ftp.ee.pdx.edu/2014.02.ftp.ee.pdx.edu.tar/ftp.ee.pdx.edu/pub/frp/stories/startrek/adv2/turn15

Text File | 1994-09-10 | 58KB | 1,274 lines

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                           Star Trek: Play by E-Mail
                              The Forbidden Years
                               Campaign Write-up
===============================================================================
                                 Adventure #2
                              A Matter of Policy
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                   Turn #15
                                   Arrivals
===============================================================================
              Copyright 1994 Jim Vassilakos / All Rights Reserved
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  Cast & Crew
  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------
  ST-PBeM GameMaster       Jim Vassilakos      [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. tr'Remas       Jeremy Lakatos      [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. Duran          Tony Hayes          [e-mail]
  Lt. Bellasario           Alan Ward           [e-mail]
  Lt. T'lar                Ronnie Simonds      [e-mail]
  2nd Lt. Morchainte       Brian Chrisman      [e-mail]


Stardate 6003.27 at 0730 hours: Albuquerque Station, Mad Dog's Munchery
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A tray of cheddar-pretzels dipped in jalapeno sauce. A mini-plate of andorian
barb-fish. Another of vulcan kartha-shoots. And yet another of deltan viper-
wings. And to top it all off, a carafe of tellarite sosamoth juice plus one cup
of hot, black coffee. What's it all spell? A typical meal at Mag Dog's
Munchery, the interstellar fast-food giant of the outer rim.

"It's not that I'm angry," Oein asserts, "but my morning exercise routine is
specially suited to the holodeck."

"And you've been doing this every day?"

"Ever since I came aboard. I've been using starship and starbase gymnasiums for
years. They work as well, however, one cannot achieve the same level of...
excellence. From the equipment or from oneself. One has a certain incentive
toward speed, running from a Sabre-toothed simondon. You ought to try it."

Nien smiles a bit, glancing toward Duran. "Oh, we had a good run this morning.
I think the trick is just having a little competition."

Oein nods, "Perhaps, but I prefer to exercise alone." He looks toward Duran.
"By myself, that is. Without distractions of any sort. Having a focused mind is
just as important as having a focused body."

"Oh, I agree." Duran tries to keep his eyes off Nien's legs for the fifth time
since she crossed them, wondering how he got himself into this conversation. So
far she hasn't noticed, but Oein is another matter. He doesn't miss a thing.

"Anyway, I must admit that this is the first day I was refused access, however,
if the situation continues..."

"I'm still vague on how you got daily access." Nien dips one of her wings into
the jalapeno sauce. "I've been on the waiting list for almost a week now."

"If you get Dr. O'Neil to sign that it's for health reasons..."

She grins, "Do you think unicorn riding would count?"

"Doubtful."

"Shucks. Well, all I can tell you is that you should go though Lt. Anderson and
find out what's going on before coming to me."

"I have. The situation is that Commodore Ash has been working on a program.
He's been in there off and on since yesterday evening. That is, according to
Lt. Anderson."

Nien looks back, somewhat mystified, "What's he working on?"

"Unknown. But if it's not of particular importance, I was thinking that perhaps
you could let him know that other people are being adversely affected by the
inordinate duration of his usage."

"You want me to talk to him?"

"I'm only a Lt. Commander, Commander."

Nien somehow grins and grits her teeth simultaneously, "Oh wah. Look Oein, this
thing has nothing to do with me. At least, not until it starts causing a major
disturbance among the crew, which is not something I envision ever happening.
You go talk to him. Maybe the reason that whatever he's doing is taking so long
is because he doesn't know how to operate the darn thing. You seem to have
plenty of experience in that area. By the way, have you chosen anyone for the
assistant science chief position?"

"I'm still reviewing service records."

"You've reviewed Lt. Morchainte's?"

"Yes. In my opinion she is not qualified. Her experience is almost entirely
grounded in astrophysics. She would make a fine section head, but not a good
assistant chief."

"Oein, you're not going to find anyone with a firm grounding in every
scientific discipline. And astrophysics is quite possibly the most utilized of
the disciplines for this type of vessel."

"Yes, but I already have a firm grounding in astrophysics. I want my assistant
to compliment me. A specialist in planetary ecology for instance."

"So you're not going to offer her the position because of who you are rather
than because of who she is?"

Oein grits his teeth beneath his lips. "I have made no final decisions,
Commander. When I do, I will let you know, and you can debate me at that time."

Nien puts the wing back down on her plate. "Okay, I'll back off. I just want
her to have a fair shot at it. She did a lot of good out there."

"I know. I've seen the reports. She did an excellent job, but I won't create a
halo-effect around her because of one outstanding mission. She still has a long
way to go. And by the way, your advocacy is not benefiting her. If she deserves
the post, she will get it, and no amount of political maneuvering will hinder
or help her."

Nien take a bite of her wing. "Political maneuvering?"

"I mean no offense, but neither will I disguise my opinions. In the words of my
Kohaeiamus, one must be brutally honest, both with oneself and with others.
Anything less is a symptom of fear, and fear is the most unproductive of
emotions."

Nien quickly puts out the fire in her mouth with a glass of the milky-white
sosamoth juice. The silky sweet nectar takes a moment to counter-act the
jalapeno flavor.

"Watch out for the green stuff."

Duran smiles, "If you think that's hot, I have some Andorian dishes you should
try."

"I'll pass, thanks. So," looking back toward Oein, "who exactly is this
Kohaeiamus?"

"The word means 'most respected person'. He's a federation diplomat. A vulcan,
actually. His name is Sarin."

"Sarin? Sarin of Thrisanna?"

"You know him?"

"No, but he's on his way here right now. He's coming aboard the Typhoon."

Oein looks perplexed for a moment before he shakes off the sudden rush of
surprise. "That is... rather fortuitous. I have been meaning to meet with him
for many years now."

"How did you first come into contact with him?"

"It's a long story. Suffice it to say that he was my one true friend during the
worst years of my life. When is he supposed to be arriving?"

"I don't know. The Typhoon isn't keeping to its flight plan. Something about
security considerations, I think. He's currently en route to the Rigel cluster.
The Excalibur may even be assigned to escort."

Duran looks up, "Maybe we could invite Sarin aboard the Excalibur for the
remainder of his voyage."

Nien shoots Duran a curious look.

