ftp.ee.pdx.edu/2014.02.ftp.ee.pdx.edu.tar/ftp.ee.pdx.edu/pub/frp/Archives/744

Internet Message Format | 1994-11-12 | 38KB

Path: usenet.ee.pdx.edu!cs.uoregon.edu!reuter.cse.ogi.edu!uwm.edu!cs.utexas.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!pipex!uunet!not-for-mail
From: [e-mail] (james vassilakos)
Newsgroups: rec.games.frp.archives
Subject: STORY: ST-PBeM Turn #19 - True Love
Followup-To: rec.games.frp.misc
Date: 11 Nov 1994 16:41:26 -0500
Organization: UUNET Technologies Inc, Falls Church, VA, USA
Lines: 876
Sender: [e-mail]
Approved: [e-mail]
Message-ID: <3a0oe6$[e-mail]>
NNTP-Posting-Host: rodan.uu.net


*******************************************************************************
                           Star Trek: Play by E-Mail
                              The Forbidden Years
                               Campaign Write-up
===============================================================================
                                 Adventure #2
                              A Matter of Policy
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                   Turn #19
                                   True Love
===============================================================================
              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 1115 hours: USS Excalibur, Turbolift
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

While en route to engineering, Tsandzia suddenly realizes that something
incredibly important is missing in her life. Money? Sex?? On the contrary.
Nothing short of true love.

"Ohmigosh! Change Destination! Take me to the Brig!!"

When the turbolift doors slide open, a number of techs turn around. They have
the big door completely off its hinges and are carefully replacing the locking
circuits which she'd recently incinerated.

"Back already?" One of them drily surmises.

"Where is he?! Where is he??!" She runs into the brig, but instead of seeing
her beloved Blobby, she finds only empty cells. "Where'd he go?" she whines, on
the edge of tears.

"Where's who go, lady?"

"My *Blobby*!" She makes a rude face.

"Aw... Hank. I think she's talking about that green goop we scraped off the
walls. O'Neil said he wanted it for analysis."

Hank holds his nose, "Good thing I flunked out of biology."

Tsandzia makes a bee-line for sickbay. Once there, however, she finds O'Neil
hovering in front of not one but *seven* glass trays. Each of them holds a
slightly miniaturized version of Blobby.

"Hello, Lieutenant. Seems as though your little friend has... made babies."

Tsandzia jumps up and down with glee. "Wow! That's so great! Everybody can have
a blobby now!" She picks one up and offers it to a passing nurse, "You want
one? They're sooo cute!"

O'Neil rolls his eyes, "We have yet to determine if there's any hazard. In many
species, the young often exhibit characteristics far removed from the old and
decrepit."

"How dare you call Blobby decrepit. He's young now. See?" She holds the green
gelatinous material in front of Dr. O'Neil's nose, helping it wiggle back and
forth by the motion of her hand. "Of course, we'd better not put them near
large power sources, and I don't suppose it would be wise to feed them after
midnight."

O'Neil sighs. So far, at least, his scans have shown the li'l blobs to be in
every way identical to the long-lost mama, only smaller. He waves Tsandzia
away, "Okay, but if it does anything unusual... let me know immediately. And
keep it away from large power sources."

Tsandzia nods, "No problemo. The last thing I want is a bunch of blobbies
making a hatchery out of our warp drives. I mean, they could end up cluttering
every nook and cranny of the ship, and you know what a nuisance that would be.
We wouldn't have any uncluttered nooks and crannies. And worse yet, it would be
tacky."

"Right," O'Neil placates, fearing for his sanity.

"So whatever you do with 'em Doc, just don't let 'em near the engineering
section." With that said, Tsandzia places the miniaturized Blobby on her
shoulder and begins heading for the engineering section.


Stardate 6003.27 at 1120 hours: USS Graz, Transporter Room
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Johnson finally slinks in, five minutes late and looking fairly sleepless.

"So how'd it go?"

"Drake agreed to let us investigate so long as it's unofficial. He's afraid of
losing face chasing ghosts."

Johnson smirks, "Ain't no ghost. No way. No how."

