USS Galaxy: The Next Generation Sim Log
Stardate: 60812.21 - 60812.27 |
Weekly Summary |
Number of posts this week: 12 On ship: Kimberly Burton gets an unexpected visit from Rafael Davila, who shows up in Galaxy's Sickbay with a picnic lunch for the two of them. Since both of their ships are still in orbit, why not make the most of the time they have left together? For'kel Arvelion heads to Sickbay to ask Allison some questions about the future. Allison initially refuses to give him any info, but gives in once For'kel gets her a few bags of Frito's from the replicator. Not that she gives him much info anyway... As expected, the Agent's ship is caught by Starfleet sensor scans. They're confronted by a Starfleet security patrol, and rather than be taken into custody, the Agent sets her ship's self destruct and then performs an emergency beam-out...which drops her on the USS Galaxy. Needing to manufacture an alibi, she decides to head for the Captain's quarters. T'Vara is quite surprised when her old friend Jesprit Dvora shows up at her door, and even more surprised when Jesprit abruptly bids T'Vara farewell with a rather passionate kiss, then leaves. In the continuation of her consult with Dr. Risdanach, T'Pei explains some previously unknown/secret things about Vulcan katric transfer. As she speaks, Risdanach notices some changes in her composure which indicate that she might be having memory troubles. After she leaves, he consults her medical records, which contain a note from the Vulcan Academy Hospital that they are to be contacted if T'Pei begins to show any strange neurological symptoms. Victor Krieghoff is notified of an unauthorized transport to the surface. Victor immediately suspects something, and has himself beamed down near Suder and Siebur's location. Siebur has caught up with and injured Suder, but is stopped dead in his tracks when Victor, now in his Death guise, confronts Siebur. Siebur puts up a fight but ultimately doesn't stand a chance, and he quickly calls for a beam out. Now released from Sickbay, Allison quickly gives her Security escorts the slip so she can access a public comm booth to try and call her mother. She connects to the USS Zeus, but is quickly cut off by whoever answers on the other end. Undeterred, Allison decides to enlist the help of Victor Krieghoff, who apparently has also tried to contact Rebecca von Ernst without luck. Allison declares that she's going to hire a shuttle to take her to the Zeus, but Victor says there's no need-- he's already requisitioned a warp-capable shuttle for the same purpose. Discouraged by her lack of leads in the Eptgac case, 8-ball decides to drag Ella back to her quarters so they can go over the evidence once again. 8-ball remembers that she can check the visitor records for her quarters...which reveal that the only person who was in her quarters during the time specified was Victor Krieghoff. 8-ball and Ella head to Victor's office, and when he's not there they head to his quarters, in the process interrupting a rare afternoon off. Confronted with the evidence, Victor insists that someone must be trying to frame him, because there's overwhelming evidence that he was in his office at the time...and because a clone of his commbadge appears in the internal sensor logs for about an hour and a half before being deactivated. 8-ball returns to her quarters to mull this over, and, several hours later, she thinks she knows who the culprit is. Off ship: Believing that K'aa just killed Jaal Jaxom, Gloria Beauregard attacks him, choking him until he loses consciousness. Then, the head of Jaal's body falls off, sprouts some mechanical legs, skitters over to them, and begins choking Gloria with its unnaturally long tongue. (I'm assuming that after this, things get REALLY weird.) On the Concorde Space Station (in the Dodekatheon system), Victor and Allison are pursued by Agent John Rhinestone of Temporal Affairs. Rhinestone pulls his phaser, hoping that the presence of the weapon will cause them to stop, but instead it turns the surrounding crowd into a panicked mob. Victor and Allison are able to escape in the ensuing mess, leaving Rhinestone behind to explain the crap he's just caused.
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Logs |
"Kittens and Catnip; A (Mmmmm.... Cheeeesssey....) Film Noir Story"Part 3: Snooping Around. Lt. JG Le'on Khatowren, Security Kitty ********** USS Galaxy, Holodeck Five In some old town in America in, say, the 1920s... I leave de Canine Unit upstairs to do their regular sniffing around as I go do some sniffing of my own. De lack of any type of real evidence short of dead butler concerns me. I vill find out later from Police on vhether or not knife has prints on it. My hunch is no so dere is no reason for me to be around for shoddy early American forensics. As I vander up the stairs to the more private rooms, I vonder exactly what Mister Carmichael had gotten himself into. Sure, business partner vould be just as obvious and just as easy, like de Butler and like de Wife, it is too obvious, easy and cliché. I find my way to large office dat overlooks gardens in back of house. I am sure that sight from de bay windows behind the executive chair vould be impressive if whole world vould be shown in color. I jump into chair and lounge back in it for moment, taking in office and put self into Carmichael’s shoes, even though they are big on me and look goofy. I slip dem off and picture vhat he might do in here avay from office at factory. I den take out note pad and pencil in order to note observations and evidence to dis point. After done jotting notes down, I start to take extensive look into desk area. A small cigarette is on de right paw side of desk. I pick it up, roll in paw for a moment and den take good whiff. Ahhhh... Dis definitely comes from good stock of Carmichael Brand of Catnip Cigarettes. Resistance is futile and I take out match to light cigarette. The sweet aroma fills room as I smoke whole ting. Other than the cigarette, dere is nothing unusual about office; just papers, memos, and variety of books all on business. Nothing out of ordinary. My gaze keeps on settling on far wall dat boarders hallvay. Dhere is something about wall that rubs my fur wrong vay, I just can’t seem to put my paw on it. I end up valking around strange wall, going back and forth between hall and office many times. Something about construction is not right. I valk back to desk and start pawing around and I end up hitting paydirt; small button on underside. I press button and then vatch as large painting on vall slides to one side to reveal spiral staircase leading down. Now ve getting somevhere. I descend into darkness and heat; reminds me a bit of gates of hell itself. Between fur and trench coat, it is almost unbearable. Hot scorching air surrounds me from all sides; makes me vonder if effect is intentional. I notice vents on all sides of staircase as I go down, and as I go down, hotter tings become. By the time I get to bottom of stairs, I am almost vanting to go back up just to escape heat. Dere is door at foot of stairs lit up by eerie glow. Probably red, but who can tell. I am color blind as dogs in dis silly simulation. Surprisingly, door is unlocked as I push against it. I go through into a velcome blast of cool air. At least inside is air conditioned. I close door behind me and den look for lights in here. I find small lamp and turn it on. The scene is den shoking. Map of city is on vall in front of desk. To left it looks like altar dedicated to de Big Cat upstairs. To de right another altar for de Big Cat downstairs. It looks to me dat Carmichael was planning city takeover and vas playing all possible angles he could. Looks like he was trying to get a bit closer to both heaven and hell. On desk dere were notes after notes on his plans. A few names stuck out; Binky Bartholomeww of Carmichael Catnip Corporation, Father Mally O’Tabby of St. Morris Church, and Captain Robert Barker of the City Police Department. Tings were getting interesting indeed. I take down more notes and stuff key letters and notes of Carmichael’s into coat pocket before turning off light and scurrying back up to official office. I close secret door and take out a handkerchief and vipe down wall to eliminate any paw prints I might haff left behind. I make way back down to mail hall. The Stiff that was Carmichael has been moved, probably to city morgue. I’ll get to body later. Now, I haff leads that I must check into. "Unexpected Visitor" Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - USS Galaxy ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ USS Galaxy ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Strolling down the corridors of the USS Galaxy Rafael tried his best to ~ At least I hope that's it. ~ He thought, pausing by a panel to get What he hadn't counted on though was the nurse on duty. "Name!" She snapped brusquely, PADD in hand and an evil look that screamed "Umm, I'm here to see Doctor..." he started, only to be cut off. "No food in sickbay, and I didn't ask who you were here to see! I asked for "Ah..." He started, confused now. He'd heard rumours about the stability Making a shooing motion with one hand the nurse waved him away, "Go, go. Taking the hint Rafael retreated quickly across sickbay, casting the "Okay, okay. Well when you have a better idea let me know, until then we'll "Bad time?" Rafael enquired gently, stepping into the office. Spinning around Kimberly felt both eyebrows rise in surprise at the "I was thinking when I got off shift earlier," he started, desperately "Good plan." Disengaging long enough to relieve him of the bags she put "Gamma shift tomorrow. You?" Arms now free he tilted her head back gently "Hey, I'm in charge here, I make my own hours." She replied after a while, "Likewise. Ummm, is your Nurse..." Debating briefly how to phrase this so "Arrietty? Probably. The 'post shore leave medical rush' has begun." "Something funny?" Rafael enquired curiously. "I'll tell you later, let's eat. You couldn't have brought food at a better "Not a problem," Rafael agreed as he unpacked the food. "Have you been "Only the casualty list," she admitted. At his raised eyebrows she smiled, "Did you have any plans for today?" Rafael enquired as he started serving a "Nothing I can't postpone." Kimberly replied instantly, and honestly. And "Good, because I was hoping you could give me a tour?" "Of the ship, sure." Kimberly agreed readily, "Where'd you like to start?" "Your quarters." He replied with an innocent smile. "Agent in Trouble" ***** As the tiny ship broke orbit, heading away from the grey-brown rock that was planet Artemis and back towards the watery Poseidon, the Agent sighed to herself, her posture relaxing into the cushions of the cramped bridge's center seat. Her enthusiasm, running at near record levels when she'd been unexpectedly contacted by the Operative over two months ago, was now all but spent. The last time she'd taken such a job, twelve years ago, everything had been much more straightforward. Even though it was just over a decade ago, the power balance among the syndicates had been vastly different. Sure, in the grand scheme of things, the Camboro Cartel hadn't been a huge player, but in the corner of the market that dealt with betting, particularly sports betting, they were champions. Mr. Camboro, if that was even his real name, had done one thing and he had done it well. But now, things were changing. Camboro was still a big fish in that particular pond, but they were no longer the only fish to worry about. As so often happened in a free (or free-ish) market, established proprietors would always be threatened by new competitors. She knew that was exactly what was happening here, and that was exactly why this would be her last time dealing with this mess for Camboro, or anyone for that matter. The pay was excellent, especially since it allowed her to do things she never would have been able to if she'd just stuck to her day job, but there came a time when no amount of