top and began setting up.
"How long is this going to take?" Fork asked, watching over his shoulder.
"No more than thirty seconds."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Thirty seconds is the life-cycle of the tempsats, so if it takes longer we're boned anyway." Ilal smirked. "Beginning active sweep..."
At low-orbit altitude, two dozen satellites that had been in orbit for the last two years and never used kicked on. They were Tempsats, temporary satellites, originally owned by Starfleet Intelligence for use in an emergency situation which would require the evacuation of personnel from Cardassia to find rendezvous points for pick-ups. Unfortunately the Triad onslaught had been so fast and furious that there was no need to use the hidden, secret system because there was zero possibility of rescue. As a result, they just lingered there.
Now the Marines owned them as a hand-me down, courtesy of none other than the Chief of Starfleet Intelligence herself, Jordan Elaithin.
In the span of thirty seconds, each one of the satellites activated. They reached their optimal altitude and began an extremely high-resolution, detailed scan of the entire planet and the surrounding star system. In fact, so high powered were the scans that in many instances the residual EM signatures caused extensive difficulties and systems problems for the T'Kith'kin fleet and installations. Then stage two, the transmission of the satellite telemetry picked up. The satellites contained pre-built and top-secret extremely-low probability of intercept (ELPI) transmission system, burst firing their data transmissions to each other before firing. Once all the data had been dispatched, phase three commenced. In the belly of each satellite was a massive tank of anti-matter derivatives of the materials used in the sats themselves. Once the transmission had concluded, the containment fields for the anti-matter were released. The instantaneous reaction was the vaporization of the entire satellite, leaving absolutely nothing in it's wake but a rapidly dissipating distortion wave.
Once it received the encoded data, a program on Ilal's laptop composed by himself and Ensign Aina Mason decompressed the captured data-streams and began accumulating them into a single, all encompassing, insanely accurate map of the Cardassian system, and Cardassia Prime itself. It wouldn't always be this accurate... ships moved, troop positions changed... but things like port facilities, fortifications, major bases... those weren't going anywhere. And those were going to be their main targets.
"You shut up."
"No, 'you' shut up!"
"No, 'you'..."
"Everyone shut up." The Stagnorian called, the younger group falling deafly silent. "You're supposed to be professionals, damn it. Pe'sip, take supply inventory. Ugahlo, stop busting Owen's chops, and Leah... try to remember that it's unlikely anyone on this planet has had anything resembling a decent shower or bath in months."
"Weeks possibly Colonel, but we do have adequate sanitary facilities to assure everyone showers eventually."
There was a clearing of a throat
For'kel turned around to see the Bajoran had returned... with a Cardassian clad in civilian clothes. They'd all read the basic bio on the man... or in Fork's case skimmed it (he was a busy man), so seeing him side by side with a Bajoran of all things was, well, weird. "Minister Crell Moset, I presume?"
"Please Colonel, I've always preferred to be known by doctor." He offered that congenial smile that made him a popular leader and extended his hand. "Welcome to Cardassia Colonel Arvelion... my people have been waiting for this moment for the last two and a half years."
"Well then..." Fork took the man's arm. "Let's not keep them waiting any longer than we need to."
Disturbia Part 8
Ophelia Zamora
JAG
Ensign Charlotte Dooley
AKA Faylin McAlister
Consul Ayanna Hinanat
Judge
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Acting Chief of Security
Junior Marshal Melissa Daughtery
Federation Marshal Corps
****
The first indication that anything was amiss was when Faylin suddenly
found herself smashed between the ceiling and the heavy oak conference
room table.
Only her incredible reflexes had saved her from a broken neck when the
sudden reversal of gravity has almost landed her on her head, but still
the sudden rain of tables and chairs hadn't done her mood much good.
"Transporter." she hissed as the telltale high pitched whine caused her
hairs to stand on end.
Twinkling into existence in a sparkle of blue light, Mel Daughtery
softly dropped to the ceiling landed atop the fluorescent striplights,
her heavy boots smashing the fragile bulbs with hollow pops.
"Frak," she cursed slipping slightly on the unsteady surface attempting
at the same time to draw a bead on the figure struggling beneath the
shattered table.
Shifting her footing she inadvertently popped another bulb, throwing the
whole room into a chaotic half-light of dancing shadows. "Faylin
McAllister!" she announced, as her service phaser hummed warmly in her
hands "Federation Marshals! You're under arrest bitch!"
Simultaneously, the door to the conference room vanished with a whining
sound and a 'puff' of expanding greenish-white light as it broke apart
molecularly into ionized gasses. Almost before it had finished
dissipating, another figure - taller and heavier than the Marshal -
stepped through as the shimmer of a force field sealed off the door
behind him.
"Pack it in, McAllister," Victor said, his voice cutting through the air
like a cold razor as his sense of presence filled the room like a wave
of water, threatening to drown the occupants.
Shifting her weight to the left side of her body, McAlister smacked the
floor with something that resembled an arm as she busied herself with a
new form. Her form shifted into Terran form, yet her coloring changed as
she blended into the color of the ceiling making her difficult to spot
in the flashing illumination.
"Thanks for the offer Vic...but I'm not
ready yet."
"It wasn't an offer," he returned as he phasered the first figure he saw
- Ophelia Zamora - as she cowered behind a broken chair. As the woman
dropped limply, he turned his attentions to the sound of Faylin's voice
and snapped off a shot in her direction to keep her pinned down.
Upside down, and finally disengaging herself from the stupid light
fixtures Mel didn't bother with taking pot shots. Her phaser cranked to
wide angle, she mowed down great swaths of the room with the fiery beam.
Fragile bulbs exploded, and scattered papers burst into flame as the
beam passed, and the polished wooden table would never again have that
perfect finish.
A distant part of the marshals mind felt a twinge of guilt as the
hapless fish tank exploded under her heedless onslaught, but then again
the 'fall' in the reversed gravity probably already killed them.
"Transporters!" she yelled, tapping her silver star with her free hand,
"The doors open, transport every fucking thing in this room into
containment cells NOW!!"
For a second she thought it was going to work....thought for an instant
that maybe the fleet weenies might actually be on their toes enough to
pull this cluster-frak off....
Things were already starting to sparkle into nothingness when a dark
shadow-quick shape leaped at her from almost under her feet grabbing her
pale neck in one claw, and her phaser-hand in the other.
Bin Hux had taught the former ballet dancer all manners of sneaky hand
to hand techniques, but even so, Mel Daughtery had barely seconds before
her neck was broken to abandon her phaser to use both hands to pry the
steel-tendoned talons from her throat.
This worked well enough for Faylin, who scooped up the abandoned gun and
mere instants before everything else in the room was transported away,
managed to crank it up to maximum and melt her way out of the area
through a nearby bulkhead.
The unexpected direction of her escape managed to take her beyond
Victors established force field barriers....what use were they when she
could melt her way from room to room through the very walls?
Coughing and thankful to be alive, Mel managed a croaked "Fuck" before
things went blank.
***
Victor had seen the inside of a lot of holding cells over the years.
Given his nature, it was actually surprising that most of that time had
been spent while doing maintenance on them and not as a resident. Since
he was now in charge of the Galaxy's brig, it was with a certain degree
of pride that he noted that it took him fifty-seven seconds to move
himself from the inside of the cell to the outside - a feat accomplished
by the simple expedient of telling the officer on duty - So'ka - two
things. One, that the third line of the second paragraph of his most
recent performance review contained the phrase "unholy fascination with
blue cheese guacamole dip." Two, the one that clinched the deal and set
him free, was the name of the supposedly secret lover that So'ka was
involved with - Pail Hanley.
As soon as his boots hit the outside of the cell floor, he snapped out
an order over his combadge. =/\= Krieghoff to Bridge. Institute
Starfleet Protocol CH-558. Lock down all sensitive areas. Suspect is
armed. =/\=
=/\= Ahhh... =/\= The com officer drew out, confused by Victor's use of
a protocol not used since the Dominion War to respond to Changelings
loose aboard Starfleet vessels..
=/\= Protocol engaged, =/\= the XO's voice snapped. =/\= Is it
McAllister? =/\=
=/\= Yes. =/\= Victor replied. =/\= More later. Busy now. =/\= As he
finished speaking, he turned to So'ka. "Send the Marshal to Sickbay if
she needs it, otherwise send her after me. Leave Hinnant and Zamora in
their cells unless they need medical help - in that case, bring it here.
Have T'risia deactivate the Marshal's phaser remotely. And beam Zamora's
son and Callahan here as soon as you find them."
"Aye, sir," So'ka snapped as Victor stopped speaking nd contacted the
Transporter room. =/\= Chief Cannon, beam me to wherever the Marshal's
phaser is right now - unless it's in a reactor or something. If it is,
then the Conference Room. =/\=
The transporter beam carried him away as he realized that he really
needed to get Angelienia off the ship if he could.
****
"Jebus saves." McAlister muttered as she rolled to the left before slightly slamming into
the wall. Her eyes drifted quickly, realizing that A, she still had the Marshall's phaser and B,
Victor was likely tracking the weapon of piddly destruction. Shaking her left hand, she watched
the phaser fly through the air.
Standing, the woman took in her surroundings before darting off down the corridor. If she couldn't
kill the mother, she'd kill the son.
OOC: Ah, writer's block, how I hate thee. Oh, and this is supposed to occur the day after "Do-Over"...which I wrote nearly three weeks ago. x_x
"Morning After"
Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara, XO, USS Galaxy
Lt. Cmdr. Aron Vira, Chief Counselor, USS Gorgon
*****
Epsilon Four "Demeter"
Competitors' Village
"So...once she got the custom-made wig, which had to be approaching a meter tall, she decided to add some 'life' to it. Literally. With a bird's nest complete with live bird...none other than my pet budgie Archimedes. A 'budgie' being a small Terran bird...small, green and yellow feathers, makes a good pet, pretty cute," Aron clarified. "Anyway, Archie was a remarkably well-trained bird so he sat nicely in the little nest inside the giant beehive hairdo, whistling and chirping happily to himself throughout the entire party...that is, until the President arrived."
"Oh...this can not end well."
Aron chuckled; after all, he knew what was coming. "Archie, seeing President T'Pragh's hairstyle...Vulcan hairstyles still being fairly elaborate at this point in time," he added, "decides that T'Pragh's hair looks more like 'home' than the scratchy nest in Mother's wig, and, well..." He chuckled again. "Let's just say that T'Pragh nearly lost her legendary composure as Archie had to be forcibly removed from her hair. I don't think my mother's cheeks ever looked so red, or ever will again."
Iniara was silent for a long moment, one eyebrow slowly creeping upward as his story sank into her brain, forming the mental image of a pet bird nesting within the up-do of the Vulcan President. "That...has to be the strangest thing I've ever heard."
"I know, right?" Aron said, trying hard not to roll his eyes. His family frequently strayed into the realm of the eccentric and bizarre, and he usually found it quite annoying, but damn did it make for good storytelling.
"Yeah..." Her voice trailed off as she looked over at him.
Then he looked back at her.
And a split second later they busted out laughing, both of them clutching their stomachs. "I can't believe--" Iniara tried to get out through rough breaths "--that your mother...tried to wear...a live bird...in her hair!"
"That's what...I'm saying!" Aron was also having trouble getting more than a couple words out at a time. Taking a few deep gasps of breath he focused on slowing down his breathing before trying to speak again. "Apparently she'd read something about the ostentatious hairstyles of pre-revolutionary France, and it reminded her of something similar on Betazed a century or two ago, and..."
"...and she thought it would be a good thing to try at a costume party. A costume party...attended by...the President of the UFP!" Iniara slid down slightly in the deck chair she was occupying, marveling at how good it felt to just let go and laugh. She couldn't recall the last time she'd had so much fun doing...well, nothing at all. Sure, she'd spent the night with her newfound friend, but unlike similar encounters no doubt taking place all throughout the Games, they hadn't done anything aside from staying up late into the night swapping ridiculous stories from their respective childhoods. It had been close to dawn when they'd finally gone to bed (with Aron being a gentleman and taking the sofa so she could have the room's only bed), and it had been pushing noon when they had finally returned to the land of the living. Now, they were lounging on the patio outside their room, nibbling on a plate of cold meats and cheeses and swapping still more stupid stories. Iniara wondered when-- or if-- either one would run out of ridiculous things to share.
"The lengths women go to for fashion..." Aron continued, his voice bringing Iniara out of her momentary reverie. "I don't think I'll ever understand it."
"Neither will I," Iniara agreed, shaking her head, "neither will I."
Sensing something he could seize upon, Aron pushed himself into a less reclined position, looking across the table that sat between them, a telltale grin dancing across his features. "Reeeeally?" he began. "Don't tell me you've never done something outrageous...or even slightly excessive...in the name of looking your best."
Iniara gave him a stern look, though they both knew it was all in fun. "Never willingly."
"Suuuure." He crossed his arms, nodding slowly, as if there was some great secret she wasn't sharing.
"Never willingly," Iniara insisted. "Although...there was this one time..."
Aron leaned forward, popping a cube of deep golden cheese into his mouth. "Go on," he prodded, his words slightly distorted from the food.
Iniara sighed, a wide grin spreading across her face as more memories of her childhood came to the fore. This was likely to go on all day, she realized; it was probably a good thing that they didn't have to compete again until tomorrow. "Alright," she said, also grabbing some food, chewing it thoughtfully as she contemplated where to begin. After all, the way in which a story was told could make or break even the best of tales. "I was...oh, I think ten years old at the time. My mother had just been elected as Betazed's representative to the Federation Council, which of course meant a huge victory celebration. My sister and I had to look our best that evening, so..."
“A Cold Day in Hell”
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton – USS Galaxy
Ensign Rafael Dávila – USS Gorgon (NPC)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Epsilon Eight “Hephaestus” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Breathing heavily Kimberly put her head against the wall before her and paused a moment for breath. Since getting to know Rafael she’d had a great deal of fun, and had spent a lot of energy keeping up with him. Today though had proved once and for all that he had a somewhat greater stamina than her, as well as a great deal more flexibility.
“Not giving up are you?” His voice teased her from somewhere underneath her.
Growling almost inaudibly Kimberly opened her eyes and looked down. Past her feet there was a sheer drop, for about a thousand feet, and hanging on the cliff face below Rafael was looking up, even though she couldn’t see his face clearly through the rebreather she could tell from his eyes he was smiling.