Vince nods, "Right Johnson. Now let's get one thing straight before we proceed
any further. I order you to speak properly, without remarks or anything else
inappropriate or unbecoming of a Star Fleet officer. If you as much as think of
disobeying that order, I'll have you court-marshalled for insubordination. Got
it?"

"Drink my jizz."

"I mean it, Johnson. I'm giving you a direct order. I know I've been lax with
you so far, but I don't want you embarrassing me on the station."

Johnson stares back for a moment, a smirk slowly donning itself across his
face. "Petty Officer, 1st Class, Axel Johnson Jr. reporting for duty, sir!"

Vince takes a moment to wipe the look of surprise off his face. He's never seen
Johnson introduce himself before, much less stand at attention. "Much better. I
actually believe this could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship."

"Sir, yes Sir!"

"Ahem. I'm glad you agree. Now, since this investigation is strictly
unofficial, I don't want you telling anyone about it. This could get us
promoted if we find anything, but if we're wrong..." he gives Johnson a
meaningful look. "Now this is how we're going to proceed. Since none of the
official reports mentioned this type of phenomenon, we're going to go to the
station and talk with other sensor operators on a person-to-person basis. Find
out if this sort of thing has happened before. When. How often. Under what
circumstances. If we're going to get to the bottom of this we need to identify
similar events in the past and start looking for common factors. If we're
particularly lucky, there might be some instances of this type of activity in
the station's permanent sensor logs, but we're not going to find it by
searching frame-by-frame. We have to make contacts on the station itself, and
we have to do it without attracting attention. Any questions?"

"Negative, sir. No questions."

Vince makes a puzzled expression, then finally sighs. "Johnson, I think I liked
you better the way you were before. At ease."

"At ease, sir?"

"Speak however you like. Just don't embarrass me in public. Got it?"

Johnson slumps his shoulders, "Bout time you got off that fool bullshit."

Vince sighs, "Yeah well, I guess it's better to be walking around with Mr.
White-Men-Can't-Jump than Mr. Sphincter-So-Tight-Must-Be-Depuckered-With-
Crowbar. Not that there isn't a happy median, mind you. C'mon, let's get out of
here." Vince steps over to the transporter and sets their coordinates. "You
packed your toothbrush, right?"


Stardate 6003.27 at 1130 hours: USS Excalibur, Outside Sarin's Pad
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just as T'lar decides she's ready to go see what became of Agent Duran and let
him know that Sarin is 'not available to be assassinated at this time', who
else but the devil's own messenger comes waltzing around the corner? His manner
is light, his step is lively. And lo and behold, he can't stop smiling. For the
moment, all his troubles are pleasantly forgotten, his mind floating somewhere
between the moon and New York City, consumed by thoughts of this evening's
dinner engagement. Never, ever, was there a happier spy. Until he sees her,
that is. "T'lar!" He gulps, wondering whether Vulcans hold grudges. "Er... and
Parker... and Lt. St. James, I believe. How is everybody?"

There's an awkward silence as Parker looks around, wondering how the biggest
grin he'd ever witnessed on Duran's face suddenly got wiped off without anybody
saying a word. Kris finally chimes in, realizing that nobody else is going to.
"I'm fine. Bored but fine."

"We're both bored," Parker finally manages. "In fact, you just saved our lives.
We were dying of boredom before you showed up."

"I'm glad I could be of assistance." Duran glances at the 'do not disturb'
indicator on the door panel. "So, Sarin is unavailable?"

"Something like that."

"A shame. I was hoping to," Duran's eyes fix upon T'lar, "...confer with him
concerning recent events. No matter. I have other errands to attend to." Duran
turns to leave, then looks over his shoulder. "T'lar, a brief word, if you
will."

"Is 'bye' a suitably brief word, or would you prefer one even shorter?"

Duran gawks at her for a moment, "You are an odd person, especially for a
Vulcan."

T'lar makes a strangled noise. "I'm coming." She follows him slightly off to
the side, this time wary of an unexpected fist. When they are a suitable
distance from the door, Duran clears his throat, apparently searching for some
way to begin a long and difficult speech.

"As you have probably heard, we Andorians are well known for our tempers. As
you also know, I've had a trying morning. Be that as it may, and putting our
mutual feelings aside, I feel that I must apologize for striking you. It was...
inappropriate for the situation." He turns to leave, apparently expecting no
response.