money would be worth it. Their competitors were getting almost as aggressive with their own "improvements" to many sporting events, forcing her to have to deviate from her own protocols, resorting to ever dangerous and risky plans to keep Camboro on top...and now, despite her best efforts, they were just barely staying on top. Plus, she wasn't as young as she used to be, and it was time to start thinking about retirement. Working for Camboro had given her a fat nest egg...now she found herself wanting to be around long enough to enjoy it. And she couldn't do that if she was dead, or stuck in some Federation penal colony, which was just as bad as being dead. "Approaching the fifth planet now, Boss." The report, delivered by the young Orion woman in the pilot's seat, brought the Agent out of her thoughts. On the small round viewscreen, the bulk of the green and blue planet grew rapidly until it completely dominated the view. "Put us into a high orbit," the Agent ordered, the lilting way she spoke indicative of someone who grew up on the southern continent of the Orion homeworld. "Leeli, cloak status?" At the adjoining operations station, an even younger Orion woman checked a readout, nodding to herself before answering, "Functioning perfectly, Boss." "Good." In the shadow of her own cloak's deep, oversized hood, the Agent smiled slightly. She'd never worked with the young Leeli or her older sister Meres, but they had proven themselves to be quite useful. The daughters of a family who owed the pirate named Ahjesa a significant favor, the pair hadn't once questioned orders, or expressed any curiosity at her true identity. All they knew was that at the end of the job they would both receive a large payment, and their family's debt to Ahjesa would be considered paid. Given that the debt had cast a shadow over their family for as long as they'd known, the Agent suspected the two girls would have done just about anything to clear it. As the ship settled into its orbit, a short beeping alarm began to sound from the operations console, causing the Agent to automatically sit up and take notice. "Report," she called out, the leading edge of concern evident in the single word. Beeping alarms were never a good thing on this ship. Leeli frowned, checked something, then beckoned Meres to lean over and check the readouts. "I...Boss, I think we're being scanned." "Explain; you *think* we're being scanned? Active or passive?" "Pa-- no...it's an active scan!" Leeli turned in her chair, fear written across her face as she looked back at the cloaked Agent. "Like they knew we were going to be here!" The Agent frowned. They were running cloaked; they had been since the ship had arrived in-system a month ago, so the fact that Starfleet was now actively scanning them meant only one thing: someone had tipped them off. But while the ship had a state-of-the-art cloaking system, incredibly efficient yet highly illegal by Federation standards, the rest of the ship was not nearly as amazing. It had been brand new when Ahjesa had won it in a tongo game, but that had been nearly a century ago. With an aging warp engine that had a maximum speed of warp three, the Agent knew they couldn't outrun anything Starfleet would send at them, so the only option now was to head for cover and hope Starfleet mistook them for a piece of debris. Cursing under her breath, yet refusing to betray any sort of emotion, the Agent ordered calmly, "Drop down to minimum operating levels. Break orbit and set us on a course towards the asteroid belt. Once we're on our way, shut everything down but life support; if they can see us, let them think we're a piece of space junk." The girls nodded, silently going to their tasks, as if speaking would alert the 'Fleeters to their position. The Agent watched as the view on the small screen changed, the bulk of the planet spinning away as the ship angled toward the narrow asteroid field between the fifth and sixth planets. A moment later the screen winked out, along with all but one emergency light on the bridge, as Leeli began to shut everything down. Two decks down, the engine crew set to their own work, completely powering down the warp drive and impulse engines now that the ship was drifting, end over end, towards eventual cover. At their present speed the Agent estimated it would take between five and seven minutes to reach the asteroid field. If they hadn't been targeted by then, there was a good chance they wouldn't be found. If so, they could easily float along for a day or two until Starfleet gave up the hunt and assumed that whoever had sent in the (no doubt) anonymous tip had been wrong. But if Starfleet was on the ball for a change... The Agent frowned again, reaching into a pocket deep within her cloak and feeling for the small device within. It fit easily into the palm of her hand, and as she felt the slightly sickening sensation of the ship's artificial gravity deactivating, she decided to hold on to it, grabbing onto the arm of her chair with the other hand in an effort to stay mostly in her seat. After all, the device was her lifeline, and the final piece of what she considered to be "Plan B", so having it float away when she needed it most would not be smart. "Almost to the asteroid field," Meres, both hands clamped onto her station, whispered after a moment. Before the Agent could respond, the commline crackled loudly, startling the trio. Then, their worst fears came true. "Unidentified vessel; this is Starfleet patrol ship CX-742," a booming male voice announced, the excessively loud order reverberating around the tiny bridge. The Agent knew very well that Starfleet occasionally used such tactics to intimidate (or perhaps annoy) their potential targets, but never before had she actually been the receipient of such a greeting. Not that she had the time to contemplate that now. "Disengage your cloak and identify yourself!" the voice continued. "Easy, easy," she soothed her bridge crew, the "lifeline" still firmly within her hand. If it came to that, it would only take a moment... "They don't know we're here," she continued, "they're broadcasting on all frequencies and hoping we get scared and surrender. They don't know where we are." Several seconds passed, then the voice came again. "Unidentified vessel; this is your final warning!" A split second later another alarm sounded on the control board. "Incoming fire!" Leeli called out, the words barely leaving her mouth before something exploded just to starboard, the blast wave sending the ship spinning. "Damn!" the Agent shouted, struggling to hold on to her chair as the ship twisted rapidly through space. The 'Fleeters may have been shooting in the dark, but that first shot had been far too close for comfort. The ship was operating without shields-- there wasn't a cloak she knew of that could operate with shields up-- so if the patrol ship got any luckier, they were all dead. Whether she liked it or not, the decision had been made. Time for Plan B. "All systems to maximum! Disengage the cloak, bring the shields up, engage the impulse engines now! Engine room-- maximum warp as soon as possible!" A flurry of ayes peppered the air as the lights powered on and the viewscreen popped to life, showing the small patrol vessel, which was now being joined by two of its brothers. The Agent leapt to her feet as artificial gravity was restored. As the members of her small crew worked, the trio of patrol ships pursuing valiantly, the Agent took the few steps towards the bridge's auxiliary operations console. Activating her lifeline, she let it scan for the nearest matching target. Next, she tapped a series of commands into the ship's command console, silently setting the auto-destruct on a sixty-second countdown. Although her future was at stake if she didn't go through with Plan B, she still felt bad about destroying the ship. It had been one of Ahjesa's favorites, and even though Ahjesa was long dead, the Agent still felt guilty destroying her property. Maybe she could apologize later. A moment later the lifeline beeped, displaying its results: UFP STARFLEET USS GALAXY NCC-70637. The Agent almost laughed; finally, something was going her way. Tapping in a final short command, the Agent deactivated the ship's shields. Then, deciding there was no sense in concealing herself any more, she slipped the oversized cloak off her shoulders, tossed it on the now unneeded console, and turned to face the pair of women frantically working their own consoles. Leeli was the first to notice. "Boss! The shields are--" Her voice died in her throat as she spun around and came face to face with the de-cloaked Agent. "You're...not..." "Not what you expected, yes," the Agent finished for her, idly wiping the emerald green makeup from her much paler hands with a corner of the cloak. Smiling slightly once the job was complete, she picked up her lifeline once more. Leeli's eyes widened as she looked from the Agent to the screen behind her, where a countdown clock had just reached 20 and was still ticking lower. "Who are you?" she asked, still disbelieving. "Ahjesa," the Agent replied softly. The original Ahjesa had died decades ago, but as one of her successors, the Agent supposed it wasn't a complete lie. Shrugging, she then added, "Your family's debt has been paid. Thank you." When the countdown reached 10, she depressed the large control button on her lifeline. Leeli leapt forward as the telltale swirl of a transporter surrounded the Agent, but the beam whisked her away before the young girl could do anything about it. Seconds later, a torpedo struck the unshielded ship dead on, blowing a hole into the top deck just as the self-destruct mechanism activated, sending a shockwave back towards the trio of patrol ships. The lead vessel was destroyed immediately, the other two managed to evade, although not without taking heavy damage themselves. ***** Materializing into a corner of one of the massive ship's cargo bays, the Agent automatically slid against a wall, silently observing the area around her. After a moment she realized that the bay was empty except for her and about two dozen cargo containers. That meant she had a moment to right herself. The first order of business was to discard the now spent lifeline, which was easily accomplished in the cargo bay's matter reclamator. Next, she slipped into the public lavatory, washing the remaining green makeup from her hands and straightening her hair and clothing from where they'd been rumpled under that huge, stifling cloak. Satisfied, she stepped out, exited the cargo bay, and headed down the hall. Taking the first turbolift she came to, the Agent contemplated her next move. Destruction of Ahjesa's ship certainly stung, and it left her down one mode of transportation. But, she remided herself, it had been necessary to ensure she wouldn't be apprehended by Starfleet. Besides, the Games were all but over, and since she was now planning to retire, she supposed it ultimately didn't matter. Using the lifeline had been a smart move, and she'd been incredibly lucky that the nearest location suitable to humanoid life had been this particular ship. Any other 'Fleet ship, or a nearby planet, and she would have been a little hard-pressed to explain why the transporter logs showed her beaming aboard at close to 2200 hours at night. But here...here she could manufacture an alibi. All she needed was the presence of a single person aboard. Stepping out of the crowded turbolift behind the next passenger to exit, the Agent slowed her pace, waiting until she was alone in the hallway, before tapping the wide LCARS panel embedded into the wall. As it always did, the computer chirruped pleasantly. The Agent smiled. "Hello, computer. Would you please tell me the location of your captain?" “Slip of the Tongue” Lt. Commander Th'Khiss K'aa, Chief of Operations, USS Galaxy Tangnagel Array, Tycho Epsilon System “Son of a bitch!” Foolishly, K’aa didn’t pay attention to the words that heralded a “I knew you couldn’t be trusted”, Gloria Beauregard panted as she “Shoulda…. done this… a long... time… ago!” Curiously, K’aa felt no pain from the cords across his windpipe. ~Finally… a human… willing… to kill… for… the… right… reasons….~ When K’aa’s head sagged from the conduit in Gloria’s hand his Gloria turned the body over, and bent over the still form listening The Trills unattached head was smiling, and on crab-like legs scuttled "Will work for Food"