"I was just thinking," he continues, "it hardly seems efficient to send the
Excalibur along to escort the Typhoon. It would make more sense to release the
Typhoon for other duties, if we're going to be escorting anyway." He nods
toward Lt. Cmdr. tr'Remas, "And just as a side-benefit, Ambassador Sarin and
Commander tr'Remas would have ample time for their reunion."

Nien pauses, "You seem to have thought this out quite thoroughly, Lieutenant."

"Not really, Commander. It's simply my job to be aware of events and conditions
that might adversely effect the security of my ship and my crew. In doing that,
I became aware of the possibility of the Excalibur being utilized as an escort.
It was only scuttlebutt then, but since you brought it up, I assume that there
may be some truth to it. So I thought, as the Assistant Chief of Security, I
should express my concerns."

"How astute of you." Nien tries not the layer the sarcasm too thick. "You sure
there isn't some other reason..."

Duran looks down at the table sheepishly, "Okay, truth is it is far more
prestigious to be transporting the ambassador than to be escorting the
ambassador. It is almost embarrassing to have what may be the next flagship of
the Federation escorting an old Baker Class Destroyer. WE should have the honor
of performing the transport, not the Typhoon."

Nien smiles, "Khemsa, I'm surprised, I didn't think you were worried about such
things."

Duran smiles inwardly, shrugs, still looking a little embarrassed, "I'm finally
posted to a ship where an officer has a chance to get noticed. I just want to
make sure I do!"

Nien laughs and gestures toward his bandaged hands, "Sometimes getting noticed
isn't all that it's cracked-up to be."

Tsandzia spots the trio through a long, tinted window, and jaunts inside the
restaurant, pulling up a fourth chair. "Mind if I join you all?"

"Not if you don't mind the menu," Nien offers.

Tsandzia appears happier than normal, as though it were her birthday and she
was expecting a big surprise. The tiny sparks which often dominate her skin
during stressful times are currently hopping vigorously, leaking off her hair
and on to her rubber-padded shoulders, basking her pet blob in a shower of
electricity.

"I hear Mad Dog's serves up a great dish of Testicle le Feline."

"Kitty balls?" Nien consults the menu again.

"Don't worry. It's just a rumor." Tsandzia turns to Khemsa, "Your fingers must
be healing well. How are you feeling?" Suddenly a bang about as loud as
somebody slapping the tabletop is heard. A blue bolt zings from her ear to her
hand, lighting up the room like a flashbulb, and leaving everybody at the table
blinking and shaking off the sudden haze in front of their eyes. Tsandzia
"damns" under her breath, deciding that she'd better wait until she's less
excited before preening her hair again.

Duran rotates an antennae toward Tsandzia once he decides that it's safe again,
"I'm feeling much better, thanks. And you? You seem all 'charged-up' about
something, or is..." he gestures with his hands, making a mock-explosion with
them, "...is THAT normal?"

"Ah... I guess you can say I've had a rare morning."

Nien looks toward Duran, "Wish I could say the same."

Duran coughs on a piece of food, but somehow managed to maintain his composure.
"The morning's not over yet, Commander. So, Lt. Morchainte... have you
uncovered anything new? I know the Chief sent you off snooping around." He
turns toward Elineva and tr'Remas, "Tsandzia is helping investigate the gothmog
incident."

"The gothmog incident?" Oein mutters, somewhat confused.

"Er... Albuquerque security apparently found nothing of interest at the
andorian lady's abode. I am quite convinced, by their thoroughness, that there
isn't anything to be learned up that alley. Most of their attention was aimed
toward securing the safe arrival of Ambassador Sarin. It appeared that they
were taking rather exhaustive measures. I don't know what is considered 'normal
precautions' for an ambassadorial arrival, but I suppose they may be worried
about their security in light of the recent incident." Tsandzia leans forward
on the edge of her seat and talks a bit more quietly, obviously restraining a
lot of anticipation, "T'lar, Bellasario and I met with Captain Lebonk and the
Commodore about the Borg incident. The Commodore said that Sarin wanted to meet
with us."

Nien nods, "Sarin is supposedly a fairly powerful telepath. You okay Khemsa?
You look a little queasy."

"Oh, you're right about the green stuff."

Tsandzia, suddenly aware that she might be attracting undue attention being all
charged-up like she is, takes off one of her gloves and decides to let blobby
have a nice big meal.

Duran looks intrigued. "Lieutenant, exactly what IS that green blob on your
shoulder anyway? Has it been examined and determined to be non-hazardous? No
offense, but I've been lots of interesting places and seen many creatures but
never anything quite like THAT!"

Tsandzia nods "The xeno team has taken a whole slew of readings, and it hasn't
exhibited any dangerous behavior. Might scare some of those computers though.
It loves to drain batteries. Personally, I think he's kinda cute."

"Oh, he's very cute," Nien agrees, poking blobby with the tip of Duran's straw.

"Hey, I was using that."

"Oh, sorry. I forgot." Nien hands it back with a slightly naughty grin.

Duran examines the tip of the straw. It appears to be clean, but with these
blob-creatures, one can never be too safe. He looks around and notices that the
table behind them just got their drinks, but the occupants are up playing some
kind of arcade game. He quickly swaps his straw for one of theirs and grins
back at Nien, "That's okay, Commander. Situation under control."

"I must say, you're getting very dexterous with those wrists."

"The academy taught me to improvise at all times. How do you think I stayed
alive in that turbolift?"

Oein turns to Khemsa. "What is this about gothmogs? Is that how you acquired
those bandages?"

"Well, Commander, I was visiting a local Andorian bar when I met a friendly,
young lady. She invited me to go out with her on a date. Naturally, I agreed."

"Naturally," Nien echoes.

"She was rather attractive." He looks toward Nien and blushes, "I met her in
Surreal Park for a swim." The blush fades, "And suddenly and for what reason I
cannot say, her anti-grav belt exploded and killed her instantly." Duran pauses
for a moment as he gulps a sip of the white sosamoth juice. "Needless to say, I
was take aback. I saw one of the Gothmogs, and it was instantly clear to me
that he had been the cause of her death. He saw me, and being armed only with a
dagger and having no communicator... I was on a date after all... I decided to
get out of there, ASAP. Unfortunately there was the second Gothmog. He engaged
me in a cowardly back-attack with a kasha-wire. In defending my neck, I had to
sacrifice my fingers, at least temporarily. Fortunately I had my trusty dagger.
This isn't the first time it has saved my life. That's basically it. I have no
idea why they attacked her in the first place. I can only surmise that they
came after me since they felt I knew they were responsible for her death."

