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From: [e-mail] (james vassilakos)
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Subject: STORY: ST-PBeM Turn #17: Unmasked
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Date: 17 Oct 1994 12:04:12 -0400
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*******************************************************************************
                           Star Trek: Play by E-Mail
                              The Forbidden Years
                               Campaign Write-up
===============================================================================
                                 Adventure #2
                              A Matter of Policy
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                   Turn #17
                                   Unmasked
===============================================================================
              Copyright 1994 Jim Vassilakos / All Rights Reserved
*******************************************************************************


  Cast & Crew
  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------
  ST-PBeM GameMaster       Jim Vassilakos      [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. Duran          Tony Hayes          [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. tr'Remas       Jeremy Lakatos      [e-mail]
  Lt. Bellasario           Alan Ward           [e-mail]
  Lt. St. James            John Brengman       [e-mail]
  Lt. T'lar                Ronnie Simonds      [e-mail]
  2nd Lt. Morchainte       Brian Chrisman      [e-mail]


Stardate 6003.27 at 0950 hours: USS Excalibur, Outside Sarin's Pad
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gunner looks sidelong at Lt. St. James, wondering how to break the ice. "So why
did your captain send you over here? Punishment or reward?"

Kris smiles, "The captain is concerned for the safety of the ambassador, and if
the captain is concerned about a security matter, so am I."

"Yeah, well, your Captain is aboard the Typhoon. In case you hadn't noticed,
this is the Excalibur. World of difference."

"I have my orders, Lieutenant." She pauses a bit, softening her tone. "So what
about you? What's your story?"

Gunner grins, "Oh, I wouldn't want to bore you."

"What's boring to one person is fascinating to another. Try me."

He leans against the wall, thudding his head slightly. "Well, let's see. I
guess, in a nutshell, I'm here because Star Fleet has taken a shine to me. Why,
I don't know. Maybe it's because of my sparkling personality." He grins,
waiting for a come-back.

"Oh, was it your personality, or was it daddy's influence?" Kristin smirks.
"Doesn't say much for you. For all I know, you could be blowing a whole bunch
of hot air to charm me." Another pause while she allows this to sink in. "It
won't work on me."

His smile fades ever so slowly and yet ever so completely.

"Lieutenant... unless there is sincere reverence in your voice, never ever
bring up the topic of my father. Or I will have you thrown off this ship...
literally thrown off... without a spacesuit. For your sake, I hope I make
myself clear."

And with that said, he turns and heads down the corridor, probably fuming.

Kristin makes a mental note to record the results of this incident in her
diary. Never know when such interesting tidbits of information will come in
handy. Aside from that, she looks down the hall with a sort of "VICTORY IS
MINE!" smirk on her face before she resumes her duties.


Stardate 6003.27 at 1000 hours: USS Excalibur, Astrophysics Lab
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oein can't help but notice how much the astrophysics lab has cleared out.

"Where is everybody?"

Abizakas points to the computer monitor. From the display, it looks like over a
hundred people are using a variety of software packages from various sites,
including the Phobos and the Typhoon.

"Who's idea was this?"

"Tsandzia and Eris. Who would think that a Calainian and an Andorian, neither
of whom are assigned to the Excalibur, would come save us?" He smiles, then
hits a button on the wall monitor. The display switches from a wormhole
schematic to a double-window... one looking into the science workcenter of the
Phobos and the other looking into the astrophysics lab of the Typhoon."

"Well greetings, Commander," The voice is coming from a man in a Lt.
Commander's uniform on the display, probably the chief science officer aboard
the Typhoon. "I'm Cmdr. Sloan. These sensor reading you sent us are nothing
short of amazing."

"They are very interesting," Oein agrees, then frowns. "Although, I do find
this arrangement to be highly irregular."

"You mean three crews, one problem?"

"Precisely. The data is somewhat sensitive. Scientifically as well as
technologically, it could lead to great strides."

Commander Sloan smiles, "And the more people we have working on the problem,
the sooner we can make those strides."

"Perhaps. However, I would not be in favor of any further distribution of the
data. It if comes into the possession of... say... the Klingons."

"I don't envision that happening, Commander."

