ftp.ee.pdx.edu/2014.02.ftp.ee.pdx.edu.tar/ftp.ee.pdx.edu/pub/frp/stories/startrek/adv2/turn20

Text File | 1994-09-10 | 38KB | 910 lines

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                           Star Trek: Play by E-Mail
                              The Forbidden Years
                               Campaign Write-up
===============================================================================
                                 Adventure #2
                              A Matter of Policy
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                   Turn #20
                                Heads or Tails
===============================================================================
              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. Hawkins        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 1200 hours: USS Excalibur, Engineering
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Headache of a lifetime, Lieutenant. Headache of a lifetime. Here I was,
expecting to make all these world-shaking breakthroughs in science and
technology, and now it's like I'm back in Math 10A, staring at some friggin'
computer terminal and not being able to make heads or tails..."

"Heads or tails?" Tsandzia tries to remember where she's heard the expression.

"I have no idea how the darn thing even converted its negative mass." Hawkins
shakes his head in frustration. "There's no reaction chamber. Just the A/M
bottle and some melted down components."

"What do you mean, melted down?"

"More like vaporized, actually. Her innards must've over-heated when she was
prepping to go nova. We're damn lucky there wasn't any residue. Even a
pin-prick of that stuff could of wrecked some serious havoc."

"I believe it," Tsandzia nods, intrigued and yet disappointed all at the same
time. The borg technology is proving itself more alien than anybody could have
guessed. "What about the other stuff? It might be easier to analyze one of
their gadgets. Maybe a thorough investigation of how they work will shed some
light on other things the Borg have created."

"Or pilfered," Hawkins suggests. "Here. Take a look at this." He turns around,
strapping on a borg-belt and stepping into an airlock with a cup of coffee.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Don't worry. This is fun." He closes the airlock, himself inside, and slowly
lowers the pressure to vacuum. Then he drinks his cup of coffee and smiles
through the window. Tsandzia stares through the plastic, her eyes widening in
disbelief.

Once he's back inside, "Was that as good for you as it was for me?"

Tsandzia gawks, "That's incredible... really.. an incredible feat! We must find
out how it works!"

"It's generating some kind of complex protonic field. Multi-layered and
rotational with an uni-directional, pressure-permeable window."

"Is it the same thing they were using for their personal shields?"

He grins, "That's the big question. I'm pretty sure the two are tied together
somehow. But the automatic triggering and focus mechanisms are gonna be harder
to figure out than the actual fields. Some kind of computer is making this
thing aware of its surroundings. If we can figure it out, we can probably have
our own personal shields to play with."

"That would be nice," Tsandzia observes. "Say... er. You don't mind if I take
her for a spin, do ya?"

Hawkins smiles and holds up the belt. "Be mah guest, darlin'."


Stardate 6003.27 at 1230 hours: USS Excalibur, Bridge
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"It is a very odd scan," Oein finally agrees.

"Can you rule out it's being a ghost?"

The Romulan shakes his head, "The only way to do that would be by independent
confirmation, and unfortunately, at 0100 hours this morning, our scanners were
not focused on the Graz."

"Well, how about a ballpark estimate?" Vince queries.

Oein thinks for a moment, "I am a scientist, Commander de la Sangre. I do not
guess. However," he pauses, "it is worth noting that 80% of all ghosts appear
between two opposing vessels, generally, in the direction which the boarding
ship is facing. This one appears far to the side. And just at the point which
you were concluding your inspection."

"Hold on a sec..." Johnson makes a puzzled expression, as though remembering
something from a previous life. "Yank it back in time."

"Excuse me?"

"Yank it back a few seconds. I want to see something."

Oein does as instructed, and as expected, the ghost disappears off the screen,
leaving only the Graz and the freighter they were inspecting.

"You see that?"

"What?" Vince stares at the screen, but sees nothing spectacular.

"Carrier waves."

"That's me beaming back to the Graz, Axel."

"Yeah. I mean, it's just like he said. It's at the same exact moment. It's like
they see you beaming and decide to show themselves."

Vince rubs his forehead softly, "Well, assuming that it is a cloaked ship, why
would they show themselves? To let the other ship know their location so they
could dock with each other?"

