ftp.ee.pdx.edu/2014.02.ftp.ee.pdx.edu.tar/ftp.ee.pdx.edu/pub/frp/stories/startrek/adv2/turn31

Text File | 1994-09-10 | 32KB | 744 lines

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                           Star Trek: Play by E-Mail
                              The Forbidden Years
                               Campaign Write-up
===============================================================================
                                 Adventure #2
                              A Matter of Policy
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                   Turn #31
                                T'lar's Victory
===============================================================================
              Copyright 1994 Jim Vassilakos / All Rights Reserved
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  Cast & Crew
  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------
  ST-PBeM GameMaster       Jim Vassilakos      [e-mail]
  Lt. T'lar                Ronnie Simonds      [e-mail]
  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]


Stardate 6003.28 at 2300 Hours: Albuquerque Station, Observation Lounge
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hawkins looks around the dimly lit chamber at his fellow officers: T'lar,
Soroc, Tsandzia, and of course Commodore Ash. "We did all we could, sir,
Histlin included. Karameth just wouldn't listen. She was afraid an' confused
and stuck on the idea of the Romulans pulling her out. She held out her belief
in them right to the very end."

Ash nods, "A fatal mistake, it would seem."

"Not just _her_ mistake," Tsandzia frowns. "My gut instinct told me not to
allow that communication to be sent through. Didn't realize why until I was
halfway to engineering."

"Histlin is not taking it well," T'lar interjects, reminding herself that the
chameleon is just in the other room, under heavy guard. "She blames herself."

"It's silly," Hawkins shakes his head. "She should be blaming the Romulans."

"She does, but her mood has grown rather self-destructive, and I'm concerned
as to what will become of her."

Ash takes a deep breath, "She'll face trial, of course."

"Of course, but in the meantime... I think she may be useful to our
expedition."

"What?!" Hawkins looks offended. "She's killed one of our people already. And
if it wasn't but for blind luck, we could all be spacedust right now thanks to
her."

"A moment ago you were practically praising her."

"I feel as sorry for her as anyone, but I also have to think pragmatically.
What if she decides to go undercover. We'd be stuck searching for her again."

"She won't do that."

"You don't know what she will or won't do, T'lar."

"She won't do it," T'lar emphasizes.

"Regardless of what she will or won't do," Soroc looks around the room, "I
would vote to leave her also. She could be useful to use in an undercover
mission, but since the Romulans still have her people hostage, and she did
prove herself willing to drop us when push came to shove..."

"She was under orders from her group leader. She was doing all she could."

"Nonetheless, she has conflicting loyalties which must be sorted out before we
can be expected to trust her with anything more than a jail cell."

"Tsandzia?" T'lar looks pleadingly.

"The only way I would really trust the chameleon to be herself is if we affixed
a siren to her head which couldn't be taken off no matter what shape she
changed into. Unfortunately, a siren would cause a lot of noise, so I don't
think that would be a good idea."

T'lar blinks a few times, trying to adjust to the fact that Tsandzia and the
blobby on her shoulder have roughly the same level of intellectual cognizance.
"Sir, I respectfully request a _private_ meeting between you, myself, and
Histlin."

"Sheesh," Hawkins mutters. "Talk about stacking the deck."

Tsandzia looks carefully at the floor to see if she's missing anything.

Soroc, meanwhile, merely shrugs, as much as a Vulcan is able. "The Commodore is
aware of our opinions. I see no point in reiteration."

A few moments later, T'lar finds herself in the room with only Ash and Histlin.
The chameleon, for the most part, seems quietly apathetic to her fate, slowly
realizing the consequences for her kin back home. Ash studies her and then the
Vulcan as T'lar takes her hand.