~ A fun day out, simple climb. You’ll love the view! ~ A little inexperienced in these matters she pondered briefly at what point in a normal relationship you started contemplating homicide! Pausing a second Kimberly rewound that statement and considered the wording... Relationship, were they in one? And was this ‘really’ the time to be debating it?
“No, not yet,” she answered finally answering both his question and her own, “just admiring the view.”
“You’re staring at a rock face,” Rafael reminded her, pulling himself up so that he was beside her. “Found anything interesting?”
“Not yet, give me four or five hours and I’ll get back to you on that one.” She was tired, there was no argument there. It’d been a while since she’d done rock climbing, and it was strenuous. ~ I gotta build up my stamina when I get back to the ship. ~ Kimberly decided.
“C’mon, another hundred metres at the most and we’re there.” Pausing he leant a little closer and stared at her face plate. “Are you alright?” Rafael asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice, “we can beam out if you want to.” It wasn’t the first time he had asked; though it was the first time she seriously considered saying yes.
Looking up she considered the climb ahead. It was fairly vertical, though there appeared to be a plethora of handholds and a very nice looking crack they could ascend up chimney style, so she shook her head. “Nope, I started this, and I’ll damn well finish it!” She announced firmly. Reaching up she grabbed a convenient protrusion and tested it before pulling herself up. “The chimney!” She announced, angling in that direction.
“Agreed, you lead.” Letting Kimberly take the lead he watched her carefully for a moment, securing the line then playing it out as she slowly made her way up. Once she reached the crack in the rock face she anchored the line and waved to him.
Satisfied she was safe for the moment Rafael pulled the kit bag up to his position and then followed her lead. What had taken her a slow fifteen minutes he covered in less that five, though he had half expected the slow ascent. Rock climbing was something you needed to practice frequently; she obviously had rarely used the skill since her Academy classes. Settling himself beside her at the base of the chimney he again pulled the kit bag up while she looked around. The view from this altitude was impressive, though the cold weather gear and rebreathers they both wore were slowing them down they had made good time, they should be at the summit well in advance of local dusk.
If they thought it was cold now, best not to be here at night. The term human popsicles came to mind.
“What do you have in there?” Kimberly asked. He had been lugging that bag up the whole mountain, and had so far refused to tell her what was inside.
“Trust me.” Again that was all Rafael would say in that silky tone of his.
As soon as the bag was safe at the base of the chimney Kimberly stood and looked up, it was reasonably vertical, and narrow enough to make this fairly straight forward. “See you at the top.” She said as she checked her lines and started up. Chimney ascents weren’t too bad as long as it wasn’t too far to climb, and this one ended just shirt of the summit. And so, half an hour later Kimberly found herself face down on the top of the mountain, breathing hard and exhausted.
~ And I thought I was in such great shape! ~ She reminded herself. Watching as Rafael pulled himself up onto the rock beside her she sat up and looked around as he retrieved the bag.
~ Wow! ~
There wasn’t any other way to describe it really. All around them there was a sea of mountain tops protruding from the cloud layer some four kilometres beneath them. The clouds before them were a glistening white mass, but turning she could see the shadow of the mountain they stood on stretching out for miles in the late afternoon light.
Drinking in the view Kimberly stood and slowly turned a full circle. ~ Damn the man, he was right. The climb was worth it. ~ Though they hadn’t climbed all the way from ground level it did feel like it.
Doing the only thing that came to mind at that point she dug out her holocam and set it to take a three hundred and sixty degree panoramic scan that included herself and Rafael. ‘This’ was one shot that was going on the office wall!
“So, how do you plan on getting down from here then?” Kimberly asked after they had relaxed for a moment, arm in arm, “it’s a long walk.”
“Simplicity itself.” Rafael answered. Sliding away from Kimberly he opened the bag he had hauled up behind him and produced two glide packs with a smile.
“You are kidding me!” Kimberly objected, looking at the packs with disbelief. “I haven’t touched one of them since the Academy!” Though to be honest they were fairly idiot proof, slip the pack on and jump, couldn’t be simpler. It did all the work from there, all you had to do was glide using the fields it created to avoid obstacles until it automatically activated the anti-grav chute, then drift gently down. Looking over the edge she realised it was four kilometres to the clouds, and perhaps another three or four to the ground. That’s a ‘long’ way down, and they only had a vertical face for a short while to get some clearance.
“You’re serious?” She asked, seeing the look in his eyes.
“Unless you want to beam out, or climb down, yes.” He answered simply, “Its not hard, just try not to hit anything solid,” he offered, “if you have any trouble hit your comm badge and beam out.”
~ Unless the first sign of trouble is my face on the rock wall! ~ She countered silently. Looking over the edge again she suddenly felt a wild impulse seize her and she laughed, “You know I’m going to do it somehow, don’t you.” She asked, though it wasn’t really a question.
“Do you think I’d have carted them up the damn mountain if I thought we weren’t going to need them?” He answered as he unpacked the two chutes.
Stepping over to him she watched as he put one on, and then let him help her into the second. Safety checks only took a moment, then the double checks. By the time they were done the sun had dropped somewhat and Rafael nodded towards it. “We can’t jump in the dark,” he cautioned Kimberly, “So we have to go soon or just beam out now. Last chance to change your mind?” He offered.
Taking one last look around at the incredible vista she smiled, a long climb, a short rest then a crazy jump. What a day. “See you on the ground.” She replied with a smile.
One step... ~ Oh this is crazy! ~ She berated herself.
Two steps... ~ Oh god does he make me feel good though! ~ She reminded herself.
Three steps... ~ Oh Dren! That’s a ‘long’ way down! ~
~ Watch that last step, it’s a doozy! ~ She reminded herself as she kicked off the top of the mountain and into free fall.
"Emotional Outburst"
Lieutenant Mark (APC, written by Cliff)
Counselor
1st Lieutenant Branwen London
Chief Psychologist, CO, 5th platoon
Lieutenant (jg) Michael McDowell
Engineer
*** Classroom 3, Deck 9, 1043 hrs ***
It should've been a casual walk to his next assignment for the day. From
Main Engineering to Deck 7. It would give him some time to let his mind
wander without having to worry about him screwing things up...again. That
job on the secondary plasma couplings got him in enough problems. It was one
of the reasons why someone thought he had to pay by putting in more hours of
work. Just to set things straight. Sort of 'payback time'.
But he never got to Deck 7. Instead he found himself standing in front of
Classroom 3, looking at children who were playing. He didn't know why until
it slowly dawned on him...
"Hey Michael." He suddenly heard behind him. "We have to stop meeting like
this." Bran grinned. "A nice view isn't it? When they are still so small."
"Yes,...yes, it is." Michael said a little surprised after he'd briefly
looked aside. He turned his attention back to the children again. He'd never
thought about kids and as far as he can remember he'd never talked about
them with Dhani, save for few fleeting remarks. It all seemed so far away
then. But here he stood, wondering how it would be... No, how it could've
been. He didn't see it happening anymore. Not the way things were going now.
"You don't have kids do you?" Bran said keeping her face passive. Why did
she have to walk here today. Especially the little ones reminded her too
much of her own kids.
"Well," Mark said from behind them, "None that I actually 'know' of." He
flashed the two a cheeky smile.
"Mark!" Bran smiled and walked over to him to hug him. "I have even missed
you, incredable as it sounds."
"Oh, I don't believe a word of it," he told her with a grateful expression.
He gave her a quick squeeze back and let her go. "I won't admit it in
public, but it 'is' good to see you again." Which of course wasn't true
because they were, in fact, out in public view.
She smiled. "Don't worry, I won't betray your secret. Hey do you know
Michael?" She asked introducing the two men.
"No, I don't think so. We've never met before." Michael said before the
Lieutenant had the oppotunity to speak up. He extended his hand towards
Mark. "I'm Michael McDowell."
Mark shook McDowell's hand smiling broadly. "Pleased to meet you. It's a big
ship and even though I've been here a while I still find myself meeting new
people all the time... even though they aren't really, ya know, new."
Bran smiled. "You are newer, Mark. He is one of the Miranda people." She
explained to Michael.
"Don't make it sound like a 'bad' thing," the counselor teased.
"Nah, my husband came from the Miranda as well." But there was something in
her eyes that Bran tried to laugh away. "Mark is another shrink." She said
to Michael. "We work together."
Mark visibly winced when she said 'shrink'. "C'mon now, you know we don't
actually 'shrink' anything. I don't even know how that term came into use
referring to our profession." He let out an exasperated sigh.
"Oh sorry Mark, I forgot you don't like that." She said grinning wickedly.
Michael smiled uncomfortably as he listenened to the two Counselors giving
away an example of high speed talking. They obviously had a lot to talk
about and he was just standing there doing nothing. The phrase 'two is
company, three is a crowd' came to mind.
He slowly started walking backwards, moving in the direction of the nearest
Turbolift. "Well, I really should get to Deck 7. I have to get these
assignments..." He raised a PADD so that they could clearly see it. "...done
by the end of this shift. It was nice meeting you Mark." Michael smiled but
the smile faded away as soon as he turned around again.
"Hey Michael don't go!" Bran said. "You should really get to know Mark, I am
sure you guys will like each other."
"Really Mike," Mark added shrugging, "I don't bite."
Michael turned around once more. "Hey, it's okay. I need to finish this work
anyway. There'll be some crossed faces in Engineering if I don't do that."
"You are no fun, Michael!' Bran said. "Relax a little! How about some golf
on the holodeck later on?"
"No fun? Relax? What the heck are you talking about!? I can't just walk away
and do things I like to do. I don't see you walking out on your patients, so
why do you expect to cast aside my work?" Branwen's remark hinted at
something Michael didn´t like, eventhough it probably was partly true. "By
the way, I can have fun and relax. You don't know me all that well."
She blinked, that reaction took her by surpise. "Oh ehm, sorry, Michael. I
didn't mean anything by it. Yeah you are right, I should get back to work."
Mark was unsure what to say especially since he barely knew the other man.
He hadn't the time to observe Michael and decide whether or not he was being
serious, sarcastic, or just plain a jerk. At first glance, however, it
seemed obvious the engineer needed a trip to an old fashioned Tokyo Health
Spa. He finally settled on saying, "Perhaps
we all ought to get back to some kind of work then?"
"Yes, I think we should." Michael already regretted his lash out. He wasn't
his usual self. Even he had to admit that. Normally he was well in control
of his feelings. For the last time he turned around and started walking.
Staying here with Mark and Branwen began to feel awkward.
"Yeah. See you around." Bran said and made off as soon as she could. What a
total disaster that had been.
"Talk you all later," Mark told them and made his way to his own business.
*** Hours later, Holodeck 1, Deck 12 ***
"'Seychelles - Paradise Island' was permanently deleted on Stardate
50510.12." the computer answered after Michael's request to activate said
program.
~ Great. Wonderful. So much for 'Paradise'. ~ Michael stared numbly into the
empty Holodeck. He'd hoped that, after pulling a double shift, he would able
to relax a bit. A nice little beach, exotic cold drinks, warm sunny weather,
and - most importantly - no one to bother him. He had it all figured out. He
even knew which program to use. Until now. He stood there, wearing one of
those Hawaian T-shirts and kaki color shorts, thinking about what to do
next.
Mark walked into the holodeck wearing plaid pants, a striped shirt, spiked
shoes, and a bright white tam with an orange pom-pom on top. Over his
shoulder was his golf bag full of clubs and other golfing acoutrements. Once
he realized the holodeck was in use he apologized. "Sorry, thought it was
empty...."
"Take Me Out To The Ball Game, Part 1"
Lt. Victor Krieghoff
Flight Officer Angelienia
Pilot Elrin Kit'ari
1st Lt. Branwen London-Maivia
Major Nathan Everett
Flight Officer Gryphon Stone
Lt. JG Le'on Khatowren
Lt. JG Man'darr Maivia
Cmdr. Arel Smith
Flight Officer Aristi Ferguson
****
Starfleet Games
Baseball Field 4
Top of the Fourth
To be honest, Victor hadn't really expected that they'd get this far.
He'd thought, as, he suspected the others had, that they'd play a game or two, perhaps even three, and then be eliminated.
Instead... instead, the Galaxy's team had found something within themselves, some sense of pride and a desire to win that had - against all rational expectations - forged them into a team that was winning games. Never mind the fact that half the players hadn't played the game before the first practice session a month ago, never mind that most of the team wasn't used to working with each other, never mind even the fact that Victor himself was on the team; they were winning games because they were, even if an oddly-assembled and bizarrely-matched group, a team.
He was so writing T'risia a great review after this. If not for her patience, skill as a manager, and the oddly-phrased and sometimes downright strange customs, practices, and training methods the Vulcan ensign had dredged up on cue, this would never have worked. She'd found training methods that had resonated with every member of the team, from the pitch-calling system he was using to send Elrin and Shelley requests, to the use of Arel Smith's unnerving Klingon battle cry as she neared a base as a way of startling the baseman, to the stance Man'darr took at First that dared a runner to try and brush him aside.
They'd done well enough until now that they hadn't even been required to field their secret weapon - Le'on - yet, although if the game continued to go the way of their opponents - the USS Tarpon's Terrorfish - then he was expecting T'risia to make that call soon.
Even if only to go and set fire to the Terrorfish's mascot as it danced on the sidelines and performed comedy using a small replica of the Galaxy as a prop.
Victor glanced out to Center Field, smiled at the sight of a serious Angelienia with her hair pulled back watching the batter intently from under her cap's brim. She'd been right when she told him that this would be fun, although he rather thought she meant the competition and not the sight of her in the snug-fitting pants that were part of their uniforms.
The Terrorfish's batter, a muscular young Ensign from the Botanical section if Victor recalled correctly, looked back at Victor nervously, shifted his grip on the bat, and waited for Victor to throw the ball back to Elrin. One strike, one ball, and the batter was about ready for a change-up. Victor consulted his memory for the right pitch, and decided on a curve to catch the batter off-guard. He stood, threw the ball back to Elrin and waited until he was back in his crouch before giving the pilot his signal to pitch the curve.
From right field Branwen was watching and reading the signals. It had taken a lot of long lessons to learn all these signals. A sport that at first had seemed so easy, now was a lot more complicated with strategy for every phase of the game. She found that she liked it immensely and over the tournament Bran had become pretty enthusiastic. While still under doctor's supervision most sports were out, but they had okayed this one. Now she fully concentrated to see if the ball would be flying her way.