Oein nods, thoughtfully. "As in science, let us discount no possibilities." He
switches the monitor off and turns to Abizakas. "Chief. Since I have not said
this before, I will allow you some... slack. However, in the future, I will
require that I be informed beforehand of all decisions which affect my
department. You may be unaware of all the factors that must be considered. Do
you understand?"

Abizakas nods, gritting his teeth, "Aye."

"Good. See to it that you do not *inadvertently* forget."


Stardate 6003.27 at 1005 hours: USS Excalibur, Brig
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tsandzia whips out her communicator, "Tsandzia to Phobos... come in. Come in
anyone!"

"This is Excalibur Communi... zzzttztztz."

She throws off her gloves and unleashes, sending jagged bolts of electricity
into the security field, continuing until she's suctioned off all the energy
from her portable capacitor cell. Though momentarily weakened, the forcefield
is reinforced by the ship's powerplant, more than a match for one pissed-off
Calainian.

"Damnit... if only I could make some sort of barrier..."

By this time, however, Blobby has plopped off her shoulder and is making his
way to the field which he proceeds to nestle against, into, and clear through
to the opposite side, his entire "body" rippling with glee. Tsandzia watches,
slightly dumbfounded, until she remembers Sarah Kreis explaining why Blobby was
kept in a plastic cage aboard the Phobos. "Darn critter was eating the
forcefield." Blobby continues to inch his way along the field, spreading
himself thin so as to maximize his perimeter of contact.

Tsandzia braces herself and tries poking her finger through the area where
Blobby is feeding. Sure enough, her hand goes right through. She grins and
dives through, shocking her feet on the way out as she accidentally drags her
newfound hero with her. Her ankles tingle and ache momentarily as she tries to
stand, looking around her for any sign of guards.

The cell block is vacant of both guards and prisoners. There aren't even any
communications/computer ports on the wall. Only the controls to the various
cells of which there are about a dozen, and a large, imposing, iris valve
locking off the cell block from the rest of the ship.

Tsandzia switches her cell's force-field off, hoping that some ship-wide alert
might sound. Of course, none does, and she quickly realizes that all she's
succeeded in doing is alerting the security officer at the brig controls that
she's escaped her cell. Worse still, there is absolutely nowhere to hide.

Tsandzia glances up toward the illumination pads along the ceiling, a sudden
proposition sprinting through her mind. A few seconds later, the cell block is
enshrouded in pitch darkness, all except for the electricity glistening off her
body.

"Oh great. Now I *really* stand out like a sore thumb." She tries her
communicator again, but gets no reception what-so-ever. "Hello? If anybody can
hear me... I could really use some help."


Stardate 6003.27 at 1006 hours: USS Excalibur, Bridge
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What's that Ensign?" Bellasario blinks.

"The transporters just deposited Lt. Morchainte in brig cell #1. Apparently by
Lt. Khemsa's orders."

Gunner winces, lowering his voice so the other bridge officers won't hear him.
"On my way, and I will be expecting a full explanation when I get there."

Gunner enters a turbolift, "Destination, brig." He leans back, wondering what
type of games Tsandzia is playing this time. He's already heard about her
showboating with the gargle-blaster and has had to deal with a number of
foolish copy-cats who didn't realize the difference between human and calainian
bio-chemistry. Suddenly the turbolift comes to a halt outside the transporter
rooms, and the door opens to reveal Duran.

"Speak of the devil. Just what the hell is going on, Lieutenant?!"

"Ah, I see you've been notified, Most unfortunate." Duran enters the turbolift,
"Brig." The lift resumes. "Chief you and the Commander have had the opportunity
to work with Lt. Morchainte during the Phobos incident. I have studied the
reports and have seen what she did back there for all of you. I have also seen
the way the Commander is looking out for Tsandzia as well, so it is with some
trepidation that I took the actions that I did." Duran pauses, searching for
the correct words, "The lieutenant... well... I didn't want to involve any
formal charges until I'm clear on what she meant, because even if she is
innocent, the mere accusations could ruin her career in Star Fleet. The
potential charges are THAT serious. So, Sir, I'm asking as a friend and for her
sake to let me handle this for now. If I can't to my satisfaction resolve
things, then by all means, I will proceed along proper channels, but if I'm
wrong..."

