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From: [e-mail] (james vassilakos)
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Subject: STORY: ST-PBeM Turn #18 - Truth & Lies
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Date: 26 Oct 1994 09:53:39 -0400
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*******************************************************************************
                           Star Trek: Play by E-Mail
                              The Forbidden Years
                               Campaign Write-up
===============================================================================
                                 Adventure #2
                              A Matter of Policy
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                   Turn #18
                                 Truth & Lies
===============================================================================
              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. Cmdr. de la Sangre   Carlos Jensen       [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 0130 hours: USS Graz, Sensor Control Center
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vince rubs his eyes as he looks over the scanner logs for what seems like the
dozenth time. Over his shoulder, Crewman Johnson sits back, squinting in the
dim light of the sensor control center, shaking his head and murmuring in a
low, nasal, whine.

"Jus' like I was sayin' las' week, and nobody lis'ens 'o me never. That thang
is _real_. I saw it, and this time, I caught it."

Vince frowns. The image he's looking at is wispy. Possibly as big as a
starship, but insubstantial. Proton spectrometry says it's real, sort of. EM
radiation tends to agree. Gravitonic flux disagrees. Gamma interferometry is
blind as a dead bat. But the variable band opticals are the real key. It's like
the thing is there for a moment, and then poof, it's gone.

"You're right, Johnson. I believe there is, or rather was, something there."

"Damn right, I'm right. I'm righter than right. I'm righteous." He stomps his
foot, "I'm so damn righteous, I'm like the word to yo mama. You wouldn't lie to
yo mama, now would you, sir?"

Vince frowns, thinking back to his training. He doesn't remember anything about
taking verbal abuse from lowly fodderous crewmen.

"Johnson, if you don't shut-up, I'm going to cram this scanner down your
throat."

That seems to put a cork in his bottle, at least for the time-being. The peace
and quiet gives Vince a chance to actually think about the readings, but he
can't bring himself to put the facts into a logical argument. If it were a
cloaked ship, which it might actually be, there's no reason Johnson would have
seen it at all.

He lets out a sigh. Then again, Vince never was too keen on reading the
technical manuals. He rubs his eyes and stretches in his seat, then looks
toward Johnson who has a constipated scowl on his face.

"What?"

The crewman hands him a PADD upon which is scrolled a little note: "Can I talk
yet?"

"Damnit, Johnson. It's 'may I talk' not 'can I talk'!"

"Mmmph... mmmph."

"Yes, go ahead."

"Well sir, this thing kinda got me to thinking."

"Oh great. What now?"

"Well, it's like this. We cruise around and run inspections. Scanners,
boardings, the whole bit. Right?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"So, generally speaking... we don't find a whole lot. You know what I mean?"

"No, I haven't the slightest clue."

"Well, you look at Albuquerque, and you know there's some nasty shit that has
to be passing through there. I mean, look at them viral diseases and..."

"So what's your point?"

"Well... somebody's being pretty sneaky. Y'know?"

Vince nods, "That's exactly my point. If this were a federation ship with
legitimate business, they would have hailed us. We have to find a way of
intensifying the scan. See if you can't get some hot-shot from engineering to
come down here to make sure the scanners aren't malfunctioning again. Oh, and
tell the chief engineer that I need to speak to him. Also, have communications
contact Commodore Ash. Tell him I need to talk to him about this. We may have a
potentially dangerous intruder in the area."

"Uh... got that." Johnson hurries out, as Vince lets himself sink into the
chair, closing his eyes. "I'm too old for this," he mutters to himself, and
gives the read-outs a final look before nodding-off to sleep.


Stardate 6003.27 at 1030 hours: USS Excalibur, Sickbay
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tsandzia looks about the room, thankful to be alive and wondering what chain of
events led her to waking up in sickbay. "What's going on?"

T'lar sighs inwardly, "Duran 'arranged' this little meeting by giving you a
healthy dose of stun. He's about to enlighten us as to why his entire
masquerade has been necessary. Do sit back and relax."

"Now wait a minute," the Andorian begins, "I've revealed, or at least confirmed
more information than I should have, or at least more than SFIC will feel was
necessary. Before I reveal anything more, I need to know how you found me out.
What exactly did you find out, Tsandzia, and from whom? As T'Lar is fond of
pointing out, people's lives may be at stake. If there is a leak, I need to
know. The Gothmogs may not be the only assassins in the area."

A startled look forms on Tsandzia's face as she takes a moment to try and see
if everything adds up. Finally she looks around at each of the faces, somewhat
dazed and confused. "Is this all true, T'lar?"

Duran looks up, "Of course it's true, she just told you that it was. The
question at hand it how did you discover this information?" He waves his hands
around in frustration, "While you two stand around bickering and wallowing in
your paranoia, hostile forces could even now be preparing their next move! Now,
where did you get your information?"

T'lar nods, "It seems... logical, Tsandzia. Go ahead."

Tsandzia half-mumbles, half-rambles for a moment, then resolves not to think
about it, "Alright, the Albuquerque security report was forged. The dead
Andorian woman was some sort of traitor. Either that or she was just extremely
incompetent. She left her chip and the decryption in her apartment."

"What?!"

Tsandzia nods, "Your contact... she didn't destroy her instructions. Instead,
she just hid them. When Albuquerque security searched her place, they came
across the information and realized that you were not, in fact, Lt. Khemsa."

Duran sighs, "That's just perfect. What exactly was this information?"

"Apparently she was ordered to assist you in the protection of the Ambassador."

"The protection?" Duran kicks himself for not suppressing his surprise.

"Yes. Apparently, Commodore Ash wanted somebody to keep an eye on you. To help
you in case you got in trouble." A worried look comes over Tsandzia's face as
she begins to realize just how badly she's fumbled her assignment. "Damnit,
Duran! Why didn't you just fess-up in the park!?! None of this had to happen
this way!"