Every time he donned the odd uniforms that were clearly not designed for those with tails in mind, Elrin wondered how he got interested in this particular Earth sport. Not something to think about now though, as he had work to do. Pitching, he'd found, required as much focus as flying did. It had been a couple years since he'd played but he'd managed to make a good show of it so far. But this particular batter had proved a challenge. He'd lined one to right last time that nearly crept over the wall. He'd hung him a change-up on the same count so that wasn't the solution this time. Getting the sign for the curve, Elrin nodded and looked to the runner on first. Satisfied that between Vic's arm and the look Man'darr was giving him that he had little chance of stealing, the vulpine came set and then delivered his signature diving curveball.
"C'mon, Vix, strahk this clown out!" Nathan called out from his position at shortstop, just before Elrin had begun his windup.
Nathan had been one of the few players on the team who'd had little trouble getting used to the sport. Back when he was a kid, he was living with his parents aboard the USS Victorious in the Bajor Sector. Captain Sisko had still been in command of Deep Space Nine at the time, and his passion for the archaic game of baseball had spread to nearly every Starfleet vessel that had docked there at one point or another, including the Victorious.
To Man'darr's surprise he was actually enjoying this non-combat sport. He remembered their first practice well when pushed Ensign Richards into the ground when attempting to steal second -- not knowing at the point that pushing wasn't allowed in Baseball. And then there was the second practice.... 'Poor Petty Officer Jameson,' Man'darr thought, but what did one expect to happen when covering Home Plate in front of a charging Capellan. The thought brought a slight grin to his face as his eyes shifted to the runner getting a lead off of First Base.
As Elrin went into his windup and began to deliver the pitch home, Nathan smacked his fist into the palm of his glove and took a couple of steps in, spreading his feet and crouching slightly, getting himself ready in case the ball came anywhere near him.
Stone was holding his position a few steps off from second base. His brimmed cap cast a dark shadow over otherwise bright eyes. He aimed a glance to Man'darr on first and wondered just how much sting a double play throw from him might feel like; suddenly he wished he had a more heavily padded catcher's mitt. His peripheral vision allowed him a glimpse of his CO, and could see how easily this starfighter was assuming his role as a shortstop.
Gryphon's heart was pounding a strong rhythm in his chest and his breathing was maintaining a fairly level pace as he weighed concern for his father and his own emotional strain vs. the needs of the team. He honestly hadn't thought the team would have lasted this long, but he did enjoy the rush of honest competition. He hunkered down in a position that feebly mirrored Nathan's and hoped to whatever gods that existed that he didn't screw up.
Out in left field, Arel glared at the batter as if daring him to hit it her way.
Le'on was still wondering whose bright idea this was as he watched from the dugout. He knew the game well enough, having been on earth enough times to watch the game. He was also wondering exactly who replicated his uniform and why they couldn't have fashioned a ball cap to accommodate his ears. So for most of the time he spent using his claws to cut out ear holes into his hat so that it'd fit better.
He was still wondering how he was going to swing the freaking bat whenever they called him up (or was it out?) to try to hit that silly white ball...
Elrin's curveball broke perfectly down and away but the batter was able to get a hold of it. However, instead of going up in the air as it had before it stayed on the ground heading straight up the middle.
It was a perfect double play ball if only the defense behind him could turn it...
Nathan immediately sprang towards the ball as soon as it was off the bat. The baseball hurtled past Elrin before he could get a glove on it, and bounced once just past the mound. He saw Gryphon also heading towards the ball, but the ball sliced to the left after it hit the grass, and Nathan had the better shot at it. Nathan also saw the Terrorfish who had been on first sprinting towards second base, and he knew he had to hurry if they were going to get the lead runner.
He leaned towards the ball and stretched his arm out, and felt the ball slip into his glove just before it would have reached the outfield. Nathan started to turn to flip the ball to Gryphon at second, but his momentum had carried him past the bag. Both runners were close to reaching their respective bases, and he didn't have time to reach into his glove to retrieve the ball, not if they were going to get either of the runners; so Nathan quickly flicked his glove hand toward Gryphon and released his hold on the ball, sending it flying toward Stone so he could field it. As he did so, gravity finally got the best of Nathan, and he fell to the dirt, grunting with the impact.
The ball flew true, allowing Stone to catch it easily, tagging second base just before the Terrorfish made contact. He barely heard the base umpire behind him call the out as he slung the ball towards Maivia at first base.
Man'darr caught the ball just as easily, and even had a moment to turn towards the oncoming runner, favoring the much smaller man with a knowing smile as he almost casually hunkered down over first base.
Although he knew he was already out, the batter didn't want to concede just yet. Barreling forward, he ran into Man'darr at top speed. The two men collided solidly, and the Terrorfish bounced off, landing on the ground with a resounding 'whump!'
Coming out of his stance, the first-base umpire raised a fist and brought it down in a diagonal line across his body, the gesture making it official. "Out!"
"Alright!" Aristi Ferguson shouted as she hopped off the bench and scrambled out of the dugout, swapping high-fives with a few returning teammates as she jogged out to her designated position as the first base coach. "Let's give 'em hell!"
“Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow”
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton – USS Galaxy
Ensign Rafael Dávila – USS Gorgon
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Epsilon Five “Poseidon” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Where does the time go? A week seemed like such a long time when it started, now it’s gone. Watching the sun rise outside she recalled the first morning she’d seen the sight, she’d been so happy, now...?
They’d had fun though, that was certain. He’d taught her a little SCUBA diving, and they’d gone swimming in the oceans here, mountain climbing and sky diving. They had flown to half the planets in the solar system and simply explored places neither had ever seen. Each day had simply been relaxing and fun.
And her holocam had seen more use this week than it ever had.
Feeling his hands run up her back gently she twitched once or twice pleasurably until he stopped at her shoulders. Gently rolling her to face him he smiled. “Morning beautiful.” Rafael whispered. Looking intently into her eyes he saw the look there and his smile became somewhat resigned. “Yeah, I know, time to go back to work.”
“Not just yet though,” Kimberly said as she wrapped herself around him.
“’fraid so, I have to report back by ten hundred.” Sounding apologetic he returned the embrace and held on for a while. “This has been...” trailing off he wanted to say something, but not sound like a cheap holo-drama.
“I know,” Kimberly replied, “I’m going to miss you too.” She admitted holding him tighter, “do you know where the Gorgon is off to next?”
“No, but probably our old patrol route, so back to the war I imagine. Guess it depends on where they need us.” As it was with everyone here, eventually the war catches up with you, like it or not.
“What time is it?” Kimberly asked curiously, still wrapped around him.
“Oh seven hundred ish.” He muttered after a glance up, “why?”
“We’ve still got a couple of hours then.” She offered as she kissed him seriously.
~ ~ ~ Later ~ ~ ~
Listening to the shower Kimberly sighed regretfully, though she had a few extra hours she’d have to get up and sort herself out fairly soon. But right now, lying in the newly risen sunlight she was warm and comfortable, so the hell with it.
Hearing she shower cut out she waited patiently for him to re-emerge. It wasn’t long before he stepped out, clean, tidy, dressed in his uniform and ready for duty. Kimberly watched him as he stopped by the bed and knelt, “I’d like to keep in touch.” He asked with a smile.
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” she replied, “because I plan to call you.” Smiling herself she reached out and touched the ridges on his nose again, “just keep safe.”
“Likewise.” Kissing her again he stood after a moment and picked up his kit bag. There wasn’t much more to say really, they’d said their farewells earlier in a much more personal way, pausing beside the bed though he struggled for words. Although they had spoken at length earlier about the future it just didn’t seem right to just go without saying something.
Sensing his confusion Kimberly got out of bed and wrapped her arms around him again. “Don’t worry,” she reassured him, “you have to get back before you’re AWOL. Just call once in a while, let me know you’re safe.” She asked.
“I promise, you too?” He asked, wanting to hear from her.
“I will. Now go before I decide not to let go.” She added with a grin. Releasing him she watched as he left to join his friends in the common room beyond. The chatter outside continued for a moment then was replaced with the musical sound of the transporter. Then silence, and she was alone.
Moving slowly around the room she collected her belongings, those she had brought with her and the ones she had accumulated over the week. As she tidied she smiled occasionally, it had been a ‘good’ week, one she’d certainly remember for a long time.
Taking a long slow shower Kimberly took a leisurely two hours to tidy up and pack. She was in no rush what so ever, and unlike Rafael had the luxury of having her own transport in orbit to take her home, no one was hanging around waiting for her.
At that thought she felt a small flutter and sat heavily on the bed, that was the crunch really wasn’t it, there wasn’t anyone waiting for her, except her job. Granted she had a few friends there, but this week had reminded her there was more than just the casual friendships she maintained on ship. There was a hole in her life, and after this week she was determined to fill it.
Subspace may have killed her last relationship, but she was damned if that was going to happen again. This time, she was going to be more patient and call a little more often. ~ I’m not getting any younger! ~ She reminded herself.
Gathering up her bags she took one last look around and hit the checkout icon on the screen, then with a sigh tapped her commbadge. “Burton to KittyKat, one to beam up.”
Appearing on the small transporter pad in the KittyKat’s cargo bay she dumped her bags in a corner and climbed up to the upper level. Everything was more or less as she had left it, though Rafael’s tinkering had left its mark. Most noticeable in the cockpit where a new addition to the main console was the most prominent feature.
“Good morning Aurora,” Kimberly said as she sat in the pilot seat.
“Good morning Kimberly.” The newly installed program answered, a small hologram appearing between her and the co-pilots seat, “a full system diagnostic has been run as you requested, and all systems show no faults.” Turning to face the hologram Kimberly looked at her for a moment, she was only about eighteen inches tall but it was a nice visual cue for the computer. At some point though she’d have to reprogram the image, staring at a miniature version of herself was a little bizarre.
“Good. Plot a course to return us to the USS Galaxy please.” Aurora wasn’t an AI, there was no way she’d install one aboard, but Aurora was a modified AI. Limited by her program she was however a more personable main computer for the shuttle, the hardware and software had sat unused in the cargo bay for months, and while she’d been working in sickbay the other day Rafael had installed it for her.
“Course plotted and laid in.” The hologram responded almost instantly.
~ So far. So good. ~ Bringing the course up she double checked it and then brought the impulse engines online.
~ Time to get back to work. ~
"Sneaking, Confrontation, and Consults"
With
Lt. Kimberly Burton, MD
Chief Medical Officer
USS Galaxy
PO2 Benedict "Max" Maxwell, APP
NCOIC EMRT
USS Galaxy
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Sickbay ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He squinted as he read the analysis on the screen. Running the variables again, he hoped that the initial results were wrong. After the ass chewing he got from the CMO, Max kept a low profile for the next couple of days, not coming on for duty until the last minute, and running out of Sickbay before Burton could even get into the door. In doing so, he ensured that he kept off of the radar of his boss.
Max rubbed his eyes, as the results returned. Not what he wanted to see. Taking a deep breath, he recorded the results onto an isolinear chip. Then, after he confirmed that Alpha shift was ready to come on, he conveniently found a reason to use the head which would prevent Kimberly Burton from seeing him when she came in. He didn't feel like having a hole burned into him when she looked at him. He had just disappeared when Alpha shift began to walk in.
Yawning slightly as she walked through the door Kimberly headed straight for her office before she sat down for the morning handover, before she did anything else she wanted out of the class 'A' uniform she was wearing. Why in the name of all the Gods the new CO insisted they wear class 'A' when on a bridge shift she had no idea, but it was becoming irritating to say the least. Quickly changing in her office she scanned the overnight status reports, noting a few things she gathered what she'd need for her next meeting, primary amongst which was a fresh cup of coffee.
Max finally exited the latrine, and attempted to make his way to the door unseen, but not before he instructed a MedTech to give the chip he was holding to the CMO. "And if she asks, you don't know where I went," he had finished saying. Of course, it was ridiculous for him to try and "hide". As long as he wore his comm badge, he could be tracked anywhere on board.
"Maxwell!" Kimberly shouted from her office as he tried to creep out, "Front and centre!" She ordered in the same loud tone. Her displeasure with the Petty Officer had not really dissipated since their last meeting, and to see him creeping around like someone afraid to hand in bad homework to the teacher wasn't really helping matters.
"Alright, alright, you caught me," Max groaned as he turned around and made his way to her open office. On the way he snatched the chip back from the dumbfounded crewman, with a muttered "Thanks, anyway" tossed over his shoulder.
Sitting down she tugged her boots on as he walked in, "Burying your head and hoping things will go away isn't going to make my mood any better mister. Now, I believe I asked for regular updated on Lieutenant London, what have you got?"
"Mood aside, Boss, I do indeed have information that you might be interested in." He handed over the aforementioned chip to the CMO. "I ran some detailed scans off of the tissue samples that we've gotten from Lt. London."
"Oh, this isn't a mood Mister; I haven't had time to settle into a mood about this." She warned him as she accepted the chip. "What have you got?"
"Yeah, well here's the thing. These sequences were altered through a severed form of biochemical manipulation as we already know. The vector was viral in nature but it was inert in her system up until now."
Nodding she slipped the chip into her desk and brought up the files, that tallied somewhat with the data from the earlier files Maxwell had finally handed over. "The data from the Hydran researcher is leading me down that path as well," she admitted, "you say it was inert 'up to now'?" she queried.
"Yup," the Medic replied. "Bring up time frame 0339.18 and watch it at 4x speed for about a minute. You'll see what I mean."
Bringing up the relevant portion of the file Kimberly watched the scan data. The virus initially used as a vector was highlighted, and after a moment she watched, partially fascinated as the vector began its grisly work of re-writing the genetic sequences of Branwen's own cells. Obviously dormant cells were now coming out so to speak and beginning to start afresh what the Hydran sadist had initially done. "The vector is still present obviously, and active, perhaps some sort of dormant variation and it's been triggered somehow."
"That's what I thought. I'll need your help, but I think there's a way to kill this thing off without causing harm to Branwen."
"Oh?" She enquired, interested despite her irritation with him. Her own research into reversing the effects was ongoing, and involved some fairly intensive gene therapy using a pair of retroviruses. Using one was normally complicated enough, but this case required a pair that would work in conjunction with each other. "What have you in mind?"
