ftp.ee.pdx.edu/2014.02.ftp.ee.pdx.edu.tar/ftp.ee.pdx.edu/pub/frp/stories/startrek/adv2/turn27

Text File | 1994-09-10 | 33KB | 778 lines

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                           Star Trek: Play by E-Mail
                              The Forbidden Years
                               Campaign Write-up
===============================================================================
                                 Adventure #2
                              A Matter of Policy
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                   Turn #27
                              Eggrolls & Romance
===============================================================================
              Copyright 1994 Jim Vassilakos / All Rights Reserved
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  Cast & Crew
  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------
  ST-PBeM GameMaster       Jim Vassilakos      [e-mail]
  Lt. Bellasario           Alan Ward           [e-mail]
  Lt. T'lar                Ronnie Simonds      [e-mail]
  2nd Lt. Morchainte       Brian Chrisman      [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. Duran          Tony Hayes          [e-mail]
  Lt. St. James            John Brengman       [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. de la Sangre   Carlos Jensen       [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. Hawkins        Tony Hayes          [e-mail]
  2nd Lt. Xelha            Dave Shue           [e-mail]
  Dr. Bannister            Jason Stripinis     [e-mail]
  Lt. K'tar                Steve Mays          [e-mail]
  Lt. Soroc                Jeff Ellis          [e-mail]


Administrivia:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Soroc is introduced in this turn. He's a half-vulcan security officer played by
Jeff, my system administrator.


Stardate 6003.27 at 1920 hours: Albuquerque Station, Debriefing Room
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So, I see that Commodore Srikanna sends her heartfelt greetings." Ash examines
the report which accompanied the half-vulcan lieutenant into his station. It
mentions an interrogation at Starbase 75. An interrogation of a chameleon, no
less. Apparently, Ambassador Sarin was fingered as a target for assassin. Ash
scowls, "Why did this take so damn long to reach me?!"

"Sir," Lt. Soroc responds, "I got here as quickly as possible. Because of the
nature of the report, we did not trust its contents to subspace transmission."

"Well perhaps you should have. Two have already struck, and there's a third
wandering around out there. Chameleons, Lieutenant. I haven't yet composed a
report on the latest incidents, so you'll have to get your information from
someone closer to the action. I've assigned you to the Phobos for the time
being, as that is where the third will strike... unless we're totally wrong
about their purpose here."

"Which is to hit Ambassador Sarin, I presume? I heard a rumor on the way in
that Sarin was recently... assassinated. If this is true, why are you
suspecting a third strike aboard the Phobos?"

The Commodore makes a wry smile, "Your supervisor is Lt. St. James. I suggest
you ask her that question. I have already forwarded your records. Dismissed."

Soroc turns and exits, heading off to the transporter pads with his single
black bag of personal effects. The scrutiny he receives upon reaching the
Phobos, however, is a bit more than he anticipated. He stares coldly at his
welcoming committee, even after they are done running the tricorder over him
several times.

"Welcome to the Phobos, Lieutenant..."

"...Soroc. Which way to my quarters?"

"Deck four. Your name is already on the..." the guard's voice trails off as
Soroc turns and heads into the turbolift. "...already on the door. Damn
Vulcan."

When he finally reaches his quarters, Soroc sets his bag down and carefully
unpacks the essential supplies of the interstellar traveller: one white towel
(known far and wide as the most useful item in the galaxy), a book of Vogon
poetry (in case one should ever feel suicidal urges), and last but not least,
an isolinear chip containing a very special program executable on a wide
variety of computer systems across the Federation, useful for acquiring that
one commodity no sophont should be without... net access.

"Computer. Hmm... Computer, please respond." Soroc shakes his head and sits
down at the desk terminal, inserting the chip into the reader. A minute later,
his program is running in login-independent mode at lowest CPU priority. He
cracks a faint smile, knowing that all too soon, numerous passwords will be
available to him, and with them, all the information they hold dear.

"Hmm... what's this?"

   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
   From: Lt. Kristin St. James, Chief of Security, USS Phobos
   To: Lt. Soroc

   I have been appraised of your reassignment from Albuquerque
   Command to this ship. I have also been sent a copy of your record.
   I find it interesting. I welcome you aboard the Phobos and will
   appreciate any help your talents may be to our staff.