"Would you feel better if I struck you in return? There's a certain nerve in
the upper lip I could strike that would render it relatively painless." Her
face is a perfectly deadpan mask, though Duran doesn't turn around to see it.
Instead, he continues heading down the corridor, either incognizant of the
suggestion or quite determined not to respond to it.

T'lar sighs. 'And people wonder why Vulcans never make jokes.' She trudges
studiously back toward the door.

"I've got a bad feeling about those two," Parker mutters.

"They're not exactly getting on famously," Kris agrees.

"Were they fighting at the brig?"

"I left before anything significant happened. I was rather annoyed, having the
great paper-Lieutenant call me down there just so I could watch people argue.
I'd hate to see what happens around here when *real* trouble hits."

At this moment, however, T'lar returns looking somewhat disheveled.

"What's this about *real* trouble?"

"Oh, Kris here was just making fun of Theo, er... Gunner."

"His first name is Theo?" Kris smiles.

"Don't tell him I told you. He doesn't like it."

"Theo." She rolls it off her tongue a few times, just to practice the most
annoying way of saying it.

Parker chuckles, "I don't know why you two are already at each other's throats.
People should get to know each other before they fall in hate."

"Hmmm. Well, perhaps you can help me." Kris says. "How did he get the rank of
Lieutenant and his position aboard this ship as chief of security? I've heard
enough about him to know that his father was a big brass-type person in the
fleet. I assumed that Gunner had ridden on his daddy's coat tails."

Parker leans with his hand against the wall, as though uncertain where to
begin. Then his eyes roll and he begins laughing as his head wags itself back
and forth.

"That's a good one, Kris." Then he stops short. "Wait a minute. You serious?"

"Yes."

"Uh huh... then no wonder he was so mad. No... you don't understand that Theo
and his Dad... they were not the best of pals. I first met him back before
either of us were in Star Fleet. He was some kinda hot-shot like you wouldn't
wanna believe. I ain't gonna stand here and pretend that the name "Bellasario"
didn't help him somewhere or other, but you can't base a career on a name.
Nobody can. You want his life story, go ask him yourself. That is... if you're
not afraid."


Stardate 6003.27 at 1140 hours: Albuquerque Station, Bridge
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Albuquerque Traffic Control to IFM Calamansi, you are cleared for docking on
Zeta Moors, section 7. Please Acknowledge."

Clarissa nods to Vince and Axel as they make their way onto the Space Station's
Main Bridge. With windows situated on all sides, they can suddenly see vast
numbers of starships hanging off the station like a swarm of mosquitos buzzing
around a light-bulb, all of them frozen in super-slow motion. The comm-Ensign
listens to her headset for a moment, then hits a few buttons, the epitome of
efficiency, all shrouded by curly black hair hanging like torn drapes around
her ears.

"There's my baby," Axel comments, under his breath.

"Dream on, space cadet."

They approach quietly, trying not to look too conspicuous. If Captain Witika,
the tall Joridian, sees them enter, he makes no outward note of it, his stern
jaw and sturdy frame helping him look as prestigious as ever. Ash, however, is
nowhere to be seen.

"Hey Clare," Axel ventures a hello. "You lookin' fi..."

"Busy," Vince interrupts. "Very busy. Can you spare a moment?"

She smiles, "How long a moment did you have in mind?"

"Long enough to help us find last night's sensor logs... and do me the honor of
accompanying me for a drink while Crewman Johnson looks through them."

"Say what?" Axel blinks in disbelief.

Vince shoots him a stern look, then smiles and drags him off to a corner. "Be
right back, Clare. Just a little personnel problem to straighten out."

"You the one who needs straightening out, homey."

"Just shut-up and listen. We can save time and effort by splitting up the
chores. One person interrogates," Vince points toward himself, "and the other
analyzes the sensor logs. It's that simple."

"Chilly deal. But I'll do the interrogation. I know how you stress out when it
comes to... ah... personal relations."

"Not even. It's my specialty. Besides, I'm giving the orders here. And don't
forget it."

Axel shakes his head and mutters something unintelligible.