Tsandzia nods, "The starbase security team scoured her apartment. Everybody
on base 'assumed' she was a prostitute, though no evidence of that was found.
They appear fairly convinced that it must've been a mistaken assassination, and
a likewise mistaken attempt on your life as well."

Duran quickly looks up, "What do you mean no evidence? If she wasn't a Lady of
the Evening, what was she, or what do they *think* she was?"

Nien looks sidelong at Khemsa, "Forgive me for interrupting such an enthralling
conversation... but... you were going out with a 'lady of the evening'... a
prostitute per se?"

"Er... prostitute? I believe I said 'Lady of the Evening' and there are a few
things to keep in mind here. First, I didn't even know she was one. Second, the
profession is not to be looked down upon, as many are wont to do. Third, there
was no fee involved. She just wanted to be with me." He looks at Nien, "There
are some woman who want that, you know."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Finally, as we just heard, it appears that she wasn't really a Lady of the
Evening after all."

"I see... it was a case of double-mistaken-identity. Happens all the time."

Tsandzia continues, "Whatever her profession, I really wanted to inspect her
apartment personally, but in lieu of what starbase security has told me, I
really don't think it's necessary."

"Hmm, maybe, maybe not." Duran swallows part of a cheese pretzel, considering
this latest statement. "What exactly did security tell you that would suggest
that we wouldn't find something that they missed? I'd like to give things a
more personal touch. You just can't rely on second hand information. Perhaps
they felt you didn't need to know everything they found."

Tsandzia cocks her head a bit, "I don't see any reason they'd want to withhold
information, especially considering the fact that a star fleet officer was
attacked in broad daylight. I'm sure that every security person on the station
sees this investigation as a top priority. Even so, with all the hub-bub about
the Ambassador arriving, I suppose they could've missed something, but the
report was extremely thorough and detailed. I can't remember exactly what the
name of the girl was or such, but they had it, and every other detail, all
logged and reported. I'm really not much of a detective, personally. They were
most intent upon the security of the Typhoon. The Andorian girl will still be
dead tomorrow. They're just going to make absolutely sure the ambassador
doesn't join her, if you know what I mean."

Duran nods, "True. Perhaps you're right. Maybe I could just get a copy of the
log. Maybe we could have their computer download it to the Excalibur so we can
include their findings in our reports on the incident. Do you think you could
get us a copy, Lieutenant."

"Yeah, I'll see what I can manage."

Oein frowns, "I don't know. This whole thing smells fishy, to borrow a human
expression. What concerns me is that they were Klingon-Romulan fusions. The
Romulans have cooperated with the Klingons in the past, though lately the two
nations have been more at war with each other than at peace. I wonder if the
Romulan Star Empire might have it's hand in this. It seems to me that there is
more to this than the murder of a prostitute--excuse me, an 'assumed'
prostitute. Is there any other reason this station would be targeted besides
the upcoming arrival of Ambassador Sarin?"

Nien nods, "Sure. The Excalibur. A prototype vessel... which the Romulans would
just love to destroy, or better yet, capture. I'm surprised we're still in the
Outer Rim. With a ship this important, we should be heading coreward where it's
a bit safer so we can make our performance runs."

Tsandzia shakes her head, "The Andorian woman had no ties to the Excalibur. I
really don't know much about the Gothmogs, but if they are naturally precise,
and determined, I can't imagine them making a mistake like this. The Klingons
don't appear to pay too much attention to detail, at least from the little I
know of them, and the Klingon-Romulan fusions have a reputation for being more
akin to Romulans than Klingons. That's probably a reason why the Klingons are
trying to exterminate them." Tsandzia pauses for a moment, "The operation was
just too well detailed, I mean, using explosives and everything. It's hard to
imagine that the Gothmogs would botch the job entirely. Then, of course, it's
hard to believe that if they were going to all this effort to make an attempt
on your life, Khemsa, that they would have been so sloppy not to have had the
andorian girl actually blow up in your face. That was what they should have
done, had they really intended to kill you."

Duran eyes his bandages, "Oh, they intended to kill me. No doubt about that."

"Then they must have just been very unlucky." Tsandzia muses, mulling over
ideas in her head as Duran looks around at the others, wondering how he might
change the topic.

"Unlucky and rather unskilled, I think. Speaking of luck and skill, I've been
thinking, might I interest any of you in a game of chance? A game of cards? A
game that requires intellect as well as luck?"

"What game did you have in mind?" Nien looks up, mildly intrigued.

"A game called... poker?" He smiles, "Tonight, my room, anyone who is
interested, RSVP."

Nien looks around, semi-self-consciously. "What kind of poker?"

"Commander, the game is not worth playing if the stakes are not high. No risk,
no reward, you know. But, being a friendly crowd, we'll start off light. We'll
play for chips, poker chips. No real money," he gives Nien a sideways glance,
"or anything else. Not this time, that is."

Nien nods, "That's a relief. Yesterday, I got into a discussion with the
Commodore about poker. I really don't know what set it off. Anyway, I guess
he's a bit of an aficionado of the game. He told me, never enter a game without
a limit, or you may lose more than your shirt... whatever that means." Nien
looks up at the clock, "Well, I get off duty at 1800. What do you say we aim
for around 2000 hours?" She begins getting up from the table, tossing her tray
into the recycler chute.

Tsandzia smiles and gets up, "I better go see how things are going back there
with the wormhole computations. It seems that science is most often a mystery
far beyond anything mortals can come up with. I'll also see about getting you a
copy of that log, Khemsa. Oein, are you interested in a copy as well?"

"Yes. I would appreciate a copy." Oein stands up from the table. "It has been a
pleasure eating breakfast with you." Everyone notices that he did not actually
eat anything or even order for that matter. "I have ten minutes until my shift.
Goodbye." Oein nods, turns, and strides out of the restaurant, moving as
steadily and efficiently as one of the trashbots.

Duran makes his way to the transporters with the others, the plaza almost
choking with crowds of people: merchants and merchandise of all varieties, old
women, babies crying, "Seth!", men lugging around their baggage, "Seth!", a
strum-sticker ripping out an old tune for the spare change of passers-by,
"Seth!!", and somebody calling out the same name, over and over again. Some
woman probably screaming at her kid. "Seth! Sethon! Sethon Khemsa!"