"Unlikely," Oein comments.

"Why? Can't a cloaked ship dock with an uncloaked ship?"

"That is not an issue. These scans show that the parallax of the interphase
spectrometer is well within alignment."

"What?"

"Moreover, the juxtaposition of the othogonal matrix with the <blah> <blah>...
<blah> <blah> <blah>..."

Vince shakes his head, "I assume there's an underlying point to all this."

Oein abruptly stops, a confused and perhaps slightly hurt look on his face. "I
was merely suggesting that perhaps the transporters themselves caused the
illusion of another ship."

Johnson nods, "Yeah. There's definitely some sort of correlation. Look at
this," he points to the readings, "the ghost appears just after we started
beaming you guys back, and it disappears just as the readings of carrier
transmissions cease.

Vincent slowly rubs his sore forehead. "So you're trying to say that it's a
ghost, caused by the transporter beams." He tacitly curses himself for not
having seen this coming. Slowly recomposing himself, he sits back and lets the
full extent of his blunder unfold in his mind, images of himself scrubbing the
latrines on board the USS Graz suddenly appearing before his eyes.

"Are you feeling alright, Commander. You look rather... queasy."

"I'm fine, Commander tr'Remas." Vince snaps back to reality. "A bit perturbed,
but otherwise fine."

"Perturbed?"

"Yes. Perturbed. I just find if hard to believe that transporter activity could
generate this sort of image. I never seen anything like it. The way I see it,
either our scanners are severely busted or... or we have someone pulling our
leg here." He lets the proposition sink in for a moment before continuing.
"Now, isn't there even the remotest possibility of a ship like that receiving
something or *someone* at the same time we left? Coordinating this to make them
seem as one?"

Johnson nods, "Yeah. Overlapping the transporter signals. They drop their cloak
just long enough to use their transporters. And since we're using ours at the
same time, we don't detect their carrier waves. They're effectively masked, and
we're the ones doing the masking."

Vince raps his fist on the control panel. "Right. That could account for a lot
of things... the illegal substances on the base, the timing of this whole
thing. The question I have, though, is that if this ghost isn't a ghost, but
really just somebody dropping their cloak, then why didn't we get a better
image than this?"

Oein shrugs, "It is hard to say with certainty."

Johnson seems a bit unconvinced, but whatever he has it in his mind to say is
suddenly swept aside as a turbolift door opens, depositing Commander Elineva on
the bridge. "Who is she?"

Vince turns to look, intrigued by the tone in Axel's voice. Suddenly his mouth
drops open. He tries to close it, but it just drops open again before his mind
is able regain control of his jaw. There's Nien. The woman he'd just about
rescued from the lecherous paws of that wicked Ferengi pirate, Damon Zar. Or
had she rescued him?

Meanwhile, Axel waves a hand in front of the Lt. Commander's face, snapping his
fingers once or twice. "Hey Commander. Excalibur to Commander de la Sangre.
Come in."

Vince shakes off the spell, getting to his feet and making a beeline toward
Nien. When she finally sees him, he snaps to attention.

"Lt. Commander Vincent de la Sangre at your service, Commander."

Nien grins, more than a bit flustered. "Vince? What are you doing here?"

"Well it's a small universe you know..." He says while taking a good look at
her. "You look good, and I see you your career is coming along... always knew
you'd make it big, kid. Ever since I first saw you." He closes his eyes for a
moment and lets the memories come rushing back. "If it weren't for my leg here
you wouldn't have made it at all." He taps his bionic leg and smiles sadly. "So
what are you doing aboard this bucket of bolts?"

Nien looks like she's about to come up with an appropriately witty response
when the Captain swivels about in her center-seat, "A moment, Commander. If you
please."

Nien casts Vince an apologetic glance before retreating to business. "Yes sir?"
LeBonk motions her closer, and then begins murmuring so softly that Vince can
only catch every third word. Something about Albuquerque security, garbage
tubes, and bits of uniforms. Nien nods slowly, her mood darkening as she takes
in the information.

"Has the Commodore been..."