Colonel For'kel Arvelion Allison Von Ernst (Age 20) ========================================= (Sickbay- USS Galaxy)
For'kel had planned on heading to sickbay to visit everyone's favorite Tellerite as he was recovering, however he was still asleep, and after the conversation with Arel, For'kel figured he had to meet the mystery woman herself. With so much banter being passed around on the ship about her arrival, and herapparent sequestering in sickbay subsequent to that, he thought it best to reserve judgment until he actually saw her for himself. With all the talk, it was really only a matter of time before his Marines began hearing stories anyway, and he wanted to be prepared to handle that. At least that was how he rationalized the personal curiosity that popped up. He couldn't help but wonder what happened to the somewhat ditzy blonde gal that bombarded them with paperwork before every mission, and how she turned into the emaciated refugee that Arel described in their conversation. However it happened, it couldn't be allowed to happen again, as it were. Besides, being alone in an alien place... well he was really trying to set two people's minds at ease. So using all the accumulated wisdom of someone with over a decade of Starfleet experience, For'kel replicated a quick lunch. Her diet was being strictly monitored because of her severely undernourished state, but a nurse was kind enough to help him with the selection choices. The fact that security and medical staff were stretched thin with the games, R&R, and broader requirements also helped. He didn't need the poor girl freaking out because of armed yellow shirts buzzing around like bees ready to sting. No matter how many times you saw it, you never quite got used to seeing a person in as deprived a state as she was, even well after the advanced medical processes at their disposal. "Allison, is it?" "24-32-5 and 17....enjoy." The blond replied without even looking up from her magazine. She was sitting cross legged in her biobed, legs buried beneath the thin covers, and her flimsy gown hanging half off one skinny shoulder. Hmmm, the old rank, name, and service number routine eh? He'd been there. The more he thought about it, the more the Colonel realized she was short a few obligatory alphabetic characters for it to be a legitimate Starfleet service number. "Coordinates?" "Next Weeks Lottery numbers." she explained, flipping another page. "That is why you came by right? See if you can score the big one off of Future Girl? You're the sixth this morning." "Next week's lottery?" The Stagnorian, thoroughly unfamiliar with most types of gambling he hadn't witnessed first hand among his Marines, had to Admit to being a bit lost at this point. She might've been the blonde one, but he was feeling like the ditzy idiot of the two. "No, that's not it..." "Oh?" Alli's head popped up, blond hair bouncing. "Here to ask me out on a date then. You go for the Hospital Gown Chic? In that case perhaps 35-22-36 would be the numbers you're looking for? I'm afraid Dr. Burton already erased all my old scars if thats what you're into. "
"Huh?" A bit of a blush that he would later deny crept up his cheeks. Granted in physiological terms of age they were roughly equal, both probably slightly more aged then they should've been due to stress, but in terms of Life experience he had between 5 and 10 years on her at least. "Uhm... no, I'm married." He finally managed to get out, holding up his betrothal bracelet As evidence. Besides, even if he wasn't, Fork couldn't get the mental image of that 16 year old enlistee running the armory out of his head. "Hunh....nice sparkly." Alli grunted at the bracelet. "Okay...then who the spuff are you and what the zark do you want soldier boy?" That was his first hint that she actually was whom she was claiming to be. "Colonel Arvelion, and first, I'd like you to take the damn tray. It's heavy." Alli eyed the platter of sandwiches suspiciously, considering her options, and balancing them against the crappy hospital food the doctor had been feeding her trying to get her weight back up to normal. "Spuff it." she swore, grabbing the tray and tearing into mushy egg-salad goodness. "Thsshks." she muttered through a mouthful. "Now that that's done, my name is For'kel. I was hoping you could tell me a little bit about the last few things you remember before waking up here." Alli halted halfway through chewing, and glared at the man. "What...buy me dinner and now you expect something in return? Gee Sugar-Daddy, what particular part of my collective nightmare were you interested in? Starfleet death Squads? Watching my mom killed before my eyes? Or maybe you were wondering if little Sally foo foo from kindergarten ever hooks up with you?" "There wasn't anyone named 'Sally foo foo' in my Kindergarten class." He replied somewhat intelligently, opting to defend himself on the odder of the two accusations. "And I wasn't asking for anything in return, I thought..." "Fritos." He blinked, setting up an inquisitive stare. "Beg your pardon?" "Fritos...duh..corn chips." Allis tapped an empty spot on her tray. "Hook me up with something crunchy and I'm your temporal Prime Directive-violating gal. k?" "Free-toes..." he rolled the unfamiliar word around in his mouth, hoping the computer could make some kind of sense of that request. What was it, like some kind of edible sandals? Made out of corn chips? As delicious as most dishes were, he had a feeling there were some elements of Terran cuisine he'd never be introduced to... willingly. "All right, Fritos it is. I'll be right back." "Whatever."
Hell, you figured that once you got hitched you wouldn't have to worry about a woman forcing you to do something you didn't want to based on a bribe, right? And yet, Fork found himself doing just that... putting countless hours of military training from a multitude of services and a decade's worth of battle experience hard won to the test... All in the name of bootlegging a bag of freaking chips. Wonderful. It was a little more complicated then one might think. The replicators in sickbay recorded 'every' order, and he didn't want to get the nurse on duty into trouble by making her an accomplice to supplying a patient's salt lust if for whatever reason the treats were off limits. So he was left having to work for this one. He looked up the Gal's internal schematics. The spot directly above the bio-bed next to Allison's had a jeffries tube running over it. The closest place for (virtually) unrestricted replicator access to that point was one of the holodecks, which said jeffries tube was undoubtedly meant to serve. He left without saying anything to the nurse, who did little more than look up from her novel to make sure he wasn't leaving with anything, or anyone. He went a deck up, and after reviewing the holodeck schedule saw that holodeck 2 was the only one unoccupied. It would be so for the next 5 minutes. He walked in, hands behind his back, and went straight to the wall mounted control console. A little known fact about holodecks was that (in the newer models) each one also had a replication capacity... thus when you ran programs for picnics or were in need of special outfits, you didn't need to worry about them automatically dissolving once you left the holodeck. "Computer, fritos." "Insufficient search perimeters." The computer chirped back. "There are one-hundred and twenty eight entries for 'fritos'. Please specify..." 128 different choices? Fuck... this was going to take forever. Sandals? Huh, no. Pickled targ feet? How the hell did the computer extrapolate that from 'fritos'? A model for advanced medical study? Wait, didn't she say something about corn? He added that to the search and reduced choices down to 4. All of which were different flavors of corn chips. He prayed to the Prophets that she meant these things, and not knowing which flavor to go for he replicated medium sized bags of all 4. She could use the rest to barter in sickbay... yeah sickbay was a lot like jail that way. Shit, he was on the clock! Grabbing the bags, the Stagnorian made his way to the maintenance hatch, pulled it open, and closed it just as he heard the doors open. He couldn't make out the voice that called for the 'Vulcan Love Slaves meet Lonely Orion Girls" program, but he made extra sure to dog the locks on the hatch. Last thing anyone needed on a ship this crazy were escaped holographic, horny Orions and Vulcans... after all the Galaxy Class was infamous for Holodeck malfunctions. Trying to put the noises echoing throughout the jeffries tube behind him out of his mind (the resonance courtesy of the fluidic conduit systems which ran across the ship) he made his way to the predestined intercept point, pulled open the hatch, and sat the bags on the next lowest hatch. Replacing everything he then made his way back to sickbay. What kind of woman spilled her guts for chips anyway? Talk about a cheap date... The nurse gave him a curious glance as he walked in, making sure that the Stagnorian wasn't bringing in any unauthorized goodies no doubt, and then went back to her novel when he was out of eye sight. Allison was still sitting cross legged in her bed, a slightly bemused expression on her face. Obviously soldier boy was desperate for something. "One second." He murmured, climbing up on the opposite unoccupied bed and removing the bottom hatch. Just like a tray, the 4 bags of chips were still there. No roving engineers nabbed his stash... good. He passed her each bag in turn, figuring she could pick whichever she liked most, and replaced the ceiling panel. "That's what you wanted... right?" "Y'know..." Allis began, tearing open a bag of Original flavor, with a slight crinkle, "You're either some sort of investigator from Temporal Affairs, or some sort of Stalker-boy to go all mission impossible over a bag of corn chips." "I can assure you I'm not a temporal investigator." He replied absently. She crunched lightly savoring the salty treat. "Okay Gomer Pile. Im your Frito-Ho....whacha' want to ask me about?" "Everything, and I apologize in advance if they sound stupid." He poached a chip, they did look pretty good. "Were you ever posted on the Galaxy?" "Duh." The single word was infinitely versatile. "Where?" Allison munched on another chip before taking another bite of the egg-salad sandwich. They sure didn't have anything like this in the 25th century. I was an armory specialist." she replied lightly. "I know how to field strip and maintain a particle bazooka, as well as the best methods for perma-charging your phaser clips." She dug in for another Frito. "I also used to be pretty spiffy at paperwork if that helps you." "Who were your roommates while you were here?" "Boy you are Mr. Nosy." Allison leaned back in bed and stretched. "You do realize Vic's gonna tan my hide for telling you all this stuff." she yawned. "Oh well...lucky for you Im a sucker for corn chips, and dont really give a crap anymore. I suppose you could just look it up anyways on the ship's manifest, but I was rooming with Mary Poppins. " She's uh....a rock." she added, realizing suddenly she out to look Mary up, and see what was new in the last four years.....or in the last week as the case may be. He remembered the answers as they came, figuring it would be useful to verify them later. It took him a moment to figure out how to ask the next few questions as diplomatically and tastefully as possible He wanted, needed the answers even, but at the same time he was regretting having to raise them. "You mentioned Starfleet death squads... who runs those? When did they begin being used? Why were they created?"