"The advantages of rank." Vince smiles, "Look, if it bothers you that much, we
can trade places later."

"Yeah, when it's time to interrogate some homey, bow-legged, cow-eyed..."

"Exactly. Now do yourself a favor and just act natural."

When they return, Clare has the sensor data ready to roll. Luckily, there are
two other people on duty to handle the traffic load during her break. "You sure
you don't want to come along, AJ?"

"No," Vince answers for him, donning a wicked smile. "He'll be _very_ busy.
Won't you... AJ?"

"Busier than you."

A minute later, Vince finds himself riding a turbolift down to Surreal Park,
Clare staring out the window watching the decks zip by like the blades of a
giant fan.

"Pretty?"

The spell is broken as she looks over. Then the lift comes to a halt, and the
doors open to shimmering pools and mid-morning crowds. They manage to find a
relatively quiet spot on one of the terraces overlooking the swimmers, grilled
cheese and tomato sandwiches in hand. A mildly odd combination, Vince figures,
but no stranger than the scenery, people (mostly kids) swimming in mid-air,
splashing jets of water at each other with small, hand-held, gravitic
deflectors.

"So," she says between sips of guava-cooler, "what's the big fuss over the
sensor logs?"

"Well... you must understand that what I'm about to tell you is off the record.
I may have to kill you afterwards." He laughs, but she just stares back like
she didn't get it. "That was a joke. Umm... okay. We have been getting some
strange readings back on the USS Graz. They were really confusing. The sensors
couldn't even agree on whether there was something there or not, then the next
instant whatever it was just vanished. It's not the first time we've had these
kinds of readings. Crewman Johnson managed to focus on the phenomenon and
capture some decent scans for the logs."

He pauses to study the expression on Clare's face. Her brown eyes and light
rosewood skin speak only of attentive curiosity.

He continues, "I think it could be some kind of smuggling operation that we
have stumbled across. They may have gotten hold of some old malfunctioning
cloaking devices, or made their own to get past inspection. Drake won't look
into it. He's afraid it'll turn out to be a 'ghost'. I need you to help me out
with this one. I need to find out who was working the night-shift, and where I
can find them now. They must have seen something." Suddenly realizing he has
gotten himself all worked up over this business, he takes a deep breath, sips
his guava-cooler, and calms down. "I'm sorry, I took you out for a quiet lunch,
and ended talking about work. You must forgive me. It was most thoughtless."

"No, that's alright." She leans back a bit. "I don't know if you'll find
anything in our sensor logs, though. Our sensors are better than those on the
Graz, but they're still far from top of the line. If you really want to get
your hands on some good logs, I'd suggest you ask the Excalibur."

"The Excalibur? I heard they were working on some wormhole phenomenon."

She nods, "They are. But the chief helmsman could probably get you access to
their logs even if he doesn't have time to help. His name is Oein tr'Remas. And
by the way... he's a Romulan."

Vince grimaces, "I know. I've heard the rumors." He leans back, "But it may be
worth contacting him... assuming I can even get on board." She begins to get up
from the table.

"Whoa, wait a sec. Let AJ work over those logs for awhile." He smiles.

"He's not going to find anything," Clare complains.

"True, but he needs the practice." He takes another sip of his guava-cooler.
"Now... let's talk about something else. How did a woman as beautiful as
yourself end up working on a station like this?"

She grins coyly and sits back down.


Stardate 6003.27 at 1150 hours: USS Excalibur, Duran's Quarters
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Duran returns to his quarters, 'I need to relax a bit.' "Computer display the
holodeck schedule." Then he thinks better of it, "Belay that. Stealth login.
Lt. Cmdr. Andron Tarkine Duran."

"........Login complete, ID confirmed."

"Secure door."

"........Door secure."

"Access project Blackblade."

"........Access granted."

"Compile dossiers on Lieutenants T'lar and Morchainte."

"........Done."

"Computer, remote directive to account of Lt. Sethon Khemsa. Start a log of the
movements, communications, and transporter activity of each of the guests
aboard the Excalibur."

"........Log started."

After reviewing all this, quickly, "End stealth login. Now get me that Holodeck
schedule."