"Yes, he knows. We're to do nothing." LeBonk scowls, "I just thought you should
be informed. I'm issuing an advisory for all crewpersons to carry phasers while
off-ship, but that's about as far as we can go."

Vincent clears his throat gently to get their attention. "Captain, Sir. If this
has to do with our investigation, I feel that I should be..."

"What investigation?"

"Er... we're checking on the some sensor readings from the Graz."

"Sensor readings?"

"Possibilities that there may have been a cloaked vessel in this vicinity." He
gulps, realizing he's taking a bit of a plunge by telling her.

LeBonk casts a sharp look toward Oein. "Why haven't I been informed?"

"Sir, we're still not certain whether or not the reading is... credible." He
steals a glance toward Johnson. "There is the distinct possibility that the
reading is a sensor ghost."

LeBonk nods, "I see. Inform me when you find out anything new."

At that particular moment, Vince's communicator beeps. "Is there a place I can
take this without..."

"Use my ready room."

He opens the communicator as the door shuts behind him, "de la Sangre."

"Hey Vince, this is your commanding officer speaking," Drake's voice sounds a
little tired. Or is it self-directed sarcasm?

"What's up?"

"I just got a note from McReynolds. Appears that some of her boys found some
chop suey in the recycling bins." Vince feels himself involuntarily gulp down.
Chop suey is a slang term for what happens to pet dogs and the like if they
inadvertently find their way into a garbage chute. The recycling system turns
them into burnt hamburger scraps and bits of bone, all floating in a pool of
curdled blood. Not a pretty sight to say the least.

"I think I just caught a whiff of that, Captain. Anybody mention bits of a
uniform?"

"Uniforms, Vince. Plural."

"Maybe it's just a practical joke?"

"That's what they thought at first... before they found somebody's shoulder-
blade caught in one of the garbage grinders. I just thought you'd like to
know."

"Did they find any ID? Locator badges? Anything like that?"

"No. All that stuff was stripped off. Why?"

"Just curious... thanks." Vince closes his communicator and walks back onto the
bridge. For a moment he stands there, staring around at the teaming arsenal of
blinks, buzzes, and bleeps. Why would somebody shove uniformed personnel into
an Albuquerque recycling tube? More specifically, why would they take their
IDs?

"Commander."

Nien looks up, "Vince, some stuff just came up."

"I know. That's what I have to talk to you about. Please, just a moment."

As the door closes behind them, sealing off the bridge from the Captain's ready
room, Vince feels his feet grow cold. The look on her face says she's slipping
him time as a personal favor.

"What is it?"

"I need you to work with me... to tell me everything. I know that someone has
smuggled something onto the station, and I know how."

"Let me guess... you just can't prove it."

"Well... no, not yet, but I think it's linked to those bodies in the recycling
bin."

She casts him a cold glare, "You weren't supposed to hear that."

"Why not? I have a right to know. Besides, Drake just told me all about it. The
thing that I can't figure out is why."

"Assuming that your ghost isn't just a ghost... what makes you think that has
anything to do with what happened on the Albuquerque?"

"Because... they weren't just local low-lifes. They were Star Fleet personnel.
The uniforms just about prove it. I think that somebody wanted their badges.
With the badges and good make-overs, they could get past the transporter
security and walk around just as if they were crewmembers."

"You think that somebody's trying to steal technology?"

"The Excalibur is the prize of the fleet. They may not just want to steal it.
They might want to destroy it. Or they might have other motives. They might be
trying to get aboard the Typhoon to get at Sarin."

"Sarin's not on the Typhoon? He's here."

Vince gulps, "I dunno. Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but..."

Nien nods, "I'll bring this stuff up with the Captain and see what she
thinks."

Vince shrugs, "You do that. I'm gonna talk to the Commodore."


Stardate 6003.27 at 1300 hours: USS Excalibur, Duran's Quarters
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Duran glances quickly at the "visitor logs" as he enters his quarters, and
notices again that Commodore Ash is still in the holodeck.

"Damn Commodore. Has he nothing better to do? Damn near blows my cover and then
hogs the holodeck." Duran paces the room a bit. "Computer, secure door, oh...
what's this... a message?" He hits a key on the console.