Alli's chipper mood darkened instantly at Forkel's question, her blues eyes studied him closely with newfound suspicion. "How the fuck should I know mister?" she spat. "All I know is what I was taught, they show up, you better run like hell. Considering they were called Death Squads and not the Glee Club, it seemed like good advice to take right?"
Fork nodded. "Absolutely it does. Do you remember the Triad War? Did these actions start during, before, or after it?" Alli pointed a threatening Frito at the Colonel, no longer interested in playing answer-girl. "For somebody who inst part of the Temporal investigations unit, you sure got a lot of time-Travelly questions Mr. colonel sir." she said. "Again I answer...how the hell should I know? I didnt live through those years...I skipped over them in an effort to get back home. Ha! Big freaking mistake. I show up in some sort of Hr.Giger nightmare world, and not five minutes into it people are already shooting at me."
She made a show of checking a non-existent watch. Seems like they didnt stop shooting until I just got back last week."
She looked Forkel up and down disdainfully. "What exactly is your beef here goose-stepper? Everything Im telling you is worth quality time in the Temporal Police Pokey, so whats its worth huh? Just anxious to meet your inner butt-rape buddy?"
"What?" Okay, so he hit a nerve. That much was obvious... but damned if the theatrics weren't far reaching to say the least. "No. I want to know what happened so that it can be prevented. The kind of future you are describing has Starfleet run by criminals, roving death squads run by members of this ship's crew, and by the looks of it rampant humanitarian disasters within the Federation. I'm trying to figure out how these things happen so that if and when you return to your time, provided you are of our time-line, you do not go through again what you've been through already, if that's okay with you?" He sighed, a bit more in frustration then anything else. He had a whole new respect for counselors today, ducking phaser beams, out-running explosions, and surviving CQB was tough, but he could never see himself doing 'this' crap day in and day out for any length of time. The whole 'helping people help themselves' thing wasn't really up his alley.
"Listen, Allison, think whatever you want... but I'm sure as hell not going out every day and risking the lives of my Marines or my own life so my son can live to see a Federation with Starfleet death squads, pointless murders, and starvation. I've lost too much, and I've given too much, to see that happen." He ran his hand through his hair. "I know you've been through hell and back, but I'm trying to get you to help me prevent it, all right? The questions probably sound moronic when they're not bringing up memories you don't want to recall, but I 'need' to know the answers. I wouldn't be asking otherwise. Now, you can decide to help, or I can go tender my resignation now and run off to Al'Klei'sh with my son, and live out the rest of my days in peace and safety rather than waste my time trying to make a difference here when it won't matter in the end anyway. What's it going to be?"
"You want to make a difference and change history?" Alli scoffed. "Good freaking luck. Like I told you I skipped those years. When I experienced them growing up the first time, everything was hunky-dorey. Lollipops and zarkiness right? I have no idea what you guys did the next time around, but you cant blame me cause I wasnt there." She eyed him wearily. "If you want to help me however, you can spring me from this joint." she motioned to the makeshift security guard Vic Krieghoff had stationed at the door to keep Alli from blabbing her head off exactly like she was doing now. "Get me past Deputy Fife there and I'll give you list of planets you so do not want to be on in a few years.....that is unless you happen to like nuclear winter and such."
Fork thought about it for a moment. If she couldn't fill in the links, there wasn't really anything he would gain from springing her from the joint. On the other hand, he knew personally that sickbay wasn't a place you wanted to be if you could avoid it, despite Dr. Burton's best attempts to make it otherwise. Playing Bonnie and Clyde with pilfered meal items was fun and all, but perhaps now it was time to work within the system. "I'll tell you what, let me speak to Lieutenant Krieghoff and Doctor Burton. If you're stable enough, for security reasons it may be best to move you to private quarters... you're too easily accessible in a public place like sickbay anyway." He stood up and gave her arm a gentle squeeze. "I'll be back in a bit." "Whatever." Alli sighed and flopped back into her pillow. Her stomach was already slightly nauseated from the frito overload….obviously it wasn't quite ready for normal foods yet. Flipping back open her fashion magazine, she tried to remember a time when she cared about such things. "The Agent Revealed" ***** Late evening was fast giving way to night, and so T'Vara found herself mentally and physically preparing for the day ahead. Having changed into the more comfortable Vulcan-style robes that she preferred to wear in the privacy of her own quarters, the Vulcan captain busied herself around the room, replacing items that were no longer needed at the moment, taking out other items that she would need on the next day, and straightening up a few items that weren't in their proper places. It was the normal routine of her evening; the dull, domestic tasks that came after she had ended work for the day and before she started her evening meditation. As she worked, T'Vara allowed her thoughts to drift to recent matters. Tomorrow would see the conclusion of the Starfleet Games, that three-week series of sporting events and other competitions held every six years in the 40447-003 Epsilon system. Galaxy's crew had performed well, and although the final medal count would not be announced until the Closing Ceremonies tomorrow afternoon, the ship was favored to place in the top ten for overall medals. T'Vara was pleased to hear this; although normally she believed that the simple act of testing one's skills against an opponent was sufficient, it was satisfying to prove one's superiority over said opponent. So many individuals at all levels of Starfleet Command saw Galaxy as a rogue element, a ship full of misfits and miscreants; perhaps her showing in the Games would be a step towards convincing them otherwise. And, for the nearly sixty percent of the crew that had not elected to participate in the Games, the short break in the Dodekatheon system had proven beneficial. Many crew members had elected to take shore leave, a few had family or other personal matters to attend to outside of the system, while others had remained aboard the ship and used the downtime to attend to ongoing projects or hone their skills in their designated duty areas. As expected, a few crew members had harbored displeasure towards such an assignment since the Federation was currently at war, and T'Vara had initially been one of them. But, the crew was still adjusting to her command style and recovering from their own losses on the front lines earlier in the year, and so a period of time to relax, unwind, and recover had been, to quote the Terran expression, just what the doctor had ordered. Besides, the conflict with the Triad showed no signs of slowing or ending in the near future, so it was likely that Galaxy would soon be reassigned to the front lines. Because of that, it was best to make the most of every break that they received, since their next break might be a very long way away. Placing the last of her padds and other desk materials into a small drawer, T'Vara took a last look about the room. Satisfied that her work was complete she turned to another drawer, pulling out a single, cylindrical white candle. The candle wasn't real, of course; open flames of any sort had been prohibited aboard the ship for some weeks now. T'Vara had been among the many affected by such a ban, and had actually questioned her own judgment for a moment, before she had reminded herself that the needs of her ship outweighed her own personal needs. Complete elimination of all recreational burning aboard Galaxy had caused a four percent drop in air circulator usage; while it wasn't much, every percent counted. However, T'Vara still required a candle for the purposes of daily meditation, and so she had settled upon a simple solution. After requesting an artificial candle from Engineering, T'Vara had received this particular item. Assembled by one of the department's several cadets as a school project, the candle was a relatively simple affair: tall, column-like, and made of replicated wax, but with a small holoemitter embedded inside instead of a burnable wick. When activated, the holoemitter would produce a false, but very realistic-looking flame, one that would even respond to nearby currents of air just like a real candle would. As she activated the candle's flame and placed it in the center of the round stone dish that now sat unmoving in the center of her living room, T'Vara wondered why this sort of device hadn't seen more widespread use aboard the ships of the fleet. After all, with the technology of the current era, the only thing separating this candle from a real candle was the process of combustion and the heat generated by that process. Settling herself onto the worn, square cushion that sat before the dish and the candle, T'Vara meticulously arranged the folds of her robes as she prepared for her meditation. Her gaze settling on the gently flickering flame she slowly focused on the myriad thoughts of the day, putting them away one by one, until at last nothing remained but the candle and herself. Now she could begin. <chirri-chirp> The interrupting noise cut through her thoughts like a lance, and T'Vara's shoulders sagged forward ever so slightly; the only reaction she showed towards the interruption. The time was just after 2200 hours, and so anyone ringing her door chime this late at night was either doing so because it was an emergency, in which case they would have just as likely commed, or because they weren't in possession of their mental faculties enough to know that they were standing in front of the wrong door. She'd had three such encounters since arriving aboard Galaxy, all of which had been with crew members who'd overindulged in Ten Forward or elsewhere; all of whom had been subsequently given a lecture about the dangers of such overindulgence. But, feeling disinclined to give such a lecture this evening, T'Vara decided to ignore the initial chime. Most wrong room callers realized their mistake within ten seconds and rarely chimed again; if the person on the other side of the door was really here to meet with her, she knew they would wait several seconds and then chime again. <chirri-chirp> Although she was still reluctant to deal with whoever it was this late in the evening (again, anyone with a true emergency requiring her attention would have commed by now, even if they were standing right outside the door), T'Vara decided that, if the person had deliberately rung her chime twice, she should at least do them the courtesy of seeing what they wanted. Blowing a puff of air towards the candle to "extinguish" the holographic flame she stood, took a moment to smooth out the folds of her robes, and made her way to the door. As the door slid open to reveal the late-night caller, T'Vara felt a single eyebrow, completely of its own volition, arch skyward. "Good evening, T'Vara," Jesprit Dvora said with a broad, friendly smile. "I hope I didn't wake you." "No," T'Vara replied after a slight pause, in the back of her mind wondering why her long-time friend, who had never once made such a personal visit in the decade and a half they had known each other, had elected to come by at this late hour. "I was about to begin my evening meditation," she explained. Then, even though she didn't particularly want to, T'Vara realized it would be seen as rude to not invite her friend in. Stepping back from the open door, the Vulcan gestured with a hand towards the interior of the room. "Please, come in." Murmuring a quiet "thank you", the Trill woman stepped