"Sir... I'd like to request that this be taken care of as quietly and privately
as possible." She glances over at Histlin. "Bellasario, among others, has shown
himself perfectly willing to forgo due process of law. She's lost two of the
only people she knew well... and the Romulans have stolen whatever home she had
before." T'lar squeezes her hand gently. "When the others left, they were all
babbling whether to bring her or not, as if she were an extra shuttlecraft.
Tsandzia even wanted to affix a siren to her head. She doesn't deserve this,
sir. She's been manipulated and misled her whole life... right up to when
Karameth's orders nearly forced her to blow up that ship. She should have the
right to decide herself, for once, for the rest of her life, what's going to
happen to her. Not a bunch of emotional hotheads with some twisted idea of
justice."

Ash leans back in his chair, about to open his mouth, when a beeping noise
emanates from his desk. He hits a switch.

"What?"

"The Romulan ships sir... they're heading out."

"Already? They can't have repaired already."

"They're up to warp two. Jacobson is requesting permission to escort them to
the border."

"Tell him he needn't of asked," he hits the switch a second time, blue eyes
glancing up again toward the pair of females opposite his desk. "I am in full
agreement with you, Lieutenant. But Histlin has broken our laws. I am in no
more position to pardon her actions than..."

"Then don't pardon them, sir. But at least give her the opportunity to make
amends. Without her help the Excalibur would be blowing to pieces inside an
hour."

Ash nods, "Which is probably why the Romulans are leaving so soon. They don't
want to be around for the fireworks which they're not entirely certain won't
happen." He takes a deep breath, "Look, what precisely are you asking for?"

"What I'm asking for depends on our guest's wishes, sir. Histlin... have you
any idea what you want to do now?"

The chameleon doesn't answer, however, so bewildered is her state of mind. In
the past few hours, her companions have been killed by her masters, and her
enemies have become her friends. Prior to a few hours ago, every detail of her
life was attended to by one agency or another. Freedom was only a vague notion,
one which would never be realized. Prior to a few hours ago she had a family,
her fellow chameleons, and she had a home world to which she knew she could
return upon successful completion of her mission... perhaps to see her real
family, whoever that may entail.

Now all that is gone.

T'lar realizes that continuing to ask this question may only end up eliciting a
string of unintelligible drivel. But, even without the benefit of words, she
can sense one thing that Histlin wants, something she wants very much, and that
is to stay near the only person in this sector she trusts, namely T'lar
herself. She watches the silent woman with a beseeching expression for a few
long moments, then nods.

Quietly she says to Ash, "Sir... deciding what the Federation wants to do in a
case this complicated would probably take a long time, wouldn't it? Why, just
getting the committee of judges informed and gathered could take... months."

A slow smile creeps stealthily upon the Commodore's lips.

"Until then, sir, might I suggest that our guest will need a Federation escort
to accompany her? I would be delighted to volunteer. However, as I am leaving
shortly, she would be required to join me on my journey... just until a trial
date has been set, of course."

"T'lar, you know I can't very well order Vince to take her on board."

"Why not?"

"Because... it would be rude. You make a fine speech, but it's to him that you
should be making it. Not me."

"You are his commanding officer."

"But it's his ship and his mission. I will send a memo with respect to the
matter, offering him custody, but I won't make it an order."

T'lar sighs, "Well... supposing that he agrees, might I suggest that she be
given a new identity while the 'real' Histlin is shipped off for judgement?"

Ash looks at her curiously.

"Just in case the Romulans were to find out, of course," she says with an
impeccable Vulcan deadpan.

"You want me to generate a false identity?"

"Oh... a simple bureaucratic error should suffice."

Ash's gaze hardens, "As I said. I'll offer the Phobos custody. That's as far as
I go." He leans across the table, "We commodores have to cover our stern-
sections too, you know."


Stardate 6003.28 at 0400 Hours: USS Phobos, Kris' Quarters
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**RING**

Kris awakens quickly, brushing the covers away and watching Pesty from the
corner of her eye as he escapes the oncoming avalanche of linen with a fleet-
footed leap to the floor.

**RING**

"Come in," she says after hurriedly throwing on a uniform.