   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
   From: 2nd Lt. Morchainte
   To: Lt. Khemsa

   Should I send a message to Starbase that you've been informed of
   the stuff they told me? Or would you prefer to do it yourself?

   -Tsandzia

   /-/-/ Newborn Blobbies in Need of Adoption. Supply Limited! \-\-\
   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Newborn Blobbies?" Duran fires up a reply:

   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
   From: Lt. Khemsa
   To: 2nd Lt. Morchainte

   You may do as you wish. However, I had no intention of telling
   anyone on the Starbase as you may well be charged with disobeying
   orders. If you want to take that chance, that choice is yours to
   make.

   Thank you for asking.

   - Sethon
   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He hits a final key, sending the message on a collision course with the
electric oblivion of Tsandzia's brain.

"Heh... chew on that ya psycho."

He crawls onto the bed and lies down, taking several deep breaths and
attempting some basic relaxation techniques. Most of all, however, he tries to
flush his mind of all thoughts, focusing just on relaxing and on Nien.

The real question, of course, is where to take her. To ten-forward? 'I don't
want her to think I'm trying to get her drunk,' Duran ponders. 'On the other
hand, that may not be such a bad idea.' He wonders what Nien would act like,
given the proper level of intoxication. Quiet and introspective? Bouncing with
mischief? Wild, unpredictable? Given to quenching her unsated desires?

'A Deltan,' he thinks to himself, grinning ever so slightly. Either she has so
much pent-up sexual frustration that she's ready to burst... or, perhaps more
likely, she's long ago given up that part of herself. That part of life. He
doubts it, thinking back to the morning jog. He'd come so close to throwing
himself upon her. Had she known it?

In his mind's eye, he pictures her talking to Captain LeBonk.

"He wants to take me on a date."

"Good. It'll give us a chance to find out more about who he is... and what he's
up to."

"How far do you want me to go?"

Jenifer smiles, "Use your judgement, but just remember one thing." She drops
her smile. "If he is lying to us, then lives may depend on how much you can
learn. For some reason, he seems to trust you. Take advantage of that."

The scene shifts, and he pictures Nien at the dinner table, a white kitten
sitting on a ledge in the background. Somehow, they are back on Andor,
overlooking the capital from the floating Palace of Gorometh. She's crying
about something, telling him that she's just following orders.

"What orders?"

She pulls out a phaser. Then everything goes black.

*Beep* *Beep* *Beep*

Duran blinks his eyes and hits the comm-port next to the bed, slowly adjusting
to the light.

"Yeah?"

"Lt. Khemsa, this is Chief Gardner. You left a message for me this morning?"

"Chief Gardner? Oh, Chief Gardner. Sorry I was... napping."

"Well," the drawl sounds vaguely Southern, "You call me back when..."

"No, that's quite alright. It's just been a... a long day. But I do want to
talk to you."

There's a short pause on the other end. Then, "I'm all ears, Lieutenant."

Duran nods, "Good. First, I have to admit that this is... a personal matter. I
need to make it perfectly clear that you are under no pressure to talk with me
nor to answer any questions you don't feel comfortable with."

"Alright," hesitation clearly showing in Gardner's voice.

"I want to talk with you about, Nien... er... Commander Elineva. She is
extraordinary! Oh, she's beautiful, of course, but she's so much more! Witty,
charming, and sharp as a tack!" Duran realizes how he's going on. "Ah...sorry.
As you can see I'm really taken with her."

"Ah... Lieutenant," there's some small amount of chuckling on the other end.
Then it cuts short. "This is a joke, right?"

"Joke?"  Suddenly Duran realizes how stupid this was. SFIC training has certain
side benefits, "Well, I never was any good at this sort of thing." Duran fakes
a laugh, "They thought if I called you out of thin air and started asking
questions they'd get you all worked up. Sorry, Chief, I was cornered into doing
the calling. Sorry to bother you." Then he closes the connection. 'Love is
blind,' he thinks, 'Blind? Hell, it makes you stupid!'


Stardate 6003.27 at 1300 hours: USS Excalibur, Engineering
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ohmigod! Somebody's spaced Tsandzia!"