"Well what I'm thinking is something akin to old Terran chemotherapy. This will take several treatments, and of course there is no guarantee."
"Chemotherapy!?" She replied surprised at the suggestion of using a procedure that, with few exceptions was nearly obsolete now, "that's a kind of archaic approach to the problem Mr. Maxwell. Chemotherapy is designed to kill or cripple affected cells by targeting them, almost her entire physiology is affected though, so how do you propose to attempt this and not kill her? Even with a targeted delivery system we're still looking at a systemic application of the procedure."
"Oh, I wasn't proposing something easy. And it's not quite chemo therapy, although it is similar, as I've said. We simply develop a chemical compound with a nanotechnology delivery system that can be set to specifically target the not so dormant virus and wipe it out. Every single last cell. Then we can next get to work on reversing the reversed stuff."
Max paused, then added, "And it's going to hurt her. A lot. That I can promise you. She'll feel every moment of it. That's the easiest way that I have been able to come up with...unless you have a better idea," Max challenged, a very slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He loved medical mysteries, and the work that it involved.
"One idea at present," she admitted, "a not so drastic one though, a pair of retroviruses, the first to target and eliminate the virus and any dormant strain, the second and more important one to help her immune system to reassert her natural DNA..." Frowning a moment she thought over his idea briefly, then shook her head, "Using nanotech to deliver a chemical agent to destroy the virus is a bit like using a hammer to crack a walnut," she cautioned him, a little disappointed in the not so subtle approach he was suggesting, "it's overkill. Releasing a chemical agent is non-specific, and there's a good chance of mis-delivery and severe side effects. A retrovirus isn't without its side effects or dangers but it is more specific. The problem we face is mainly that the changes to her system are so wide spread, any solution we use is going to have complications, and I would rather we limit them as much as possible. If you release a chemical to destroy the virus, what is to stop it targeting affected cells as well, they'll share the same genetic signature."
Max mulled over what Burton had said and realized that she was right. Using Nanotechnology wasn't that dangerous, in his opinion. But the potential was indeed significant enough for damage to Branwen's own body systems as a serious side effect. "Well, I guess that's why I'm a mid-level practitioner and you get paid the big bucks. But with that being said, I agree that it would be better to try your solution first and see how it turns out."
~ Well thank you. ~ She thought to herself sarcastically. "Agreed," she said aloud though, "I've got the first virus in the lab being worked on now, once they are both ready we'll begin. We should be ready in a day or so. In the meantime do you have anything else?"
"Nope, that's all I've got for now. She's due for her next appointment with me in a few days. How long until you think you can have the retrovirus ready?"
"Well as mentioned, a day or two to finalise the retroviruses, and it'll take me a couple of days to double check them." Picking up a PADD she scanned it quickly then passed it over, "Here's the treatment regime, Doctor Kio and I will be on standby in case you need any assistance, but let Lieutenant London know she'll be starting the treatments early next week, and they'll likely continue for at least a month."
Looking over the PADD, Max nodded his understanding. "I'll inform Lt. London of the plan." He began to rise from his seat, thinking that the meeting was over.
"One more thing Mr. Maxwell," halting his departure with a raised hand. Picking up a different PADD she stood. "I expect a certain level of commitment from my staff, especially now. Medical staff are amongst the hardest to replace in the fleet, mainly because of the length of time it takes to train people. We've recently lost our chief surgeon and ACMO because of just that, permanently or temporarily I don't know yet, but they're replacing crew lost in combat on other ships."
Stepping around her desk, her face expressionless she faced him, "As a part of that commitment I expect the first priority of my staff to be the welfare of the patients in our care. You have demonstrated a deplorable lack of that primary duty." Though her words were harsh her tone and face betrayed no emotion, "I don't care what your reasons were, I only care that when you had information pertaining to a patient, you withheld it."
"For the record Mr. Maxwell, I'm placing a formal reprimand on your duty jacket for this action, and placing you on report. If this 'ever' happens again, and I don't care how short staffed we are, you are out of my department and off this ship. Am I clear!"
"Understood," was all Max would respond. He knew that a reprimand was forthcoming, and just treated the current circumstances as standard fare.
Holding out the PADD she continued, her disappointment starting to show in her voice. "If you want to appeal against this the procedure is on here for you, otherwise the second file lists extra duty assignments you will undertake as soon as you've read and acknowledged receipt of this. Any questions?"
"Nope. No questions, no appeal needed, and where do I sign?"
"Page two. Dismissed." Leaving him with the PADD Kimberly returned to her desk and work, he was going to have to do some good work to restore the trust he had eroded with that one simple action.
"One more thing, Doc," Max said from the doorway. "You may not care why I did what I did, and that's fine with me. I'm not going to try and change your mind. But I need it to be said so that there is no confusion here: I never intended for anyone to suffer as a result of my withholding the information. I truly was trying to figure out how to help. Guess it's too late now. Have a good shift, Doctor." With that, Max left Kimberly Burton alone in her office.
"Treatment Consult"
With
PO2 Benedict "Max" Maxwell, APP (Omar)
NCOIC EMRT
USS GALAXY
1st Lt. Branwen London
Chief Psychologist, CO, 5th Platoon, SFMC
USSGALAXY
Humming a little tune Bran entered Max's office.
"Good morning, Max." She smiled at him. "I am really feeling well, I think I am over the worst now."
"Good Morning, Branwen," Max greeted with a smile of his own, although not as bright as it would normally be. He hated breaking bad news to patients, especially one that had suffered as much as her. "Please, have a seat."
"You are not looking your normal cheery self." She observed after sitting down. "I feel well so it cannot have anything to do with me, now can it?" Bran watched him closer.
"Yes, there actually is an issue with your progress." Max took a silent breath, then continued. "The means by which the Hydran doctor had altered your DNA was through a very sophisticated virus, which until a couple of days ago was dormant."
"No, no, no." She began. "You are not going to say this…. I have been through to much shit back in that lab, Max. You are not going to say the treatment is breaking down."
"Exactly. It's slowly beginning to revert your cellular structure to what it was when you were...changed."
Branwen took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. "I am not going back there, Max. I am not going back to that lab to be studied some more. I can't do it."
Max held up a hand to calm the woman down. Indeed, she was looking greener than usual. "You don't have to and you won't. Dr. Burton came up with a treatment that will help counter the virus. It'll take about a month, but she is confident that with this treatment the outcome with be positive."
Then a terrible thought occurred to him. He grabbed a tricorder and scanned her for at least a minute. "Are you having increasing difficulty breathing, Bran?"
"No." She lied taking another deep breath. Bran was so not going back to that terrible breather and the restrictions it brought. "Look Max, I need a little time to think this over, okay. Maybe we can make a follow up appointment to talk about it?" Right now she just wanted out of sickbay.
"Bran, the question was rhetorical. I can see with my own two eyes without the tricorder that your breathing has quickened since I last saw you. As for time, that may not be a luxury you have, but the choice is ultimately yours. I project that you'll require methane mixed in with your oxygen in as little as forty eight hours."
"I am not going to go back on the damned breather." Bran was not a person who swore often. "I won't, Max. It brings back too many memories."
"Well, you have to choose. I can't and hopefully will not make that decision for you."
"In that case you had better come up with a treatment that doesn't involve the breather." Bran told him. "You are a miracle worker, so work a miracle."
I'm no miracle worker, Max seethed silently. If I were, they wouldn't have taken you away, and you wouldn't have suffered as much as I think you did. Aloud, he replied, "Well the only treatment available for now is the one I just told you about. The sooner we get started, the better that you won't need a methane breather."
"I think… I think I would like my husband here now, thank you." Bran said in a very small voice. It was a blow, one too many in fact. She had fought long and hard to survive and had made it. Now when she thought she was in the clear and nearly completely recovered it all came crashing down on top of her.
Max truly began to feel pity for this young woman. She had been through so much in her life in service to Starfleet. But he also sensed a great inner strength in her that he suspected she didn't know existed. Lesser people would have cracked and given up a long time ago.
"I'll tell you what," Max said. "You talk to Man'darr, and see what decision you two can come to, and then come back and see me. I'll make myself available, even if it's my off shift, okay?"
She nodded. "Thank you, Max." Bran hesitated in the door opening. "I know I bitch at you, but I don't know what I would have done without you, you have been here for me every step of the way. And you are the only one who has had my best interest at heart first." She gave him a genuine smile. "that is worth a lot to me."
Max gave a wan smile. If she only knew... "I really appreciate that. I think that you've suffered a lot. And enough is enough, is what I think. You deserve peace, Branwen."
Branwen left without another word. She needed to be out of here and find her husband. This was not a decision she wanted to make on her own. But with Dar and Max to help her, it should be alright. It should, that thought kept her going until she reached home.
Max waited a while, then pulled up the simulation that he was monitoring before she had come in. The retrovirus seemed to work well enough, however...
Shaking his head, Max forced the thought of ignoring Dr. Burton's orders and using his own treatment, which had a higher degree of success according to his simulated trials. Digging a deeper hole for himself was not on his list of priorities, but he wanted his patient to have the best option for a full recovery.
Shaking his head again, he silently watched the sim-RV do its work.
The Maltese Eptgac, Part III: Into the Lion's Den
Lt. 8-ball Hunter
Lt. JG T'Pei
"People talked about Hell like there was no further you could fall, like there was no place more ghastly, more atrocious. Those people were pansies. I'd seen a darker hole, a place so abominable your skin crawled if you walked within fifty feet of it. I told myself, I'd never go back. There was no job, no case, no nuthin that could make me. And so, where was I now, but outside those doors again, right before the lion's den, ready for the worst."
8-ball took a deep breath and steeled her nerves. The monologues only helped so much---all she really wanted to do was run away and hide in her quarters. She certainly no interest in entering the room before her. T'Pei's Quarters. Quarters of Doom. Quarters of Becoming a Vulcan Automaton.
8-ball shuddered at the thought. There really was no worse Hell. But, she couldn't run away. She had to enter.
For Eptgac.
The doors slid open and T'Pei stood just inside the doorway, wearing the non-expression 8-ball referred to as Vulcan Surprise. Heh. Almost sounded like a drink. 8-ball, doing what she did best in uncomfortable, awkward situations, decided not to even address past issues and walked past T'Pei like she owned the place.
"Now, listen up," she said, before the Vulcan could get a word in edgewise. "I'm not here for some namby pamby Vulcan nonsense. I don't want to be here anymore than you want me to be here. But, a teddy bear's been snatched, and when your teddy bears go missing, you got two choices in life: you can suck it up, take the loss, and cry into your pillow, or you can go out, find the perp, and beat the bastard's brains in."
"Now, Eptgac, the vic, was taken this morning, roughly sometime between 0900 and 1200. They left a ransom note." 8-ball handed the ransom note to T'Pei. "Obviously, I gotta ask: you know anything about this?"
Based on their prior encounters, T'Pei would have thought that nothing Lieutenant Hunter did could be entirely unexpected. Clearly, that was an erroneous prediction.
"Someone has taken your....Eptgac?" she finally asked, enigmatically.
"You heard me. Epgac's gone." 8-ball pointed at the ransom note, which T'Pei had not even glanced at . . . as if she already knew what it said. "And, I have good reason to believe that you're involved."
Scanning the note briefly, the Vulcan woman raised an incredulous eyebrow.
"You believe that I stole your stuffed doll."
"Doll? He's not a doll! Dolls are for little girls to dress up and take to tea parties! Eptgac is my teddy bear---it is so completely different."
T'Pei did not seem to find it necessary to make the appropriate distinction. "Once I stole the doll, I wrote you a letter demanding that you resume training with me."
"Ye-ah," 8-ball said, tapping her fingers impatiently. This innocent act was getting old. T'Pei was many things--8-ball could think of about five choice adjectives off the top of her head, in fact--but innocent wasn't one of them. "You're the only person on this ship who has a stake in this."
"Lieutenant, you made your feelings regarding our training quite clear last time we met. Given that I am not the one who stands to benefit from the training, resorting to extortion to force you to resume it would be an illogical course of action."
Crap, that made sense. 8-ball hated it when people made sense. There was a long, awkward silence. She realized that she was still standing in the middle of T'Pei's quarters. Where she had barged in. Uninvited.
"Right, then. Illogical. Uhh...maybe I could still ask you a few questions, anyway?"
T'Pei raised an eyebrow. She did not see what useful information she could possibly offer, thus further discussion would be illogical. Of course, the concept of stealing a 'teddy bear' was itself illogical, and given that she had managed to convince the Lieutenant that she was not the thief, it might be prudent to cooperate. "If that will assist you, I will answer your questions to the best of my abilities."
"Right," 8-ball said. "Just, hold on a minute."
8-ball turned away from T'Pei. "So, my nemesis had a point. There was a fatal flaw in my theory: Vulcans have no sense of creativity. Also, they ain't kooky. Whoever this fiend was, he obviously had ample shares of both. T'Pei wasn't looking like the villain . . . but you never know. I had to be sure."
8-ball spun around to face T'Pei again. "So, where were you this morning?"
T'Pei's face molded itself into the Vulcan equivalent of complete shock--placid, but with the 'wide-eyed' lifted eyebrow. The other woman had just been delivering a speech to a chair.
Of course...for the Lieutenant, talking to an inanimate object was practically logical behavior, especially given that she had been in T'Pei's quarters for almost ten minutes and was neither crying nor screaming. Quite unusual, really.
"I do not see how this question is germane, as I am neither the perpetrator of the theft, nor did I observe another individual doing behaving in a suspicious manner."
"You may not have the proper . . . psychology, behind the crime, but facts are truer than theories. I need alibis. I need evidence. The teddy bear was napped sometime between 0900 and 1200 this morning. Run me through your day---where were you at those times?"
"From 0900 to 1000 hours I was in my quarters. Alone," she added, as the Lieutenant opened her mouth to interject. "For the remaining two hours, I was at an appointment. Doctor Risdanach can confirm my whereabouts, if required."
"It may be. What was the nature of this appointment?"
T'Pei hesitated for one moment, unwilling to share the real purpose of her appointment. "It was related to my condition following our last away mission."
8-ball's eyebrows rose. "Can you be a touch more specific, maybe?" She wasn't sure exactly what had happened to T'Pei---her attention had been solely focused on not being eaten, and then, once she got back, throwing a party that had been loosely entitled We Didn't Get Eaten.
Fun times.