The door opens and Crewman Sorrows steps into the room. Kris calmly finishes
zipping her tunic and snapping the shoulder snap before facing Sorrows. "Your
report please, Mr. Sorrows," she says as she turns the lights on.

"There were no unusual incidents, sir."

"How was Lt. Khemsa when you checked in on him?"

"Uh... he wasn't too happy to see me, sir."

"What do you mean?"

"Uh... well, it's like... you ever had a pissed-off andorian put a knife to
your throat?"

"He did what?!"

"Didn't think so." He pauses. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Kris nods.

"For purposes of sustaining the longevity of my career, not to mention my life,
I'd prefer you find some other fool to wake him up in the middle of the night,
because my check-up-on-that-nice-little-andorian days are done. No disrespect,
sir, but I do have my limits. I don't do windows, and I don't wake up andorians
in the middle of the night; thank you very much."

"It seems to me that you need to figure out how to live by two rules, crewman."

"Which are?"

"Do unto others as they do unto you, and Do unto others before they do unto
you," Kris holsters her phaser and tricorder. "You're officially off-duty now.
Go enjoy yourself. Same goes for Mr. Linanes. Dismissed."

Turning to her desk, Kris switches her communicator to the security channel.
"St. James to Lt. Soroc, report for duty at Deck 4, Section 17."

"On my way."

Fingering her phaser, Kris sighs to herself in expectation. "I can't wait until
0800!"


Stardate 6003.28 at 0700 Hours: USS Phobos, Shuttle Bay
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hawkins crawls out of his bed, cursing himself for setting up that meeting so
damned early. If only he had know that he was going to be up late chasing
aliens with bombs he could've planned better. That plus erecting a forcefield
over the shuttle bay and pressurizing the interior had eaten half the night,
and likewise half his sleep. Nonetheless, he manages to shower, dress, eat, and
still make it back to the Shuttle Bay by 0730. Various crewmembers are there,
most of them looking like they just pulled all-nighters to get the ship
up-to-snuff. Hawkins feels a twinge of guilt over sneaking in his few hours.
Then he sees an unexpected face in the crowd.

"Gardner? What are you still doin' here?"

"Transferred, Chief."

"Transferred?"

"Well heck. Who else is gonna keep your AMC unit from ripping itself apart?"

Hawkins nods, wondering who authorized the transfer. "Well, welcome aboard,
I guess." He clears his throat. "As for the rest of you, I hope y'all ain't
drop-dead tired, cause we got us some more work to do."

There are various groans.

"Don't worry. My agenda is short. We're pullin' anchor at 0800 the last I
heard. We're gonna have us a time holdin' this ole girl together over the next
couple of weeks, so ta help out in this regard I borrowed some toys from the
Excalibur." He turns and walks toward the bay's main resident, a warp shuttle
of conspicuous design irregularities.

"This is Dixie. She's my shuttle. She has quite a bit of power generation and
computing facilities, for a shuttle that is, so we can tie in to them in an
emergency. Hopefully we won't git in any, but ya never know. Anyways, what's
more important is this." He opens the back door of Dixie to reveal a high
resolution field replicator and several portable microframes. "I want y'all to
unload these toys and git them set up. I haven't had a chance ta learn all yer
names so bear with me." He points to one of the engineers present, "I'm puttin'
you in charge of the replicator. Git it setup an' work out a schedule based on
need and the like. As for the rest of ya, git me reports on everything an' I
mean everything. If ya need anything replicated, git it scheduled. As soon as
we git all the problems spelled out, we can prioritize the repairs."

He sits down hard, 'Damn, I need some coffee.' As if reading his mind, Woods
shows up with a mug of java. "Thank ya kindly," he takes a big swig, only to
realize it's empty. "What gives?"

"I figured if you were heading to the brewery, you could nab me a refill."

"I'll take it under advisement," he hands the mug back.

"Ah... does anybody know where Lt. K'tar is?"