Duran turns about, looking toward the direction of the voice, and is almost
taken off his feet as a young Andorian woman collides with him, joyously
singing her brother's name. He grabs Eris and lifts her off the ground twirling
about, hugging the shit out of her, and hoping like hell that the move isn't
too out of character for her brother. Nien's jaw drops a bit, watching the
spectacle to two twirling andorians. Then the smaller of the two breaks the
hug.

"Oh my god... what happened to your hands?!"

Duran puts on his best "Khemsa" voice, keeping it scratchy and weak, hoping
she'll think he has a cold.

"Minor altercation in the turbolift."

Of course, she wants all the gruesome details in verbose format, but Duran
knows that he'll be risking his cover trying to sustain a long monologue
without her catching at least a whiff of bogosity (the semi-technical term for
being found-out).

"Minor altercation? Looks more like a minor amputation. What were you doing?"

"I... uh... it's a long story. Oh, this is Commander Elineva. Nien... this is
my sister, Eris. Look, I wish I could stay and talk."

Nien nods, "No problem. I can have somebody cover for you. After all, it isn't
everyday that your sister is in port."

"Uh... I don't..."

"Lt. Khemsa," Tsandzia makes a small show out of sticking her communicator back
on her belt. "I've just been contacted by Ensign.... oh... Ensign... I can't
remember his name. He was quite frustrated that you haven't responded to his
summons. Did you switch off your communicator or something?"

Duran checks the ringer as best he can without the use of his fingers, "Who
knows? Maybe I accidentally hit something wrong when I was setting the channel.
I've got to get these bandages off my hands before I go crazy." Duran turns
back to Eris, "I'm sorry, I really have to go. This isn't something I can just
bail out of. But we'll get together later and I'll tell you all about my
turbolift escapades. Okay?" Duran disengages and heads for the transporter
pads. 'Ironic,' he thinks, 'that I should be called for duty just when I needed
an excuse.' He turns around and waves at Eris as the transporter starts to hum,
"I'll call you after my shift!", he calls out smiling, giving a quick nod to
Tsandzia who saved his hide, and running a list of ensigns through his mind,
wondering which one might have paged him.

Eris slumps her shoulders a bit, watching him disappear. Meanwhile, T'lar and
Tsandzia group around her and the Commander.

"I don't believe this. Here I've been trying to get ahold of him for weeks, and
the moment I get here..."

Nien nods, "Well, if you're interested in poker, were shooting for 2000 hours."

T'lar raises a lofty eyebrow. "What's this about a poker game? You didn't tell
me anything IMPORTANT was happening, Tsand. Greetings, everyone... I don't
believe we've all been introduced. I am Lt. T'lar."

"Chief Eris Khemsa, Sensor Modulation Specialist, USS Typhoon." She extends her
hand for a shake, an odd gesture to offer a Vulcan, but one which T'lar has
grown used to during her career.

Nien nods, "So Sarin has finally arrived. Must be exciting, escorting an
Ambassador."

"Oh... I suppose. I think I've seen him once during the entire voyage. What
happened to my brother? He looks... awful."

"He's not been himself lately," Tsandzia interjects. "Stress, you know."

Nien nods, "More than usual... especially this morning. Look, I've got to get
to the bridge. I'll see you folks at 2000 hours. Sethon's quarters."

"Got it."

Nien heads to the transporter and is beamed out, leaving Eris in the capable if
sometimes quarrelsome hands of T'lar and Tsandzia.

"Er... I don't think that we've been properly introduced. I'm Lt. Morchainte."

"What happened to your antenna?"

Tsandzia tries to suppress a giggle. "You thought I was an andorian all this
time?" She makes electricity crackle along her forearm.

Eris seems a bit surprised, "Okay... what in blue blazes are you?"

"The psychopathic astrophysicist from Delta Virgo VII," T'lar interjects.

"Psychopathic?!" comes with quick retort.

"You are, and don't deny it, Tsandzia."

"Well, maybe just a little bit. Speaking about psychopaths, your brother seems
to have quite a history of them. Did you not hear about the latest attempt on
his life?"

The real Khemsa's eyes bug out, "Attempt on his life?"

Tsandzia nods, "A rather gruesome affair. He could not be an unluckier guy."
Tsandzia proceeds to babble on about the incident, breaking pace to answer
various questions as Eris poses them.

"He was soliciting the services of a prostitute?!"

"He's a lonely guy, Eris. Look, can I show you around? Or have you been to
Albuquerque station before? Maybe you can show me around in that case."

"No, you do the showing around. Actually, if you think you can sneak me aboard
the Excalibur..."

"No problem."

Tsandzia makes her way on board, checking in her two guests at the transporter
room. "Nien gave me clearance ten days ago, and I've been trying to make myself
a position here ever since. You said you're a scanner specialist?"

"Yeah."

"Wait until you see the scans we've got in the astrophysics lab."


Stardate 6003.27 at 0756 hours: USS Excalibur, Astrophysics Lab
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oein strides into the astrophysics lab four whole minutes before the beginning
of the middle shift. The place is buzzing with both early and middle shift
personnel, including the astronomy and particle physics people, most of them
discussing the recent artificial wormhole scans and fighting over machine
space. Things are so tight that a group of them are seated on the floor with
their PADDs, accessing the main computer via their small portable terminals.

"Ah... Lt. Commander," Chief Abizakas approaches from the midst of the throng.
"Have you finally made arrangements for our use of the general workcenter?"

"As you are no doubt aware, Geology is using the workcenter through the
remainder of this month to refine it's deep-surface scanning procedures."

"Surely that can wait."

"Why should it?"

"Because the work we're doing here is more important."

Oein looks over the summary report, "Important, but not urgent enough to
warrant a change in scheduling. Science runs under a strict protocol, except
when the situation warrants otherwise. And as you know, Chief, since my
appointment to Head of Science, it has never warranted otherwise. If it ever
does, I will attend to the situation as I deem necessary, without waiting for
any requests on anyone's part. Am I clear?"

"Ah... crystal. Sir."

"Excellent. If you need me, I will be on the bridge."

Abizakas grits his teeth as Oein leaves. He wants that workcenter for his
people, but he can't have it, and all because of some romulan's anal-retentive
scheduling habits. If only Oein wasn't such a damned genius, he'd have been
hauled up by his pointy little ears ages ago. Of that, Chief Abizakas is more
than certain.

"There has _got_ to be a way around him!"


Stardate 6003.27 at 0800 hours: USS Excalibur, Bridge
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Duran finds Bellasario already on the bridge, an early morning yawn already
escaping the security chief's mouth.