"That would be me," Lt. Commander Hawkins walks up and takes a polite bow.
Meanwhile, Tsandzia waves through the window as though to say, "Come on out.
Water's fine."

"It's one of those Borg toys they brought back with 'em. Facinatin' piece of
equipment." Hawkins' thick southern accent seem incongruous with his detailed,
technical description of how the protonic field seems to be generated. After a
bit he realizes that Kris is only nodding politely and not really listening,
"Sorry. Sometimes I forget that not everyone is as interested in engineering
practicalities as I am." He looks through the lock toward Tsandzia then back at
Kris, "Wanna be next?"

"No, I think I'd rather keep a deck under my feet." Kris replies. "Is there any
way to communicate with her while she's out there?"

"Unfortunately, no. Our communicators use a different technology than the
Borg's. The suit interprets our comm signals as an attack or rather as
background radiation and filters it out. The Borg communicators, on the other
hand, seem to be based on phased transporter carrier waves. In fact the shield
allows virtually all transporter waves to pass unaffected. This must be so they
can beam in to combat with their shields on. It's rather ingenious." Hawkins
glances at a nearby chronometer and waves for Tsandzia to return to the ship.

"What is the power source?"

"A battery. I'm not sure exactly how long it'll last, though. Power output
seems to vary." He looks at the chronometer again and waves toward Tsandzia a
little more vigorously.

Tsandzia finally decides to notice the jerky hand motions of the chief
engineer, floating herself slowly toward the airlock.

"How is she able to control her movement?" Kris presses her palms against the
window.

"Something strange about her ability to project electrical fields. I figure
that the pressure barrier should stop her, but like the Borg, she's somehow
able to employ some form of subatomic gyration on the field itself. It enables
her to accelerate," he smiles, "very slowly, of course. I figure she maxes out
at about half a meter per second per second."

Tsandzia, meanwhile, repressurizes the airlock and opens the door, looking
toward Lt. St. James. "Hey! Wanna go take a look at the outer hull as nobody's
ever seen it before? We're truly going where no man has gone before... at
least, without a space suit!"

"No," Kris replies, tossing Tsandzia a couple of burgers. "I'd prefer to keep
something solid under my toes." Pausing for a second, she adds, "Can we talk?"
Casting a look toward Hawkins, she states, "Girl talk."

He grabs a sludge-burger, "Exclusion of a senior officer. That'll cost you in
edibles."

"Eat all you want." She looks toward Tsandzia, "Well?"

Tsandzia smiles, "Sure," and begins walking toward the corridor.

Hawkins takes a bite, and puts a cautious arm on Tsandzia's shoulder. "Er...
don't go walking away with that belt, Tsandzia. I still got some more tests I
want to run."

Tsandzia casts him a condescending stare, as though to say "I found it first."

"Now don't get ornery. Y'all can come by an' play with it whenever you like.
Fair enough?"

Tsandzia finally relinquishes her play-thing. "Don't say I never did you any
favors." Then she turns down a random corridor, Kris in tow. "So, what is it
you wanted to talk about?"

"Well," Kris begins, "I'm curious about some things."

"Like what was going on in the brig?" Tsandzia deduces.

"Yeah."

The Calainian Princess "umms" and looks back over her shoulder, "I don't
suppose you'd believe me if I just said it was one of those bad-hair days?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Why do you want to know?"

This one's a fair question. For all Kris knows, the little war between Khemsa
and Tsandzia is none of her business. But the fact that something is going on
behind her back makes her all the more curious.

"I guess I'm just... concerned. Concerned that it may have something to do with
the Ambassador."

Tsandzia nods thoughtfully. "What gave you that idea?"

"Well, Lt. Bellasario told me and Parker not to let anybody see him. I mean,
not even Lt. Khemsa. He specifically said that Khemsa wasn't to see Sarin
without T'lar present also. I dunno," she looks down, "it just struck me as
odd. I figured that it must have something to do with that episode at the Brig.
Does it?"

Tsandzia stops near the turbolift, looking around to make sure nobody is within
earshot. "I don't suppose I'm the first person you've asked about all this."

"No, I talked to Lt. Khemsa just a little while ago."

"And?"

"He said it was a... misunderstanding."