"Running phaser re-alignments with Shawn and Shan," a broad-shouldered african
responds from the left. "Said he might be late."

"Who are you?"

"Blacksmith. Ensign. Warp Systems." He extends a thick-knuckled hand.

"Hawkins, but I guess you know that. Did he mention how the repairs are going?"

"Bridge control interface net checks out. Shield emitters and phaser emission
crystals check, but they're both being re-aligned. Tractor-beam operational.
Mat-fab is still quirky, but this field unit oughta speed us up."

"What about the computer?"

"Core diags says it's fine. We even checked for feedback on the new links. It's
running smooth."

"And the transporter?"

"Doc Bannister and the navigator are on it." He looks up, eyes a bit bloodshot.
"Make that _were_ on it."

Jake and Pacal waltz in, droopy-eyed but with an odd twinkle of pride. "We
fixed it," Pacal grins. "Can we please get some sleep now?"


Stardate 6003.28 at 0700 Hours: USS Phobos, Duran's Quarters
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Duran staggers out of bed around 0700 with the sort of hangover that kills
Klingons without even trying.

"I feel wonderful," he keeps mentioning to nobody in particular as he manages
to throw on some sweats. Out in the corridors, he can just about feel his
brain-stem whip from one side of his skull to the other with every step he
takes. The post-jog shower is a comfortable relief, though the incessant
throbbing between his ears never quite subsides.

"Breakfast? Bah..."

Then he walks over to his window and gazes out at the Excalibur while thinking
of Nien, only to notice that something is missing! The Excalibur, for instance.

"Computer."

"....working."

"What time is it?"

"....Illegal command ignored."

'These older systems... sheesh! What a pain.' Duran hits a comm-socket, calling
whoever's on the communications console on the bridge.

"You got the time?"

"Uh, 7:52, sir."

"What time did the Excalibur leave dock?"

"About an hour ago. I can still send a subspace..."

"No. Thanks." Duran cuts the line and looks once more longingly in the
direction where the Excalibur used to rest outside his window. He presses his
hand against the glass, then notices the reflection of a little blinking light.

"Mail? Of course, Nien must of sent me mail."

He's at the computer console in a matter of nanoseconds, but what he sees
before his nose isn't even close to what he expected.

   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
   From: Lt. St. James
   To: Lt. Khemsa
   Re: Asst. Security Chief Position

   I am giving you the job of Asst. Chief of Security to be
   effective as of 0800 hours on Stardate 6003.28. Our chief
   priority is to protect Ambassador Sarin. Hopefully, our Captain
   will be able to obtain a few more men for our department, as I
   relayed my belief that we're too understaffed to fulfill our role
   in this mission. If our needs are met, we should be able to guard
   Sarin, and keep surveillance throughout the ship.      -Kris
   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Then he notices his name on the duty roster. He's scheduled for guard duty in
less than five minutes. He grits his teeth, wondering why nobody ever tells him
these things. 'To heck with it,' he thinks to himself, heading for the door,
but when it opens, he almost slams into Kris. She's there, hand resting on her
phaser, eyes twitching in and out of focus like she's looking for a fight.
Duran politely backs up a step.

"Don't you ever knock?"

"Hell no." Kris replies. "Knocking on doors will turn a person blue." Her eyes
glint with a rancid blend of humor and mischief. "But I guess you never heard
of that one. Too bad you weren't asleep or something. We could've seen just how
proficient you are with that knife."

Duran steps around her and starts to walk down the hall, "Any time, Lieutenant.
Oh, and unless you wanna move in and cuddle, stay the hell out of MY quarters.
That's goes for your flunkies too."

"Why, are you doing something perverse in there I should know about?"

"Don't you wish."

She catches up to him in the corridor. "Just for your information, several
members of our crew managed to capture the 3rd chameleon last night." She
winces, "Well, capture isn't exactly the right word. They _were captured_ by
the 3rd chameleon. Lt. Soroc has just been telling me all about their little
adventure."