"You were sent to *help* me?!" Duran gasps, then chokes, then turns a deep
shade of blue, suddenly realizing the comic irony. "Oh... obviously. How could
I ever have thought otherwise?! You've been such a delight right from the
beginning!"

Gunner shakes his head, "Keep your voice down. You're giving me a headache."

"Keep my voice down! This is incredible! They send her to help me, and she
proceeds to blow my cover all over kingdom come! If she were any more 'help',
I'd probably be dead by now!"

Gunner smiles, "So what else happened, Tsandzia? And tell me something else.
Why the hell did Ash choose you?"

"I don't know. Okay? I admit it. I'm not cut out for this 007 crap. I'm just a
science officer. I guess he wanted somebody under his command who also had a
good excuse for being aboard the Excalibur."

Duran shakes his head in utter disbelief, "And what about that crap about you
being some sort of former agent on inactive duty? Did Ash help you come up with
that, or was it Tsandzia-conceived right from the beginning?!?"

"Fine, I made it up! I had to have some way to earn your confidence." She gets
off the table, electrons furling in consternation. "Ash just wanted me to watch
you from a distance. I wasn't supposed to reveal my knowledge to you or anybody
else."

"Then why did you!?"

"Well, I just... got to thinking."

Duran, Bellasario, and T'lar all exchange worried glances.

Tsandzia continues, "I just wasn't convinced of the authenticity of that chip
in the Andorian woman's apartment. At first, I thought that the entire thing
with the chips could have been a setup by the same Gothmogs who killed the
andorian girl, and that would incriminate you. Second, I thought that if you
really were a secret agent from the federation, it would be better for you to
know that your cover was already blown."

"Oh... believe me... I'm well aware of it now. Thank you very much!"

Tsandzia mumbles a bit, "And then, in the park, when you didn't have any *clue*
what I was talking about, I figured that you weren't involved with Star Fleet.
You see, I invented the story about being an agent myself so that I wouldn't be
directly exposing starbase's knowledge. I mean, if I came up and told you that
we found this chip and all, well... you didn't buy even the first line of my
story, so I guess it doesn't matter now. I didn't trust you... not at all.
People who aren't what they appear really should never be trusted... so I
certainly didn't trust you, and then when I was beamed away, I assumed it was
you transporting me to some place where you could kill me quietly."

"It never occurred to you that being a member of SFIC, I might want to protect
my cover?"

"What cover?! It was already blown. But you just couldn't accept it."

"What I couldn't accept was your cock-a-maimie story about being a former SFIA!
Face it, Tsandzia. You lost it!"

"Lost what?!"

"All semblance of sanity! When I beamed you away, even though it was to the
brig of a Star Fleet ship using a Federation Transporter, you assumed it was to
kill you, which I could've done right where I was standing."

"Oh, that's a load of spacedust and you know it! I figured that you didn't want
to kill me in Surreal Park because there were a huge number of spectators. So,
you beam me somewhere, erase the transporter logs and kill me quietly, while
people wonder where Tsandzia has gotten to. If I didn't trust T'lar's
judgement, I wouldn't even believe you now, even though you are beginning to
make some amount of sense. But why the heck didn't you just mention anything
like this in the park?"

"I..." Duran stammers, "If you have to ask that, then you really are crazy!
Christ, Tsandzia! I'm a secret agent! Get it through your skull! Can you at
least do that much?!"

"Well, if T'lar believes you are who you are, I think I believe that you
actually are who you are, I mean, who you really are, not who we're supposed
to think you are... who you think.... we're supposed to think... we think...
you are... oh, forget it!"

Duran sighs, "There is no way someone as lacking as you in basic lucidity could
have graduated from the Academy. Must've had someone pull a lot of strings to
get you a commission, eh Tsandzia?"

"Oh, shut-up! Not everybody is a deity of deception like yourself, Duran."

"Deceptive, yes. An assassin, not even. What I still don't get is why you all
thought I was some sort of hired killer? Most agents of SFIC are NOT assassins.
In fact, very damn few are qualified. Can anyone here explain that wondrous
leap of logic?"

"My 'leap of logic' wasn't definite, at least, not until you beamed me away,
then I _knew_ you were after me for some reason."

"Oh, you're damn right I was." Duran glaces toward T'lar. "But what about you?
Did you just pick up on this misconstrued stream of Tsandzia-logic as well?"

"It would be both illogical and negligent to not form my own opinions."

"So which are you? Illogical or negligent?"

"Ah... Andorian humor. Very cute. I arrived at my own conclusion separately
from Tsandzia-logic, as you term it. Someone... oh, I might as well just tell
you...  Sarin has been told by his superiors that someone in SFIC has 'been
assigned' to him. He personally believes it is for an assassination attempt,
and I tend to concur."

Duran blinks, realizing just how entirely out-of-hand this whole thing has
gotten. Multiple leaks? One going straight to the target? He shakes his head,
thinking back to his orders. 'Warning: Subject may suspect assassins.'

"I don't get it. You think SFIC wants Sarin killed? Why?"

"That is precisely what I'm trying to find out."

He laughs, "The whole idea is absurd, T'lar. He's a federation ambassador for
crying out loud. Let me get this perfectly straight. You thought *I* was sent
to assassinate Ambassador Sarin?"

"Affirmative."

"T'lar, as much as I hate to put a damper on your theory, you might want to
remember that I was assigned to this ship weeks ago. The arrival of this ship
at this station was a result of the Phobos incident and the need to escort it
here. There is no way that SFIC could have predicted my being here. Further,
Sarin's subsequent arrival here was as unknown to me just as it was to you. How
could all of this have been arranged to get me here at the same time as Sarin
to give me a chance to... to terminate him?"