"I was injured in a blast from the ship's phasers." T'Pei paused, choosing her next words carefully. "There were related complications."
Strictly true, but T'Pei knew the other woman would assume she meant the physical injuries, rather than the failed healing trance that had followed.
"That sucks," 8-ball said dryly. There wasn't much you could say to someone who'd had half their ass shot off. It occured to her that it had been awhile since she'd had a nice, normal injury, like being in a good old fashioned phaser fight. This was why she needed to avoid away missions. Nothing good could come of them.
"Regardless," T'Pei pointed out. "It is unlikely that the perpetrator of this crime was near Sickbay, as I doubt that 'Eptgac' requires frequent medical attention."
"You'd be surprised," 8-ball said sourly, thinking of the numerous injuries that Eptgac had been subjected to. Admittedly, she had been the aggressor in most of those injuries, but, dammit. The doc had only properly restitched the teddy bear's head a few months ago . . . God knew what kind of shape he'd be in, once 8-ball found him.
No. She wasn't thinking like that. She was thinking positive, cause she had done counseling and stuff.
"Do you have other questions for me?" T'Pei asked when the other woman fell silent, frowning at the wall and tapping her foot repeatedly. Despite the utter ridiculousness of the situation, the Vulcan's curiosity was piqued. Determining the motivations of the thief was an intriguing puzzle, complicated by the ransom note. Who, besides the Captain, who was clearly not the perpetrator, would desire Lieutenant Hunter to resume her work with T'Pei? It would need to be someone with access to the Lieutenant's quarters, who had identified the stuffed bear as an item with high sentimental value...
Crossing her hands behind her back, T'Pei began mentally running through the list of crewmembers in the sciences, by seniority.
"Trust me," 8-ball said dryly. "Cutter isn't the type to steal teddy bears." The second after she said it, 8-ball cursed under her breath. Of all the people she could accidentally read . . .
Before T'Pei could say anything, 8-ball held up a hand. "No, I didn't intend to scan your thoughts," she said. "And no, we aren't going to talk about that. I've got that under control. This is only about Eptgac." She tried to come up with more questions, but the sad fact of the matter was that if T'Pei's alibi was true . . . which she would check once she left . . . there really wasn't much left to ask. T'Pei could offer no eyewitnesses, no evidence, no suspects.
8-ball's interruption had been needless, because T'Pei found herself at a complete loss for words. The woman had read her thoughts, inadvertently--which should not have been possible, just like the mind meld with Krieghoff. She wondered if the Lieutenant realized that she had not told her everything about the appointment with Doctor Risdanach. Most likely not. Just now, for one brief moment, she had faintly felt another presence touching her mind. She had not detected that before, when the Lieutenant was asking about her whereabouts. Still, it would be wise to avoid the possibility in the future. T'Pei carefully directed her focus towards creating a mental barrier between her mind and any outside probing, realizing as she did it that the Lieutenant had begun pacing, speaking uncomfortably to fill the long silence.
". . .Well . . . all right. If you're already thinking about potential suspects, do you have anyone in mind? Cause I gotta tell you . . . I'm coming up relatively short here. Unless an ex-boyfriend just wanted to piss me off . . . oh hell, that'd be half the ship."
"That would not explain their insistence that you resume your meditation training with me." T'Pei replied, adding sardonically, "Unless your 'ex-boyfriends' are particularly vindictive."
"The best kind always are," 8-ball said dryly. "But it's true--I don't end most of em on bad terms. Pax from Engineering was kind of a freakshow. And Anne . . . she was certainly a nutjob." 8-ball sighed unhappily. "I'll have to make a list."
"Have you considered the possibility that the perpetrator is not an enemy, but a friend? The logical suspect is someone who has knowledge of your attachment to Eptgac and is aware both of our work together, and the fact that it has ceased. Futhermore, as you are no doubt aware from my prior thoughts, this person would require the ability to access your quarters. All of these requirements point to a closer acquaintance."
8-ball thought about that for a minute and then shrugged. "If Saul were on board right now, I would completely agree with you. I don't think you ever met Saul, but trust me, he's the tricksiest bastard this side of the galaxy. This has Saul's devious little fingerprints all over it." She thought about that. Could Saul somehow have something to do with it, anyway? She was sure he had people on board.
Nah. Even for Bental, it was kind of far-fetched. "Unfortunately, our prime suspect is doing God knows what, hopefully not dead somewhere in a back alley on a deserted moon. And the rest of my friends . . . don't really fit the bill. None of them are quite that devious." 8-ball resisted the urge to say that she didn't actually have that many friends, not the kind that would care about her mental health, anyway. Friends with benefits usually weren't that considerate.
"No," 8-ball said, sighing dramatically. "I'm going have to figure this one out myself. Or, I'll wait until Ella's shift is over and make her figure it out for me. Either way, I need a martini, quick, so . . . well, thanks for your help." Not wanting to lose her mojo entirely, she narrowed her eyes in a suspicious manner. "If I have any followup questions, I know where to find you."
Alas, the concept of "mojo" was entirely wasted on T'Pei. "Indeed, I will think further on this matter. Inform me if I may be of any assistance in your search."
8-ball sighed. Not nearly enough people on this ship were intimidated by the force of her suspicious glare. "Will do," she said finally, thinking there wasn't a snowball's chance in Hell that she'd be coming back. Although this wasn't entirely charitable. T'Pei had been almost . . . nice about the whole thing. More tolerant, anyway, than she would have expected the woman to be. Dammit. It was hard to villify somebody who just wouldn't cooperate.
"I wish you luck in your search," T'Pei offered as 8-ball walked towards the door.
"Luck is for the weak." 8-ball didn't even remotely believe this to be true, but it sounded good, anyway. She needed to put up a strong front. With the list of suspects growing smaller and the chances of locating Eptgac slimmer and slimmer, 8-ball could feel the despair creeping up on her.
"I could feel the despair creeping up on me, like a dead thing crawling from a cold grave. Another detective might have given up, given in, but I couldn't afford to. Lives were at stake. I would never stop searching, no matter how hopeless the situation might seem. Eptgac was counting on me. I wouldn't let him down."
8-ball grinned at T'Pei. Her mood now somewhat restored, she waved at her cheerfully. "Seeyas, T'Pei," she said and left.
"Afternoon News Break"
*****
Epsilon Four "Demeter"
Baseball Complex
"Good afternoon and hello once again from the Dodekatheon System and the 28th Starfleet Games! I'm Kaina sol Sorassi, reporting on location here at planet Demeter's baseball complex."
The young reporter pauses, and almost on cue, a wave of cheering erupts from the stadium behind her.
"The Games may be winding down, but enthusiasm remains high in the few remaining events." Another wave of cheering blasts out of the stadium, forcing her to pause, a slight smile on her face as she waits for the noise to fade. "In particular," she continues, waving a hand to indicate the tall, brightly decorated stadium, "the final rounds of the baseball tournament are shaping up to be very interesting indeed. After the team from the USS Niels Bohr, widely favored to take the gold, was unexpectedly eliminated in the second round, it's been anyone's guess to how this tournament will play out. The USS Oaxaca's team, another heavy favorite, hasn't been performing as well as they have in the past, and they narrowly avoided defeat at the hands of the underdog USS Bertram team."
Yet another cheer erupts from the stadium and Sorassi smiles again; a perfect segue. "At the moment, the teams from the USS Tarpon and the USS Galaxy are facing off in a game that is shaping up to be quite interesting. The Tarpon's team is slightly favored to win this one, which would put them within medal range, and at the top of the sixth inning they are up by two runs. However, the Galaxy's team, as newly formed as they are, can't be counted out just yet. As they've shown us before, they seem to excel at coming from behind to take the win, which they've done in their past three games against teams from the Nath'qu, the Senanga, and the Krotus.
"In fact, Galaxy's crew has put in a series of unexpected performances over the past weeks. They are eighth in the overall medal count at 47 medals, with 17 golds, 12 silvers, and 18 bronzes thus far. These figures are nowhere near the current medal leader, the USS Orobourous with 145 medals, or the current gold leader, the USS Gorgon with 50 gold medals, but it nonetheless represents an impressive showing by the last-minute addition to the Games.
"Much like their baseball team, several individual and team competitors from the Galaxy have come from seemingly nowhere to perform astonishingly well, in some cases defeating favored opponents in the medal race. For instance, Arel Smith easily took gold in her first event, the wilderness survival competition, beating the defending champion, T'Vor of the USS Senanga, by nearly an hour. As you may recall, T'Vor has won this competition three times in the past, and has even taught advanced survival courses at Starfleet Academy, although there is no word on whether Commander Smith was a student of hers during her own Academy years.
"In the karate finals, Cora Dobryin of the Galaxy's Marine detachment defeated the favored Shane Zahara. That wasn't the only surprise in the match, with Dobryin and the referee being hit by phaser fire almost immediately after the match was called. Unfortunately, Dobryin isn't the only one who has been wrongfully injured in the course of the Games. Hours after taking the gold in the women's 100 meter butterfly race, Ensign Alexandra Lee was struck by an unseen assailant and pushed, unconscious, into the swimming pool. Thankfully, rescue teams were able to save her before she drowned, but her injuries forced her to withdraw from the women's 400 meter relay. It's possible that the attack was deliberate, as Galaxy's relay team was favored to medal, but only placed seventh in the finals."
Once more a cheer erupts from the stadium, but it's less enthusiastic than the waves that came before. "As in previous years, the spectre of illegal gambling still looms over the Games, with many believing that the escalation in violence and strange events which may or may not be merely coincidental are in fact the work of a group, or groups, intent on 'fixing' certain events in order to affect betting odds. Although normally quiet on these issues, the office of Games Committee Chairman Admiral Umarin th'Voth has issued a statement condemning these acts, and all who perpetrate them. Security at all events, and in many of the public areas in the planetary system, has been significantly increased. Already, several individuals have been apprehended, most of whom were trying to carry unregistered, illegally modified, or otherwise prohibited weapons and other items into official event areas. In addition, several other beings have been brought in for questioning.
"Despite this flurry of activity, the official statement from Games Security is that, despite the apparently large number of people involved in this operation, they are unsure if it is the work of multiple groups, or if the entire thing is being coordinated by a single individual. But, rest assured, as more information becomes available, we'll bring it to you here.
"Now, let's check in with Varen Torth-ella-nor Varen, coming to you live from the finals of the chess competition. Varen?"
"Take Me Out To The Ball Game, Part 2 of 3"
Lt. Victor Krieghoff
Flight Officer Angelienia
Pilot Elrin Kit'ari
1st Lt. Branwen London-Maivia
Major Nathan Everett
Flight Officer Gryphon Stone
Lt. JG Le'on Khatowren
Lt. JG Man'darr Maivia
Cmdr. Arel Smith
Flight Officer Aristi Ferguson
Ensign T'risia
Raikar Thaimus
****
Starfleet Games
Baseball Field 4
Bottom of the Ninth
"Le'on! You're up!" someone called, waking him out of his blissful
catnap. He had been having one of his favorite dreams of torturing a
certain omnipotent being.
It was the three words that he had been dreading to hear. Le'on flipped
up the brim of his slightly oversized ball cap and looked up. He'd found
a nice spot right on top of the equipment rack that was over everyone's
head. He'd hopped up there sometime after the third inning and settled
down by lounging back and pulling his hat down over his eyes so it
looked like he was just some stuffed mascot. After all, he was told to
keep a low profile since he was being considered the Galaxy Team's
'secret weapon'.
He grumbled and hopped down out from his little perch and walked over to
the bat rack. Le'on spent a lot of time in the batting cages, despite
the reassurances he got that no one would be able to be able to hit his
strike zone. He really didn't want to take that chance. As he walked by
the bat rack, he selected the one that he'd replicated for the games; it
was a wooden Louisville Slugger that was standard length (which put it
at almost twice his height). He felt a bit silly once Victor told him
that he could have a bat that was more tailored for someone of his size,
but it was a bit late since he'd practiced with this one and actually
became quite good at it. Le'on padded out to the batter's box with the
bat over his shoulder.
The pitcher for the opposing team saw Le'on come out and his jaw
dropped. "Oh come on! This isn't even remotely fair!" He complained to
the umpire. "How the hell am I supposed to throw a good ball with
THAT!?" he asked pointing at Le'on, who was getting into position in the
batter's box.
"Rules state that any member-race of the Federation may participate in
any event in which they can make the qualifiers for." The umpire called
back to the pitcher. "Mr. Khatowren here has certainly met that
requirement as he passed the qualification trials for this event. So
BATTER UP!"
The pitcher glared at Le'on, who just offered a small smile and waved a
furry paw. The pitcher groaned. "I coulda been an outfielder..." he
mumbled. "But noooooo... dad wanted a pitcher in the family..." he took
the sign from the catcher, nodded and delivered the pitch, aiming low
for the really, really, small strike zone.
The ball went right at Le'on, who had to jump to avoid being hit. The
ball went into the dirt right where Le'on's feet had been. Le'on landed
and shook a furry paw at the pitcher and starting cursing at him in
Caitain, which sounded like a stream of meows and hisses. He then
steadied himself in the batter's box and got ready for the next pitch.
"Ball One!" The umpire called.
The next pitch went high over his head, making Le'on look up at it. As
it sailed over, Le'on estimated its height. "Ball Two!" the umpire
called. The third pitch came right at the same height and speed. As the
umpire called "Ball Three!", Le'on figured that the pitcher was just
going to walk him and be done with it. Well, Le'on wasn't done yet. The
next pitch then came; Le'on jumped and swung the oversized bat with all
he had.
WHAP!
It was a hot grounder that went between the Shortstop and the Third
Baseman. Le'on hit the ground running... this time on all fours. It was
one of those times in which he was grateful for being built so low to
the ground; He was wickedly fast when running on all fours. Even came in
handy one time when he was shoved through the ventilation ducts on the
Galaxy. Le'on ran three quarters of the way down the first base line and
then leapt for the Bag. He landed and sunk all of his claws into it,
determined not to leave unless he needed to.
Victor watched with a smile as the Caitain streaked to First and gave a
seconds-too-late baseman the claw. It had, as they'd all thought, worked
like a charm, even if Le'on hadn't been able to restrain his enthusiasm
and had actually hit the ball. T'risia had been right to call Le'on in
now: they were in the bottom of the 9th, in the running to place in the
top five teams in the competition, and the Terrorfish had them by three
runs. With only one out, and Le'on on First they had a chance -
providing that Victor could hit the ball and Dhani could run the way
she'd been running.