Bellasario's jaw juts out a half-inch at the turbolift doors open on the brig
control chamber.

"Ensign Jarvik, everything set?" Duran leaps into the chamber before Gunner can
get a word in edgewise.

"Yes, Sir."

"Good, I will talk with her in private. This may be a misunderstanding but we
can't be too careful. Give me a few minutes."

"Belay that order, Ensign." Gunner strides in, taking his time to examine the
controls. "Looks like she's gotten out of her cell... and burned out the
lights. You go in there now, and you're liable to get fried." Gunner steps over
to his Andorian assistant, casting a sharp glance to the Ensign, a subtle
warning to bug-off and mind his own business. "Lieutenant, I don't have time to
crack your head open and look inside, so why don't you just tell me what's
going on?"

"If you insist, Sir. What's going on is simple to say, but hard to believe,
even for me and I was present. Basically, Tsandzia approached me and informed
me of a plot against the Ambassador's life. At first I thought she was telling
me this so we could help him, but then, as she continued in her haphazard,
tangential manner, it seemed that she was asking for my assistance in the
assassination plot. That's where I got confused. You know how she rambles
incoherently sometimes. When I asked for a clarification she suddenly reacted
oddly, said, 'Nevermind, I was only joking' and started to walk off. Well,
given her access to our ship and the presence of the Ambassador, I felt it my
duty to detain and question her. The problem was that the way she approached
the topic, it wasn't clear what exactly she was trying to get at. I didn't want
to accuse her publicly of plotting to assassinate a Federation Ambassador
without more information. I couldn't question her where we were because she was
becoming agitated and began behaving in a threatening manner. After all, I've
heard about those lightning bolts she throws. So, I had her transported to our
brig where I could safely converse with her." Nodding toward the warning
lights, "It appears, unfortunately, that I may have been correct in my fears,
since she seems to be attempting to escape and possibly ambush me."

Bellasario's jaw softens a bit as he hears the story. At the end of it, he
simply blinks. Then hits a comm-port. "Sickbay, this is the brig. I need a
medic up here who has some knowledge of Calainian medicine." He taps another
button, effectively calling a combat squad to the brig.

"You did the right thing, Lieutenant. We can take no chances with the
Ambassador's safety."

"Sir, perhaps we could use the prisoner subdual system to release a gas that
would knock her out." Duran moves over to the monitor, "We can set this to
infrared and see if there are any heat sources moving around in there as well."

"I'm way ahead of you, Khemsa. That's what the medic is for. I, personally,
have no idea what will knock her out. But if I'm gonna have to put my
faith in something, it'll be my phaser and not some gaseous chemical."

His communicator beeps. Withdrawing it, he hears an old friend's voice on the
other end. "Parker here, sir. I just got down here at the Ambassadorial Suite
when I received your mass-summons. You want me to come down and leave..."

"No, Tom. I've got a better idea. Have Lt. St. James come down here, that is,
if she can trust Excalibur Security for the next ten minutes. I want to see
if she can shoot a phaser as well as she shoots off her mouth."


Stardate 6003.27 at 1000 hours: USS Excalibur, Outside Sarin's Pad
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kris continues standing guard outside the Ambassadorial Suite, absently
wondering when Bellasario is going to get around to sending his so-called
reinforcements. The corridor she's in is kind of one-way, flowing from a t-
intersection some ten meters away and terminating at the large mahogany doors
she is currently guarding. She watches as various uniformed personnel walk back
and forth at the t-intersection. Then one of them turns and starts walking down
the corridor toward her. He's a black guy in a security uniform, heavy set
and tallish, with very dark skin and pudgy cheeks and very close-cropped hair.
His eyes are a mixture of brown and white with bloodshot veins painting crimson
cobwebs, and his nose is unusually wide and flattened. And he's wearing a
phaser.

Kris stiffens, trying to look very security-like as the guy approaches, putting
her hand on her phaser and readying herself for combat as the guy comes within
about two meters and motions to Sarin's door. "The Ambassador in?"