"Looks like you had a long night, sir."

"You could say that. So... uh... how's the hand feeling, or shouldn't I ask?"

"I'd prefer if you didn't. Do I have any messages waiting?"

Gunner smiles, "Yeah, two. One from Chief Eris Khemsa... a family relation?"

"My sister. Any from an 'ensign'?"

"No... the other one's from Lt. Lindstrome. Says you're late for your morning
check-up."

Duran nods, "That must be the one. Thanks."

It's a short ride to sickbay, and when he gets there, Duran finds himself
ushered straight into O'Neil's office.

"Lt. Khemsa, how are the fingers?"

"All still here, Doc. You wanted to have a look."

"That was the general idea," O'Neil unwraps Duran's hands. Fortunately, modern
surgical techniques leave no scars or stitches. O'Neil runs a scanner over the
fingers. "Try wiggling them."

They all wiggle.

"Damn, but I'm good."

"No argument from me!" Duran smiles.

"Okay, that part was easy. They will still be sore for a while but you need to
exercise them. Start off light, just wiggle them from time to time. If you feel
up to it, make a loose fist. After the pain subsides, you can make a tightly
clenched fist. Then start working with a rubber ball. Squeeze it a couple of
times an hour every day. If things go smoothly, you should be using the ball in
about four days and should be fully recovered a few days after that."

Duran wiggles his fingers on his right hand, then makes a fist, he looks up at
O'Neil.

The doctor grimaces, "Now that we've demonstrated once again that the andorian
ego is mightier than the andorian intellect, would you like some pain killers?"

Duran squeaks out, "Please." He keeps staring at the fist.

"If you think that hurts, just try relaxing it."

Duran relaxes his fist. What little color is left drains from his face.

"Now, I won't give you this shot if you think it'll strain you macho image."

Duran grits his teeth, his eyes dilating ever so slightly as he turns his
shoulder toward O'Neil.

"Are you sure you don't want to just 'tough it out'?" O'Neil smiles.

"Give me the damn shot!" Duran growls through clenched teeth.

O'Neil injects the fast-acting pain killer, and Duran sighs in relief.

"Now Lieutenant, let that be a lesson. Don't rush nature or it'll rush you.
Shall we try a little wiggle now?" For the next thirty minutes, O'Neil goes
over Duran's exercise schedule and gives him some pain pills. Afterwards, Duran
drops by his room, secures the door, and does a stealth login to access the
Blackblade files.

"Computer, secure link to station computers."

"........Link established."

"Download all files pertaining to the investigation of the death of the
Andorian female."

"........Logic circuits indicate that user's reference to an Andorian female
pertains to one Talkarn Fasala Meto. Query: Is the assumption correct?"

"Affirmative." As Duran reads over the incoming data, he sees that nothing
unusual was found in her quarters, at least not according to the computer. The
security department has concluded that the entire incident is one of mistaken
identity. Case closed.


Stardate 6003.27 at 0900 hours: USS Excalibur, Bridge
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oein sits at his science station, continuing to mull over the sensor logs from
the Phobos. He's every bit as interested in uncovering the secrets of wormhole
technology as Chief Abizakas, but he won't let personal interest cloud his
sense of fairness. Geology had scheduled the workcenter well in advance, and
that is that.

Suddenly Oein gets the distinct feeling that he's being watched. He turns
around part way and has to blink a few times before he is fully certain that he
isn't seeing some sort of mirage. There, only a few paces from him, is
Ambassador Sarin.

Oein quickly stands. "Kohaei, Ambassador! I did not know you were on the
Excalibur. I only heard of your arrival under a half hour ago and was under the
assumption you were yet to arrive, or I would have met you at the transporter."
He stops, imperceptibly collects himself, and continues. "Has your journey been
satisfactory?"

"No need for apologies, lest I remind you that I have no ego to bruise.
Besides, if I had wanted a welcoming committee, I would have asked for one. No,
you resume your duties. I see that already you are studying the Phobos data,
and I do not wish to disturb your progress." Though Oein is certain that Sarin
is serious in his statement, he cannot help but detect a faintest aura of humor
in the ambassador's voice. Humor, or perhaps pleasure, at seeing Oein after so
many years. And on board the Excalibur, no less.

Oein nods to Sarin and turns back to the science station and his work.


Stardate 6003.27 at 0830 hours: USS Excalibur, Life Support Services
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sha was right about one thing, Duran thinks to himself. The filter fans make a
wonderful hurricane of sorts, strong enough to lift a person off the deck, or
at least to give one the sensation of danger. And the kicker is the warmth. The
air, despite its speed hurtling out of the conduit, is actually warm. Duran
lays down flat and lets the warm wind wash over him.

'Okay, let's review facts: 1) Eris is here and needs to be avoided. 2) Sarin is
here and needs to be isolated. 3) Sarin is a telepath, possibly strong enough
to read minds at a distance. 4) My contact was killed by gothmogs. And last but
not least, my hand is killing me.'

Somebody shouts something from above, but the sound of the crewman's voice is
lost in the wind. The concerned expression on his face vanishes as Duran waves.
Then he's alone again, with only the wind and the dim light of the conduit.

'Hmm... questions: 1) How do I keep Eris away without arousing her suspicion?
2) How do I get close to Sarin without his telepathy probing my mind? Assuming
his has some manners, unlike T'lar, he won't try it. But what if he decides to
try? They're both uncommonly talented psionics. 3) How can I arrange an
appropriate accident for him? 4) When should the accident come? 5) Can I get
him on THIS ship? 6) Why are the gothmogs interested in this affair? 7) How do
I get Nien back into my room, in a more friendly state?'

As is typical, there are more questions than facts and no easy answers. Duran
smiles, considering the ramifications of the last one. She's been plaguing his
mind over the past hour. He lifts himself off the deck and finds his way into a
non-windy corridor.

"Computer, query. Under what conditions can access to a ship be restricted to
other personnel of Star Fleet? For example, how can I prevent Eris Khemsa of
the USS Typhoon from being permitted access to this ship?"

"........1) Subject is a security risk. 2) Subject has been charged with
criminal behavior and trial is pending. 3) Subject has caused a public
disturbance. 4) Subject has been served a personal restraining order."

"Stop. This is getting me nowhere. Eris isn't going to break any laws.
Unless... hmm. Maybe a nice accident would do her some good. Computer, describe
the safety features of the holodecks and how they can be over-ridden?"