   Before you report for duty, please report to the USS Excalibur.
   Once there, you will conduct a thorough interrogation of the two
   prisoners we have captured. Please note that these are chameleons
   and a certain amount of caution must be undertaken. If anyone
   asks, the interrogation is conducted under my authority. I must
   tell you, however, that security chiefs are extremely territorial
   and Mr. Bellasario is even more so. Expect trouble from him.

   I look forward to your report upon your boarding the Phobos.

                                                Kristin St. James
   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Soroc withdraws a communicator and switches to the standard shipboard channel
for internal security.

"Soroc to Lt. St. James."

"Well, welcome aboard, Lieutenant," the communicator crackles back.

"Sorry to bother you, but Commodore Ash was unable to brief me on the
Ambassador Sarin incident. It is not logical for me to do the interrogation
without starting with all the pertinent facts. If you want me to do the
interrogation blind, without even knowing the basic details of Sarin's
assassination, I will."

There's a short pause over the channel before the line sputters back to life.
"Lieutenant, the encryption routine on this channel is not without it's
security risks. Do you understand?"

Soroc nods and bites his lip, "Yes sir."

"As for the interrogation. You have your orders. Follow them. I will explain
them to you _after_ you report back to me."

Soroc grumbles under his breath, "Acknowledged, sir."


Stardate 6003.27 at 1950 hours: USS Phobos, Main Engineering
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hawkins to Carlile."

"Carlile here, Sir."

"Lieutenant, the Phobos has some serious problems with its warp core."

"That's odd. We should have noticed irregularities in the emissions pattern."

"Well, it's not exactly that simple. The problem is with the A/M containment
field generators. They'll hold up for a few weeks, but they're gonna need
replacement."

There's a sigh from the other end of the line. "Then you're talking a major
repair facility. Probably Starbase 75."

"Exactly. Anyway, they asked me to baby sit the ole girl. I'm leaving you in
charge of the Excalibur. Take good care of her."

"Uh... aye sir." Carlile always was good at hiding her surprise.

"Now, I want you to do me a favor. But keep it quiet."

Hesitantly, "Quiet, sir?"

"I want you to bring Dixie over to the Phobos."

"Chief, that's no problem..."

"There's more. I want you to put a couple portable microframes and a field
replicator in it before you bring it. These old ships don't have the quality
replicators that our boat has, and the computer is ancient."

"Will do, Chief. Anything else you want me to sneak over?"

"No, that'll do. I just don't wanna stir up any concerns about the Excalibur
lending the Phobos equipment, ya know, command red tape and all. It would take
a month of paper work."

"I understand. I'll be over in a few minutes."

"Good. Oh, Carlile. Thanks."


Stardate 6003.27 at 1955 hours: USS Phobos, Outside T'lar's Quarters
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nien and Duran arrive at Sarin's new quarters only to find Kris, Oein, and the
two guards waiting, "Lt. Khemsa reporting for duty as ordered, without any
delay, sir!" He stands a good three inches over Kris and a good seventy pounds
heavier. Glaring down at her, "What are your orders?"

Kris looks back and forth between Nien and the large, dripping, white-toweled,
blue guy. "Where is your uniform?"

"I was ordered to report without any delay. I had no time to put one on."

"Why didn't you tell me you were in the shower?"

"My personal hygiene habits are none of your business, sir!"

Nien rolls her eyes and hands Oein an eggroll. "Vince killed the poker game."

"My most fervent apathy. What are _you_ doing on board?"

"Handing you an eggroll. Are you complaining?"

"Not if you'd take it back."

Kris scowls, "Fine. You want to stand guard in a towel, that's okay by me.
Turak, you're with me." She turns to enter Sarin's quarters.

Duran speaks up, "Sir, for clarification, you have over half the guard force
present in this location. We are not currently at any alert status, nor is
there a crisis condition. I am off-duty and wearing only a towel. You have
additional on-duty staff available. Sir, for clarification, given these
conditions, are you ordering me to stand guard duty?"