He looked over his shoulder at the rest of them and frowned. They were
tired; perhaps too tired. None of them had really expected to be as
successful as they'd been in the Games, and the strain of game after
game was telling on them. They needed something to inspire them,
something to inject some life back into them so that they could finish
the game - and win. Something that he didn't know how to give them.
With a look at T'risia, he realized, though that he *did* know what to
do. Something simple. Something mythic. Something that he'd seen in one
of the films and recordings that the Vulcan ensign had given him and
that he'd watched over and over until Angelienia had threatened to
phaser the screen. She'd shown him what he needed to do with her gift of
the primitive, grainy recordings of the earliest Baseball Titans, the
managers and players that had made the game what it was.
Victor stood, straightened his cap and leaned over to kiss Angelienia
once, surprising her into a smile. He took two steps towards the front
of the dugout, paused next to T'risia as she stood at the top of the
steps, her eyes on the diamond. "I know what to do," he said quietly. "I
won't let you down. I won't let them down."
Bran smiled and gave him the thumbs up sign. She was trying very hard
not to show she was tired. This was the only event she was medically
cleared for and the Marine was having too much fun to give it up now.
Nodding, Victor stepped out, paused to select his bat... and reached out
to the lone bat occupying a place of honor at one end of the rack. THE
bat. The one carved from the tree he'd arranged to have struck by
lightning so T'risia could carve it. The one that had, so far, been
unused, waiting for the right moment.
That moment was now.
It felt good in his hands as he lifted it free, and started for the
plate, Dhani catching up with him after a few steps. "Be ready," he
cautioned her as they approached the plate. "It's going to be different
this time."
Beside him, Dhani nodded, her expression serious as she got into
position.
Victor stepped up to the plate, nodded pleasantly to the Vulcan umpire,
smiled at the Tellarite catcher (who scooted back a foot) and took his
position. The Terrorfish's relief pitcher was good - he'd literally
smoked Victor his last two times at bat - and Victor knew that after
being made to look like a fool by Le'on, he was going to be itching to
do it again, maybe even a bit angry.
Which made what Victor was going to do even more perfect.
He paused, looked out across the field, selected his spot... and
pointed.
There was a moment of silence as everyone - players, spectators, and
staff alike - collectively blinked, trying to figure out what was
happening and then... they roared.
The sound of their voices, approving and deriding both, washed over
Victor and he knew that he'd made the right decision, that this was
going to work.
The pitcher wound up, let loose and screamed the ball past Victor, who
simply watched it go by. "Strike one!" the Vulcan called.
Victor nodded, held up a single finger where the pitcher could see it,
stepped back up... and pointed again.
The roar was louder this time, as more people had now pulled up the
archival image of the greatest of the early Baseball Titans in the
moment that defined his career during the fifth inning of Game 3 of the
1932 World Series and realized what Victor was doing.
A second pitch - not as controlled as the first. "Strike two!"
Victor smiled again, a predator's smile, held up two fingers to the
pitcher and then stepped out to point one final time, the roar of the
crowd now so loud that the sonic dampeners were kicking in to prevent
distracting other athletes in the area in their competitions.
The pitcher was furious, sure that he was being mocked. He waved off
whatever signal the catcher and his own manager gave him, reared back to
pitch... and threw.
Victor stepped into the swing, the bat as light as a feather, almost
weightless, as he swung with all the weight of Babe Ruth's memory
guiding his arm, all the roars of the crowd slowing the ball until it
was almost standing still.
<CRACK!>
"Touchdown!" Arel yelled.
"Wrong sport!" someone farther down their bench-- Arel wasn't sure who--
shouted back.
"Whatever," She replied with a shrug.
As soon as Victor hit the ball, Le'on was off of first base heading for
second on all fours. The first baseman barely had time to blink before
he was coughing on the dust kicked up by Le'on's departure. Le'on looked
up to check where the ball was--from what he could tell the ball just
might have enough speed to make it out of the park-- before deciding to
hit second and go for third.
"Come on!!! Move!!!! Move!!!!!" Completely caught up in the game Bran
was jumping up and down in the dugout, cheering the others forward. "We
got the bastards now!!!!"
'May the swiftness of Calain be granted to him...we really need this
one'. Elrin didn't usually invoke religion in recreational activities,
but in this case it seemed appropriate. Particularly since at this point
in the game there was little else Elrin could do. Having been pulled in
the 7th, prayer was about all the help he could offer the team. He'd
done his part, it was up to the others now.
"Run, you little furball!" Cowboy shouted from his perch just inside the
edge of the dugout, whooping with joy as he watched the spectacle.
"C'mon! You can make it!"
"Go, go, go!" Aristi shouted to Dhani as she rounded first base and took
off towards second. Even though she was still missing an eye, Aristi
could tell by the arc of the tiny white ball that it wasn't going to be
landing inside the park. But, that apparently wasn't going to stop the
Terrorfish's center fielder from trying to get it. Aristi watched as the
man, a tall, lanky Caitian, sprinted towards the wall and leapt at it,
digging the claws of one hand into the soft blue padding as he tried to
stretch his gloved hand high enough to catch the ball.
From the stands point of view, Le'on was nothing more than a grey blur
as he headed for third. There were probably those who thought that he
kicked it into high gear or something. He hit third so hard that Le'on
swore that he heard the bag deflate as his claws dug into it as he
rounded the base and headed for home plate. Somewhere, he heard someone
yell "SLIDE!"
So Le'on did just that. He saw the catcher in front of him, covering the
plate. Not knowing if he was waiting for the ball or if he was just
being a major road obstruction, Le'on took a flying leap and then
grounded himself into the dirt, skidding into the brown dirt and sliding
right between the catcher's legs and across the plate. "SAFE!!!" The
umpire yelled as Le'on scored.
"That is one quick Caitian," Man'darr commented as he sat on the bench
with crossed arms, hoping to get a turn at bat. His first two times at
bat he had been intentionally walked and he was damned if he was going
to be walked a third time.
Time seemed to slow down as the ball lazily descended towards the
Caitian outfielder's glove. "Go ball, go," she whispered to herself as
it arced downward, coming dangerously close to the outstretched glove.
Dangerously close...but not close enough.
His hand painfully stretched nearly two meters above the top of the
wall, the Caitian couldn't help but cry out in frustration as the ball
lightly kissed the edge of his glove before bouncing away.
All around them, the stands erupted with cheering as the large
holoscreen at the back of the stadium proclaimed 'HOME RUN!' in flashing
red letters. The camera then focused on Dhani's circuit of the diamond,
pulling in for a close-up just as she crossed home plate, a wide grin on
her face.
"Yes!!" Aristi shouted, throwing her arms up in the air. Now they were
only down by one run. One to tie it, two to win it. A minute ago that
had seemed like long odds...now, it seemed like victory was almost in
their grasp. Now it was all up to whoever batted next...
"Take Me Out To The Ball Game, Part 3 of 3"
Lt. Victor Krieghoff
Flight Officer Angelienia
Pilot Elrin Kit'ari
1st Lt. Branwen London-Maivia
Major Nathan Everett
Flight Officer Gryphon Stone
Lt. JG Le'on Khatowren
Lt. JG Man'darr Maivia
Cmdr. Arel Smith
Flight Officer Aristi Ferguson
Ensign T'risia
Raikar Thaimus
****
Starfleet Games
Baseball Field 4
Bottom of the Ninth
Bran was the next one up. By now she was totally engrossed in this spot.
Coming up to the plate she dried her sweaty hands on her pants one more
time and took the stance. The first ball was a strike but she did not
get it in time. It brought her nerves up even more, the small Welshwoman
did not want to let her team down. She could hear the others screaming
encouragements. The second ball was better, Bran managed to hit it,
although it was not as perfect as she would have wanted it to be. Only
because the competition was dead slow was she able to make it to first
base with only a second to spare. But for now she was safe and they were
all still in the game.
Partly because her function in the game was over but mostly because
there was a look about him that annoyed her, Arel decided to mess with
the pitcher. "Qa'Hom! You have a relief pitcher, yes? You might want to
make use of him!"
The pitcher, frowned and glanced off in Arel's direction, obviously
irritated. "Bite me, lady!" he snapped, just loud enough to carry to the
edge of the dugout and Arel's ears.
The slender woman called T'risia strode up to the plate, amidst this
barely organized chaos. Her demeanor was the serene Vulcan manner that
she always put forth, totally emotionless and unconnected to the
spirited nature of the Terrans who captured her interest so much. She
bore a bat, somewhat large for her frame, but being Vulcan, able to
easily swing it in the Earth standard gravity. All along the wood, it
bore Vulcan sigils, that the trained eye could read carefully, as
saying, "Make your time."
Her mode of dress was incongruous to say the least. She had worn
baseball clothing, of course, but a hodgepodge of garments from many
different teams, throughout the history of the sport. The result was a
riot of clashing colors, offset by her long black ponytail.
In her mental world, as she approached the Plate of the Home, she
reviewed the game, and her performance. The Terrans, and their ilk had
certainly done well as a team, but her own play had been at best
mediocre. She considered that was usually the way with Terrans, in her
endeavors....the emotional enthusiasm ran amok, and she was relegated to
the background, in sort of an odd byproduct of her ordered,
computer-like ways. Of course, it did not affect her emotionally, for
she had no feelings, but it was a phenomena=2 0that often frustrated her
efforts.
She performed the ritual beating of the Plate, with her Battle Club,
striking it firmly. Then, she began the painstaking clearing of the
plate, and the ritual by which one removes nonexistent dirt from their
cleats. As she did so, she wondered if Lt. Hunter were watching.
Irrational as it was, she hoped so. Lt. Hunter was an unusual being, one
who brought great interest into T'risia's life, and she hoped that she
provided similar satisfaction. Looking into the crowd, she failed to
find the eccentric woman, and then, finally, she stepped into the
Batter's Box.
As she settled into a perfect replication of the ideal batting stance,
she considered, mentally, her situation. Despite her complete
replication of the process of batting, Mr. Krieghoff had proved better
at it. Perhaps this was a result of his ability to fuel his play with
emotion? The Vulcan woman had yet to formulate a thesis, but as she
speculated on one, the pitch sailed by her. The Umpire shouted, as was
ritual, "Strike One!"
Turning her emotionless glare to the Catcher and the Umpire, she spoke
in her clipped tones. "As the Prophet Yogi Berra of the New Yorkers
spoke, it is wise to Take the Strike that is initially offered. So say
we all."
After the enigmatic statement, she resumed her battle pose. Given her
lackluster performance, the pitcher conceived her an easy strike out,
and put another straight over the Plate Known as Home. T'risia, in all
of her pseudo autistic manner, executed a perfect level cut at the ball,
delivering it on an elegant ballistic trajectory to an awkward portion
of the Field t o the Left. Taking no time to peer at it, the highly
athletic woman tore off toward the First of the Holy Bases.
Rounding the First of the Holy Bases, she realized that the action known
as Cut Off was about to take place, and thusly, she disciplined her body
to more speed, taking Sanctuary from the Out at the Second of the Holy
Bases. As she came to a halt, she turned to the baseman present there,
and spoke simply to him, indicating the square bag on the ground. With
her grave demeanor, pointing to her feet, she said, "All your base are
belong to us," completing the ritual greeting.
Bran saw the ball go the distance and started to run. When she came to
second the ball was still not caught and she saw third base was free, in
a split second she decided to keep running. It turned out to be the
right decision as she made it easily to the third base. There she
grinned at the base guardian. "Tough!" Bran whispered to him when the
man gave her an annoyed look.
Arel grinned. "Qa'Hom! The point of the game is NOT to let them onto a
base!"
Angelienia stood up, collected a kiss from Victor for luck, and moved
out to the plate. She eyed the pitcher, set herself, frowned in
concentration, and waited for the pitch... "Strike One!" Increasing her
frown's depth, she glanced at the dugout, saw Victor watching her, and
redoubled her desire to not fail I front of him... "Strike Two!"
Stepping back, she took a breath, blinked to hide the tears of
frustration that threatened to leak from her eyes at her inability to
help the team and the shame of failing Victor, and gritted her teeth.
Stepping back, she swung the bat to position, prayed to the Thousand
Gods, and waited... "Strike Three; You're out!"
Refusing to give the pitcher the satisfaction of seeing her cry,
Angelienia held her head up proudly all the way back to the dugout and
the welcoming arms and lips of her lover.
"How was that, eh?" the pitcher called over to Arel. "Smoked her like a
salmon!"
"Well, we have to let you have at least one!" Arel shouted back. "You're
so bad we knew you'd never get one on your own! By the way, your fly's
undone!"
The Terrorfish's pitcher paused, as if not believing that anyone had
actually used that juvenile taunt, and then slowly, reluctantly,
checked.
"Made you look!" Arel crowed.
With T'risia's hit, Man'darr stepped up to the plate with his
significantly larger bat, which he was comfortable with. His eyes met
the pitcher's, daring him to throw a strike. The pitcher went into the
wind-up and pitched a ball that Man'darr had yet to see as the ball
seemed to drop down just before the plate.
"Strike!" the umpire called loudly.
The pitcher went into his second20wind-up after getting the desired
pitch signal from the catcher. The ball once again came straight at the
plate. Again, the ball dropped at the last minute before the plate as
Man'darr's bat missed.
With a confident grin, the pitcher received the thrown ball from the
catcher and a few seconds later went into another wind-up after
receiving his pitch signal from the catcher.
The ball for a third time came straight at the plate. Man'darr readied
himself to swing the bat lower this time and swung. There was a loud
crack as the bat connected solidly with the pitch sending the ball
skyward and deep into the outfield, dropping behind the right fielder.
"Way to go baby!" Bran yelled as she started running. With the hit her
husband had scored it was easy to reach home base. With a triumphant
yelp Bran touched base. "Score!!!!" She yelled.
T'risia addressed the matter with more dignity. She charged the plate,
crossing it with speed, and then saluted the Catcher in the traditional
Vulcan fashion. "Peace and long life," she spoke, as she searched the
crowd for 8-ball. She had an unusual desire for 8-ball to have seen the
Crossing of the Plate known as Home.
Man'darr stopped at Third as the winning run was scored. He raised his
arms in victory.