"........Holodeck schedule is unavailable."

Duran sees an automatic message scroll across his screen.

   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
   From: Lt. Anderson, Recreation Officer
   To: Prospective Holodeck User

   Due to circumstances beyond my control, the holodeck will be
   unavailable until departure from Albuquerque Station, at which
   time re-scheduling will begin on a first-come first-serve basis.
   My apologies for the inconvenience.
   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Oh, that's right. Ash is monopolizing it." Duran smiles, wondering vaguely
what the old man is up to. He's about to go over and find out when he suddenly
thinks better of it. Ash already knows he's with SFIC. It might be better to
steer clear for the time being, until Tsandzia has a chance to make her report.

He picks up his gym bag and begins making for the pool. Being close to lunch, a
good number of the crew are already on their breaks, and being docked to a Star
Fleet installation, the ship is about as far from alert-status as it can ever
hope to be. 'A good time to take it easy' seems to be the general mood. When
the turbolift finally deposits him in front of the recreation facility, he
makes his way inside, underneath the running strip which circles a good chunk
of the twin-decks. From the inside, he can look up and see the joggers through
the clear plexi-glass windows. Gravitic weight machines lay to the left, and
beyond that is a snack-bar full of nutritional edibles. Duran makes his way
around the complex to the men's locker room, sliding out of his uniform and
into his trunks, while stowing his 'rainbow dagger' in the locker itself. He
tries to be low-key about it, but the place is so crammed with crewmembers,
that it's hard to be subtle.

"Nice poker you got there."

Duran nods, "Thanks. Lot of people here today. It is always this crowded around
noon?"

"Every other day, yeah."

"Why every other day?"

The guy smiles, then closes his locker and heads toward the pool. Slightly
intrigued, Duran does likewise, wondering what the 'big attraction' is. Upon
entering the pool area, he sees the double-sized pool in front of him, the
starboard section with corded lanes, and to the left, a free-for-all complete
with diving ramp and adjacent jacuzzies and cold-dips. Windows encircle the
entire area, exposing the track, aerobics, and weight room as well as some
tables just off of the snack bar. Duran slowly settles himself into the water,
wondering what the big deal is. He's been here close to a dozen times, and this
time is more or less just like any other.

Then he sees her, and he feels his entire body freeze in place. It's Nien, and
she's wearing the sort of swimsuit which ought to be banned: stringy, elastic,
and thoroughly inviting. As she mounts the diving platform, most of the males
present simply float on their backs, admiring the spectacle while trying to
appear like their minds are wandering in Never-Neverland. Their minds *are*
wandering, alright!

Finally, she takes her plunge, and it's back to business as usual. 'Ohmigod!'
Duran thinks to himself. 'She's swimming this way! Straight for the big, blue
guy with the tent-pole in his shorts!' He stays submerged, hoping she won't
notice, but considering that she's swimming submerged, it's all he can do to
keep from turning around entirely to hide his 'little' problem.

"Nice dive," he complements, when she finally comes up for air. "Good
technique."

"Thanks. I've been practicing it for awhile now."

"Every other day?"

"Yeah, how'd you..."

"Oh, just a lucky guess." Duran turns to the side a bit, fully aware of the
amount of attention which is focused on him, mainly because of her. He smiles
some more, searching for something witty to say. "It seems I just keep bumping
into you everywhere I go today. Must be my lucky day!" He looks around some
more, "I was going to get in a few quick laps to... ah... relax."

"You swim here often?"

"Well, pretty often, but usually not for very long. The water is a bit too warm
for the Andorian taste. I usually take a nice cold shower afterward." He
blushes again, hoping she won't notice. Then her eyes narrow, and she nods
toward the near perimeter, as though to say 'follow me'. In another
moment, she's back under the water.

Duran follows, wondering what she has in mind. Getting out of the pool is a bit
of an ordeal as well, so much so that he aborts before pulling his waist over
the edge. She stands over him on the deck, her long legs glistening in the
white pool lights.

"Where you going?" he enquires.

"Hot tub."

"Oh, perfect."

"No, the cold dip is just next to it."

He looks. Sure enough, there's about two centimeters of tile separating the
two, perfect for people who like to jump from one to the other and back again.