Kris glances around, becoming suddenly suspicious, "Why?"

"I want to be absolutely clear on the conditions and nature of this order so
there can be no mistake, in the event I choose to file a grievance with the
Judge Advocate General's office, citing you for abuse of command authority,
sir."

Kris' eyes narrow. "I am ordering you to stand guard here until I return." She
growls. "I didn't ask for you to debate or question those orders; I merely want
you to obey them. We are critically understaffed here, and we are guarding a
person who is the target of professional killers who can disguise themselves as
Star Fleet officers. I will require my staff to make a lot of sacrifices in the
near future. If you cannot make those sacrifices, I suggest you see the Captain
about a transfer to a luxury liner."

"I see our rights to question our superior's orders are being revoked as well,"
Duran interjects.

"Lieutenant, I'm too busy to deal with it right now. If you have a complaint,
you can see me or the Captain... or the Judge Advocate General's office... but
not now." Kris turns and keys open the door, but pauses before entering. "By
the way. Until your transfer, you are under my command, and your job is to take
my orders," she grits her teeth, "unless, of course, you prefer the rank of
prisoner to that of lieutenant." Then she enters with Turak and Sarin, leaving
the angry andorian with Nien and Ekstrom.

"She doesn't have the authority."

Nien winces, "Actually, I think she does. Here. Have an eggroll. It'll make you
feel better."

"I feel fine. She's just angry 'cause I called her bluff."

"Bluff?"

"She pulled rank without justification. I call that a bluff."

"Some bluff. You're standing here half-naked."

He takes an eggroll, "You know... I bet your 'buddy' is behind the whole
thing."

"Vince? I think if he had a choice in the matter, he'd prefer you wore your
uniform while you stood guard duty."

Duran grins, "Or any other occasions you happen to be in the immediate
vicinity." He glances over at the other guard, "From the way you're eyeing my
eggroll, I'd say you either have a chinese fetish or you haven't eaten
since..."

"Oh-eight-hundred, sir."

"Here ya go," Nien hands Ekstrom the last eggroll and starts breaking out with
the mu-shu quaggahaggis.

"What in Gorometh is that?"

She flashes back a semi-wicked grin, "Try it... you'll like it."


Stardate 6003.27 at 2005 hours: USS Phobos, T'lar's Quarters
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I do not think it should surprise you too much to learn that I have been
expecting you."

"Then you know why I'm here." Oein finds a seat, rolling it within a few feet
of the Ambassador before sitting down. "It is not like you to hold secrets."

Sarin seems strangely tired, as though either ill or emotionally taxed, and as
he leans forward, glancing toward Turak and Kristin, a determined grimace forms
upon his lips. "My good friend. I have always held secrets. All beings hold
secrets. It is in the nature of the intellect as well as in the nature of
government. Before this time, however, my secrets were so well-concealed that
even their presence could not be discerned. Yet, just as surely as night passes
into day, so too do all threads unravel. Tell me, who is guarding outside?"

"Crewman Ekstrom and Lt. Khemsa."

Sarin nods slowly, though Oein remains confused.

"Is it important?"

"I simply like to know the names of those who risk their lives on my behalf.
Call it a quirk of personality. Am I to understand that one of my guards on the
Excalibur..."

"Is dead," Oein nods. "Do not let guilt plague your mind."

"I am vulcan."

"And most unlike any vulcan I have ever known." Oein takes a deep breath, as
though looking down into a great chasm. "My time is short. I must ask you to
tell me the purpose of your mission, so that I may decide whether or not to
abandon my work aboard the Excalibur... in favor of accompanying this
expedition."

"You think that I should divulge state secrets so that you might better arrange
your schedule... you have grown ever so proud, Lt. Cmdr. tr'Remas." Sarin
smiles, "But if you must know, my purpose is the same as it has always been, to
win through peace what others would win through war."

"Will there be war if your mission fails?"

Sarin drops his smile, "I think you now see the crux of my position. Take
leave, Oein, and make up your mind as to how best your time might be spent. But
remember this. Should you choose to stand by me, then do so without
reservation. Otherwise, the fighting has already begun, treachery upon
treachery claiming us both as victims."