The crowds roared at the victors of the game. "It's okay, Qa'Hom," Arel
yelled to the pitcher. "With those skinny arms, you were doomed to begin
with! Must be a genetic thing? What species is your mother again?"
"THAT'S IT!!! I SWEAR TO GOD!!!" the pitcher howled in frustration.
"First that cat, then that wannabe Klingon!" he yelled as he chucked the
ball straight at Arel. The ball sailed wide of her head, passing
instead, straight into the dugout. The baseball ricocheted around the
dugout, knocking a cooler over, shattering something that sounded
valuable, before barely missing Le'on who let out a Caitian howl of
protest as he jumped to avoid being hit as well.
"Aw Hell..." the pitcher breathed as the entire Galaxy team looked at
him with murder on their collective mind.
Man'darr who had been near Third Base rushed at the Pitcher. The Pitcher
turned to Man'darr just in time to be sent reeling backwards several
feet before hitting the ground from the large Capellan's uppercut, which
also seemed to=2 0have broken the man's jaw as two other players from
the Terrorfish jumped on Man'darr's back, unsuccessfully bringing him
down as he twisted his body weight to the side and downward, flipping
the two players onto the ground hard.
Le'on dashed out of the dugout and, using Man'darr's back as a
springboard, leaped out towards the pitcher's mound with claws out. He
let out an evil hiss as he flew through the air right at the lousy human
who had nearly killed him twice with the baseball. "DIE!!!" he yelled as
he landed on the pitcher's chest, knocking the wind out of the larger
man as the two of them hit the ground.
The miniature Caitain then stood up on the pitcher's chest, retracted
his fore claws, and began to whale on the man's face repeatedly; the
guy's head bouncing back and forth like a punching bag.
"Finally!" Arel yelled with a smile as she poured out onto the field and
leapt into the fray with a loud Klingon battle cry. "Ahhhh-heee!"
"Oi that's my husband!' Bran yelled and without thinking another thought
joined in the melee that had erupted around Man'darr.
Le'on was so engrossed pummeling the Pitcher that he almost missed the
Shortstop coming up on him. His ears twitched with the sound of
stampeding feet off to his left and he ducked right as the man tried to
grab him. Satisfied that the Pitcher was now unconscious, or as close to
it as possible, he then leaped up to take on the Shortstop. Le'on's
claws sank into the man's arm as he clawed his way up to the guy's head.
He batted the Shortstop's head around a few times before clawing his way
down the guy's back. The Shortstop tried in vain to dislodge the kitty,
but was unable to get a good hold on him. Instead, his arms just flailed
about as Le'on methodically clawed, bit, and scratched his way up and
down his body. At one point, Le'on wound up under the guy's shirt.
That's when the Shortstop finally pinned him. "Gotcha!" the Terrorfish
player said triumphantly. But Le'on was far from through. He popped out
of the guy's shirt with an evil hiss and then pounced on his head again,
this time sending him down to the turf. He then proceeded to start
pummeling him as well. "And line all your friends up, right beside you!"
Le'on yelled at him as his furry paws hit him repeatedly.
"Should we...?" Angelienia asked, looking up at Victor.
"No, I don't think so," he replied. "They certainly don't need the
help," he added as Le'on seemed to levitate to a height of eight or none
feet to avoid being caught in Gryphon and Nathan's dual-tackle of the
Terrorfish player th4e Caitian had been fighting. "I think... I think
right here, with you, is good."
****
In the stands, Raikar leaned back and laughed. Sometimes the universe
surprised you - like today. He'd had a plan in place, ready to go, in
case the Galaxy team was about to lose, sure that they'd be drowning
against the highly-ranked Terrorfish by the midpoint of the game... and
he hadn't needed it. The rag-tag team had won on their own, in a fashion
that he not only had to have seen to believe, but one that would, he was
sure, be attributed to him by the Old Man. It had all the hallmarks of
an improbable but possible alteration of the odds that happened in
sports occasionally - and was, in fact, better than the plan he'd had in
place. No need to tell anyone that, though. Maybe the Old Man's Deltan
assistant would even smile for him after this one.
As he watched the brawl and checked the standings on his hand-link, he
nodded in satisfaction. By displacing the Terrorfish, the Galaxy had
secured a fourth-place finish for themselves, and knocked the Terrorfish
out of the running for a medal. That should be enough of an alteration
to the odds that the Camboro Cartel would be hemorrhaging cash like a
planet did population in advance of a Borg cube as they tried to cover
the bets that had been laid. They'd already tried a couple of desperate
maneuvers to shift the odds back - including, insanely, someone actually
shooting one of the athletes in a trumped-up 'domestic dispute' shooting
accident of all things.
Amateurs.
Desperate amateurs.
Only one thing left to do - the final piece of the puzzle - and then the
Camboro Cartel would be taking the long fall.
He hoped that they would be awake for the sudden stop at the end.
"Robin Hood"
Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC
Commanding Officer
188TH Starfleet Marines Detachment
Private First Class Leah Owen (NPC)- SFMC
Infantryman/Aide de Camp
188TH Starfleet Marines Detachment
And Left Open for anyone else who'd like to join in.
===================================================
(One of the Olympic Stadiums, somewhere)
It had been a tough competition, so far.
The Galaxy women's Archery Team which had included Leah, finished a very respectable twelfth place when the team competition came to a halt. Usually if you said something like that to someone, they'd look at you strangely because twelfth was a good distance from first... however at the same time there were over a hundred teams competing, so twelfth wasn't a bad end point at all. They'd gotten through the first round of the 'shoot-offs', only to end up losing by a total score of 8 points (they scored 688 out of a possible 720) to the all Vulcan team from the USS Gorgon. It was almost as if the Gorgon's skipper had hand-crafted his crew to excel at these games.
There were a variety of archery events in which to compete. The overall field was divided between classical archery, and the more difficult modern archery (which had moving targets). Regulations allowed for three classes based on 'pull weight', separating the contestants largely based on strength, and all contestants were divided among male, female, and androgynous. Then, in each of these fields, there were team events, and individual events. All told, 36 Gold medals were at stake, and 4 trophies were up for grabs. The Trophies of course being for best individual performance, best team performance, best singular shot, and best grouping. Because of the archery point system, it was quite possible to win a team gold, and be completely out-shot by another team. Likewise it was possible to win a trophy for best individual performance, without even placing for a medal thanks to elimination rounds.
Fork was following it, if only barely. Koren was asleep, safely tucked away on the Galaxy under the watchful gaze of his grandmother. It gave daddy a chance to relax without having to worry 'too' much about wardrobe malfunctions and the like.
The Gorgon's crew finished with the team gold in the 2nd class. Arguably the Vulcans should have been shooting in the 3rd class with the other physically 'superior' species, however when dealing with so many conflicting qualities no set of guidelines was going to be perfect, and the Vulcans qualified for the 2nd Class, shooting alongside species such as Humans, Bajorans, and Bolians. The Gorgon's teams mopped up as a result, winning both the male and female class 2 team competitions.
The Androgenous 2nd Class medal went to the team from the USS Sarasota. Their transparent skulls were really disturbing, probably giving them a bit of a psychological edge.
Whatever, those events were over and done with. As were the Male individuals, where the USS New York, USS Bryant, and USS Koreco won their medals.
Nobody had expected Leah to get this far though, she probably least likely of them all to think such a thing. Still, she took her turn one round at a time. Each time, even if not perfect, doing well enough to advance. Early favorites had been from the Gorkon, the Oroborous, and the Kissel. Oroborous' star shooter, a Trill named Larise, would have to settle for a Bronze match with the Kissel's best after Leah handed her a 115-114 loss. (Fork figured out that the scoring scales for the individual events were based on a max of 120 rather than the team system of 720 max. What a confusing sport.) Gorkon's best shooter, their team Captain A'shal, had beaten Kissel's primary favorite.
Then there were two.
It was a really good bout to watch. A'shal's Vulcan genetics certainly helped a great deal when it came to the standing targets, however Leah's combat experience allowed her to close the gap significantly when it came to the mobiles. As she had throughout the earlier matches, she stayed 'just' within reach of victory. When the last couple of shots came though, she slipped further behind.
She was far enough behind at the last shot that all A'shal would have needed to do to win the gold was place an arrow on the still target 70 meters distance. An arrow 'anywhere' on that target, the routine shot for a decent archer, would've ended it right then and there. Although Leah was certainly the 'crowd' favorite as the younger underdog, the silence said everything. It was as if all eyes were just waiting for the judge to render a verdict they expected.
The 47 year old Gorkon Strategic Operations officer, trained by none other than Commander Tuvok himself, set her arrow through the nitch and rest, setting her cold stare dead on the target. Just one point would guarantee PFC Owen's next shot didn't matter.
"You did amazingly." For'kel whispered, giving his comrade in arms an encouraging pat on her shoulder.
"Thank you, sir." She whispered back with a smile. Clearly she was quite pleased with herself, and she had good reason to be.
"Not good enough, apparently." Ugahlo teased, and quickly received an elbow to his side for his troubles.
A'shal pulled back on the strings.
"He meant to say there is nothing wrong with being second best female archer in all of Starfleet... it's an awesome title." Ilal translated.
There was a thud.
Leah was already getting to her feet to go congratulate the champion when what she had seen hit her, as it did everyone else simultaneously.
A'shal's bow strings had snapped. Her arrow was point down in the soft grass. It didn't just miss, it never left the proverbially launch pad.
Never in the history of the Starfleet Olympics had anything even remotely similar happened. It was always a theoretical possibility, in fact rules did exist regarding just such an event. However nobody thought those rules would ever, 'ever' need to be used. Competitors always tested their equipment to the utmost to insure things like this didn't happen. Yet they were staring the results right in the eye.
So arcane were the rules regarding such a possibility, that even the referee had to refer to the published rules just to find out what the hell to do. The Andorian finally did look up. "Lieutenant A'shal fouls. Next shooter!"
A'shal raised an eyebrow as if to protest, but thought better of it. Statistically there was a 98.7 percent chance of victory. Only one person in the history of the games had ever been in this kind of situation before and failed to win the gold... and that was because she aggravated an injury and could not finish. She went back a little... curious about what had happened, but none the less sure of her impending victory.
There was a buzz among all the onlookers as Leah took her stance. Fork could tell most of it wasn't centered on this next shot, but rather the failed attempt by A'shal to finish it previously. Was it Vulcan showboating? Nah... the guy who suggested that must have been an idiot. Fork wasn't so cynical as to believe such a thing.
She pulled back on the string and took aim. Leah cleared her mind... reminded herself that she'd accomplished a great deal already, and whatever the outcome it didn't matter. Anything less then a perfect shot... a square bullseye (an area already occupied by one of A'shal's red arrows) was going to give her the points to win. At best, they may get into a one shot shoot-out, for which A'shal would get to use a new bow.
Leah breathed in and out, focussing her aim and readying her green arrow. She had one shot, the Marine in her told her to make it count.
She let go, the arrow zoomed into the air, arcing in trajectory...
It was called the 'Robin Hood' shot, named for the (assumed) legendary archer from terran lore, as he was reputed to be the only archer capable of such a shot. The arrow head of Leah's arrow would have to split A'shal's 'in twain'... split the entire shaft 'and' arrow head in two, and replace it in the target.
And damned if that's not exactly what happened.
Leah's mouth almost dropped.
Her Marine comrades bolted from their seats in frenzy, the gathered members of the 188TH rushing their champion.
The crowd roared.
A'shal looked unmoved, but one could tell she was deeply annoyed. So annoyed that she immediately went to consult with the judges.
Just like Robin Hood, Leah had split her opponent's arrow. And just like Robin Hood, she was stealing gold from the medal heavy Gorkon crew for the 'poorer' Galaxy crew. It was the 188TH's first Gold since Lieutenant Dobryin had beaten the favored champion in hand to hand. It looked like there would be more than one Marine to toast at the unit's Closing Ceremonies BBQ.
"It would be prudent to further evaluate this outcome." A'shal dispassionately suggested to the ref, "The laws of physics dictate that is an impossible shot, and moreover the likelihood of structural failure of all three strings..."
"Wait, what are you trying to say, Lieutenant?" For'kel had a fair idea, but was hoping against hope anyway.
"That someone with a vested interest in the outcome of this match has interfered..."
"Oh 'fuck' you!" Warrant Officer Amici exclaimed, being held at bay by the Colonel's arm. The Italian clearly didn't take kindly to one of his own being unjustly accused.
"Lieutenant, I can assure you no member of my unit would do such a thing, let alone Private Owen."
"I believe your sincerity, Colonel." The Vulcan replied. "But none the less..."
"She's right." Leah muttered after thinking it through. "I don't want a tainted medal... and that 'is' supposed to be an impossible shot. Arrows don't fly straight, they shouldn't be able to do that. If I didn't deserve it, I don't want to lay claim to someone else's achievement."
The ref seemed to agree. "There is no harm in allowing an investigation since you both consent. We will award the class 2 individual women's medal tomorrow evening. By then our analysts should be able to conclude what, if anything happened, and we will have an answer as to what to do."
"'Twas the Night Before Christmas - Another Twisted Galaxy Tale"
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all ands on board,
Tossed in their bed-sheets as they quietly snored
And dreamed of the pleasures of far saner days.
The corridors were bare, and Science Labs too,
And Tactical and Sick bay had nothing to do.
Security itself was muted in numbers,
As most of their staff was secure in their slumbers.
The timing was perfect, the setting just right
For the usual visitor each Christmas Eve Night.
He delivered some ribs for the Galaxy’s Gorn,
To make K’aa less surly and not as forlorn.
To Arel he gave some Rigellian knives
To make her so happy by threatening lives.
To Burton he dropped off some Wiccan bric-brac,
For incantations and stuff (should she develop the knack),
And 8-Ball got Johnny Walker black label
A full quart, just enough to wipe out this trite fable.
Daniels got books on some vacation thrills
To take his mind off all of those Tactical kills,
And Eshe, to allieve those Engineering affairs,
A box of duct tape, for big ship repairs.
As Santa was spreading his holiday cheer
Two boots on the deck plates he neglected to hear.
They were worn and quote silent, not even a squeak
Did the tall figure make ‘till he started to speak.
“Intruder – put the bag down, and put your hands up. Now.”
The jolly elf turned with a lurch and a grin
And spoke as his beard shook from under his chin.
“Now Victor”, he said as he laughed quite a lot
“Don’t you think there’s another gift this old sack’s got?”