"What's the upshot?"

"Dead chameleon. We still have one of them in custody, however. Apparently
T'lar wants to have her as our guest aboard the Phobos."

Duran blinks once or twice but reserves whatever comments he may have, at
least for the moment.

"Anyway, since we're not expecting any imminent assassination attempts, I've
decided to revert security back into a more normal footing in order to relieve
stress on the manpower situation. Oh, and I'm canceling the security sweeps.
Assuming Vince agrees, of course."

Duran looks at Kris and thinks, 'Finally something intelligent!'

"Anyway, I just thought you should be informed."

"Are you simply informing me, or are you asking my opinion?"

"Well, being the new Assistant Security Chief, I assume that if you had any
opinions regarding security, you wouldn't hesitate to make me aware of them."

"That would be a good and valid assumption." Duran looks at her again as if
searching for the hidden trap, "Your new plan appears sound. The kind of
security you are running now... in my opinion... would wipe out your entire
security force long before we arrive."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to avoid."

When they finally arrive at Sarin's room, they find Lt. Soroc waiting rather
patiently.

Duran stops in front of the Vulcan. "I assume you are Lt. Soroc?"

"Yes sir."

"No need for formality, Soroc. Call me Khemsa."

"Aye sir," the Vulcan replies without expression.

'Typical Vulcan.' Duran smiles, "Is the Ambassador in?"

"I came on at 0400. At that time, Lt. St. James assured me he was in. I have
not disturbed the Ambassador."

"So in other words, you don't really know." Without waiting for a reply, Duran
knocks on the door. And a moment later it is open, though the aged diplomat, so
used to being cooped-up where it's safe and snug, does for a moment shiver as
he sees blue andorian eyes. The presence of St. James and Soroc seems to lend
some comfort, however.

"I am sorry, sir, but I must scan you before you enter." Soroc pulls out his
tricorder and scans Duran. "Sir, you must leave any weapons with me. SOP, sir."

"Don't worry Soroc. I'm relieving you of guard duty." He turns again toward
Sarin. "My apologies for disturbing you, Ambassador, but as I am to be guarding
you for the next four hours, I wanted to check-up on a few minor details."

"Details?"

Wordlessly, Duran whips out his tricorder and scans the Vulcan, verifying that
he is not a chameleon. While staring at the tricorder, Duran slowly raises his
right hand and gently pokes Sarin in the ribs. Convinced he is the real thing,
Duran relaxes, "I would like to have a chat with you later today, privately.
When would be a good time for you?"

"My appointment schedule is somewhat vacant at the moment."

"Excellent. I'm done here by 1200 hours for certain, so will 1300 be
acceptable?"

"I should think that one hour does not hold much preference over any other."

Kris cuts in, "We also wanted to inform you that we have found the third
chameleon."

Sarin stares at her, somewhat apathetically. "Oh joy." Then the door swooshes
shut, leaving Kris and Soroc wondering what's on the Ambassador's mind. Duran,
of course, already knows. 'He knows about me. No doubt there.' He grits his
teeth but says nothing.


Stardate 6003.28 at 0755 Hours: USS Phobos, Vince's Quarters
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

"Shnork! Uh huh... okay Ma." Vince finds the snooze-button for the fifth time
that morning, turning his head just in time to see the numbers. A split second
later, he's bolting out of bed like an olympic sprinter. 'Oh damn, I'm gonna be
late for my first whole day as captain!'

SPLOOSH!

He comes out of the shower, still bug-eyed from his dream regarding the
strawberry pop-tarts and Elmer Fudd (trust me, you don't want to know).

"Where are my keys? Damnit, where'd I put my keys?! Wait a minute, I don't need
keys. I'm on a starship for crying out loud." He marches out, then remembers
that he forgot to put his pants on.

"Uh... good morning, sir."

"You didn't see a thing, Ensign."