inside, automatically taking in the surroundings. Of all the years she'd known T'Vara, Jesprit realized she hadn't once seen the interior of any of her personal space. But as she quickly realized, the sparsely decorated room, with its few small artifacts placed here and there, soft, subdued lighting, and the typical Vulcan mantra written in flowing script letters displayed on one wall, was about what she had expected to find here. As the door slid shut, T'Vara turned back toward her guest, silently evaluating the other woman's appearance. Reserved and predictable, Jesprit Dvora was normally the picture of poise and grace. She always presented herself meticulously and was well-groomed, her hair usually pulled into a bun or other restrictive hairstyle. In fact, T'Vara realized as she searched her memories, she didn't believe she had ever seen her fellow captain in anything other than a standard Starfleet uniform or a tasteful, subdued business suit. But at the moment, Jesprit was dressed far differently. Clad in loose brown trousers, scuffed black shoes, and a slightly wrinkled, oversized grey tunic cinched at the waist with a wide, black belt, the Trill appeared far more casual than T'Vara had ever seen her. That, coupled with the fact that her long white hair, normally so perfectly coiffed, was now pulled into a low, messy ponytail, made T'Vara wonder if perhaps all was not well. Realizing that she should say something as the silence between them threatened to become uncomfortable, Jesprit cleared her throat, smiled slightly again, and continued, "I'm sorry to have disturbed you this late in the evening." "It is no matter," T'Vara replied smoothly. "I trust that all is well?" Jesprit bobbed her head in a slight nod. "It is. Although...I suppose you're wondering why I came here so late, and especially so unexpectedly." "I am," T'Vara agreed, then added, "However, it is agreeable to see you, whatever the reason." "Likewise," Jesprit replied, taking a few aimless steps around the room, until the words she was looking for came tumbling out of her mouth. "I...I wanted to see you." There. That wasn't a complete lie, which was a good thing considering T'Vara, like many Vulcans of a certain level of skill, was quite adept at spotting outright deception. No, it was true; she did want to see T'Vara, and for more than one reason. Most important of course was the manufacture of an alibi. Her "lifeline" had been programmed to deposit her on a habitable ship or planetary body nearest to the point where it was activated, and it was sophisticated enough to lump the transporter signal in with normal transporter traffic, making it seem as if she had beamed directly to a transporter pad instead of whatever empty location into which it had decided to deposit her. But, without a significant amount of computer tampering, something with which Jesprit was only slightly familiar, there was no way to conceal the fact that, at just before 2200 hours, Captain Jesprit Dvora of the USS Orobourous had beamed aboard the USS Galaxy. So, to legitimize the visit, she needed to do something or see someone here, and T'Vara provided the perfect target. After all, her 15-year-plus friendship with the USS Galaxy's new captain was no secret, and was even the subject of occasional gossip in the 'Fleet. In particular, those who misunderstood-- or ignored-- the subtle intricacies of a long friendship between a middle-aged Vulcan and a joined Trill of equivalent age had often declared that the two must be lovers. Jesprit had always considered her relationship with T'Vara to be more than a friendship, yet less than a romance, and she was fairly certain T'Vara felt the same way. Yet now, if it helped to strengthen her alibi, she was content to let the rumor mill spread what it would. But secondary was the fact that she honestly did want to see T'Vara. The thought of retirement had weighed on her mind as of late; first it had been retirement from her dealings with the Camboro Cartel, but now the idea had grown to include retirement from her "day job"-- that of a Starfleet officer. As a former science officer Jesprit had never been favorably disposed toward war or any sort of armed conflict, so over the past several years she had performed her duties to Starfleet and the Federation with no small degree of reluctance. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that it might be possible. She could leave Camboro, leave Starfleet, and take the remainder of the fortune she'd inherited from Ahjesa Tolana and just disappear. Maybe even settle on that planet of which Bejal had once had part ownership. Sure, it was a desolate rock, sparsely inhabited, but alone she could easily make a living there. But, if she went through with it, if she retired from Starfleet (or simply left, although that was a last resort) and went to live on a planet outside the boundaries of the Federation, Jesprit realized she would likely never see T'Vara again. While it was something that would take some getting used to, and Jesprit felt she would eventually get used to it, she still didn't want to leave without saying farewell. "We'll be parting soon; our ships, and you and I," Jesprit continued after several seconds. "Not knowing when we'll see each other again, I wanted to give you something." "I...see," T'Vara replied, a bit confused. After all, the Closing Ceremonies were tomorrow; they were sure to see each other then, either during the ceremony itself or the hours of celebration that would no doubt follow. She looked at Jesprit, wondering where the other woman was going with this, and just what sort of gift she had brought. Whatever it was, it had to be small enough to fit in a pocket. Despite her desire (or need) to remain calm and collected, Jesprit's heart began to pound as she closed the gap between them with three short steps. She hadn't really planned this; it was just sort of happening, and now she was moving more on instinct than anything else. "It's a...a parting gift, I suppose," she clarified, before reaching up with one hand and brushing T'Vara's cheek softly, tentatively. Thankfully for her, T'Vara didn't flinch or draw away at the sudden contact. Instead, she continued to wear that expression of mild confusion, which changed to a look of mild surprise only when Jesprit pushed herself onto the tips of her toes, threaded surprisingly strong fingers through T'Vara's close-cropped hair, and pressed her lips gently, yet passionately, against T'Vara's own. After a long moment Jesprit pulled away, a satisfied half-smile playing across her features. Several more seconds passed before she spoke again, softly. "I hope you don't mind." Still more seconds ticked away as T'Vara's mind analyzed the event and processed its sensations, until finally she replied simply, "Not at all." "That's good to know," Jesprit commented, a hint of her usual, more mirthful, deportment creeping back in, if only for a short time. "I have truly valued our friendship over the years. Take care of yourself, T'Vara." And with that, the Trill captain moved to the door, wordlessly making her exit without so much as a look back at the friend who, for all intents and purposes, she would now be leaving behind forever. Still mystified by the unexplained turn of events, T'Vara could only watch, speechless, as the door slid softly shut, leaving her alone once more. ~Process of Elimination, part 2: Information Seeking~ Lt. JG T'Pei Dr. Leronem Risdanach, Cognitive Neuropsychologist/Psychotraumatologist (NPC)
Risdanach folded his hands and suppressed the broad smile that threatened to spread across his face. "Excellent, that is exactly what I was hoping to hear. Now, if I am correct—and for the record, most of the time I am—then you have experienced some kind of trauma which is the cause of your current difficulties." "The brain is a funny thing, Lieutenant. Often the things which have the greatest impact seem the most insignificant at the time." He had read it. Risdanach's eyes unconsciously shifted to the PADD, shoved hastily under one of the piles on his desk when T'Pei had entered, and he cleared his throat. "It is different for everyone. One by one, the Korsausu joins with the children, and..." T'Pei faltered, furrowing her forehead in thought. "There is no word in Standard for it. We call it sataya." He had called T'Pei in, hoping she would shed some light on what he had discovered. Now, the Efrosian doctor mused ruefully, he had more questions than answers. "The Contract, Conclusion - Attempts and Intercessions" Mr. Siebur (The Assassin) [Omar] *** Planetside He'd pissed off people before. Given the lifestyle he had chosen for If he lived through this, Andy thought as he ran, he was going to kill For his part, Siebur visually tracked his target for a moment, then **** USS Galaxy =/\= "Skore to Lieutenant Krieghoff." =/\= Victor paused, sighed and chuckled softly as he and Angelienia drew "You're not *wicked,*" she assured him breathlessly, returning the =/\= "Krieghoff here. Go." =/\= =/\= "I realize that we're no longer on alert, but I've just =/\= "Who?" =/\= Victor asked as he stood up and fastened his tunic. =/\= "Two individuals, sir," =/\= the Security Duty Officer responded Angelienia wrinkled her nose. "Eighteen hours on-ship, and not even "Especially with Andrus Suder," Victor agreed. "He and Brian Elessidil Victor looked over at Angelienia smiled, and nodded towards her agape The hum of the transporter took him away before he finished. **** Siebur increased his speed so that he could catch up to and take down Andy ran hard, knowing that he wasn't going to last much longer. He Three things happened next: Siebur dove for Suder's legs; Suder went "Well, that's insulting," Andrus said, managing to pick up on some of Having mostly recovered from the run, Siebur offered a wan smile as he "Fuc ..." Andy began but the knife dug deeper into his skin and he It took him a moment to process it - during which he could feel the "What the hell are you laughing at," Siebur asked as the man beneath "If it's not one thing, it's another with you, Andrus," a voice spoke Indeed, the Assassin froze in mid cut and turned slowly to look over "So," Victor said as he emerged from the undergrowth, a tiger's smile "Crystal," Andrus said weakly. "I thought that we might be," Victor nodded. "Now, as for you, Mr. "I don't think so," drawled Siebur. "You showing up just makes this While Siebur was confident that he could take out the newcomer, he was The smile was gone from his opponent's face when Siebur looked back "I'm a professional, stranger. But I do take great pleasure in what I "Sorry about this, Andrus," Victor said, ignoring the assassin's words Under the weight of Krieghoff's presence, Andrus pulled his hands Victor took another step closer and passed through the shadow of a Something is wrong here, thought Siebur, even as his hands were "Come get some," the Assassin's voice wavered. "Really?' Death whispered. "For me? You shouldn't have." He smiled "Literally," Death continued, as he blocked the knife as it came Reeling from each slap, Siebur was beginning to get very annoyed at A hand that seemed to be composed of iron clamped around Siebur's "No," Death whispered. "I don't think so." He smiled at the pair of As the knife fell, Death smiled again... and finished twisting the The agony was almost too much for Siebur to handle. He spit in the "Boring conversation, anyway," Death whispered to empty air. He =/\- Krieghoff to Skore - I need a forensics team at my location, and =/\= Team beaming down in ten seconds, Sir. Transporting to Sickbay in Victor didn't respond, instead, kneeling to check on Suder. "I know it "Think ... I might," Andy replied and passed out instead. ********************************************************** Aboard the cloaked corvette, Carian As he materialized on the small transporter pad, the professional Siebur looked at the raven-haired vixen and shot a look of disgust. "I kind of figured that you didn't get your mark, at least not in that "Time," the Assassin huffed as he was lifted off of the floor. "Time "Roadtrip!" MomQuest Pt-1
~`Spuff, my legs look skinny.~~ Propping her bare feet up on the wall, Allison von Ernst leaned back into the seat of the public ComBooth and heaved a weary sigh.