Tsandzia nods slowly, "Oh, I'll bet he did. Did he say anything else?"

She nods again, then looks around, "He said I should keep on my toes. To watch
what's going on."

"Oh?"

"He said that... not all may appear as it seems... whatever that means."

Tsandzia nods, "I see," and begins walking again. Kris follows behind,
realizing that so far she's told Tsandzia everything she knows and has gotten
nothing in return.

"When I asked him what he meant, he wouldn't answer me. I figured that if
nobody else was going to talk to me... maybe you would. I'd like to get a
straight answer from at least one person involved with this. Khemsa didn't want
to talk about it, and neither did T'Lar." She finally steps in front of
Tsandzia, blocking her path. "What both of them chose to forget was the fact
that I was placed aboard this ship specifically for the purpose of guarding
Ambassador Sarin. If there is anything going on which concerns his safety, I
have a right to know about it."

Tsandzia stares back, then finally drops her guard. "Well, I guess considering
that Sarin requested you as his bodyguard..." she sighs, then leans against the
wall. "When Khemsa beamed me to the brig, I thought he was going to kill me."

"Going to kill you!?" Kris looks around, thankful that nobody's in earshot.
"Why would he want to kill you?" she half-whispers, half-shouts.

"Like I said before. It's a long story. Anyway, that's why I jammed the
cellblock's main entrance. I didn't even realize that I was on the Excalibur."

"But..."

"All I can really tell you is that the information is 'classified'. They
'classify' these facts to keep Sarin safe, I assume. But then I wonder, how
good of a job if it are they doing? You are the one he requested, not Starbase
Security." Tsandzia sighs slightly, losing track of what she was talking about.
"Anyways... uh, where was I?"

"You had just jammed the cellblock doors," Kris replies.

Tsandzia nods, "Well, after that, *Duran* beamed me out and stunned me... I
awoke in sickbay. Not exactly a fun day. There was a big argument, and he just
kept talking... I really can't tell you any of the specifics, but in the end,
I'm very uncertain as to who is who, and why. So I decided that since T'lar
knew what I knew, and T'lar knows Sarin really well, everything would work out
okay."

"Well," Kris says. "I thought I oughta have a small chat with you to see if you
could shed some light on the subject. Thanks." With that, Kris heads back
toward the Ambassadorial Suite, a bit more confused than she was ten minutes
ago. As she makes her way, she can't help but go over Tsandzia's words in her
mind. She finally stops in the center of the corridor.

"Who's Duran?"

Then she spins a 180 and starts walking back toward Engineering. Tsandzia is
there, throwing on the borg-belt for another spin, Hawkins faithfully at her
side with an engineering tricorder, making sure that it's powering up properly
before he lets her out the airlock.

"Excuse me. One more small question. Who is Duran?"

Hawkins looks up from the tricorder, "Duran? Duran Duran was a rock group from
England... during the late twentieth century... 1980's to be more precise."

Tsand and Kris give Hawkins an odd look.

Hawkins shrugs, "One of my cousins on my Mama's side is a Music Historian and
she keeps sending me all this old stuff."

"I don't think that was the Duran I had in mind." She looks expectantly at
Tsandzia.

The Calainian gulps and fumbles with her words, "Ummm... oh... Duran. Yeah, he
was an old buddy of mine back in the academy. Why don't you step outside with
me for a moment and I can tell you about him... a really neat guy..."

"I know you have a fondness for that belt, Tsandzia, but ya just can't wander
off with it!" Hawkins feels like he's nagging but the belt and other Borg toys
represent a serious security threat to the Federation if some other power
should get them and figure them out first. "Engineering is a secure, restricted
access zone. It's reasonably safe here."

Tsandzia laughs, "This is a secure area? If they wanted a secure area, they
could have taken these objects to Starbase Security... there is a lot of places
better suited to 'protecting' this stuff. The reason they are here is so people
can figure out what makes them tick, and what sort of ticking they do!"

"Which is exactly what we're doing," he gently unhooks the belt and presses it
to his ear. "Hmm... if it were really ticking, I'd be worried."

Tsandzia, though clearly annoyed about being semi-forcibly undressed, just
glares and says nothing, knowing that one word from the chief engineer could
get her permanently evicted from his deck.