"See what, sir?"

"Good," he marches back into his quarters, finds some pants, and then sees a
little light blinking beside his terminal console.

   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
   From: Commodore Ash, Albuquerque Command
   To: Interim Captain de la Sangre, USS Phobos
   Re: The Chameleon known as Histlin

   As you know, the chameleon currently in Albuquerque Brig has been
   charged with the violation of numerous interstellar laws.
   Regulations dictate that she must be transported to a Federation
   Starbase at the earliest possible convenience. Since the Phobos
   is scheduled to depart to Starbase 75, I hope that you will have
   her transported from my brig to yours. However, if you feel that
   your facilities and staff are inadequate and present a security
   risk, then she will have to wait for the next available
   transport.
   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Vince stares at the display for a second, mouth wide open. "What is this, the
USS Circus? Why must everything happen to me, and all at once?" With a heavy
sigh he starts to answer the note, then decides that it's too early in the
morning to dictate a friggin' memo. He hits a comm-port, "Exo-comm, get me
Ash... oh, and encrypt the friggin' transmission, will ya?"

"Sir, the Romulans warships are no longer in the vicinity."

"Do it anyway. Just in case."

"Aye sir."

Vince waits for close to a minute, wondering what's taking Ash so long to "come
to the phone" as it were. Finally there's a click. Then a yawn. Then a high-
pitched giggle somewhere in the background.

"You know, if you keep calling me like this Vincent... people are liable to
get suspicious."

Vince winces, hoping he's referring to the precious cargo.

"With all due respect sir, I do not consider it the wisest of decisions to
transport the ambassador and his 'would-be assassin' on the same ship,
especially not when we are as understaffed in the Security department as we
are."

"Ah, a ploy to acquire more hands. Nicely played too, I might add."

"Sir... did anything of significance happen last night while I was sleeping?"

"Of significance. Why do you ask?" The sound running water echoes through the
speaker.

"Your request seems rather... odd."

"Well, we found the 3rd chameleon. She's dead. The old hide-the-bomb-in-the-
neck trick. It's a long story. However, Lt. T'lar seems to have made a 'friend'
of the last surviving chameleon."

"Histlin."

"Right. Apparently the assassin squad had planted photon grenades all over the
Excalibur. With Histlin's help, all the grenades have been neutralized, though
I needn't inform you of the probable results had she not been so...
cooperative."

Vince nods, "I can imagine. Well, since the Excalibur is indebted to this
chameleon..."

"The Excalibur left port about an hour ago. Apparently there's been some
altercation near the border."

"Altercation?"

"Between the Romulan ships and the Typhoon. I'm still awaiting full details."

Vince scowls, "That is not good news."

"Agreed."

"So let me get this straight. You want me to put Histlin on my ship. Why?"

There's a short pause. Then finally, "I pity her."

"You what?!"

"And she may prove valuable."

"About as valuable as a hole in the head."

"I admit, it is an unorthodox request, and if you choose to refuse it, I won't
hold it against you in the least. But if my guess doesn't miss its mark, she
has a seething hatred for the Romulans, and being formerly one of their
enslaved, she knows all about them. Their methods. Their means. Perhaps even
their goals, though she may not have all the details. She's told us that the
Romulans wanted her late associate, Tanara, to mimic Sarin in order to divert
some sort of technology transfer into Romulan hands. She doesn't know the
particulars, but I think that may well be the goal of Sarin's mission, the goal
that he is holding in confidence as is understandably his obligation to do. We
haven't had the time to go over the facts in absolute thoroughness, so I can't
simply hand you a brief detailing her knowledge. But I can hand you her, the
source of this knowledge, and leave you to determine the accuracy of her
statements. Who knows? She may actually prove useful. But as I said, the choice
is yours to make. Entirely yours."