"Yes."

He nods and stands at the other side of the door. "Excalibur Security. Name's
Parker."

"You'll have to ask the ambassador if he'll see you. I'm only guarding him."

Parker nods, "I know. I was just sent to... back you up. Or relieve you,
depending upon your schedule." He opens his mouth as if to add something, but
then closes it again.

Kris ponders this for a second, and replies, "I will be relieved by order of
Capt. Jacobson and by him only." She then stands and watches Parker VERY
carefully, ready to react at the first sign of trouble, which she suspects will
happen. She's jarred out her sudden burst of paranoia by a strange beeping
noise. It's coming from Parker's communicator. He withdraws it and reads the
display.

"What the... security alert at the brig?" He withdraws his communicator.
"Parker here, sir. I just got down here at the Ambassadorial Suite when I
received your mass-summons. You want me to come down and leave..."

"No, Tom. I've got a better idea. Have Lt. St. James come down here, that is,
if she can trust Excalibur Security for the next ten minutes. I want to see if
she can fire a phaser as well as she fires off her mouth."

Parker pockets the communicator and casts her a faint smile. "Your ball."

Just KNOWING she's gonna get nailed by the Captain for this, Kris nods to
Parker and heads to the turbolift. Once she enters the turbolift, she turns
around and glares at anyone within sight before saying, "Destination: Brig!" By
the time she reaches the brig, Kris is calmed down a bit, but she still looks
miffed at having to leave her post. "Lt. St. James reporting. You wanted to see
me?"

Gunner nods, "Yeah, lieutenant. You have a rather electrical personality.
Perhaps you should go first." He looks around at the others. The place is full
of security people. "Okay folks. This is a not a drill. Lt. Morchainte is in
there, and she's got that blob-thing with her. I have reason to believe that
it's affected her mind! I want phasers set on stun. If she doesn't come quietly
to sickbay, we shoot. If she doesn't go down, reset phasers to kill and fire at
will. Any questions?"

Kris nods. "Yes," she replies. "I have a question. Have you tried talking to
her yet, or was your first idea to attack? It'd be just like you male security
types to shoot first and ask questions later. If that was a Romulan in there or
a convicted criminal, I'd shoot her without a second thought, but she is a Star
Fleet officer, and I believe she is innocent until proven guilty."

Gunner conjures an acid scowl. "And just how do you propose we talk to her,
Lieutenant? Holler through the walls?!"

"Try a communicator!"

"We can't lower the forcefield or she'll call the Phobos and have herself
beamed out," Duran warns.

"Open the damn valve." Gunner moves to the front. The portal whines a bit, but
it doesn't budge an inch.

"Excuse me, Sir, but I thought we were going to release a 'knock-out' gas into
the area to subdue her."

"It won't work," a voice comes from the back of the room. It's Darla Reeko,
the head nurse and a betazoid to boot. Duran immediately tries to think
about something innocuous. "I'd go into the technical explanation, however..."

"Right," Bellasario nods, "you'd probably bore us. What's going on with that
valve?"

"I don't know, sir. It's stuck or something."

Bellasario grits his teeth, "Looks like somebody doesn't want us getting in
there."

"Perhaps if I tried empathic communication," Darla offers.

"Too risky."

"Why don't you just drop the comm-suppression?" Kris interjects.

"I will not negotiate with her, Lieutenant."

"She's a Star Fleet Officer!"

Duran turns toward the visiting Lieutenant. "Ma'am, if you'd like to have your
brains fried you are welcome to stick your head in, but given the stun setting
standard on all Federation Phasers, which we all have, once we stun her and
regain control of the situation, we can talk all we want. Incapacitating beings
without permanent damage is why stun was invented. I don't see any problem
using it on Federation personnel, Star Fleet or otherwise. It's only going to
stun them." Duran gives her a clearly condescending look that says, in modern
tongue, "Dah!"

"We'll have to get in there, and I'm not in the mood for dealing with her
delays."

"We can drop the containment field and beam in," someone suggests.