"Unfortunately, I don't have all the information necessary to answer that
query."

"T'lar, you don't have the information because the information doesn't exist.
So stop trying to fill in the holes with your fevered imagination. You are way
off-base."

T'lar makes no response, yet at the same time, her eyes betray the fact that
she is still not entirely convinced.

"Damnit, T'lar! What more do I have to say?!"

"Why is SFIC after Sarin?"

"What makes you think they are?"

"Sarin believes they are. That is enough for me."

"Sarin, genius though he may be, is probably just as paranoid as the two of
you. But even assuming that you're right and I'm wrong, the answer is still the
same. I have no idea. The whole thing makes absolutely no sense whatsoever."
Duran leans back, "Why is he nervous, anyway? Did he do something traitorous
lately?" Duran smiles, "What is it? Some little Vulcan secret to which we dead-
heads are non-privy?"

"If it is, Duran, then I am not privy to it, either, leading to the incorrect
conclusion that I am not a Vulcan. Let us go greet Sarin personally and see if
more can be discerned."

Duran nods, "Fine with me. But just one thing. NO ONE else is to know ANYTHING
about what was said here without my consent," he gives a stern look to
Tsandzia. "Sarin's life may depend on it. My cover needs to stay in place. I
don't know how many people you two have spoken to about me, but a bit of damage
control might be in order."

T'lar considers. "Well, other than everyone in the hall outside the brig
believing you're an assassin, I can't think of anyone I've spoken to."

Bellasario nods, "Don't worry. I'll talk to them." He pauses at the door.
"Er... what do you want to me say to 'em?"

T'lar raises an eyebrow. "Let them know the situation is under control. SFIC
will obviously be 'rescinding' this particular cover after this at any rate;
having 'Khemsa' carted off as an assassin is as good a reason as any for him to
vanish." She reflects a moment. "Romulan mind control to avoid destroying his
sister's world view, perhaps. I'm sure your superiors have something prepared
to feed her in such an event, Duran. I take it that it *is* a safe assumption
that the *real* Khemsa is appreciably dead."

"What the hell kind of holovids have you been watching, T'lar, or are you just
this dense?  Romulan mind control?  Please, get real. Everytime you open your
mouth, lately, you put your foot in it. Is it that tasty?"

Tsandzia begins making for the door.

"Where are you going?" Bellasario queries.

She doesn't answer though, casting only a cold stare at Duran before making her
exit.

"Now you've gone and done it," Bellasario mentions.

"I've done it!? They just blow my cover from here to kingdom come while
simultaneously spreading false rumors, and you say I've gone and done it?!"

Bellasario shrugs diplomatically, "I guess you've got me there."

Duran turns back toward T'lar, "Look, please get it between your ears that
Khemsa is not going anywhere. This cover *is* salvageable. A limited number of
people know the truth and as long as they keep quite, everything will be okay."

"And what about your so-called sister? You really think you can play this
charade indefinitely? Or let me guess, she's a spy too, right?"

"Wrong, T'lar. She's not a spy, and this 'charade' is not indefinite. When
the time comes, Khemsa's sister will be told the truth."

"Which is?"

"The real Khemsa died in the line of duty, and his identity was 'borrowed' as a
cover-identity. Most of the families I have seen understand and accept this,
but as you are fond of pointing out, you are not very patriotic. Must be a
personal flaw as most of the Vulcan's I've met are quite patriotic. They don't
always agree with the Federation or Star Fleet or SFIC but they don't try to
undermine it at every turn."

Bellasario rolls his eyes, "Nobody is trying to undermine anything, Agent
Duran. We're just a little confused."

"Then let's get everybody unconfused."

"What do you propose?"

"Tell them the obvious, T'lar screwed up and was making false accusations. I'm
not an assassin; I'm Lt. Khemsa, Assistant Security Chief of the Excalibur,
what else? Tell them T'lar was acting on erroneous information provided by
Tsandzia and has since rescinded her accusation. Moreover, tell them Tsandzia's
arrest was a misunderstanding. Anyone who has spoken with Tsandzia could
understand how that could have happened. The important thing here is that we
resume normal appearances and not give cause for any more alarm."

T'lar shakes her head, "As I pointed out, Duran, it seems a bit late for normal
appearances. I have no problem with pretending I was mistaken, but doesn't the
entire chain of events tend to compromise you severely? Will my doing so really
save your cover?"

"Chain of events? You mean your shouting, 'Hey, Khemsa is an assassin!'? That's
the only 'chain of events' that would even make anyone even remotely
suspicious. But since you are a visitor that none of those security officers
have even met before, who do you think they would tend to believe, me or you?
The Chief here I can understand. He has spent some time with you and would be
more willing to give your word some credit. Those guys are MY friends and
cohorts; they will believe you were wrong. At least there will be enough doubt
for the time being."

"Yes, Duran, but... oof!" Duran walks up to T'Lar and, catching her off guard,
decks her solidly.

"What the?" Bellasario rushes the Andorian and body-slams him into the wall.

A moment later, however, Duran has his rainbow dagger out. "Don't try that
again, Chief. I'm just adding credibility to my side. The people here know that
I would never let someone say those things about me and get away with it."

T'lar stays on the floor, apparently acquiescent to the sage plan.

"You okay?" Bellasario helps her up.

She wipes a smear of green blood off her lip, not saying a word.

Bellasario grimaces, turning toward Duran, "Damnit, you're one hell of a lucky
jerk, you know that?!"

"How do you figure?"

"Because if Tsandzia was still here, she'd have blasted you to ash-particles
for that stunt!"

"I can handle Tsandzia."