“You’re not listening. You will put the sack down – NOW. Or not, and
I’ll have to give you permission.”
“Permission… what... what are you talking about?”
=====================================
“Autopsy 05.7418 - Doctor Slen reporting. “
“Subject appears to be a human male of about eighty years, morbidly
obese with generous body hair. Blood sugar from the victim reads at
14.9, and insulin levels from his pancreas shows definite type 2
diabetes. This may have been a form of suicide, as the vic’s stomach
was brimming with various sugar and white-flour laden foods, and his
glucose levels must have been well on their way to spiking even
higher. Certainly, the hyper-glycema may have givien him
hallucinations – there’s no other explanation why he’d go at Victor
Krieghoff with a toy gun.”
"Kittens and Catnip; A (Hopefully Humorous) Film Noir Story"
Part 1: Babes and Bullets
Lt. JG Le'on Khatowren, Security Kitty
**********
USS Galaxy, Holodeck Five
In some old town in America in, say, the 1920s...
It vas raining outside my office... I hate the rain... It seems to alvays rain here for some odd reason vich is weird considering weather control programs now a days.
Outside, along vith de cold and bleak weather, the vehicles and people drone on and on in endless pursuit of life, liberty, and de pursuit of Happy... Whoever dat is. Out in de night, shots ring out and voman screams. It is type of scream dat hits octave dat is usually reserved for calling dogs and it surprises me dat none of the mutts are howling along wit her... But I am not opera or theatre critic, I am a Private Eye. And not matter how voman screams; it is de sound of greenbacks hitting my paw. Greenbacks dat go to pay de bills; like Bill de Bookie, and Bill de Probation Officer...
I knew it was only matter of time before she sauntered into my office. After all, I vouldn't have any type of interesting vacation if de police were of any help. Being of help is my job for dis episode. Or so I am told.
I leaned back in chair and looked up at ceiling fan rotating slowly and began to tink things over. Vhy vas voman screaming? Vhy is all color in black and vhite? And how is holodeck amplifying my thoughts into narration?
I shrug and let things run dere course. Crewmate said that dis would be fun program. I then pick up script on desk and start to flip through, wondering exactly how many clichés author put in dis program. And vhy do books never come in my size?
It vas about then when she sauntered into my office. I must have a vord vith secretary about calling me first before admitting people. The voman’s outline was silhouetted by bright light from behind her. I must also have vord with maintenance to have light down the hall removed. I pull down my fedora hat and put on sunglasses just so that I can see her clearly until she closes damn door.
She vas tall and slinky Caitian of excellent pedigree with her fur pure orange, dat of tabby cat, and finely groomed. She vears a red dress that looks like she was poured into with matching long red gloves and a large brimmed red voman’s hat matching the style of period. At least I tink it is red and her fur orange, dat is vhat script says anyvays. One can’t tell vith everything in black, white, and grey. Her whiskers vere long and clean and her tail long and shiny.
She was a knockout... Haven’t seen voman like her since... Since... Ah vell never mind... Dat is another story...
“I need your help Mister Khatowren...” She purred in this sexy voice, and then literally purred.
“Of course you do, othervise you vouldn’t haff walked in door...” I stated, adjusting my oversized sunglasses slightly for more comfortable fit. I must have word with Prop Department later about this... I check my pocket watch, she vasted no time in coming here. Did she even go to police?
She valked in, one hip at a time, finally closing de blasted door while she crossed floor and sat in chair on other side of my desk. “I’m Miss Kitty Carmichael and my husband was shot.” She said, taking out a white handkerchief from her red purse and blowing her nose. Her eyes were starting to tear up. “The police are of no help.”
“Dey never are. Dey are a bunch of mutts constantly chasing their own tails, never able to make a collar to save their worthless hides.” I say, tossing lousy script back onto desk and taking off sunglasses. “So, do you haff any enemies? Anyone who vould vant your husband dead?”
“His partner in the Carmichael Catnip Industry; Binky Bartholomeww” She said, taking a picture out of her purse and handing it to me. I pick it up and look him over.
Da guy looked like a clown to me.
“I want you to find my husband’s killer Mister Khatowren. I want you to find him, and kill him.” She said to me, all teary eyed.
“I am Private Eye, not Hitman.” I protested. “You vant Hitman, hire Agent Forty-Seven”
“Who?”
“Never mind...” I sigh. “Job to track down killer vill cost fifty a day, plus expenses, plus shares in your husband’s business.” I just vish Catnip was real and not some hologram. But den again, maybe I get lucky and replicated Catnip be good stuff...
“That’s ridiculous!” She protested, shooting to her feet.
“So’s da job.” I calmly reply.
She eyed me up and down. “And the part about killing him?”
I shrug. “Job is dangerous business. Killer might be caught in shootout. You never know in dhese stories.” Which vas true.
She nodded and slapped a fifty on my desk. “You leave me no choice then. I expect to hear on your progress soon Mister Khatowren.” She den turns and walks out the door, the damn light from hallway blinding me briefly as she exits.
My vision swims with spots as I grope around desk blindly for bottle and shot glass. I pour me a tall one of Abslout Vodka Smirnoff and toss it back quickly. The glass goes sailing out of my paw, through the vindow, hitting a taxicab on the street below. As I look down at the newly formed traffic accident at the intersection, I realize that I really need to work on my drinking problem, and my aim. I vill also haff word with maintenance later about replacing vindow too. But now, I had lead and I had job. I might as vell get to it. I reach down to my belt and check gun in holster dere. It is my trusty Smith and Wesson M1917 Revolver. At least script said it vas trusty anyvays. I am just glad this prop fits my paw; It volud look silly of me trying to lug gun size of cannon down de road.
Between the Babe and the Bullets, I tink dat I vill like dis show...
"Checkmate"
Raikar Thaimus
Lieutenant H'neetha Sleeth
****
Chess was for the weak of mind.
You moved sterile pieces across a sterile board according to sterile rules that had been written so long ago on Earth that something like seven different cultures all claimed to be the source of it's invention and no one could sort out which one of them was really the game's creator.
Raikar knew the rules of the game, understood their relationship to the maneuvering of troops on a battlefield, and he could see where the cerebral challenge might be appealing to a weaker mind...
...but nothing, no abstract game ever invented, compared to the sublime thrill of moving pieces that were living, breathing beings with their own will in a dance against an opponent who was doing the same to you. The challenge of finding just the right approach for each free-willed pawn to motivate them into the action you wanted, each action linking to another and another until a causal chain was built that slowly wrapped around its target, guiding them into the actions that Raikar wanted...
Gods, there was nothing better.
Well, truth be told there *were* a few things, but they weren't what he was here for. Not really; although there were occasional... fringe benefits.
Today, here, he was here for Lieutenant H'neetha Sleeth. She was from one of the Federation's minor races, the Leethi'ss, a sleek, athletic woman with black hair, yellow-green eyes, and delicately-scaled golden tan skin, patterned along he back, and the dorsal sides of her arms and legs with scales of darker brown, green and yellow hue in subdued patterns. Her tongue had a delicate fork to it, and she had spent some time earlier in the evening demonstrating that she knew many tricks that would have been impossiple without one.
Now, as the two of them lay, limbs tangled in the way of sleepy lovers after a long, satisfyig bout of lovemaking, it was time to stop enjoying the fringe benefits and make his final move against the increasingly desperate Agent that the Camboro had sent to keep their interests intacct.
"I know," he murmured contentedly into H'neetha's hair, "that you didn't learn *that* at the Academy."
Her laugh was a soft hiss of amusement and she stretched contentedly against him. "You're sure about that?"
"Quite sure," he assured her. "If that was on the cirriculum, then there would have been volunteers lined up around the campus to act as 'demonstration models' - classes would have ground to a halt."
She hissed again and smiled lazily against Raikaar's chest. "But wouldn't it have been fun?"
"Better this way, I think," he assured her. "Just you and me, here, under the stars like this. No one around, ctitiquing techniques or staring jealously..." He tightened his arms around her. "You certainly don't need any criticism, but you *are* worth staring at - and I don't want to share."
"Flattery will get you," she smiled, shifting her position slightly, "a very long night, Hart..." She kissed him slowly. "A very long night."
Raikar kissed her back, the memories of their earlier encounter lending heat to the moment. As she drew back and slipped to lie next to him, looking up at the stars, her hand slipping across his chest, he asked her, "Have you ever wondered if there's someone out there, watching you, watching us, at moments like this?"
"Where?" she asked looking around the deserted stretch of beach they'd laid their towels on.
"No, dear one," he shook his head. "Not there..." he pointed upwards to the night sky "...there."
She looked up. "What, like one of the sensor techs on the stations?"
"No, not them, although I guess they could be," Raikar admitted. "I was thinking..."
"What?"
"You'll think it's silly."
She smiled and propped her cin on his chest. "Tell me," she insisted, "I won't laugh, I promise."
"Well..." Raikar drew the moment out slowly, then relented. "The bad guys," he offered. "I mean, here we are, as vulnerable as it's possible for two people to be... What if they're out there, watching us, sitting in their cloaked ship, making comments about our anatomy and how we... do thing? Romulans wouldn't care - they're like us, but the Hydrans or the bugs...." He shrugged. "I told you it was silly."
H'neetha blinked her nnictitating membranes at him, looked up at the sky, and smiled. "There's no one there, Hart. No one like that, anyway."
"You're sure?" Raikar asked.
"Positive," she nodded. "My group on the station scans for that sort of thing - no bugs, no turnips here."
"Promise?" he asked, running a finger along the side of her neck.
She smiled and stretched out, locating her combadge, and pressed a finger to his lips. "Shhhh" she whispered. =/\= "H'neetha to Darrigan. Do me a favor and move up that scheduled cloaking sweep of the system, would you? I know we were supposed to wait until tomorrow, but it'll give the shift somethign to do besides sit there and stare at blank screens all night." =/\=
=/\= "Roger that. Not a bad idea - we haven't had a readiness drill in a while," =/\= came the response.
=/\= "What does Picard say all the time? 'Make it so'"=/\= she said with a laugh. =/\= "H'neetha out." =/\=
Dropping the combadge back on their clothes, she scooted up until her hair fell around his face like a curtain, shutting out the rest of the world and leaving them alone in their private world. "That takes care of that," she whispered, swaying closer slowly with each word. "I've got you all to myself now...."
"Good," Raikar replied, his smile of anticipation owing nothing to artifice and everything to prior experience as he reached up to draw her down. "I always do my best work face-to-face...."
"Kittens and Catnip; A (Probably Cheesy) Film Noir Story"
Part 2: Cats and Dogs
Lt. JG Le'on Khatowren, Security Kitty
**********
USS Galaxy, Holodeck Five
In some old town in America in, say, the 1920s...
As I valk out into rainy day, I flip up collar of trench coat, pull down brim of fedora, and stick paws into pockets. I really vish rain vould stop already. I turn left, heading vest on main toward the Carmichael Mansion on edge of town.
It vasn’t long til I heard de padding of footsteps behind me. “Dobraye Utro Lou...” I growl, not even bothering to look back. I recognize scent anyvhere.
“That’s Detective Beagle to you, Cat.” Lou growls back at me. Dis time I stop, turn, and look back at him. The mutt certainly looks like his namesake, albeit much, much taller. Lou must be six feet tall at least and he’s wearing expression that clearly show dat he is upset wit something. “I’m onto you, kitty, and you’re in big trouble if you cross the line this time.” He says in his typical warning voice.
“I think not baby puppy.” I growl right back, turn away from him, and continue on down the street.
“You’re working the Kitty Carmichael Catnip Case.” It vasn’t question. “My Captain says to stay away from it and to let us real detectives do the job for once.”
“Does dat flea ridden boss of yours really expect me to obey for once as vell?” I ask rhetorically. “Tell Captain Barker dat I am Caitian and I do vhat I please, vhen I please. Dasvidania…”
Dat about set the tone for de whole valk to de Carmichael Mansion. Even though I say goodbye, it did not take rocket scientist to figure out dat Lou vas mutt detective assigned to case. De whole time it vas growl, threat, growl, hiss, bark, angry meow, and repeat. By time we got to Mansion I vas ready to kill dog. As we valked up, da door vas already open, showing de interior of de grand hallway.
I stop in doorvay to take in scene and ignore Lou as he barges right in as if he owns place. Dere were already uniformed cops dere who vere taking statements from various members of staff as well as Miss Kitty herself. Mister Carmichael lies facedown in de middle of de room in puddle of own blood. He is Orange Tabby like wife is, only slightly taller. I scratch my head in puzzlement. Miss Kitty made good time getting back home.
I valk into de hall and note the black and white checkered marble tiling on floor, high ceiling, and massive white pillars. Very impressive sight, especially vhen one is only two feet tall when on hind legs. I carefully valk around body, making sure not to step in blood, and see if dere is anything of note; Immediately, I see two bullet holes in Carmichael’s back and I see shattered martini glass on floor near his right hand. Any liquid that might have been in glass is all over floor. I stick a single claw into liquid and sniff; Gin, Vermouth, Slight Olive smell. Nothing strange dere. I take small lick, whoever made martini certainly made it smooth.
Irritating puppy detective walks up behind me. “Two bullets close range in the back, indicating that the killer got close to him.”
Da, tell me something I don’t know...
“According to the staff, he never looked at them when he got served cocktails.” Lou tells me, looking at some notes on his pad. “My guess is that he was served his drink and then shot.” He closes pad and looks around. “The butler is missing. I think that the butler did it.”
I roll my eyes. Talk about obvious cliché. Killer could haff sneaked up on him, who know at dis point? It vas then I notice dark stain on floor over by coat closet. I valk over, jump up to handle, and open door. Tall, black furred cat in butler’s outfit falls out and lands on floor face down. There is a dagger protruding from his back. The dried stain is obviously from him. I look back over at Lou. “So much for dat theory.” I say dryly. “Care to take ‘nother STAB at it?”
Lou just narrows his eyes and growls at me. I shrug it off. I’ve been through worse.
I shake my head. Butler doing it would be way too easy. Easy not in line of work I’m in. There is something more at vork here. I look over to Miss Kitty. It would be far too easy if it vas her, but I do not yet eliminate her off suspect list either.
Walking away and ignoring yapping mutt once again, I start to take look around mansion to see what I can dig up. But maybe I leave actual digging to de dogs.
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