Dr. Burton had finally released the young woman from the sickbay, but Uncle Vic still had the little time traveler on a short leash so far as her contact with the rest of the crew.
Confinement to quarters, and a permanent Security escort had been his way of trying to reduce the effect of the terrible time paradox that was the enigmatic young woman from the future.
Unfortunately for the hapless Security Ensigns assigned to her, years of dodging Starfleet Hunter-Killers amidst the ruins of old Earth had taught the 20 year girl old a thing or two about escape and evasion techniques.
A quick flash of the aforementioned skinny legs, and a quick diversion had given the lame-brained Security escort the slip ten minutes and two decks ago. Now tucked away in the cubby-hole of a Communications Booth clad in naught but a hospital gown and bare feet, Allison von Ernst was looking to give poor Uncle Vic even more to worry about.
She wasn't through violating the Temporal Prime Directive today. Punching into the Federation Comm Net took a few minute, and for once the lines were open. Given the popularity of the Ongoing Starfleet Games, additional subspace frequencies had been opened up for civilian use, and Alli was quick to take advantage of them. Too bad she didn't remember her old Starfleet Access codes. They were only two weeks old so far as the Computer was concerned, but subjectively Alli hadn't used the silly things for over four years. It made your head hurt if you thought about it. Waiting for the blinking ==PLEASE WAIT== icon to clear off the screen, Allison stretched her long legs and marveled at the feeling of being clean for the first time in who knew how long. She'd always been a bit fastidious about her appearance as a teenager, but those concerns had faded in light of more pressing concerns: Food, Shelter, and not getting shot by Starfleet Death Squads. Was it only last week? She toyed with a strand of long blond hair, marveling at its shine. Maybe so long as she was safe in the past again it wouldn't hurt to get a nice shampoo and haircut by....what was her name again....Bing? Alli smiled. It'd been years.
The soft ping of the Comm interrupted her musings, and the scroll of official text indicated a connection. FEDNET USS GALAXY COMM BOOTH #63 HAILING USS ZEUS COMM SUBSTATION When the screen was replaced by the image of an official looking woman dressed in a Starfleet uniform, Alli thought, ~~Now we're getting somewhere.~~ "Hi there...I'd like to speak to Captain Rebec...." she began only to be cut off by a terse reply. >>How did you get this line?<< to woman questioned without preamble. ~~Good freaking morning to you too lady.~~ Alli frowned. "Hey it's a public comm line and..." >>That's not possible.<< the woman interrupted again. >>We're outside the standard FedNet Carrier Wave. Who are you. Where are you calling from?<< "Hey...who the spuff are you?" Alli shot back leaning into the screen, poking a threatening finger at the tiny camera. "I'm trying to reach Rebecca von Ernst, kapish? What the heck are you doing censoring her mail?"
The woman on the screen eyes narrowed as is she was studying Alli carefully. Soft beeps from off camera indicated she was doing something Allison could quite see.
>>This is a Military Channel.....not a public comm<< The woman announced at length. >>I'm tracing it back to the USS GALAXY....are you a member of her crew? How did you get access to this extension? What's your name?<< "Look my name is Allison...." she paused, catching herself before blurting out her real name, "Allison Jimsdottir...I'm in Security here...I uh...met the captain once the last time she toured the ship." The rest of Allison story got cut off by the snippy young woman at the other end of the line.
>>Sorry, crewman. The captain is unavoidably detained, and doesn't take calls from mere enlisted members. Besides we're in a warzone and all live Comms are strictly monitored. USS Zeus out!<<
With an almost audible snap of electrons, the screen fizzled out, leaving a red faced Alli swearing into the darkness. For long minutes Allison stared at the blank screen trying decide whether or not to punch a hole in it, or to head on down to the armory looking for something with a little more 'oomph' to it. Well....She crossed her arms with a hrumph!....there was more than one way to bathe a Klingon. Five minutes later ,still bare foot and wearing her short hospital gown, the skinny blond was pounding on Poor Victor Krieghoff's office door. "Yo, Vic." she called out, drawing all sorts of strange stares from the office staff around her. "You in there bud? Got a favor to ask of ya." "I think I live in here some days," Victor replied, looking up. "Come in and... hold on a moment. " He stood up, moved around his desk, and opened the small closet located beside his plant stand. Withdrawing a long black leather coat, he handed it to Allison. "Why don't you wear this before one of the Ensigns has a stroke from looking at your legs?" he offered. "My legs?" Alli looked down at the thin little pins, "Hey you like them?" she pivoted them saucily. " A little too much of the emaciated wench look for my tastes, but you'd be amazed what four years of running for you life will do for toning yah?" It seemed Alli's sense of humor was returning with a slightly dark vengeance. Allowing herself to be ushered in with a mischievous smile, Alli plopped her bare feet up on the desk and came straight to business. "Sorry about having to ditch the confinement to quarters, but I need your help Unc," she said. "I've been getting the runaround as a mere crewman, but I figure your name carries more weight around here.....I want to call my mother." "Your mother?" Victor repeated carefully. "Outside of anything else, are you certain that's a good idea?" Victor was certain that it wasn't, but that hadn't stopped him from trying to reach Rebecca once before the report of her disappearance had arrived. "I realize that your situation is a bit... I don't really know what to call it - 'desperate' maybe? Even so, there are rules to this sort of thing and breaking them is never good for everyone involved." "Timelines." Alli spat. "Oh hey yeah.....wow, I'm so glad you reminded me. Yeah imagine my surprise if I tried to return to my own time, looking for mom and Apple pie and all that and suddenly found it turned into an apocalyptic nightmare....yeah wow, then I'd be sorry."
She paused letting the sarcasm set in. "Oh wait....that already happened." Her eyes were dark with fury. "Forgive me if I am less than enthusiastic about following your stupid rules Victor Krieghoff. I should have been home in Iceland making snow angels, but instead my life is seriously fooked. Last week I saw some crazy Klingon-wannabe bitch stab my mother to death in front of my eyes, so I guess you can forgive me if I'm feeling a bit sentimental about the whole affair and want to make a phone call yah?"
"I never said that they were *my* rules," Victor returned quietly, digesting the first real piece of information that he'd gotten from Allison since her return - that the future she'd returned to hadn't been the one that she'd left. "Someone else came up with them; I was just using them to try and keep you from getting locked up somewhere and forgotten." Dropping her feet back to the floor Allison taped her finger on Victors desk to make a point. "I'm not a damn child anymore mister. Maybe last week you saw me popping bubblegum and wearing glitter paint, but those days are long gone for me. I've been running for my life from Starfleet for half my childhood, so don't think you can chain me here. If you don't help me, I'll zarking do it myself?" Victor sighed, the moment that he'd known was here from the minute he'd first been told Allison's secret, and had know he didn't want to face the moment he was told of Rebecca von Ernst's disappearance. Oddly, the knowledge of what he was going to do was relieving, the tension of anticipation vanishing into the afterglow of decision. The only real decision remaining was when he'd tell Allison that her mother was listed as missing. "I never said that I wouldn't help you, Allison," Victor replied. "I've just been doing it while trying to protect you, that's all." He waved her back to her chair. "One thing to remember, though, it may have been years for you - but it's been days for me. I'm still seeing the girl that left, not the woman that returned. Going to take some time to reconcile the two."