"You do anything like that ever again, and you'll have to handle the both of
us! I don't give a shit who the hell you are! C'mon, T'lar." He begins leading
her toward the door where O'Neil last vanished.


Stardate 6003.27 at 1055 hours: USS Excalibur, Sickbay
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. O'Neil runs a protoplaser over T'lar's lip, effectively sealing the break
in the tissue, but the bruise is still there, and the skin is *very* tender.

"How the heck did this happen? He hit her?" O'Neil tries not to look nosy. "I
was gonna offer you folks some coffee, but I looked in through the window and
saw Lt. Khemsa screaming his head off. Thought better of coming in."

Gunner nods, "Andorians have mean tempers, much to T'lar's chagrin."

"You going to file a complaint?" O'Neil slaps a small black bandage on T'lar's
upper lip, making her look like a miniature Hitler.

Gunner grunts, "No she isn't."

"Well, I think that's her decision."

"O'Neil, do us both a favor and mind your own business. And while you're at it,
give me some more of those pain-killers."

Jacob frowns, "You're not still having chest pains, are you?"

"I need some sleep. And I've got a splitting headache."

"If you need some sleep-aids, go talk to the Nurse. T'lar, you can just pull
off the bandage in about an hour and wipe off any of the residual regen. Your
lip should be as good as new."


Stardate 6003.27 at 1100 hours: USS Excalibur, Outside Sickbay
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bellasario and T'lar finally exit sickbay. All the security people are still
there, refusing to let Duran leave until they hear something from the boss.

"It's okay. Let him go. T'lar was... confused."

"What happened to her lip?"

Bellasario grunts at the curious individual, "Why don't you come inside this
room, and I'll show you."

"That's alright."

"Good. Now that that's settled, er... ah, T'lar has something to say."
Bellasario makes a face like he just shot off his own foot. "That is, if you
feel up to it, T'lar."

T'lar is greatly relieved that no one else present has telepathy. She still
can't believe her face isn't screaming with disingenuousness, as among Vulcans,
outright lies are *exceedingly* rare. She imagines that she must look like
Duran has looked for the past few days, spewing fabrications at every turn and
twist of fate. It gives her some small measure of satisfaction, remembering
that hideous constipated expression on his face, as though he were trying to
pass a tribble, while 'shielding' his thoughts with miscellaneous garbage.

"It appears, due to some incorrect data I was given, combined with certain
inappropriate actions on Tsandzia's part, that I made an illogical conclusion.
I publicly apologize to Lt. Khemsa for my hasty accusations of treason and
murder." She strokes her lip slightly, giving the tiniest twitch of the
eyebrow. "I have been... informed... that such accusations are ill-advised
without more hard evidence with which to support them."

"Everybody get that?" Bellasario chimes in. "All just a misunderstanding. In
the interests of crew-harmony, I'd appreciate it if this little incident were
forgotten here and now. Clear?"

"Aye sir!" the security staff chimes in.

"Good. Then as you were." Bellasario heads down the corridor toward a
turbolift, leading T'lar by the forearm.

Duran, meanwhile, heads in the opposite direction, pausing in front of Sha for
just a moment.

"Took her word, huh? Well, she was wrong."

When T'lar and Bellasario finally make it into the turbolift: "Destination, up,
one-half deck." He leans against the wall for a moment, taking in the luxury of
silence. "Nice performance."

"I wish I could say the same for you, sir. Did you have to rub it into the crew
*quite* so much?" T'lar shakes her head in disbelief that the crew is actually
going to *buy* that pitiful acting job they've just been force-fed.

Gunner smiles, then shrugs. "Destination: Transporter Room #1." He casts her a
steady glance, "I'm glad you're feeling back to normal. That was a dirty shot,
he took. I'm sorry I wasn't quick enough to stop it from happening."

"Are you going to answer my question?"

He slumps his shoulders, "Look, I don't know how many people will buy what we
said back there. Some will. Some won't. Some will figure it's none of their
business. Bottom-line, I have to go consult the regs to find out what I'm
supposed to do about this joker, and in the meantime, he's loose on the ship
with the authority in security matters second only to my own and the
Captain's."

"Are you going to tell Captain LeBonk?"

"I don't know. Obviously, Ash already has some idea what's going on. I'll have
to check with him before I can do anything. Why the hell didn't Tsandzia
consult with him before disobeying his orders?"

"Tsandzia makes her own decisions, just as any officer should."

The turbolift doors open on a transporter room, and Gunner steps halfway out,
so as to hold the lift where it is. "Someday, we can all sit around and argue
about the relative merits of authority vs. autonomy, but right now, I've got
alot to attend to. If you don't mind, I'd like you to lay low for the next hour
or so. If Tsandzia should see you with that bandage... let's just say I'd
rather not be on board if and when that should come to pass."

He looks toward the transporter pads, as though to coach her in that direction.

T'lar sighs. "I'll tell her I cut myself shaving. It makes as much sense as the
other lies we've been fielding to save the SFIC's precious agent. And if you
don't mind, I'd rather talk to Sarin before I leave."

"I'll talk to Sarin."

"We'll both talk to Sarin," she rubs her lib, wondering if he can refuse a hurt
female.

"Okay. C'mon."


Stardate 6003.27 at 1100 hours: USS Graz, Bridge
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Captain Drake leans back in his control chair, consulting the unusual scanner
readings on the forward viewer.

"Hmm... what time did you guys pick this up?"

"About zero-one-hundred," Vince tells him. "It was just after we finished
boarding that freighter last night."

Drake nods, stroking his dark beard. "And you asked for the Commodore's help on
this?" It sounds more like a whine than a question.

"With all due respect, sir, this ship won't do. It's not equipped to
investigate or confront something like this. We need help from the big boys."