"Oh, that's different. Let me just do two laps real quick and I'll meet you
there."

Duran feels the eyes of fellow crewmen slowly shed their interest after he
parts ways with Nien, and two laps of vigorous swimming manage to reduce the
size of the rudder in his shorts. When he finally drops himself in the cold
dip, not one meter from her but separated by a low, tiled wall, he suddenly
feels back at home.

"Now *this* is a pool."

She dips her fingers in it, pulling them back out without much in the way of
hesitation. The look in her glossy brown eyes is like that of a little girl
who's touched the ocean for the first time.

"You don't find it cold?" she asks.

"It's a bit on the cool side... but not uncomfortable."

Duran stretches out and leans his head back along the edge, slipping further
into the tub and letting the water suck the tension from his body. Even with
his eyes closed, his antennae keep track of activity around him, and especially
of the conversations. Rotating them slowly, he is able to pin-point one in
particular.

"...stunned Lt. Morchainte near the brig."

"No shit. I heard he hit T'lar in sickbay. She walkin' around with this big
bandage over her mouth."

"I tell ya, if he lays one finger on the Commander, I'm gonna rip out his
fucking throat."

There's a laugh, "Not a good idea. I heard two 'mogs already tried, and they're
dead 'mogs now."

Suddenly he feels a pat on his forehead. It's Nien, her face closer to his than
it's ever been.

"You're being very quiet."

"I guess all the excitement is finally taking its toll." Suddenly he sits
upright, wanting to be as far away from people as he can get. Away from people,
but not away from her.

"What is it?" She can't help but note the devilish gleam in his eye.

"I have an idea. I think you're gonna like it." He jumps up out of the tub then
takes her hand and helps her out. "Quick, run in and change. Meet me out front
in 10 minutes."

"Why? Where are..."

"Trust me. It'll be fun."

When they're finally outside: "Now, what's this all about."

Duran only smiles, however, taking her hand and leading her to a turbolift.
While they descend, Nien consigns herself to patience, realizing that some sort
of surprise is in store. Finally, the lift doors open, and she looks around.

"Aren't we near where we met this morning?"

He nods, leading her down a twisting maze of passages into a portion of the
ship near the warp pylons.

"We'll have to crouch down a bit to get through this access tunnel."

After about 30 meters, they emerge in a large, open space about 10 meters in
horizontal diameter and another 40 straight down.

"What the?" Nien feels her feet slide off the floor.

"A rather unique place, eh. Two inertial fields intersect in here. It
creates some sort of gravitic-static. Watch."

He takes a leap, allowing the variable gravity to twist him about in various
directions until he reaches the opposite wall.

"C'mon, Commander. It's fun."

"Isn't it dangerous?"

"Not really. All the static tends to cancel itself creating a null field.
Granted, it's unstable, but that's what makes it interesting. But there are a
couple stationary gravity points... like little suction or pressor fields." He
motions around the chamber, then takes another leap and goes into a partial
orbit around one of these invisible points.

"After you get the hang of it, it's just like dancing. You ever dance, Nien?"

"Only when there's music," she still looks a bit uncertain.

Duran grins then pushes toward her. As he approaches the edge, he falls faster,
the gravity approaching something normal, and she steps backward, giving him a
spot to land.

"Computer, access sounds library."

"........Working."

"Play..." his eyes light up, "Orlanthi's Midnight Rose, original release." The
song is a slow and strangely romantic duet with a mixture of Andorian and
Tellarite lyrics, sort of a mixed bag of lyrical chunks, arranged in such as
way as to impress the listener with the unexpected harmony of sound and style.

"My mother's favorite song," he explains with a sheepish grin. "She claims my
father used to sing it to her, though, of course, he adamantly denies it."

Nien laughs, "What's it about?"

Duran smiles, "You know the tale of Romeo and Juliet?"

"Two lovers from different sides of the street? Tark, I had no idea you were
so... romantic." There is only the vaguest hint of sarcasm in her tone.

He blushes, "Don't let it get around. Anyway, I accidentally stumbled upon this
place when mapping out running trails. I've been coming here from time to time
ever since. It's kind of my secret spot. No one ever comes here except for the
engineering staff and then only once in a while." Duran looks at her
expectantly for a moment, then holds out his hand. "Well, Nien. How about that
dance?"