"No," he shakes his head. "Like Khemsa said, we do that and she'll have herself
beamed to the Phobos. Unless," he steps up to a console and presses a few
buttons. As Kris looks over his shoulder, she can see that he's issuing
directives to the ship's computer. He's actually raising the Excalibur's main
deflectors and issuing a warning to the transporter to cease inter-vessel
transport. "Now nobody gets out. Bellasario to transporter room #1. Internal
transport requested. Party of five to beam into the Brig cell block." He taps a
few keystrokes, lowering the protonic field surrounding the cell block, and
casts a final glance toward Kris, angry yet somehow conciliatory all at the
same time. "Phasers set on stun. Do not fire until my order or until fired
upon. Ener..."

Bellasario stops in mid-word, however, as the lithe form of Lt. T'lar enters
the chamber. For a moment, he sees her in his mind's eyes, running him down
with a shuttle.

"Why are you here?"

"I sensed that Tsandzia's in trouble."

A burst of beeps comes from the console. Then everyone can hear Tsandzia's
voice. "Help, I've been taken hostage on... on a Federation ship of some
design, I'm not sure which. I've managed a delay by jamming the brig doors, but
someone, HELP!"

Duran withdraws his communicator, "Tsandzia this is Lt. Khemsa. You seem to
have damaged the iris valve in your attempt to escape. If you will simply
return to the cell where I beamed you initially, we can repair the door. Then
you and I can finish our discussion, in private." Duran gives a meaningful look
to all involved parties, "Will you comply?"

Tsandzia grimaces. Of all the people to answer her plea for help! "Have a
*private* discussion with you? Why don't I just wade through a proton cloud! If
you were an officer, I'd have you court-martialed and then read you Vogon
poetry. I think time's on my side in this one, chlorhead."

Duran gulps and switches off the speaker, wondering how many other people are
listening in.

"Chlorhead?" Bellasario looks up. "*If* you were an officer?"

Duran nods, "I think your hypothesis about that pet of hers is right on target,
sir."

"If I may try, Lieutenant?" T'lar steps forward and switches the speakers back
on, "Tsandzia, this is T'lar."

Tsandzia shouts, "T'lar!?!? Get Bellasario... sheez! You've been listening all
this time?!"

"No, I just arrived. And Lt. Bellasario is already here. I understand your
reluctance to a private talk, but I don't think Lt. Khemsa will object if I
join the two of you when you talk."

Tsandzia responds "Yes, I don't have a problem with that. What's going on?"

T'lar turns around and looks for Duran. It's as if he suddenly blended into the
crowd of security-types (not an easy thing for an Andorian to do).

"Where did Khemsa go?"

Bellasario turns around, fully expecting to see the Lieutenant behind him.
"Uh... he was here a second ago."

"You just let him walk out? He's got to be found and stopped, Bellasario! I
didn't want to make an obvious scene with him here, but I have reason to
believe he's an assassin!"

A moment later... in the cell block:

Tsandzia whirls around, the whine of transporter carrier waves enveloping her
body as she tries in vain to dislodge herself from the beam. "Damnit, who the
hell is transporting me!? STOP IT!" A few seconds later, she finds herself in a
vacant corridor, four security-types rounding a corner. Sha, the cheronian
who'd helped her "move-in", is among them. For a moment, she sighs with relief.
"Hey, where's Bellas..."

Sha watches, scarcely able to believe his eyes, as Tsandzia falls to her knees.
Standing directly behind her, Duran maintains a steady stream of phaser fire,
even after she's hit the deck. Only when she is well into the lands of dreams
does he pocket the phaser.

"Sha, good, help me get Tsandzia to sickbay. She's been giving us a time in the
brig. Barricaded herself in. You wouldn't believe the confusion down there. I
don't understand it, a room full of security and nobody was doing anything.
Finally, I decided to deal with it. Pretty ingenious, don't ya think?" Duran
moves over to Tsandzia's body, "Okay, don't touch her skin, no telling about
this electrical stuff." Pointing to one of the other men, "You help carry her,
and you contact sickbay and let them know she's on her way. I gotta fix some
confusion. Tell the doc to keep her strapped down SECURELY. Keep everyone away
from her until we get there, got it?"

"Uh... aye that, Lieutenant."

"Good, let's move people!"