Drake chuckles. "Christ, Vince. You telling me you don't know what this is?"

"If I knew what it was, sir, I'd have told you by now."

"It's a ghost."

"A ghost, sir?"

"Not a real ghost. It's a scanner ghost. A false image. You see 'em all the
time."

"Sir, this is too detailed to be a false reading." Vince suddenly feels his
feet go cold, his body's general reaction when his brain is feeling abnormally
stupid.

Drake leans back and crosses his legs, "Look, Vince. It's like this. You've got
two active subspace scanning fields. Ours and the freighter's. Right?"

"Right."

"Occasionally, they're gonna interact, right? They rub together somewhere. And
lo and behold, you've got yourself a ghost. I admit, this one is a bit on the
lush side, but they do shell out that way sometimes."

"But..."

"Look, we'll be docking at Albuquerque in about half an hour. Tell Ash that it
was just a glitch in the system. Don't tell him you wet your pants over a
scanner-ghost or we'll be the laughing-stock of the station."

"Sir, I must insist. In all my thirty-one years aboard a ship I have never seen
anything quite like this. The readings are all wrong for a 'ghost'."

Drake shrugs, "Oh, come off it soldier. Scanners are nearly as finicky as
transporters. You know how they tell you one thing and mean another."

"Perhaps, but even if it were a ghost, we should report it. It would indicate
a serious fault to our scanners."

"Oh, that's a load of bunk. I'm not going to go crying to Ash every time we
have a little glitch."

"Por dios! What have we got to lose?! We are assigned to inspection duty in
this run-down ship. Now if I'm right, if this reading isn't a ghost, we could
all be looking at a promotion or a transfer. Sir, if you don't let me pursue
this through official channels, let me at least investigate on my own."

Drake leans back in his chair some more, looking over the scanner output with a
more respectful gleam in his eyes. Finally, he nods. "Do whatever you feel
like, Vince. I'm not your mother."


Stardate 6003.27 at 1100 hours: USS Excalibur, Sarin's Pad
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Tsandzia turns the corridor to the Ambassadorial Lounge, she sees Lt. St.
James and Crewman Parker, munching a pair of sludge-burgers from the food-
terms. "Hi there, the Ambassador in? I think he's done with T'lar, at least for
the time being."

"Obviously. I saw her in the brig."

"What's this?" Parker swallows another bite.

"T'lar... she left while you were on guard, right?"

"Left?"

"Yeah, she was in there with Sarin." Kristin's brows furrow a bit, "Unless she
took off while Gunner was out here. Well, whatever the case, yeah, he's done
with her.

Tsandzia nods, "Well, Perhaps we could go in and see him? I believe Lt. Du...
er... Khemsa, T'lar, and Bellasario aren't far behind me. I just couldn't
handle Khemsa attempting to berate me any more. Anyways, shall we?"

Kris points toward the ringer. The yellow light next to it is on, indicating
that Sarin doesn't wish to be disturbed. "Looks like he's in the mood for some
vulcan privacy."

Tsandzia reaches over and hits the ringer a couple times anyway, hoping that
Sarin didn't switch it off. "Sorry, but I think this is slightly urgent. Well,
at least it will be, when the people on my heels get here."

"What's going on?" Parker interjects.

"It's a long story. I'm going to end up talking to Sarin sooner or later. I
think I'd really prefer it to be sooner. He didn't leave or something while we
were all messing around, did he? You were here the whole time Parker?"

"I got here before Kris left. Nobody has come or gone."

Kris makes a confused expression. "Wait a minute. T'lar must have left while
you were on duty. I saw her go in, and I didn't leave for more than a minute
before I left you here. I was just down the hall, talking to somebody on a
comm-port. There's absolutely no way T'lar could have walked by without me
noticing."

Parker shakes his head, "What, you telling me that I'm lying?"

"Well, no, I..."

"Good. You must have been so involved in your conversation that you didn't see
her walk out. Mystery solved." Parker leans against the wall and smiles,
"Besides, I know how you women get when you're into a conversation. Whole
starship could blow apart and you'd still be sittin' there gabbin'."

Tsandzia discreetly pinches Parker's butt, giving him a *little* juice, just to
let him know how much she cares for him.

"Ow!"

"It's okay, Parker, I'm not going to hold your views against you."

"Well well well," he says, rubbing the static charge off his rear end. "Had no
idea you were fond of my rump, Princess." He grins, ready to jump backward on a
moment's notice. Tsandzia just 'ahems', however, refusing to be baited.

Kris looks up, "Why was Khemsa after you? You didn't do anything massively
annoying to him, did you?"

"Yeah," Parker nods, "Kris here tells me he locked you up in the brig or
something."

"Like I said before, it's a long story. Right now I just want to talk to the
Ambassador. You're absolutely sure he's inside?"

Parker looks up, "Computer, query. Where is Ambassador Sarin?"

"........Ambassador Sarin is inside the Ambassadorial Suite."

Parker nods, apparently satisfied. "If you really have to get inside," he
withdraws a small plastic card from his pocket, "this is the second key." It's
blank white with a few innocuous numbers along the side. Looks like it could be
for just about anything other than opening up Sarin's door.

"Gunner give that to you?"

"Yeah. He doesn't need it. Voice command over-ride is a wonderful thing, or so
I hear."

Tsandzia shakes her head, mulling over everything that's been going on. Duran
really is a Star Fleet Intelligence Agent? Then she tilts her head to one side
and suddenly sets off toward the turbolifts, waving a quick goodbye to St.
James.

"Ya see that?" Parker smirks.

"What?"

"She waved to you, but not to me." He says it like he's talking about some
snail he crushed on his way to the jacuzzi, a certain wry humor in his voice
coupled with the surly tone of disgust.