"Safeguards against critical bodily harm may be over-written by the system
administrator or may be over-ridden by the authority of the holodeck user with
the consent of the chief medical officer. Safeguards include cushion-fields and
automatic cut-off daemons."

Duran realizes that the system administrator can do just about anything. He
just wishes that his security access gave him write-permission as well as read-
permission. To some extent it does. He can make his own secret account and
horde information. However, it won't allow him to commandeer the ship's
computer and perform functions as root. That's what he needs if he wants to put
Eris in physical jeopardy. Of course, if he could get into the holodeck itself,
he might be able to tamper with the equipment or even re-program the local
logic circuits. Even worse than Eris, however, is Sarin himself. Duran wonders
to what extent the Vulcan has and uses his telepathy.

"Computer, access Vulcan databases regarding psionics. Query: How can a person
avoid having their mind read, and what defenses does a non-telepath have
against a trained psionic? Who currently on board is a trained telepath?" All
these thoughts have him suddenly worried. What if someone unsuspected can read
minds... someone he has already met?

"........Antipsi-helmets and psi-jammers are distributed upon request. See the
ship's quartermaster or the personal equipment catalog for further
information."

Duran makes his way to a public access terminal and punches his way into the
equipment catalog. Antipsi-helmets look like bicycle helmets and seem to weigh
about as much. The description makes them sound reliable, but they're also very
obvious, unless you're also wearing a really big wig. Psi-jammers are less
obvious, about the size of a communicator. They operate by emitting a broad
band of static over standard telepathic frequencies. The only problem is that
telepaths will likely be able to locate the source of the transmission.

Further reading shows that Star Fleet regulations provide the right of
intellectual privacy for all individuals not specifically under the care of a
registered psychiatrist or counselor. Further, the quartermaster is authorized
to dispense psi-shielding devices to any and all personal, on a "no questions
asked" policy. However, because psi-jammers are occasionally a distraction to
telepaths, the frivolous use of the devices is discouraged.

Duran shakes his head, glancing at a clock. So far, he's of the opinion that no
protection is the best protection. Assuming that Sarin suspects nothing, he'll
have no reason to break the intellectual privacy regulation. Still, operating
without a shield has Duran nervous. He quickly checks over the short list of
psi's. Most are congregated in medical, Darla Reeko (a betazoid) being the
foremost telepath on board. Duran can't remember having met her or the any of
the others. He breaths a sigh of relief. At least Nien isn't on the list. That
would have slain him. She has enough advantages over him as it is with those
blasted pheromones of hers.

"Computer access Deltan databases. Query: What are the effects of exposure to
Deltan pheromones by Andorians? How long do the effects last? What can be done
to counteract them?"

He shortly finds out that Andorians are no more susceptible to deltan
pheromones than humans, though they have been known to over-react (much in the
same way they occasionally over-react to violence). The effect only lasts while
in contact with the pheromones, and filter masks are obtainable via the
quartermaster.

"Filter masks?! I might as well spray paint 'you stink' across my forehead!
Computer, access personnel data for Commander Nienna Elineva. Query: What sort
of activities interest her. What are her known likes and dislikes?"

".........Information not on file."

"Is there anyone on board who has served previously with her who might be able
to supply additional data?"

"........Affirmative."

"Who?"

"........Warrant Officer Gardner has served with Commander Elineva since
stardate 5408.01."

Duran blinks. That's more than five years, longer than the standard assignment.

"Excluding the Excalibur, how many assignments does that cover?"

"........Three."

Duran blinks again. Whoever this Chief Gardner is, he's been following her.
Either that or he's had the most amazing run of luck (whether good or bad would
depend on one's perspective).

"What is Gardner's post?"

"........Antimatter containment specialist."

An engineer. "Computer, locate Chief Gardner."

"........Warrant Officer Gardner is in his quarters."

"He's not on duty?"

"........Affirmative."

"Write a message for him to contact me at his convenience. Specify that it is a
personal matter."

"........Message ready to send."

"Send it." Duran hits a comm-socket on the wall, turning the dial until the
indicator says bridge. "Khemsa to Commander Elineva."

"Elineva here."

"Commander, since I'm on the injured list and have no real duties, I would like
to request permission to invite Ambassador Sarin aboard for a tour."

"It seems that the Ambassador has invited himself aboard. He's on the bridge at
this very moment."

"Oh, he is? Thank you."

When Duran finally gets there, shortly after nine o'clock, he finds Sarin
bending over Oein's shoulder.

"Ambassador Sarin?"

The middle-aged Vulcan turns around, his white robe's shuffling as he casts a
penetrating glance toward Duran.

"If it is Sarin you seek, then you have found him."

"I am Second Lieutenant Sethon Khemsa, Assistant Security Chief for the
Excalibur. I had contacted our First Officer to see about offering you a tour
and discovered that you were already present. Nobody ever tells security
anything these days." Duran smiles pleasantly. "In any case, I can see that
you are conferring with Commander tr'Remas. Perhaps, when you are finished, you
would be interested in the tour?"

Sarin glances toward Commander Elineva, as though waiting for some confirmation
that she doesn't mind a wounded lieutenant leading the ambassador around the
ship.

"Don't worry, Ambassador. You'll be in good hands with Lt. Khemsa, no pun
intended."

Duran looks down at his sore, puffy hands, wondering how she can rub it in so
mercilessly yet still garner his total affection. "Commander, there will come a
time when you will learn to appreciate just how true that statement is."

"I'll be looking forward to it," said with a daring if unconvinced grin.

Sarin looks up, "Very well, Lieutenant. Perhaps Cmdr. tr'Remas wouldn't mind
joining us if his schedule permits. I'd be intrigued to hear what new
technologies abound this vessel, and I can't think of anyone more ably
qualified to aid in this tour."

Oein looks up, "On the contrary, Ambassador. Chief Engineer Hawkins..."

"Is very busy. Very busy, indeed, what with all the repairs and modifications
which are being made to the Phobos. You, however, have nothing better to do. Do
you?"

Oein looks back toward his science terminal where T'lar's service record is
hanging somewhere in cyberspace. "I suppose I can take a short break."

"Indeed. Then let us begin." Duran escorts Oein and the Ambassador into the
turbolift, wondering where he's going to take them. He hasn't run any visitor
tours aboard the Excalibur. In fact, he doesn't think that anybody has. The
ship is little over two weeks out of port. They haven't exactly had a flood of
visitors in that amount of time.