Duran whips out his communicator, "Khemsa to Bellasario, Chief I have secured
the prisoner. She is safe, and the stalemate is over. Tell T'lar that I'd like
to meet her in sickbay in five minutes. Khemsa out." Duran switches channels,
"Khemsa to Transporter Room #1. Thank you. I owe you guys one."

"No problem, Lieutenant. There be few problems that judicious use of the ol'
leprechaun-box can't fix."


Stardate 6003.27 at 1015 hours: USS Excalibur, Sickbay
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When T'lar arrives, she finds Duran sitting in a chair next to Tsandzia who is
strapped to a bed, unconscious.

"What did you do to her!"

"Relax, T'lar. She's just been stunned. She'll be coming around slowly."

Bellasario steps in behind T'lar, taking a position toward the corner of the
room, one hand resting near his holster.

Duran nods to Gunner and then looks toward T'lar. "Come have a seat,
Lieutenant. You seem able to keep her calm, moreso than anyone else I know. I
thought it would be wise to have you present when she awakens so as to avoid a
major panic." Duran gives T'lar an odd look, "She *confides* in you, it seems.
Perhaps, before she awakens, you could explain her actions? The ones that lead
us to this rather awkward and uncomfortable point."

"That depends greatly on which actions in particular you mean, Khemsa. Or do
you prefer Duran at the moment? I believe I'll just call you 'Lieutenant'; it
seems the most logical appellation for now."

Duran glances toward Bellasario. The look of confidence in his chief's eyes is
now replaced by sheer distrust.

"You are the second person who has called me 'Duran' today," Duran nods toward
Tsandzia's prone form, "She was the first."

"I believe we would both be safer if you sit over there. I'll take the seat
directly in front of her, to insure I'm the first thing she sees upon
awakening."

"Safer? Us? Perhaps." Duran stands and offers the chair to T'Lar. When he looks
toward Bellasario, however, he can see that Gunner has no intentions of sitting
down. Instead, he keeps his eyes trained on Duran himself. Duran looks down and
coughs, wondering how he's going to get out of this one.

"I believe," T'lar begins, "that most of her actions stem from an odd idea she
seems to have that her life is a holovid, and all of us who fret and strut upon
her stage are merely players. If she is simply dramatic enough, she reasons,
she can avoid any untoward consequences of her actions, such as imprisonment or
death." Her eyebrow gives the slightest motion, only Duran's long years of
training allowing him to catch it. "Not like you or me. We always use the
safest, most reasonable, most straightforward route to our goals, yes?"

Duran nods, taking a deep breath. "Typically, yes. But neither of our races are
particularly exempt from ill-conceived, rash acts. In any case, am I to
understand that you are telling me that Tsandzia is, in fact, suffering from
some form of insanity?" He tries not to look too hopeful.

"I see I spoke too floridly. Tsandzia is not insane; merely... eccentric. No
moreso than a race of beings that chooses to deny all emotion in favor of
logic."

"You consider your own race eccentric? Perhaps it is you who are the eccentric,
T'lar. Maybe that's why you seem to get along with Tsandzia so well."

"An interesting hypothesis. But I think the greater eccentricity comes from
those who have something to hide. May I ask who you're working for, or will I
be required to guess?"

Duran smiles, "You have implied more than once that you think you have some
kind of special information that, presumably, pertains to me. Perhaps it would
be most logical to have you start by telling me what you think it is that you
know and why you think it pertains to me." Duran leans back and puts his feet
up on a nearby bed, "Tsandzia was good at spinning stories. Let's see how you
are."

T'lar considers. "You are here under false pretenses. You are not Lt. Khemsa.
If indeed both of those facts are true, it ill-behooves me to reveal more of
what I know until I have more data on why you felt a need to perform such a
substantial lie. Logically speaking."

"It ill-behooves you?" Duran cracks as a wide a grin as he can fake,
considering the circumstances. Bellasario is still standing there, hand near
holster. Duran looks toward the security chief, trying to look innocent. "My
substantial lie? What precisely has she *revealed* about me, Chief?"

Bellasario shifts a bit, realizing that it's his trust that is being quarreled
over. "She says that you're... an assassin."