Kris nods, "I'm sure you're mortally wounded."

"I'll survive. But I might require psycho-therapy. I'm very sensitive, you
know."

Several minutes later, T'lar and Bellasario round the corner.

"Well well," Parker leans back, "Why do I suddenly feel like I'm in grand
central station?"

"Is Sarin in?" Bellasario queries.

"Yeah, but he's not taking housecalls."

T'lar shakes her head, "This isn't a simple social call. We really need to get
in to see Sarin. Now."

"Anything you say," Parker steps aside, handing her the door card.

Bellasario smiles, "You're one hell of a guard, you know that, Tom?"

"As long as you don't put me between two vulcans." He looks at T'lar, "No
offense. What happened to your lip?"

"I cut myself shaving." T'lar fiddles with card and door. "If you don't mind, I
will enter first. He may be meditating. You need to know the right way to wake
him without having your scapula fractured."

Parker looks over at Bellasario who nods in acquiescence. After the door closes
behind her: "You just missed Tsandzia by a minute."

"I'm not surprised," Gunner glances toward Kris, jaw stiffening a bit. "She
been minding her manners?"

"Her? She's just the efficient type." Parker grins, as though it's an inside
joke.

Once inside Sarin's quarter, T'lar lets the door shut quietly behind her,
thanking her lucky stars that Bellasario didn't insist on coming inside. He's
been ever so supple since she was struck by his assistant. Human male behavior,
she decides, is most perplexing. Sarin remains seated on the floor of the
chamber, 'resting' in the lotus position. 'Real or just a close facsimile?' she
silently wonders.

T'lar steps to the wall and accesses a comm-port, opening a line to the
holodeck. "Commodore Ash? Are you in there?"

There's no response, however. She curses under her breath as she takes out her
communicator and opens the flap. "T'lar to Commodore Ash. Please respond.
Urgent."

Obviously, however, he either isn't carrying a communicator or doesn't care to
respond to one. "This just isn't my day," T'lar figures, the words coming out a
bit slurred due to the bandage on her lip. She mutters to herself, then exits
the room and announces, "Sarin is deep in meditation at this time and does not
appear willing to be disturbed. I'm certain he can sense my presence, but he's
been refusing to acknowledge me."

"Not the most ideal moment for a nap," Bellasario observes.

"I said he's meditating. The two are different."

"Of course they are. I'll be in my quarters 'meditating' if anybody wants me."
He walks away, rubbing his temples. "Oh, and Tom. Don't let anybody else in to
see the Ambassador. Not even Lt. Khemsa. At least, not without T'lar present."
He nods to her one last time before making his way down the corridor.

Meanwhile, T'lar feels the door card deftly snatched from her hand. Parker
smiles, sticking it in his pocket.


Stardate 6003.27 at 1105 hours: USS Excalibur, Bridge
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The turbolift doors open and Duran enters the bridge. As usual, the place is a
casket of strange buzzes, beeps, and flickering lights. He proceeds to the
Captain's chair, the seat of authority. "Captain, requesting permission to
speak with you in private."

LeBonk gives him an odd look, "In my ready room."

Duran interjects quickly, "I would like to request the Commander's presence as
well, Sir."

This time, LeBonk looks more curious than puzzled, "Commander, would you join
us?"

In the ready room, Duran waits, a lump in his throat, as LeBonk and Elineva
each take a seat.

"This is a long story, and I'm taking some big risks in telling it to you, but
I think it is my best and possibly only option." Duran takes a deep breath, "My
name is Lt. Commander Andron Tarkine Duran, and I am a member of Star Fleet
Intelligence."

He pauses, as Nien's jaw drops slightly.

"I am functioning under the cover identity of the 2nd Lt. Khemsa that you have
known me by. I know this is a bit of a surprise and I apologize for the
charade, but it is the way SFIC operates."

LeBonk leans forward, "I assume you have a reason for telling us this."

"Yes," Duran nods, "due to circumstances beyond my control, my cover was
damaged. I have attempted to repair it as best I could, but it is shaky now.
Apparently, my contact, the Andorian girl who was killed on the station, had
left evidence in her quarters detailing my involvement with the SFIC. The
Commodore placed Lt. Morchainte on me, to watch me and render assistance.
However... in her own unique way, she has managed to severely compromise my
cover identity."

LeBonk shifts slightly in her seat, rotating a computer terminal in her general
direction. "Computer, show me the service record of Lt. Morchainte."

She looks it over for a long moment, "I'm familiar with the Lieutenant only
from the logs and de-briefings concerning the Phobos-incident. I received
notification just this morning that she's to be promoted to full Lieutenant.
You're telling me that *she* blew your cover?" LeBonk rotates the screen toward
Duran, showing him a mug-shot of the blue-skinned Calainian.

"That's correct, Captain."

"Then my next question, obviously, is 'Why?'"

Duran takes a deep breath, "It's a long story. I don't want you to get the
impression that I'm babbling, but in order to answer your question, I have to
start at the beginning."

LeBonk nods, "The beginning is usually a good place to start."

"Okay. Apparently, the Andorian girl who was killed by the Gothmogs was an SFIC
hopeful. She was given what should have been a simple courier mission, bringing
me a datachip with my instructions. Unfortunately, she was killed, and HER
datachip was not destroyed as per her instructions. Port Authority found the
chip and thereby deduced my true identity. However, why I don't know, they
decided to share their information with Lt. Morchainte. She, from what I've
been able to piece together, attempted to let me know that she knew who I was.
When it didn't 'fess up' however, she panicked."

"She panicked?" Nien interrupts.