She looks down and gulps, "I... uh... how far down does the field extend?"

"About two-thirds of the way. If you start falling too far, just grab a side."

"If the static lets you," she winces.

He jumps out into the pit, "Hey, don't worry. I'll catch you, okay? I know
where all the gravity points are."

She looks down.

"C'mon, Nien. Trust me. I'm not going to let you get hurt."

*beep* *beep* *beep*

Nien hits her badge to shut it up, then looks up at him, an apologetic look on
her face, though the relief in her eyes is naked and unmistakable.

"Duty calls, eh?"

She nods, "I'd better get to a comm-port." She heads back down the accessway,
leaving Duran floating in the dim light.

He glides down to the edge and follows her, "Well, we can try again sometime."

"Right."

He makes a grimace, but says nothing. A minute later, they're on their way to
the saucer section.

"I'll be looking forward to dinner."

"Me too. But we'll have to stay on the ship. Captain's orders and all."

He nods, "Yes. Don't worry. I'll think of something."

"I'm sure you will," she grins as the doors slides open to the bridge. Then it
shuts, and she's gone.

Gone.

Duran's troubles come flooding back to the forefront of his mind, changing his
mood from boyant and carefree to something gloomy and sinister, as though some
silky spirit had entered his soul and wrapped a web around it, coiling it
black, and constricting the flow of any hope or salvation. He spins around a
few times in the corridor, thinking that the looks he catches mean some sort of
invitation to a brawl, the remark at the pool nagging at him like a rope tied
about his neck.

"G'day, Lieutenant. Yer hand feeling okay, there?"

He makes a throbbing fist. Hitting T'lar with it wasn't the best idea he'd ever
had. He wonders which he hurt more. Her lip or his hand.

"Don't work it too hard, sir. You never know when you might need it."

The crewman walks away, leaving Duran with a bleak sense of paranoia as he
begins to feel like everyone is talking about him, every nod and smile he sees
an empty mask, every person who avoids his stare an enemy. Who do they think
they're fooling? How long before Nien catches a whiff of the scuttlebutt? She
probably won't want to come near him for fear of contracting his stench.

"Hey, there's Assassin."

"How ya doin', Lieutenant? You look healthy enough to deck a retarded Vulcan."

Duran breaks into a scowl, "Don't you men have anything you should be doing?!!"

"Uh... yes sir." They head off, looking vaguely chastised.

"He needs to get laid real bad."

There's another chuckle as they round the corner, oblivious to the powers of
Andorian antennas, and for a moment, Duran considers going after them. Then he
just shakes his head and walks away, fists clenched tightly as he fights to
regain control of his anger. He presently realizes that he's heading back
toward the pool. One of the crewmen coming out could very well be the one who
was talking about ripping his neck out. He hesitates, thinking of them all
staring at Nien, taking in the sight of her with their swelled peckers and
lascivious thoughts. The very notion makes him want to puke with disgust. A few
of them stare at him as they come out but say nothing.

"What are you looking at?!"

"Nothing, sir."

They walk away quickly.

Duran stops himself short and leans against the wall, slowly realizing what's
going on.

'Duran, you're looking for a fight and that ain't good.' He recalls those words
spoken by his Academy instructor. 'An agent must always be the one in control.
In control of his environment, the situation, and mostly of himself. Your
hot-headed temper is going to get you in trouble, and sooner or later your
combat skills are going to fail to get you out.'

He turns and begins walking away from the pool, a vague feline mew at the
corner of his senses. Then he stops, 'Where am I going?' He turns back toward
the pool and takes a step, 'No, there's trouble that way.' For a moment he
feels lost, confused, like a caged animal. He looks left and right. His
breathing is fast and ragged, his heart is pounding. He stands still, frozen,
unable to move, watching as the world seems to zip by at an uneven pace like a
kaleidoscope of motion, thoughts, and feelings. The image of Koth's head
sliding off his shoulders, tumbling to the floor, the eyes staring up at him,
cat's eyes, yellow and bizarre.