Kris stays behind after the door swooshes shut behind Oein.

"Is there anything you wanna tell me?" Kris inquires. "I realize that I haven't
been my usual friendly self lately, but your mission seems to have precluded
that. Maybe after you're done..."

"After my mission is finished, I hope we can all sit down around a large table
and have that poker game which," Sarin glances toward a clock, "it seems will
have to be postponed."

"Actually, I heard that Vince canceled it."

"A wise move. Where is he, by the way?"

"Probably on the bridge by now."


Stardate 6003.27 at 2005 hours: USS Phobos, Bridge
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vince stares around as the turbolift doors slide open, stepping out with as
confident a stance as he can muster once he sees that no klingons are present.

"Where the hell are the department heads?"

Trozena looks up, "T'lar is on the Excalibur. St. James was on deck four last
time she checked in."

"I'm here," Tsandzia announces.

"You're not a department head. What about Hawkins. Where the hell is he?"

Tsandzia casts the Captain a cool gaze, "Last I remember, I was the acting
science head aboard the Phobos. Are you saying that I'm fired?"

"As you already know, I offered the position to Oein. Assuming that he accepts,
he'll be your supervisor." Vince smirks, "I hope that doesn't bother you,
Lieutenant... taking orders from a Romulan."

Trozena looks up, "Sir, my records show that Hawkins checked in an hour ago.
He's somewhere on board. I can send him a summons to the bridge if you want?"

"Send a summons for all department heads, I want them in my office in five
minutes. I do _have_ an office on this ship, don't I?!"

"Uh... well..."

"What?!"

"We're using it as a storeroom."

"A what?!"


Stardate 6003.27 at 2005 hours: USS Phobos, Outside T'lar's Quarters
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Nien, Duran, and Ekstrom are partaking in their feast, a new person rounds
the corner, this one wearing an engineer's uniform. He appears to be somebody
from the Excalibur, according to the shoulder patch, and Nien recognizes him
instantly.

"Ohmigod, what are you doing here?!"

"Never mind me. What the hell are _you_ doin' here?!"

"Oh, just having some dinner with... well, uh... Lt. Khemsa, meet Chief
Gardner, Antimatter Containment Specialist aboard the Excalibur."

Duran smiles weakly, checks his towel, and tries not to let the fact that his
face is turning three shade of blue get noticed. It was only that afternoon
that he'd last talked with Nien's long-time friend, first talking about her as
though she were a virtual goddess (which she is, of course), and then quickly
backing off, pretending it was all a joke when he realized he was blabbering.
Duran quickly settles on the ignorance-is-bliss approach and, for once, keeps
his big mouth shut, unrealistically hoping that Gardener will let the
'incident' slide.

'Yeah, right,' Gardner coughs to cover his own surprise. "Nice towel... Lt.
_Khemsa_ was it?"

"Yes, it is. A very nice towel. I was called on duty and they didn't even give
me time to change."

"Is that a fact?"

"Sometimes I just feel that there is a force out there intentionally arranging
awkward moments for me... and thoroughly enjoying it when they come to pass."

"It's called the GM," Nien informs him.

"Yes, I know. So, uh... what brings you here, Mr. Gardner?"

"Oh, my chief just called my supervisor and said that you guys were having some
problems with the warp core... antimatter containment in specific."

"We're not in danger, are we?"

"That all depends on how competent I'm feeling."

'Hopefully, more competent than I'm feeling,' Duran thinks to himself. "So, I
guess you'd better be running along before we blow up or something."

"Actually, if you don't mind, I have something to tell the Commander here...
in private." Gardner smiles.

'Oh shit.' Duran winces. "Well... ah... sure. Fine by me. I mean you don't need
my approval... I guess." He smiles weakly again, "I'll just be... here... I
guess... when you come back... you know after your talk and all."

"Oh, no sense being needlessly optimistic. C'mon, Nien."

Nien looks back over her shoulder as she gets escorted down the corridor, a
slightly confused expression in her eyes as she wonders what private signals
were being sent back and forth... and more importantly, why.