Stardate 6003.27 at 0753 hours: USS Excalibur, Random Corridor
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tsandzia babbles on, T'lar and Eris in tow, as she makes her way around a swarm
of rushing crew members, snapping electricity giving fair warning that anyone
who should dare bump her will be in for a case of the frizzies (hair that is).

"Nice ship huh?"

Eris nods, "I guess." It's hard to tell how nice it is just walking around the
corridors, but Tsandzia knows how nice it is, and can't help herself from
telling Eris in verbose detail. She goes on and on about ten forward, the
computer, and (God forbid), the holodeck.

"Oh yes, do they ever have it easy here. I hear it's been booked nearly months
in advance."

"The ship's only been operational for two weeks," T'lar comments.

"Well, it seems like months. Let me tell you." And she does. In verbose detail,
as it were.

"What are you gonna do when you get on the holodeck, Tsandzia?"

"I have no idea. But whatever I do, it'll be well worth the wait." Tsandzia
smiles. "Maybe I'll be an andorian. I bet the holodeck could give me my
antennae back. Wait, no, I never had any. Besides, I'm not quite as blue as the
typical Andorian now, am I."

"Oh, we come in all shades," Eris corrects. "Though I will admit, you are a bit
on the light-side. But if you've ever seen an andorian albino, you wouldn't
think so."

"Albino? I've never seen that in your people."

"They're pretty rare. In ancient time we used to execute them at birth."

Tsandzia nods, "Well, that's one way to weed out an undesired trait. On
Calainia, we were not too different. Only fifteen years ago, but it seems more
like a separate lifetime."

"Calainia?"

"My homeworld. A xenobiologist would know a bit better detail, but apparently
they still can't exactly figure out what makes us tick, so to speak. For a
while they were trying to insist that we were a 'genetically manipulated'
race." Tsandzia shakes her head and sighs, "But hardly anyone believes that. I
mean, I sure don't."

Tsandzia comes to the door, "Here, T'lar, this is where I've been spending
_all_ of my time lately. They've even got better food synthesizers here." Oein
comes out, and T'lar effects a quick salute, spitting out something in Vulcan.
Oein answers, and continues on his way.

"What did you say?"

"The standard greetings."

Eris looks sidelong at T'lar. "I noticed you don't talk very much."

T'Lar turns to Eris and remarks dryly, "With her around, do I really need a
reason?" She peers significantly at the babbling Tsandzia.

The Calainian stops and looks plaintively at T'lar, "Hey!! *babble babble
babble*"

"I must admit, I don't get invited to a lot of poker games, but it's usually
because people believe that either I wouldn't be interested or I don't
understand the concept of 'bluffing'. Both assumptions are, of course,
incorrect."

"Of course," Eris smiles. "Consider yourself invited to my brother's poker
party. I'm sure he won't mind matching wits against you... unless you end up
winning, that is."

"Your brother a poor sport?"

"Very. He always hated gambling. He hates the very notion of actually 'losing'
anything. That's why I'm so surprised that he's hosting a poker party."

"Not much of a risk-taker, eh?" Tsandzia probes.

"Well, why do you think that he was on the Grok for so long as a 2nd
Lieutenant. We figure the only reason he got the transfer was because Star
Fleet felt guilty about the accident."

"The accident?"

But as she's about to explain, a shrill voice on the other side of the door
whines rather loudly. "There has _got_ to be a way around him!"

"Way around who?" Tsandzia marches in.

Abizakas rubs the snarl off his lips, "Oh, hello there, Tsandzia. You're not
going to believe this, but we're out in the cold. No workcenter until geology
pulls out."

Tsandzia nods while hearing the complaint, "Yes, I don't think anything else is
to be expected of Oein. After all, he has to be fair to everybody. Have you
talked to the head geologist? I'm certain, that if both of you agreed to a
settlement, like say, giving him more time on the workcenter later, or perhaps
a few personnel in exchange for using the workcenter immediately, I doubt Oein
would have a problem with it."

"Believe me, I've tried. The man is in dire need of an enema."

Tsandzia nods, her role as peace-maker quickly dwindling. "I see. Alternately,
maybe they could use you, or a few people from our department in finishing up
and getting out of the workcenter earlier?"

"That was Jeremiah's suggestion, but if I know him as well as I think I do,
it'll be all take and no give."

Tsandzia giggles, "Perhaps it could be all settled in a game of high stakes
poker?"

"Now there's an idea!"

Tsandzia glances at T'lar, "Must be a bummer to be a telepath, nobody would
play cards against you. You run into this problem alot?"

"Like I was telling Eris, all the time."

Tsandzia grins at Abizakas, "So have we found any smashing successes yet? I
really wish I had another twenty hours in a day."

"Same here. Just imagine it. I'd be able to sleep and eat and even have time
left over to clip my nosehair. I mean, we've got science people up the wazoo.
People from the Phobos. People from the Typhoon. Oh, if only I had more space.
This ship was never designed with science in mind. It's a big war boat. What
the heck good is that?"

Tsandzia turns toward Eris, "But what little space we do have is very well
equipped."

Eris nods. Then a puzzled look crosses her face. "You know... if you don't
mind setting up a bunch of slave-terminals aboard the Typhoon..."

"Slave terminals?"

"Well, they've got space on the Typhoon. I could probably get you access to the
general workcenter over there."

Tsandzia considers it for a moment. "Same here as per the Phobos. Hold on a
sec." She steps outside, and tries to raise Arloch on her communicator. It
rings and rings, but to no avail. Then a seductive feminine voice, "You've
reached the personal message folder of Ensign Arloch, former space-cadet,
future grand admiral of the inter-galactic armada. Please leave your message at
the beep." *Beep*

"Hi Tyran. I hope you get this soon. It seems that the astrophysics lab over
here on the Excalibur is being overrun with more than enough eager people. I'm
going to allow them to link up remote terminals to the Phobos science labs, and
allow the overflow to be there on a temporary basis. I'd be quite grateful if
you could help coordinate this. Just make sure their data packets don't crash
into one another on the way between the two ships. Okay? Oh, the USS Typhoon
has sort of volunteered also, but I don't know if we have official
authorization there yet. Anyway, I'll check in with you as soon as I can. And
sorry for the immediacy of all this. We just kind of caught in a bind here."