"An assassin?" Duran bursts out laughing. "That's one hell of an accusation,
T'lar, for one who is behooving herself to death with double-speak."

"You laugh now," Bellasario notes. "Back in the brig, you were practically
certain that Tsandzia was an assassin. An honest coincidence, perhaps?"

Duran bites his lip, realizing that he's slowly losing the argument, at least
in the eyes of the security chief. "No. I was lying. I admit that freely. But
it was only because I had to talk with her in private," he motions toward
Tsandzia, "before she started screaming out accusations similar to T'lar's,
which, by the way, I would be pleased to learn the source of."

T'lar remains impassive. "Asking me how I know seems somewhat irrelevant. I
think you must accept I will not be dissuaded from this data; it seems a most
unlikely conclusion to 'pull out of a hat' if I were merely trying to outguess
you. Will you deign to inform me further, or will Tsandzia and I be forced to
let our fevered imaginations guess why you would assume a false identity? Most
of the reasons that immediately occur are... not flattering to you."

Duran sits up in his chair. "You want a logical argument? Fine. You make
several interesting assumptions and seem to be overlooking several obvious
ones. You say you are unwilling to accept that I am who I say and rather that I
am here under false pretenses. Let us simply accept that this is true, since
nobody is in a position to confirm nor deny another's beliefs. Then, you must
ask yourself, how does one accomplish this considerable task without the
support of a powerful and well-placed agency... that is, without the support
and knowledge of Star Fleet Command. And given Star Fleet's knowledge of such a
false pretense, would not it be logical... in fact required... that we assume
that Star Fleet has their reasons and that those reasons would therefore be
mine, if not by choice then by order?"

T'lar remains expressionless, apparently immune to the train of thought being
pushed upon her.

"Furthermore," Duran continues, glancing toward Bellasario, "since Star Fleet
deigned to not make public this false pretense, as is evidenced by the fact
that you were not informed, should we not then conclude that it is their intent
to maintain the integrity of that false pretense? Should we not consider what
harm may come to Star Fleet if this false pretense is revealed? Not to mention
what harm may come to the individual or individuals involved? Are these not
also logically derived facts that need to be considered in detail? Or... have
you simply overlooked them in your quest to support the accusations of your
friend? Loyalty over logic, T'lar?"

She shakes her head. "No, I do not find that conclusion particularly
compelling. If one *required* Star Fleet's resources to perform such a charade,
where is the need for Star Fleet's Intelligence branch, let alone the other
assorted secretive agencies that roam about the Federation? Surely they suspect
*some* form of deception not unlike this with all the resources they apply. I
can think of two other groups immediately who might well expend just such an
effort, and if I had the carefully concealed knowledge I am denied 'for my own
good', I would doubtless think of more."

Duran drops his grin, "Oh really? Speaking as someone with considerably more
knowledge in this area than you, let me assure you that it is much harder than
you think."

"The two gothmogs apparently managed with no problem whatsoever."

"Yes... but they weren't posing as Star Fleet officers aboard the Excalibur!
T'lar... you and Tsandzia are pushing me into a corner. Right now you may feel
you're doing a good deed, but this course of action will ultimately end up
doing much more harm than good. And when it comes down, it'll be your careers
that end up suffering."

"Then you admit your deception."

"For obvious reasons, I am unable to!"

T'lar nods, "Very good. Now let me be blunt. Deception is a mentally
challenging and fascinating exercise when one is playing a game such as poker.
We are not, however, playing a game. Lives are at stake, and possibly more. I
fail to see how *increasing* the data I have to work with, and the number of
allies you have to your cause if it be noble, can *harm* your cause. Therefore,
until I am *given* this further data, I am forced to conclude that your cause
is, in fact, in some way ignoble."

Duran shakes his head in utter frustration. "For a Vulcan, you logic is...
extraordinarily wanting. You seem to gift yourself with some kind of special
status that entitles you to classified data. You are not in that category, I'm
afraid. However, given the current conundrum, I am now forced to gift you with
some additional data, though it will probably end my career. First of all,
let me start by saying that you are in fact correct, I am a member of SFIC and
my name is Duran. Now your turn, how did you get this information?" Duran looks
at Tsandzia again, "Actually, I can guess how YOU got it, the real question is
how did SHE get it?"