He gulps and closes his, slowly regaining control of his breathing. When he
opens them again, he sees Lt. St. James walking by with a slew of sludge-
burgers. Must be for the meal of the century. She nods toward him and
approaches, "Look what I got."

Duran's eyes shift in and out focus for a bit as he shakes off the daze and
finally decides that the image before him is, indeed, substantial. "Lt. St.
James. Where is... why aren't you guarding his highness... I mean the
Ambassador?"

"Hey, a girl's got to eat, y'know." She waves a burger in front of his nose.

"Ah, no thanks."

"Your loss." She takes a bite and puts on a big television smile. It makes him
think of a cat-food commercial. Then she drops the smile and stares at Duran
with the big blue-eyed look that says "I ain't going away until we chat."

He blinks, wondering if she's trying to start something. "What's on your mind,
Lieutenant?"

"Oh, you just seemed a little pre-occupied. You know, I do have two ears, and
despite what other people might say, I am a good listener."

Duran looks at Kris as if confirming that she does in fact have two ears,
"Indeed. Pre-occupied." His manner relaxes a bit as he slips into a less
threatening frame of mind. "It has been a stress-filled day... or rather couple
of days. I'm just... cagey." He shakes his fist, "I just need to... unwind. I
need a good fight." He looks at the lieutenant. "I... ah... find combat
relaxing." He stops abruptly, realizing how odd that must sound. "I wish the
holodeck were available. I could program something... something violent." His
voice trails off as he plods along beside her.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with that episode at the brig, would it?"

"What episode at the brig?" He tries to make a polite smile.

She laughs, "Hey, I've been with Security long enough to know that sometimes
you've got to make a move. You have to make it fast, and you don't have time
for questions."

"Finally... someone with whom I can see eye-to-eye."

"I'm surprised the boss was taking so long to make up his mind. I mean, I come
all the way down there just so you could stun Tsandzia? By the way... why was
she put in the brig in the first place?"

"It was... a misunderstanding." Duran stops and turns toward Kris, "But if I
were you, I would watch Tsandzia, T'lar, and Sarin more closely. Not all may be
as it seems."

"Oh? Really? How so?"

Duran, no longer wishing to follow this line of discussion, resumes walking,
"Things are complicated. I appreciate your concern... the offer to talk.
However, I cannot burden you with my personal problems."

She smirks, deciding that she's not going to find out what those "personal
problems" are. At least, not without contracting a fat lip.

"Are you sure you don't want a couple of burgers? They may not have much in the
way of substance, but the sludge is quite tasty."

Duran looks again at the slab of soy-meat wrapped between two slices of
synthesized bread. "No, I do not eat... those." He shoots Kris a smile which is
clearly forced. "No offense, but they do not agree with my system." When they
finally round the corner and see T'lar standing with Parker, he stops dead in
his tracks and turns around. "I think I should be going now."

"Okay. Don't hurt yourself." She tosses Parker a salvo of burgers when he's
finally in range. Then she sits down and starts unwrapping hers. "A couple of
those are for you, T'Lar," she says, suddenly remembering that Vulcans
generally don't eat meat. "Oh, don't worry. They're fake."

"Just like some people I know," T'lar comments, not making any other mention of
Duran's sudden appearance and just as sudden disappearance.

"Stop griping and eat something."

"I will... but later. There is something I must attend to first." She strides
off, muttering in a most un-Vulcan-like manner.

"She's actually kinda pretty when she's angry," Parker comments in-between
mouthfuls.

Kris just smiles, "I'll see if I can get her pissed-off at you."

"Oh, thank you so much."

Kris gets up, grabs the rest of the burgers and begins making her way back down
the corridor. "Be back in a few, Parker. I've got some more stops to make."

"You aren't gonna go stuff your face without me, are you?"

"Hell no," Kris replies. "I'm watching my weight." With that, she makes her way
to the turbolift, conferring with the computer as an afterthought.

"Uh... computer. Where is Lt. Morchainte?"

"Lt. Morchainte is not on the Excalibur."

"She's not?!"

To make a short story even shorter, Kris finds her floating outside an airlock
without a spacesuit.

"Ohmigod! Somebody's spaced Tsandzia!"


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

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