Duran says goodbye with his eyes if not with his heart. Ekstrom, however, just
grins. "What was that all about?"

"Ever been taught Andorian profanity, my friend?"

He shakes his head.

Duran grits his teeth, "Then listen closely." He lapses into a long, self-
admonishing tirade, parts of which are composed in Klingon, others in Terra-
Common, some in Andorian, and even a few in Romulan. It's the self-admonishment
to end all self-admonishments, the likes of which has never been heard and will
likely never be heard again. Ay, it's even enough to make a grown Klingon blush
in humility! Unfortunately, however, it ends up making a Romulan blush instead.
A Romulan and a Tellarite, both!

Oein regards Duran with a supercilious stare, then heads off down the corridor.
Turak, meanwhile, merely nods his congratulations. "That was, without a doubt,
the very best string of insults I have ever heard. You mind repeating a few of
the more choice segments?" He breaks out a PADD.

Before Duran can respond, however, the doors slide open again, and Kris marches
out. "Lieutenant, I will be willing to forget that you reported unprepared for
a security detail on one condition. That condition is that you will be relieved
of duty for the next eight hours and that you will use that time to get some
sleep. You sounded fatigued on the intercom, and you were obviously just
heading for bed when I called you for this duty. I'd rather you do this than
force me to relieve you for conduct unbecoming an officer. Am I understood?"

Duran looks Kris in the eye, ready to retaliate with that now-famous string of
insults when he suddenly realizes that she's giving him what he wanted. "Uh...
cool. All I wanted was some off-duty time to engage in some R&R."

"I did not say R&R, Mister, I said SLEEP," Kris states rather coldly. "That is,
a condition where you will be unable to do anything except rest and ready
yourself for your next shift. I don't want you causing trouble, reporting for
duty with only a towel covering you, taking a shower in your clothes, gunning
down foreign spies, or our own people for that matter. You will report to your
quarters, and you will get some sleep. If necessary, I will send someone to
tuck you in." Kris pauses. "If you do not obey this order, I will have to put
you in the brig for insubordination, where you will THEN get your eight hours
of sleep. Do I make myself clear?"

Duran grins, a totally out of place expression. He cocks his head to one side
then rubs his temples. He looks back up, then glances at the guard, then back
to Kris. "It is clear that we need to have us a chat, but I'm just not able to
do that right now. It would be a bad time. But we will be doing that soon." He
turns and walks off back toward his quarters. 'I'm gonna kill her. I'll kill
them all.' He grits his teeth, clenching his hands into tight fists until he
realizes that he needs them to hold up his towel which is rudely trying to slip
down his legs.

"...telling you, Nien. He's bad news. If you don't believe me, then ask T'lar.
I hear she was walking around with a big black bandage on her lip for half the
day."

"She didn't have it on when I saw her."

"What are you saying then? You calling me a liar? Nien, no wait... Nie..."

She almost runs into him on her way around the corner, and Gardner suddenly
shuts his mouth when he sees the Andorian.

"Nien, Chief. Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," Duran says only half
truthfully."

Nien glares back at Gardner, "That's okay. I think we're through."

Gardner just stands there and bites his lip. "You're making a big mistake,
girlie."

"Then it'll be _my_ mistake, _Barney_!"

"Barney?" Duran winces, "Now I see what you're always calling him by his last
name."

Nien grits her teeth, "How much of that did you hear?"

"Enough."

When they finally get to his quarters, Duran goes to the dresser and grabs some
clothes.

"He's right you know," he says as he dresses, "I am bad news. Trouble follows
me wherever I go. If it's not my job getting me into trouble, then it's my
temper." He gestures toward the shattered comm unit as he pulls on his shirt,
"I could have just played the part of a good little lieutenant and marched down
there, stood my little guard duty and been done with it. But no."

Nien turns about-face, "Go ahead."

"Thanks," he drops his towel and pulls on some pants. Then he whirls around
suddenly, making a swooshing sound with the air around him.

Nien turns around, "Studying acrobatics?"

"No. Just a bad dream." He takes the seat across from the bed where Nien sits
down, folding her legs. "The point is, I'm Andorian. We are a people driven by
fierce emotions and by logic as cold and flawless as any Vulcan. We do
everything with a passion."