Allison rolled her eyes impatiently. Old folks. "Okay here's a quick Alli 101 refresher. Your Alli was the hyper-caffeinated young thing with flawless skin and too much makeup. I'm the surly zarked off version with the hot legs and combat flashbacks....saavy?"
"Okay," he nodded. "First things first: I've tried to contact your mother since you came back aboard as well - with no luck. I keep getting one of two women that stonewall me on the Zeus."
Alli frowned. "You've been calling her yourself? When? Why? Wouldn't that cause a disruption to this timeline thingie you keep moaning about?" "Nothing, I expect," Victor returned. "AI'm just an old shipmate trying to exchange greetings, and invite her to a social function the next time she's in the vicinity. What's the harm in that? But no luck in getting through - it was like talking to a wall." He considered adding the information that those calls were before he got the message that she'd vanished from her quarters, but a part of him held back, hoping that there would be a better time. "Social Functions? Have you even met my mother the wallflower? " Frustrated, Alli jumped up, her hospital gown flaring, "Enough of this crap. If they won't take my calls I'm going to go visit her in person. I still got some money tucked away from my first visit...two weeks ago to you....so I'm hiring a shuttle and heading out to the Zeus. You gonna try and stop me?" That answer was easy. "Yes." She actually looked hurt at that. For most of her life, dependable Uncle Vic had been just that….dependable. "You wont let me go? How could you?" "Because there's no need," he explained. "I placed a warp sled on call three days ago, just in case it was needed. It can be here in sixteen hours, which gives you plenty of time to get clothes, and take care of whatever else you'll need before we go." Her frowns turned into a sly smile. Somewhere beneath all her trauma was still spunky young woman. "Warp Sled huh? Zarky. Anybody tell you what a warm fuzzy guy you are Vic?" "Did you think I was going to let you run around the Federation alone?" he asked with a slight smile. "What kind of Uncle would I be if I did that?" Of course, he wasn't any kind of an uncle in fact, but Victor had long-since decided that Allison was telling the truth, and had simply found it easier to become the man she remembered him to be than fight the tides of time. Or something like that. Turning for the door, Alli was already making a list. "Alright, you get the ship warmed up, while I make a stop in armory to requisition a few necessities. This is gonna be so cool." she bubbled. "Kinda like a roadtrip." “The Night They Phasered Santa Claus” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Somewhere – Federation/Hydran War Zone ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ There’ve been strange things done ‘neath many an Alien sun, It started off right just another night, We had photon bombs and phaser guns, I froze where I stood ‘cause out of the woods, They were coming our way pulling what looked like a sleigh, We let them close then we yelled “who goes” Now these troops of mine have seen some time, The tanks they roared the phaser bombs soared, I’ll grant him guts but that man was nuts, I went out and took a real good look, He was dressed in red and he looked well fed, He hadn’t quite died when I reached his side, Now we should have known our cools were blown, “Arvelion.” I said, “hang on to your head, If This got out, there’d be no doubt, Call up Vic to scare the reindeer away, Now by and by the kiddies may cry There’ve been strange things done ‘neath many an Alien sun, "The Maltese Eptgac, Part IV: An Appointment with Death" **** "The case had gone cold. Dead cold. And Eptgac was running out of "But so far, no luck---my leads had gone nowhere fast. It left me "This is nifty," Ella said, looking around at the office, a tiny room 8-ball glared at Ella. Yes, the office was nifty. She had designed it "Sorry, focusing," She said after sticking out her tongue. "I don't "I AM NOT GIVING IN!" Screaming at the top of her lungs wasn't very "Okay, fine," Ella replied, crossing her arms and tapping her foot. "Well?" she asked. "I'm thinking." Another few minutes. "Come on!" "What do they do next in these detective movies of yours?" She said, "No, our witnesses know bupkus. They're dead ends, all of 'em. We "I don't remember seeing any footprints at the scene. But it's not as 8-ball snapped her fingers. "Then, that's what we'll do," she said, **** 8-ball's quarters (or The Scene of the Crime) "Well, this is incriminating," Ella said, holding up a pair of "Whose... oh! That must be Crystal's." Ensign Crystal McMahon had a Ella smirked and continued to flip over couch cushions. 8-ball resisted the urge to slap her. Friends don't slap friends, that "Stop snapping at me." Ella's vocal implant didn't have much 8-ball opened her mouth to snap back... she hadn't decided what yet, "What's it?" Instead of answering her, 8-ball turned away again, her sense of Ella tilted her head and raised her eyebrow. 8-ball broke character to look over at Ella. "I'm such a moron," she "Computer," she said, "Were there any crewmembers other than myself "Yes," the computer said. "Computer, list those villainous dogs!" "Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff," the computer said. 8-ball gasped. A dramatic gasp. She looked over at Ella. Ella looked a 8-ball motioned with her hand. Relenting, Ella gasped. 8-ball turned away again, towards the shadows. "The plot thickens," *** 8-ball and Ella first went to Victor's office, but, bizarrely, he "But he's always here," she complained. "Maybe the man's finally decided to get a life." 8-ball had no time for Ella's unsympathetic and cold-hearted nature. "It's about what you'd imagine, except with potted plants." When they arrived, 8-ball had planned to get her monologuing done So 8-ball and Ella swept grandly into the quarters and 8-ball Victor's quarters were much as Ella remembered them, with the sounds "I'll be out in a minute," Victor's voice, muffled by the shower door 8-ball stomped her foot again. "Really?" she asked. "I wanted skulls, "What?" came from the bathroom. There was a 'click' of the shower door Ella drew in a quick breath and then turned to the nearest plant, 8-ball, who was decidedly less modest nor had any past feelings or Victor frowned. "Ella, 8-Ball," he nodded as the steam started to "8-ball's teddy bear was taken Victor," Ella translated, her eyes He blinked. "Oh, really? When was that? Because, to the best of my "This morning," 8-ball said. "At 1121 exactly. Computers don't usually "1121?" Victor considered that as he reached back into the bathroom "Yeah," 8-ball said. She tried to make that 'yeah' sound intimidating, "Interesting." Victor's frown deepened. "Interesting, but stupid. Very stupid." "How's that?" Ella said, forgetting her dedication to look anywhere "One, because they're trying to frame me for the crime," he replied. 8-ball crossed her arms. This was partly due to her desire to look With a nod, Victor crossed over to the room's desk and fired up the He minimized that set of images and brought up another that showed the Victor glanced at 8-Ball. "Good so far, or do you need more?" He 8-ball stared at the log for another minute, willing her eyes to spot She turned her head to look at Ella. "Seriously," she said. "Nobody is "He's a criminal mastermind," Ella said with a staight face. "You have to be the most unhelpful partner in crime ever," 8-ball "I'm just wondering how long you got to meet the ransom. There's an 8-ball glared at Ella. "You are exactly the opposite of an upper," she 8-ball glanced away from them. "My spirits were low," she said. "It Too discouraged even to finish her monologue, 8-ball stomped out of "Of course," Ella replied. *** Four hours and fifty-three minutes later, 8-ball was sitting on her Six hundred and seventy seven variations on that question later, and But, it could. It was. 8-ball jumped up from her bed, paced for a few minutes, MomQuest PT II : Rhinestone
(In orbit over the Olympic planet. Docked to Concorde SpaceStation)
USS GALAXY
"John Rhinestone....Temporal Affairs Division." the black suited officer flashed his badge lazily, eyes already scanning the compartment as if already picking apart every detail for later scrutiny. "Temporal Affairs?" The Security guard took a few extra moments to examine the credentials. He'd heard of the division of course....who hadn't....but in the day to day affairs of Starfleet, the 'Time Bandit brigade' as they were sometimes called were often dismissed as mere fantasy at best.....or pimple faced geeks at worst. "Whats a Time Bandi.....errrr what brings you out to the Galaxy....uh sir?" Rhinestone repocketed his wallet, and ceasing his scan of the small gangplank atrium, seemed to take notice of the guard for the first time. "I'm sorry," he said, "but were you just asking me for details regarding an ongoing investigation?" he scanned the guard up and down slowly as if memorizing every detail, "What was your name again?" he made a great show of dragging out a notepad and licking the tip of the pencil as if prepared to document this social faux paux. The Security Agent blanched and actually took an involuntary step backwards. "Oh. Sorry. Ummm what I meant to say is that everything looks in order and Captain T'vara will be glad to see you shortly. " he paused, "You know how to use the wall panels for directions?" Rhinestone gave him a stupid look, and continued his examination of the room. Stupid fleet weenies were the reason he never got a vacation. Always and forever mucking up the timeline. It was one of the small internal jokes of the division….just once couldn't they alter the timeline to give me an extra five minutes to catch my breath.
Rhinestone used the turbo lift ride to lean back and reflect on what he already knew of the case. Everything had started a few weeks back with the disappearance off the USS ZUES of one Captain Rebecca von Ernst. Not normally a concern of the Temporal Affairs division, the case had been red flagged by somebody high up in the fleet hierarchy as deserving of a little extra attention. How high up? Rhinestone had asked when the folder had hit his desk. So high up you've never heard of him, was the answer. He gave a low whistle of appreciation.
That was until things rapidly hit the fan.