He grins, "Now, if you two want to make more girl-talk about this 'Duran' and
don't want me to hear about it, that's fine by me, but either leave the belt or
use my office." He sets it down on the "intensive scanning and analysis" bench
and motions over one of the xeno-techs to take over.


Stardate 6003.27 at 1250 hours: USS Excalibur, Outside the Bridge
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Color me curious, but just what are you doing down there, Commodore?"

Ash grins, remembering his program involving Nien and the poker cards. That had
been a *lot* more fun than this gibberish concerning Sarin. "Oh, I've had my
hands full, you know. We Commodores so rarely get a chance to relax that when
we happen upon one, we must grip it sternly with both fists. Why, what fun is
recreation, if one doesn't break a sweat?"

"I see," Vince murmurs, turning down the volume on his communicator just a
notch.

"But I assume that you're calling me for reasons other than those concerning my
personal well-being."

"I'm calling about the chop-suey."

"Well, you can't have any. I'm saving it for left-overs."

Just like Ash to joke about the dead. Vince sighs, "I'm concerned that no IDs
were found."

"Or locator badges, for that matter."

"Right," Vince wonders if the Commodore is already several steps ahead of him.
"If the victims were from the Excalibur, they'd of had locator badges. Anybody
with those badges and a good make-over could just waltz on board."

Ash beams, glancing toward Sarin. "And what gives you the idea that anyone
would want to do that?"

"Because... the Excalibur is the prize of the fleet. Sir, I don't know if this
has any bearing, but I have reason to believe that some smugglers may have
recently penetrated the inspection net around Albuquerque. I think that a
cloaking device might be involved. A very specialized one, possibly. One that
allows carrier waves to penetrate, at the expense of leaving only a faint,
'ghost-image' for the scanner operators to pick up... if they're good enough."

"So you believe that someone is trying to infiltrate the Excalibur. Somebody
who got past inspection with who knows what?"

"Exactly. Sir, if you have any other information, I'd like to volunteer to be
part of the investigation."

Ash bites his lip, knowing he could use the extra manpower, but not wanting to
open things up to any more people than he already has. Not yet, at least.

"Sir, have you been able to identify the victims yet? If we could figure out
who they were, we'd have a solid change to trace these infiltrators down."

"Toquero's working on it even as we speak. If you want to talk to him..."

Vince nods, "I'll check up on him."

"Do that. And remember, carry a firearm. We've lost enough people for one day."

"Aye sir," Vince closes the flap to his communicator. A few minutes later, he's
back on the Graz, Johnson at his side.

"It's just like I said, man. Nobody will believe anything unless you can prove
it. How the heck am I suppose to *prove* it?"

Vince opens the door to the security office and grabs two phasers from the
armory. He extends his arm to Johnson. "Here. Take it?"

"What is this?"

"A phaser."

"I can see that. Why are you handing it to me?"

"I want you to carry it. Just in case there's trouble. They found some chop-
suey on the station. Uniformed chop-suey. C'mon. Take it."

Johnson accepts the weapon, but does so with an odd look on his face, kinda
sweaty, like he's being asked to push the button that will end all life in the
universe.

"Look, Johnson. You probably won't have to use it. It's just a precaution...
I'll be with you the whole time."

"That's supposed me make me feel better?"

"Oh, c'mon. You know how to use one of those, right?"

"Of course, man. What do you think i am? It's just that I never thought I'd
have to use one."

Vince smiles, "That's okay. Can never get quite used to them myself after all
these years. And that's even after losing my buddy." He pats his bionic leg. "I
have go find the Captain. Go shoot off a few sim-bursts to get the feel of it.
It might help. Just meet me back at t-port in half an hour."

Axel walks away slowly, mumbling his "yes sir" before he's around the corner.
Vince just nods and grins, happy to get that much out of the crewman. A few
minutes later, he finds himself in the galley. The only galley. No separation
of officers and enlisted on this boat. Vince consults a clock, thinking that
he'll find Drake either picking-up on the female crewmembers or shooting the
crap with the enlisted men. Usually the two are woven together.