Tsandzia turns to Chief Abizakas, "It'll be just like having them right here,
only they won't be taking up floor space. This is 'temporary' after all.
Remember, I'm just authorizing the use of Phobos science space to any of your
people, should they happen to find their way there, and want to use the
space... okay?"

He nods sagely, "A comedy of circumstance. I'm sure Oein will be most
impressed. Tsandzia... thank you." He smiles and walks into the throng,
delivering instructions unto the masses.

Tsandzia finds her personal access display device (PADD) where she left it the
previous night. Seems like somebody has used it sense, as her isolinear chips
have been neatly stacked into a nice tower, rather than being scattered all
over the counter-top the way she'd left them. Essentially a portable computer
about the size of a small clipboard, Tsandzia claimed this one as her own by
having the folks down in fabrication services put a rubber coating over the
case and key-tops, a nice feature for someone who is electrically-advantaged.

She walks out into the hall and begins transferring the station's report of the
"Meto-investigation" into the PADD's memory. As expected, they left out all the
juicy parts, such as the chip they found in her trash chute and the password
they found under a bowl of fruit. She copies the file and begins editing it,
making an honest version for future reference. Then she sends the original
version to all interested parties and keeps the revised copy for herself and a
certain vulcan.

Tsandzia grabs T'lar and takes off down the aisle towards Duran's quarter,
"Come on, there's all this neat stuff going on!"

"Neat? The last time you said that, we... oh, forget it." T'lar suffers herself
to be manhandled.

Eris calls out after them, "I'll see you two at 2000 hours." She looks as
though she's eager to help out the astrophysics folks in any way she can, and
Tsandzia wonders if they'll soon have the crews of three ships working on the
wormhole problem. However, she has even more pressing matters to worry about
and Duran is not at his quarters when they arrive.

Tsandzia looks up toward the ceiling? "Computer, where is Lt. Sethon Khemsa?"

"........Lt. Khemsa is on the bridge."

"He's on duty??"

"........Negative."

Tsandzia sits down with her PADD, "Then why isn't he guarding Sarin?" She
begins keying in a simple program in FedBasic.

[main]
dec string newduran, newsarin, oldduran, oldsarin;
newduran = computer_query(location("Lt. Sethon Khemsa"));
newsarin = computer_query(location("Ambassador Sarin"));
if oldduran<>newduran then output "Duran:", newduran, time, beep;
if oldsarin<>newsarin then output "Sarin:", newsarin, time, beep;
old*=new*;
sleep 60 seconds;
repeat.

Immediately, the position's of Duran and Sarin are noted on the PADD with an
audible beep.

"Ohmigosh, Sarin's on the bridge!"

T'lar gulps a breath of air, trying to look nonchalant. "So?"

"So he might be in some sort of danger. That's why Duran's up there protecting
him."

"Duran? Who's Duran?"

Tsandzia hits a key, bringing up the revised report. "T'lar, just read this.
Commodore Ash wants me to watch Duran and render assistance, but to do it
without him knowing I'm doing it. I've been ordered to keep all this a secret,
but I just know that I'm gonna need your help, and I know I can trust you.
Right?"


Stardate 6003.27 at 0920 hours: USS Excalibur, Another Random Corridor
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So, what do you think of our ship?" Duran looks expectantly at Sarin, hoping
the vulcan has some respect for personal privacy, particularly privacy of
personal thoughts. Even so, he tries to keep those thoughts well under the
surface. It's a challenge, however, until he begins thinking of Nien. 'Heh...
that should do it.'

"A ship is only as competent as its crew."

"Not meaning to boast, Ambassador, but you can rest assured on that count.
Right, Oein? Why, we could take on the whole Klingon Armada."

"Doubtful," Oein retorts.

"What do you think of the Klingons, Ambassador? Are they balzy enough to take
us on, one on one? Their best ship versus the Excalibur?"

"Balzy?"

"You know. Do they have the guts?"

"I am not a doctor, Lieutenant. But in response to your question. Yes, I do
believe they have guts, both in the figurative and literal senses. For a
Klingon, every day is a good day to die."

Duran fakes a laugh, knowing just how true Sarin's statement really is.
"Speaking of morbid topics, did you hear about the poor girl who was killed on
the station?"

"Yes."

"I was there when it happened. That's how I got my hands screwed up, more or
less."

"Fascinating."

Duran goes back to thinking about Nien. "You know, I believe I speak for the
entire crew of the Excalibur when I say, it would be our privilege to transport
you to your next destination. Our accommodations are more comfortable than the
Typhoon's, and that would give you more time to explore the ship and spend
time with the Commander here. And besides, there have been rumors that the
Excalibur may be the next flagship. You could tell your kids that you were once
it's prime passenger back during it's virgin cruise. Just think about that. Do
you have any children, Ambassador?"

"No. Not yet."

As they round the corner, Sarin almost bumps face first into Lt. Bellasario.
The two stand around the same height, and stare at each other eye-to-eye as
they both come to a dead stop.

"Ambassador Sarin. I... you... I apologize, sir. You were not due for another
hour. We would have sent someone to meet you in the transporter room."

"I need no pomp and circumstance, Lieutenant. It defies all logic for an entire
starship to systematically reorganize its entire operating schedule solely for
the purposes of greeting one vulcan."

"Nonetheless, sir, I..."

"You were not negligent, Lieutenant. I simply arrived earlier than scheduled. I
was," he blinks somewhat thoughtfully, "interested in getting a chance to see
the Excalibur. I felt it only logical to draw as little attention to my arrival
as possible in order to see her operating routinely."

Gunner silently wonders how long this ambassador had just been wandering around
the vessel. He will have to talk to his security team about this. "Yes sir.
Well, let me formally welcome you to the Federation's pride and joy, er... in
case you haven't already been welcomed, which seems rather unlikely at this
point." He looks back and forth between Duran and Oein.

"We're giving the Ambassador a quick tour of the ship."

Gunner smiles, "Ah... okay then. Carry on."

"Actually," a strange gleam catches Sarin's eye, "I think I've seen all I wish
to see... for now, at least." He steps away from the trio and crosses the hall
to where T'lar and Tsandzia are standing somewhat unobtrusively beneath a
circulation vent. T'lar, though usually composed, seems visibly shaken by the
gentle, overhead breeze. Perhaps a chill? Unlikely.

Sarin smiles with a far-away look in his eyes as he approaches, cupping his
hands in the posture of a formal greeting. "T'lar. Do I have the fates to thank
for this moment? Or," he glances toward Tsandzia, "was it arranged well in
advance?"


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

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