"I really don't know much about how it was obtained. Tsandzia... Tsandzia is
not gifted at coherent explanations. I might have doubted her myself, but I had
come to similar conclusions independently using my 'wanting' logic. The odd
events that have occurred since we arrived permit exceedingly few explanations
that account for all the data. You, meanwhile, exhibit an entirely unacceptable
arrogance in your organization's capabilities, uniqueness, righteousness, and
right to do as you wish without answering to anyone, and revealing only what
you wish others to know -- namely, as little as possible. Fortunately that
serves to convince me that you are, in fact, a member of SFIC, since it
perfectly describes a profile of that group's agents.

Duran leans back, hands rubbing his face. His fingers still hurt, but the pain
helps take his mind off the headache T'lar has given him.

"So let me get this straight? You believed I was a member of SFIC, and you
chose to go and tell people that I'm an assassin?!?"

"That is correct."

Duran casts a look of hopelessness toward Bellasario. "And you believed her?!"

"I don't know what to believe anymore. First you're Lieutenant Khemsa. Now
you're Agent Duran." Gunner shakes his head, "What the hell are you doing here,
anyway?"

"Precisely," T'lar concurs. "What I have yet to decide is whether your mission
is worth the threats, deaths and secrecy. Before you answer, however, know
first that I will not take your word for anything you say and appeals to my
patriotism will be wasted breath, as if I had any it would be to Vulcan and its
interests, which I strongly suspect are compromised by your actions."

Duran lets out a loud guffaw. "Oh, that's perfect. If you aren't going to
believe a word I say, why even ask me?!"

"I didn't say that I wouldn't believe you. I merely stated that I wouldn't take
your word at face value."

"Yes. But logically, you have no choice but to accept my word since I'm the
only person present who knows the truth, whether or not you choose to believe
it."

"Actually, if your explanation does not fit observed events, I have the option
of ignoring you, since you would have proved yourself determined to lie to me
at any cost. But I doubt you'd be so foolish to make an obvious lie.

"You may rest assured that my explanation will fit the facts, T'lar -- all of
the facts, including those you are unaware of. The truth always fits the facts,
by definition."

Gunner grunts, "So stop talking about telling us the truth and just tell us
already!"

"No, not until Tsandzia's awake. She's the one who started this whole mess."
Duran sits back in the chair and puts his feet up again, "Think we ought to see
if the Doc can revive her?"

"Yes, let us see what can be done. Calainians are remarkably resilient... she
may recover shortly on her own anyway, but medical assistance couldn't hurt."

Just then, Doctor O'Neil floats in with a pair of jumper cables.

"Just an idea I had rotting in the back of my brain. When we metabolic
sentients get stunned, our bodies just start us up again after awhile.
Tsandzia, however, may not be so blessed. The texts say something about a shock
to the system." He sticks the cables on her upper chest. "Okay, Nurse. Let 'er
rip."

*Phtzzzztak*

Tsandzia's eyes open with a sudden start and she tries to yank herself out of
bed, but to no avail. T'lar, Bellasario, O'Neil, and the dreaded Khemsa/Duran
are there looking down at her. Her eyes bulge out a bit upon seeing the latter,
but realizing somewhere in the back of her mind that Andorians don't innately
have mind control beams, she figures that she's somewhat safe, at least for the
moment.

"Bellasario, can you tell those damn transporter operators to stop beaming me
around? It's really unsafe to do this against my will, and I'm not going
anywhere."

Gunner walks up to the bed and begins undoing the straps. "I'll write a memo
about it. At the time we thought... I thought... that you were under the
influence of... well, it doesn't matter. Where is the little tyke anyway?"

Back in the brig, the techs finish dismantling the main iris valve only to see
Blobby spread out over a number of small puddles, luxuriating in his recent
feast of protonic energy. *Burp*


                      _   /|        Jim Vassilakos
                      \`o_O'        [e-mail]
                        ( )         [e-mail]
                         U          Riverside, California

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