'Hmmm... now's the time for being decisive, the way we were taught in the
academy.' Vince makes a face, trying to remember exactly what he was taught in
the Academy, if anything. "Sir, I'll need some time to think about it. I don't
think so well early in the morning. I'll just take a quick walk, and I'll give
you my decision. Have her pack her things just in case."

Ash chuckles, "What things?" Then the line goes dead, leaving Vince in a somber
mood.

'What a way to start the day,' he sighs as he walks to the door. "If this keeps
up, I'm going into early retirement." As he walks into the hall, however, a
peculiar thought strikes him. 'Ouch. Hey, I know. I'll go shout at the crew,
that always seems to lift me up. I'll find out what lowly personage is
responsible for turning my office into a storage room. That ought to be good
for a full thirty minutes of shouting at least.' He starts clearing out his
throat and running through his vocal-chord exercises on the way to the bridge.

When the turbolift doors open, however, Lt. T'lar is there, and from the look
of determination in her eyes, she means business. Either that or she's just on
the rag.

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

"I respectfully request permission to speak freely, sir."

"Always," he smiles, suddenly feeling his feet go cold.

"Sir? I'd like to formally request that Histlin be escorted with us on the
Phobos until her trial date is set." Vince raises a hand and begins to speak,
at which point the Vulcan quickly interrupts and launches into a mind-numbing,
complex line of argument for half an hour that clearly outlines why the
conclusion that Histlin should accompany the Phobos is logically inescapable.
She follows him to Engineering. To his office. Back to the bridge. She
completely ruins his nice chewing-out of the hapless ensigns who used his ready
room for a dump. She doesn't seem to be breathing, and as near as Vince can
tell, she can keep talking in the same determined monotone for the next
galactic rotation.

Heck, she even has Tsandzia agreeing with her, who stops by just long enough to
hand over her Crown of Babblelot. "Geez... who would _not_ want the Chameleon
on board! Just think, if we get the simulacrum running, and the chameleon on
board, nobody will have a chance in hell of figuring out who the real Sarin
is!"

Vince, winces, sticks his fingers in his ears, and when that grows too painful,
finally shoves his head down a garbage chute.

"Sir, you may have trouble discerning the details of my logical analysis with
your head down there."

Vince pulls his head back out, "T'lar, I will make this decision on my own,
independent of what you or any other crewmembers think. Is that clear?!"

"Sir, I'm merely attempting to show you that via a multi-variate, algorithmic
approach to this problem, even accounting for Histlin's blood pressure and
the maximum air velocity of the african flying swallow, it can be determined
beyond a shadow of error that..."

"That you are talking my ears off. I'm warning you T'lar, this hasn't started
out as the best of mornings, and my mood isn't getting any better by your
incessant babbling. Now LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!"

"But sir..."

"I mean it, T'lar! Stop bugging me... or... or I'll decide right here and now
that we are _not_ taking Histlin along." He grits his teeth and grins.

T'lar gulps, opens her mouth, closes it again, repeats the process about three
time, and then finally walks away, though not at a death-defying pace.

'It worked?? That was all I had to say?' Vince blinks once or twice, scratching
his head and feeling sort of silly. "Ahem... now where was I?" He waits until
T'lar is out of earshot, wondering just how far that is for a Vulcan. When he
finally feels it's safe, he finds a comm-port. "Exo-comm... get me Albuquerque
Brig. Or, no. Just tell them to go ahead and transport that chameleon over. But
directly to our brig. And inform St. James that she's got another special
somebody to look after. Got all that?"

"Yes sir."

Vince cuts the channel, takes a deep breath, and exhales just in time to hear a
shriek of joy from around the corner.

"YEESSSSS!!! YA-HOO!! YIPPEE!!!" T'lar peeks around the corner when she's
finally regained some semblance of self-restraint, then scampers off toward the
Brig, resplendent in her victory, leaving Vince to mumble to himself about
respect for one's superiors, court-marshals, and how people seem to disappear
without a trace during long space trips, especially if they've been annoying
the Captain.


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

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