"Is that how you see yourselves, or is it just how you want to be seen?"

Duran stops cold. "I'm sorry. This is not how I wanted things to go. I wanted
everything to be... perfect. I can't believe the things I've told you." He
laughs nervously, "I'm like a schoolboy whenever I'm around you. I babble like
a Calainian and constantly burden you with my problems. I haven't behaved like
this since..." He looks down toward the carpet, a rueful expression carved upon
his face.

"Since when?"

"Well, since the summer I got the Tur'shin I lent you." Duran pauses and looks
up, trying to read her expression. He thinks back to her question at breakfast,
about old romances, and wonders if she wants him to tell her or to drop the
topic flat. Could be either judging from her expression, faintly curious but
also somewhat cold.

"I don't want to dwell on the past or how the night has developed or anything
else." He gets up and takes her by the hand. Helping her to her feet, "I just
want to dwell on you and me. The past can't be changed, the future hasn't
unfolded yet, but tonight can be ours."

She regards him with a curious stare as he pours a set of drinks. "Wait, Tark,
I..."

"Here's to us, let's enjoy the time we have together."

She grins, "You have got to be the most die-hard romantic I've ever met."

"Only when I'm near you."

"Tark... we met less then twenty-four hours ago, and you're already trying to
get me drunk." She takes a tentative sip.

"You don't approve?" He grins, hoping it has it's desired effect.

"Well... it's very smooth, a little too smooth, but I'm not too sure about the
after-taste." She puts the glass down. "Look, I wasn't born yesterday."

"What do you mean?"

"You're feeding me lines from some soap-opera."

"I'm speaking from my heart, Nien. If it sounds like a soap, I'm sorry, but
that's the way I feel."

She grins again, shaking her head slightly. "I just... I feel like you're
offering me an ultimatum. Be swept off your feet or run for your soul."

"No... you've got me wrong."

"Do I?"

"That's just caution talking, of which you have more than your share, Nien.
Look, unless I miss my mark, the Phobos will be leaving soon. Perhaps as early
as tonight. I don't know. But the point is, after it's gone... all we'll have
are the memories. You'll become like some passing stranger, one I'd wished I'd
known... but couldn't." He takes a deep gulp of nothing as her gaze drops to
the floor, her expression somewhere between denial and acceptance, and finds
himself surprised, a moment later, to be lifting her chin ever so gently, and
with it her point of attention, until their eyes meet again somewhere in the
softly-lit space in between.

"Nien, I..."

What he has to say, however, goes beyond mere romanticism. Duran gulps another
lump of air, searching for a dignified way to finish his sentence, a way which
would leave them both intact. Unhurt. Gazing into her deep brown eyes, however,
he realizes that such a search could take years. Perhaps longer.

"You don't have to say anything," she almost whispers.

Duran pulls her gently toward him and kisses her passionately. When they
finally part he whispers, "Stay the night with me."

"You know I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I'm deltan. I've taken the oath."

"Hmm... I'd forgotten about that. I can't ask you, won't ask you to break that
oath. But that doesn't mean you can't stay." He kisses her again, "I promise
your oath will be intact come morning... you have my word as an Andorian."

She smiles, a bit on the disbelieving side. "Go to sleep, Tark."

"Are you leaving?"

"I think its best that I do."

"I understand... well a little anyway." Duran grins. "A little different ending
to the evening than I expected, but the whole night has been a little different
than I expected."

There's a brief, awkward silence, neither really knowing what to say. Finally
Duran opens his mouth. "Could you do me a favor?"

"A favor?" Nien smiles again.

"I already asked for THAT favor." Duran laughs, "No, will you take these chips
to the Excalibur and deliver them for me?"

"What are they?"

"Well, this one's a letter to my family. And this one... this is a little
harder. It's an update report on my mission."

"You mean your vacation."

Duran smiles, "Right. Umm... normally I give these to a courier, but the only
one I know of is dead."

"Well, the letter to your family is easy enough, but how am I to deliver the
report?"