Being the middle of lunch time, there are around twenty people in there. And
the Captain isn't one of them. Lieutenant Sanders, the rotund chief of
security, nods when he sees Vince come in.

"Sanders... Seen the captain around lately?"

"He was here about half an hour ago. Said something about passing along some
news to you. I think he was headed for the cap."

The cap. He means the observation cap. Not a bad place to see the stars on a
lonely afternoon, which is every afternoon aboard this boat. Rumor has it that
Drake goes up there to drink himself into a mild stupor while listening to his
Bach and Beethoven. It's a rumor that Vince could confirm, if anyone bothered
to ask.

"Right, thanks a lot Sanders. Anything interesting happen since I left?"

"Yeah, Mizoski and Gavin got in some sort of fight. I don't think they're
talking to each other."

Mizoski the food-synthe specialist, and Gavin, the resident food critic. One's
a dog person. The other's a cat person. 'Nuff said.

"Right. If there's nothing else... I have more urgent business, like shooting
myself in the foot."

"Oh, there's more," he grins. "I won twenty credits off Michelle. She was
stupid enough to bet me that we wouldn't have chowder-flakes again for
breakfast."

Nothing like ornery food-terminals to make a crew happy. Chowder-flakes means
that no matter which cereal you order, it tastes "fishy".

Vince smirks as he heads toward the observation cap, wondering if the whole
crew would just commit mass-suicide if it wasn't for the outstanding leadership
Star Fleet graced them with.

Speaking of which... *Burp*

Drake has a bottle of something vaguely blue in one hand and a communicator in
the other. "Well well... if it isn't the space pirate. Have a seat, Vince."

Captain Drake had gotten into the habit of referring to Vince as a space pirate
ever since he found out that his first officer's last name means "blood" in
English.

Vince eyes the bottle suspiciously before climbing into a seat beside his
commanding officer, who, in this case, isn't quite so commanding as he is
inebriated.

"Y'know Vince... I've been cruising the spacelanes, boarding ships, manifesting
cargo, and generally making a nuisance of myself to all these god-forsaken
aliens for longer than I care to remember. And I've yet to recall a day when
they've been audacious enough to can our guys over a poor-boy's rent."

Poor boys rent. Something of insignificance.

While still eyeing the bottle and its contents, "You know... it wasn't a
ghost."

"I know. I've just been talking to Ash. It sounds like he's got his hands
full."

"With the holodeck?"

Vince sees the encryption indicator shining on Drake's communicator.

"Not exactly. Look, I'm not allowed to say anything to anybody. I'm not even
allowed to know the full extent of what's going on. But I can tell you this.
We've got phasers and photons armed and ready, scanners are on continual
passive sweep, and less than ten people on this ship even know about it. Ash is
expecting something to happen, but he wants us to keep it absolutely quiet."

"We're on alert status?"

Drake shrugs, "Sort of. Depends on who you ask. But the bottom line is that we
can't be obvious about it."

"You want me to go to the bridge and..."

"No. It's under control. First sign of trouble, they have orders to shoot first
and ask questions later."

"Jesus. What prompted this?"

"More than you realize." Drake smiles sheepishly, "Y'know. When you first told
me about those ghosts..."

"...you didn't believe me."

"I figured that if you wanted to investigate the supernatural, so be it. It's
none of my business."

"You didn't find it fishy?"

"I found it damn fishy. But just 'cause you smell fish don't necessarily mean
there's seafood. There could be other reasons." He blinks his eyes a couple
times to get rid of the spots. "What did LeBonkers say when you told her about
the ghosts?"

"She was neutral, but I assume she could figure out for herself that people
don't generally lose their IDs and badges when nose-diving into disposal units.
She probably put two and two together and came up with the same conclusion I
did."

Drake nods, "Ash is worried that there might be assassins."

"Assassins?"

"Actually... he's more than worried. He's downright positive."

"How? What happened?"

Drake takes another swig from the bottle. "My god. First ghosts. Now assassins?
What's next... little green dudes from Uranus?"

Tumblers start rolling in Vince's head. "Is it about Ambassador Sarin? He's on
the Excalibur."

"There's been an attempt, Vince. Somebody tried to kill him."


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

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