"That about sums it up. She assumed that I was some sort of foreign agent or
something. I don't know, precisely. The coherency of her explanation was
somewhat less than adequate. Well, instead of letting her run off with these
ideas, I had her beamed to the brig where I intended straighten things out in
private."

"You had her beamed to the brig?"

Duran nods slowly, "It was a split decision, and probably an incorrect one. I
guess... maybe I was panicking also. Sadly, she attempted to escape and,
concurrently, Bellasario was notified and several of the security staff were
summoned for support. The confusion continued to intensify as more and more
people got involved. Finally, I was able to subdue Tsandzia by beaming her to a
hallway near the brig where I stunned her."

"You stunned her?"

He nods again, "Like I said, it's a long story. You want to hear the rest?"

Nien and the Captain exchange glances. "Go ahead," LeBonk finally manages.

"Well, Lt. T'lar's fervid imagination coupled with Tsandzia's began concocting
stories about assassins and assassination attempts."

"Assassins?" Nien almost jumps out of seat.

He nods, "Let me back-track a little. Apparently Ambassador Sarin told her that
he was... afraid of the SFIC."

"Why would he be afraid of Star Fleet Intelligence?" LeBonk sounds more
concerned than confused.

"I don't know. But apparently, prior to confronting me, Tsandzia told T'lar
everything Albuquerque security had told her... in confidence."

The Captain shakes her head, switching off the screen where Tsandzia's mug-shot
resides. "You're telling me that she not only panicked, but that she
transferred confidential information..."

"To a non-confidential source, a personal acquaintance."

Nien leans back, "I can't believe for one second that she would do that without
a *very* good reason."

"I'm only reporting the facts as I know them. I've long given up trying to make
sense out of anything she does."

"This is starting to get interesting," Jenifer leans back, "Please continue."

"Well, T'Lar, knowing that I work for SFIC, and knowing Sarin's disposition
toward the agency, chose to publicly accuse me of being an assassin. Quite a
leap of logic, but, of course, it was made all the more permissible by
Tsandzia's ranting and raving. When we all finally met in sickbay, we had quite
a discussion, and I attempted to clear the air and straighten her out, even at
the expense of admitting my true identity."

"So everything is straightened-out now," LeBonk decides.

"Not exactly. I'm not sure that T'lar believed me. She certainly didn't like
the idea of her publicly apologizing for her error. Whatever her own beliefs,
she was satisfied that my cover was as good as dead."

"Well it is, isn't it?"

"I think it's still salvageable. As long as the security people believe her
apology, there will only be a handful of people who know the truth. You two,
Tsandzia, T'lar, and Lt. Bellasario. And Commodore Ash, of course."

Jenifer LeBonk stares out the window for a long moment, starlight settling
gently across her face.

"That still leaves a few questions unanswered. Why is Sarin afraid of the
SFIC?"

"I think perhaps T'lar was over-stating his views. Many people regard
intelligence agencies with less than ideal attitudes. Nonetheless, they are
essential."

"Perhaps not essential," Nien shifts backward, a bit uncomfortable in her tone
of voice.

"If not essential, then, at least, handy... from time to time. Regardless,
every state in recorded history has had one in one form or another. To operate
without one is to operate blind, deaf, and dumb."

"I would have to concur," LeBonk nods, "but that still doesn't satisfy me. I'll
have to take Sarin up on the question. Tell me something. Is it possible that
Sarin is justifiably afraid of the SFIC?"

"Not unless he committed a very high offense against the Federation, such as
treason or compromising classified materials or the like."

"Yes, but in that situation, he would simply be arrested and tried. Why would
our own government want to *assassinate* him."

Duran chuckles, "Precisely the question everybody has been avoiding. The fact
is, they wouldn't. There is no reason. So, obviously, T'lar is mistaken. It's a
textbook example of everything going wrong." He shakes his head. "I'm sure that
if Sarin were 'wanted' for any reason, I'd know about it."

"Yes, I'm sure you would." Jenifer's face remains expressionless. "Tell me
something, since you've been so candid. What precisely are you doing here?"

"Well, Sir, normally I'm not a liberty to say but in this case, it can't hurt.
I'm hiding."

"Hiding? From what?"

"From whom, actually. Only, perhaps 'hiding' is not the right word. I'm not on
a mission, per se. By putting me on the Excalibur, a brand new ship not yet
undertaking any dangerous missions, I can be near the front but not in a
particularly critical position. When and if something comes up, I can be
utilized. I said 'hiding' because we have found that if agents are just sent
off on vacation, they occasionally... don't come back, if you know what I mean.
So now we give them a low profile cover of some kind that they can use to
*relax* until their next assignment."

Jenifer nods, "Good an excuse as any. But if that's the case, then why is it so
important to you that you maintain this particular cover? Certainly you could
drop into hiding on Albuquerque until SFIC can come up with something new." She
pauses for a moment, eyes narrowing. "Now try telling me the truth. You were
sent to watch over the ship and make sure nothing bizarre should happen during
the maiden voyage. Or better yet, you were sent to watch over Cmdr. tr'Remas.
Come on. You might as well be honest. I can't imagine anyone treating the
Excalibur with so little respect that it is used as a vacation spot for
burnt-out intelligence operatives."

Duran smiles at the humor of her statement, "Excellent points, Captain, but
covers are difficult and time-consuming to construct. Salvaging the cover you
have, whenever possible, is always the preferred option for SFIC operatives."

"Whenever possible... but you've already been attacked once. Hence, I think
that it is somewhat safe to assume your cover has already been blown clear out
of the water. Tsandzia may have exposed you locally, but there are probably
others who knew about you beforehand."

"Not likely. You see, they were trailing the girl. That's how they discovered
me in the first place, and now they're both dead. I think that my cover has a
fair chance to survive. Of course, I'll be informing SFIC about everything
that's happened, and if they decide to move me, that's their option, but until
they make that decision..."