Seems that somebody on the USS Galaxy had been repeated persistent attempts to contact the missing captain since her disappearance. On the surface it wasn't so bad. After all, von Ernst mother still wrote her letters from time to time, and the Crew of the Zeus were still intercepting her junk mail as well. However this Galaxy contact had been making a nuisance of herself….it was a woman who was calling….and that deserved an extra look.
That extra look sent more stuff into the increasingly fouled up fan. Allison Jimsdottir.
The name turned up several hit's from a folder already in Temporal Affairs files. Damnit….a possible timetraveller. Miss Jimsdottir had first come to the attention of T-A when the Galaxy Intelligence guru, Lt. Bental had forwarded the charred remains of a small electronics device reportedly confiscated from the young girl. Quite destroyed, it had nevertheless radiated a negative quantum signature, as well as possessing several anachronistic components indicative of future technology. One Red Flag for Jimsdottir. Her second hit came when a routine medical scan by one Ben Maxwell turned up an anomalous DNA signature in the young lady. It was nothing more than a paternity test, but apparently it turned up a relation ship to one Commander James Corgan, Starfleet, where no such relationship had previously been recorded. Not such a red flag in itself, but certainly curious in conjunction with everything else. Add that into the sudden flurry of calls made to a missing Starfleet Captain made by Jimsdottir, as well as some loser by the name of Krieghoff…..well that was a conspiracy in Rhinestone's book.
The turbo lift doors hissed open, and the waiting Security agent shuffled him off into the waiting Captains quarters.
Captain T'Vara was crisp and efficient in grasping the importance of the situation, and within two minutes, Rhinestone could see that he convinced her. Unfortunately she had some shocking news for him. "NOT HERE?" he grasped the edges of the Captains desk almost shouting, "What do you mean they aren't here?"
The calm reply corrected him in saying that they were most certainly still in the vicinity, but just this morning Lt Krieghoff and his young charge had requested several weeks leave for personal reasons. T'vara had not inquired into the nature, but recalled something being said of hiring a shuttle of some sort. As way of making amends, the Vulcan flipped open her computer screen and addressed it intently. "Computer state location of Victor Krieghoff." The expected no such person reply was quickly delivered. "Computer," she began again, "Link in with orbital station mainframe and repeat search, same parameters." A quick flurry of beeps and the link was formed. "Lt Victor Krieghoff is aboard Concorde Station Section Alpha-2. Main Hangar Bay. Hertz Rent a Shuttle." Rhinestone was bolt out of his chair, but T'vara held up single slim finger to restrain him. The idea of a member of her crew being involved in such affairs did not please her, and she sought to assist Rhinestone however she could. "Transporter Room," she announced to the air, "Emergency Site to site transport form my quarters to the Concorde station at the following coordinates…." As he swirled away into nothingness. Rhinestone nodded a thanks, and could only hope he wasn't too late.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Like most great Spaceports, the Galleria Area of Concorde Station was swirling mass of humanity (and inhumanity). With the recent spectacular end of the Starfleet Olympics, there was a mass exodus of persons eager to collect their little souvenir treasures and make that connecting flight back to wherever home was. Giggling bands of Girlscouts on holiday squeezed past weary news crews lugging their boxed up camera equipment and hoping for a seat by the windows. Various Fleet personnel both in and out of uniform filled the air with their various final goodbyes, and congratulations. Some wore new medals around their proud necks, while others had to make due with the knowledge they had given it their all.
The lines for transporters back to the waiting fleet were pretty impressive, but the biggest mess of all were around the various shuttle rental counters, conveniently set up in a tasteful semicircle. The ubiquitous counters were a major part of any major spaceport, and Concorde Station was no exception, polite security agents kindly pointing out to the throngs which lines were for which counters.
It was into this crowd that John Rhinestone suddenly materialized.
There were a few startled yelps as he sparkled into view, but the agent quickly found himself crushed by the throngs of people who were quite annoyed that the new arrival wasn't doing his bit to keep the lines moving. ~~Damnation.~~ he swore, trying to elbow his way forward, and collect his bearings at the same time. How the hell was he supposed to locate two people out this mess?
He ignored the pushing, twisting desperately and making little hops to see over the crush of bodies until he spotted what he was looking for: HERTZ RENTAL
The bright yellow sign blazed over a simple open counter, and Rhinestone almost gave a victorious cheer when he saw who was standing there……
~~They're still here!~~~ Not 50 meters away tall man fitting the description of Victor Krieghoff was making arrangements with the clerk, while nearby a slim blond woman was idly twirling a little postcard display . "Jimsdottir." he whispered to himself even as he pushed himself forward, one hand ducking inside his coat for the phaser hidden there.
They seemed relaxed and unaware of their pursuit….the woman had her back slightly turned to him, frowning at the little display of cards, a large travel bag thrown over her shoulder, while Krieghoff calm dealt with a skittish rental clerk. Now just 30 meters away, Rhinestone jostled his way forward eliciting protests and angry cries from those he shoved aside, thinking of course that he was skipping his place in line……just give me a few more seconds. 20 meters. The man at the counter completed his business and tucked a receipt away into a small folder before pocketing it. He touched to blond on her shoulder whispering something, causing her to turn with a light spray of blond hair, giving Rhinestone his first real look at her. Cute. Shit….they were walking off. He was going to miss them! Still unaware of his presence the pair were making tier way down past a little side corridor connecting to the main boarding ramp to the hangar bay. They were in no apparent hurry, but being outside the crowd, made better progress….they were getting away!! At ten meters and still hampered by the crowds, Rhinestone finally got desperate, he'd wanted to handle this quietly, but it was apparent now he had to get their attention somehow so he could question them. Pulling free his service phaser he prepared to call out……which was exactly the wrong thing to do in a crowded spaceport. There was no intention to actually fire, He only hoped the appearance of a weapon would intimidate the fleeing suspects, but even as he about to call for them to freeze, disaster intervened. A Fat woman struggling with two screaming kids and a load of baggage inadvertently bumped into Rhinestones arm, disturbing his aim and accidentally discharging the weapon. A shrieking blue beam sizzled through the air just above Victor Krieghoff's head, close enough to actually numb his skin just from its proximity, and exploding against the wall in a shower of sparks. "HE'S GOT A GUN!!" Somebody screamed, which immediately triggered and ever louder cry of alarm from the entire crowd. A thousand people tried to instantly run in a thousand different directions all of which served to throw the poor agent further off balance.
Airport Security pulled their own weapons desperately trying to find the source of the shots, only to find themselves swept away by the screaming mob.
Rhinestone's quarry also reacted ….but not with panic….the man crouching down into a ready stance rubbing his neck slightly where the near miss had numbed it while the woman putting her back to a wall, her blue eyes scanning outward for threats. Their eyes met. CRAP! Rhinestone swore as her eyes widened, and she pointed and tore at her companions jacket pulling him away from the gun wielding agent.
"Stop!!…Halt!!" Rhinestone yelled ineffectually as he saw the two retreat down the boarding ramp, while the entire time he was still being carried away by the panicking screaming crowd. The cat already out of the bag, he decided to desperately try a more aimed shots, the blue fire exploding against the bulkhead just as Krieghoff and Jimsdottir turned the corner. Visions of the ass-chewing he was eventually going to receive for starting this riot were already echoing in Rhinestones mind as he finally pulled free of the mob and sprinted down the side corridor after his prey. He barely averted disaster when lights shattered in front of him. With a desperate leap, the agent tucked himself into a roll to avoid the yellow phaser fire sizzling in his direction. Shit….Krieghoff had a gun and was shooting back!! He mentally kicked himself. This was growing into a major cluster! Just up around the bend of the jet way the stern faced Galaxy Security Chief was guarding the corridor as just beyond him Jimsdottir made a run for the shuttles.
Rhinestone crouched desperately behind a potted plant not daring to expose himself further. "CEASE FIRE!" he yelled, cradling his own firearm in his sweaty palms. "I'm with Temporal Affairs, I need to talk!" SNAP SNAP!! Two more white hot bolts hissed by sprinkling Rhinestone with little smoking embers and leaves of the potted plant,. Apparently they were not in the mood to talk. Trying to get creative, the T-A agent took a few random shots hoping to keep Kreighoffs head down, before zapping a fire extinguisher on a nearby wall. It exploded with a bang into a cloud of gushing smoke and foam, filling the air with a concealing cloud. Covered by the billowing smoke, Rhinestone advanced rapidly up the boarding ramp only to discover that the quarry had used the diversion to race towards the main bay. They were making a run for the shuttles!
Rhinestone emerged from the ramp, ducking just in time to avoid getting his head taken off by a wild shot this time from Jimsdottit who was already half hanging out of a shuttle hatch 50 meters away. He bit his lip as hot molten sparks from the bulkhead sprayed on the back of his neck. Holy crap that was hot! That bitch was using a phaser set to kill! Peeking carefully around the corner, he recovered in time to see the pair boarding a sleek Warp-Sled, a big-engined shuttle of sorts, and kick the boosters in with a whine of pent up power. Oh Fuck. Only a quick dive behind a nearby tower of crates saved the agent as the oversized engines kicked in and seared the bay with their white hot exhaust boosters!
Ears ringing from the noise Rhinestone stayed there for several moments inventorying his body parts and watching the smoke steam off of every exposed surface of the hangar. Amazingly it seemed like the only thing not actually on fire was him. They must have kicked it up to warp right out of the launch chute. Damn. "FREEZE ASSHOLE! DON'T MOVE!!" the sudden appearance of the gun wielding Spaceport security made Rhinestone jump out of his already frayed nerves. The place was a mess and he was the only person around to blame for it. Oh yeah….he thought as he was reaching for his ID Badge with shaky fingers.….this report was going to be a bitch to write up. 6836 |