"You're headed coreward. You'll hit a starbase sooner or later. Just walk into
the nearest SFIC office and give it to them. There's an encrypted routing
header and a double encrypted report to my commander." Duran extends the chips
for her to take, "So, do you mind?"

"I think I can handle it."

"Great. That will be of great help. Now, let me walk you back to the
Excalibur... and I won't take no for answer!"

"Then I guess I won't give you no as an answer."

Together they return to the Excalibur and to Nien's quarters, Duran taking his
first look at her place. It's sparse and rather utilitarian, a stark contract
to what he'd expected.

"I guess you'll be wanting this," she hands him back the Tur'shin.

"Thanks." He looks into her eyes again, finally looking away before his legs
start to wobble. "Uhh... I don't know what to say."

"That's the problem with kissing friends." She wanders off to the corner of the
room. "It changes everything."

He holds the folded piece of clothing to his chest, again caught with a lack of
suitable words, until finally he thinks of something reasonably adequate and
perhaps even true. "I'll never forget you, Nien."

"Nor I you." Her eyes seems to grin. "Now get out before you end up seducing me
twice in one night."

"Actually, I thought it was the other way around."

"Whichever."

He grins, barely cognizant that all the pain and awkwardness were so easily
dissipated by just a brief moment of honesty, and though he wants to charge
over, sweep her off her feet, and plaster her with a thousand kisses, he knows
that to take even one step would only postpone the inevitable and bring the
pain and awkwardness back with such vengeance that even honesty should not be
sharp enough to cut its way through.

"There's so much I want to say to you, Nien."

"Tell me next time."

"What if there isn't a next time?"

"There will be. I have a good feeling about these things."

He nods, "Okay. Until we meet again." And yet, as soon as the door swooshes
shut, he feels like a empty shell, devoid of all purpose and meaning. He wants
to rush back in with any inconceivable excuse. He wants to tell her what he was
too afraid of acknowledge, even deep inside. How, in a day, could he have
become so wrapped up in one person, he has no idea. But wrapped-up he is, and
the only solution is solitude and drunken misery.

Duran returns to his room on the Phobos and finds a bottle of Scotch. Romulan
ale is his preferred drink but Scotch is better for getting drunk, and it's
easier to come by. He holds the Tur'shin in his right hand and the bottle in
his left, the Tur'shin, now a reminder of two lost loves, its fragile cloth
gleaming in the gentle starlight from outside his cabin porthole.

Time slides by like a snail on a rampage, and Duran passes in and out of sleep,
never quite knowing from one moment to the next whether he is awake or not. In
his mind's eyes, he can imagine Nien sneaking into room, shedding the Tur'shin
in the fine darkness, and crawling upon him, bathing every inch of his flesh
with her tongue, until finally they couple in a sweat-soaked heat, she purring
his name, clawing his back, and finally nuzzling into him, spent and exhausted
and yet eminently satisfied.

"I love you," she says, but the words are Romulan. It is Apriss who is upon
him, and not Nien. Young, gentle Apriss, her eyes bugging out as the kasha wire
digs into her neck, suddenly choking, his own blue fingers at the ends,
strangling the life from her body.

"No!!!"

Duran throws off the sheets, getting up from the gravbeb a moment later. Then
he hears it again. Somebody at the door. He moves toward it as it opens, the
bright light from the hall blinding him for a split second as instinct takes
over. Suddenly the poor figure is on the floor with a glittery dagger pressed
to his throat.

"Wait man! It's me! Sorrows!"

Duran, shakes his head back and forth, trying to throw off the liquory haze
without any appreciable success. "What do you want?"

"Nothing, man. I was ordered to check on you. That's all."

"What? By whom?"

"The Chief. You know, St. James."

Duran crawls off Sorrows and hauls him to his feet, "She did what?!"

"She sent me to make sure you were asleep. That's all."

"Doricha!!" Sorrows has no idea what that meant but is fairly certain it wasn't
a compliment. "You tell her I was asleep until you woke me. Oh, and don't ever
again enter my room uninvited; I don't care who orders it." Duran re-enters his
cabin and crawls back on the bed, more tired than pissed.


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

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