"I see. And you don't think that's an inordinate amount of risk for you to
undertake for a... for a vacation?"

He nods, "That all depends. You see, the Excalibur moves around and is,
generally, only filled with crew and a limited number of passengers.
Albuquerque, on the other hand, is stationary, its position known to the 'other
side'. It is, no doubt, crawling with counter-operatives, which is the other
problem: it grants ready access to individuals of uncertain background. One
merely has to recall the 'Gothmog incident' which you've just pointed-out."

"Points well taken." Lebonk folds her hands over her lap. "But, considering
everything that has happened, I find it hard to believe that SFIC had no more
than a vacation in mind when they assigned you to my ship."

"If you don't believe me, maybe you should ask them yourself."

"You can't be honest? Afraid I'll leak your secrets to the Klingons?"

Duran takes a deep sigh, "Okay. I am, as I said, not on a mission, per se.
However, yes... I see no harm in admitting that I was instructed to watch over
this ship.  It represents Star Fleet's best technology all in one place. A
computer dump would be of incredible value to a wide variety of interstellar
governments. It was not a mission in the usual sense, more like, 'Since you're
going to be there anyway, keep an eye on things.'"

Jenifer nods, "A discrete answer. I'll confess that I'm still not sure that I
believe you. And it bothers me more than a bit that an SFIC operative was put
aboard my boat without my knowledge. Nonetheless," she leans back, "I do
respect your need for discretion."

"As with all matters of intelligence, discretion is absolutely required. I'm
taking a huge risk coming to you two, but I feel I can trust you to put the
interests of the Federation first."

"Of course. That goes without saying. You can also trust me to check your story
through Commodore Ash... just to make certain that it fits with the facts. And,
of course, I'll be consulting with Ambassador Sarin at his earliest possible
convenience."

Duran nods, "I would expect no less, Captain. However, assuming that he does
have something to hide, and having been trained in such matters, I can tell you
for a fact that the direct approach will likely fail. Something you might want
to consider before you go blurting out everything you've learned here."

"What would you suggest?"

"Offer to transport him where he needs to go. During the trip, we could conduct
a *discrete* investigation to see if there is any basis to his so-called
fears."

"You think there might be?"

Duran pauses, "Highly unlikely. He's been a Federation representative longer
than I've been alive. I simply can't believe that he would commit any crimes of
any significance whatsoever. However, as we say in SFIC, let no stone go
unturned."

"So you're pretty sure that T'lar is... mistaken."

"Oh, more than mistaken, I think she's unnerved. Her and Tsandzia both. Maybe
the stress of the Phobos incident was just too much for them. I would recommend
them for psychological evaluations were it my place to do so, but," he smiles,
"as you now know, I'm just a lowly spy. One thing I will request, however. Just
to minimize the risk, we should leave port as soon as possible. Preferably
today. Of course, you can feel free to ignore my request, but after what
happened on the station," he pauses for effect, "I just don't feel that this
port is entirely safe. I mean, it might be for me, but I doubt that it's a good
place to be parking the Excalibur." He smiles. "If you have any more
questions..."

"No, I'm satisfied for the moment, but don't leave the ship. I may want to see
you again."

"Don't worry. I'm not planning on going anywhere."

As they re-enter the bridge, drawing numerous looks of curiosity from the
various crewmembers outside, Duran pulls Nien aside, his brows knit in worry.
"Commander," he voices softly, "a word with you... please?"

"It's something you can't tell the Captain?"

"It doesn't concern her." Duran turns around to see Ensign Ericson, raising and
eyebrow in T'lar-like fashion. The young man turns back to his duty station
when he realizes he's been caught peeping, however.

As Nien walks back into the conference room, Duran lets the door slide quietly
shut behind him before clearing his throat.

"Commander, this morning we had an nice run and an... intriguing exchange."

"I don't need my memory refreshed, Sethon... or... what is it now? Tarkine?
That'll take some getting used to. I assume you're borrowing his face, too?"

"Yes. The plastic surgeons did a pretty good job this time. It surprised me
that even Eris was fooled."

"Well, she hasn't seen her brother in how many years? When are you going to
tell her?"

He shakes his head, "I don't know. When the time comes, I suppose."

"You want me to tell her?"

"No... No, it's my job." He turns to face the black of space, a taut expression
befalling his features. "Y'know, sometimes I wonder why I ever got involved in
this line of work. You have to sacrifice a lot. I mean, not just your face and
your name, but things that are more important. I... I was forced to deceive you
about my true identity for obvious reasons... but, I assure you... all other
interactions have been genuine." He turns to leave. "I just thought you should
know."

"No, wait... Seth," she stops herself when she realizes her error. But, if
nothing else, the name at least prompts him to turn around, rudiments of a
twinkle somewhere in his eyes.

"It's Tark. You think you can remember?"

She gulps, "Yeah. I'll remember. Tark."

Duran waits a bit, hoping she has something more to say. "Well, now that you
know my secret, will you still be interested in a run tomorrow morning? Or,
perhaps, dinner tonight?"

Nien makes a faint laugh, "No, I..." but his look of despair brings her up
short. "I'm already booked. There's this poker game, tonight. Some guy named
Khemsa is hosting it."

He grins, "Poker's at 2000. dinner at, say, 1800? You get off duty then, don't
you?"

She bites her lip, then nods. "As long as you promise to get me to the poker
game on time. I don't want to make Khemsa jealous."

"My lady, your wish is my command!" He bows with a mock flourish and a great
sense of relief. "Until 1800 hours."


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

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 This Star Trek PBeM is archived on ftp.cs.pdx.edu in pub/frp/stories/startrek
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