ftp.ee.pdx.edu/2014.02.ftp.ee.pdx.edu.tar/ftp.ee.pdx.edu/pub/frp/stories/startrek/adv2/turn37

Text File | 1994-09-10 | 47KB | 1,159 lines

*******************************************************************************
                           Star Trek: Play by E-Mail
                              The Forbidden Years
                               Campaign Write-up
===============================================================================
                                 Adventure #2
                              A Matter of Policy
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                   Turn #37
                                    Snoops
===============================================================================
              Copyright 1994 Jim Vassilakos / All Rights Reserved
*******************************************************************************


  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]
  Lt. Cmdr. tr'Remas       Dave Shue           [e-mail]
  Dr. Bannister            Jason Stripinis     [e-mail]
  Lt. K'tar                Steve Mays          [e-mail]


Stardate 6003.28 at 1415 Hours: USS Phobos, Brig
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ever since the incident with Sarin, Histlin seems way out-of-it... which is
saying quite a bit, as she was out-of-it to begin with. Duran deactivates the
field on her cell and enters.

"How are we doing?"

"Where is T'lar?"

Duran sighs at the name of yet another female who would no doubt love to rip
him to shreds. "On the bridge, I suspect. Look, I'm sorry you had to overhear
that incident with Kris and all."

"You don't seem to like her very much."

Duran makes a defensive face. "I like her fine." 'I'd like to break her neck.
No, actually I'd love to.' He smiles innocently. "We've just been having a bit
of a communication difficulty." 'Nothing a good kasha-wire can't fix.' "Anyway,
Histlin, now that Sarin has left (no doubt permanently) I have to deal with
these people over here, but I promise, I will come by and see you. I'm going to
see if I can get permission to get you some quarters. You don't belong in the
brig anymore."

"I'd like very much to stay with T'lar."

Duran winces at the mere mention of the name. "Fine. Whatever. Just don't let
her brainwash you about me."

Histlin looks sincerely confused.

"Never mind. You'll find out soon enough."

Duran moves her to the far cell and gets her some andorian tea to soothe her
nerves. Then he goes over to see the new bunch of prisoners. Duran fakes a
yawn, flexing his muscles under his tight-fitting shirt. He has found it often
will decrease the chances of problems if you show off a little first so they
can see what they will have to deal with. "Which of you is in charge?"

"Who wants to know?!" the odd, little alien retorts.

Duran motions to the guard, "Take this one to the security conference room."

After he leaves with the guard, Duran glares at the rest of them. He begins
questioning them as a lot, not so much to gain answers but rather to make the
leader wait. It is good to make them wait a bit before you question them. It
tends to rattle their nerves. "Any of you care to enlighten me as to why you
were following our ship?"

The Iotians look at one another, nobody ready to forward any information.

Duran grins evilly, "Good! It would have been disappointing to have you answer
all my questions." He clenches his fist, shaking it slowly, "I prefer having
to... work for my information! Excellent, I'll be back. You might want to think
about which of you is going to be next."

As Duran heads out the door, however, his foot gets caught in something slimy.
Looking down, he sees a trail of green slime as Blobby makes a slow if steady
course for the nearest forcefield.

Duran draws his phaser, sets it for disintegrate, and fires at the blob of
goop, never thinking for a second how "disappointed" Tsandzia will be when she
finds out what became of her pet. Needless to say, it disappears into a cloud
of vaporized atoms, taking a small chunk of the deck with it. Immediately a
nearby alarm starts sounding, giving warning to anyone on the deck that a
phaser has been fired. Duran types the alarm-disengage code into the nearest
comm-port.

"What happened? Do you need assistance?" comes Trozena's voice over the
speaker.

"No. Everything is fine. Thanks," Duran explains, reholstering his phaser and
heading for the interrogation room.


Stardate 6003.28 at 1430 Hours: TSV Last-Hope, Main Engineering
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"It appears to be of a Klingon design," K'tar notes.

"How can you tell?" Hawkins looks up.

"That is classified information which you could not beat out of me even with an
implement of extensive discomfort."

"Uh... aren't these Klingon symbols?" Jake remarks, examining the cloaking
device. "Maybe they're instructions."

K'tar rolls his eyes, wondering if he should bother mentioning that they just
found the thing's serial number. "They are not instructions." He reaches down a
picks it up.

"Hey, I was looking at that."

K'tar makes a menacing face, "I should warn you, Doctor, bothering a klingon
at work is ill-advised. If you persist, your skills at medicine may prove
invaluable to you sooner than you think."

Hawkins sighs, "Now Lieutenant... we're all on the same team here."

Vince's voice breaks over the loud-speaker, "How are things going down there
people?"

K'tar hits the IC. "Sir! I can have this cloaking device installed on the
Phobos inside twelve hours."

"Can you do the work while we're at warp?"

"Er... not advisable, sir. I'll have to take the deflector grid down during the
installation."

"I see. And what are the chances this thing will actually work?"

Hawkins sees the uncertainty in the Klingon's eyes. "Hard to say, Capt'n. All
we can do is try."

Pacal turns around from his seat on the bridge of the Tricani vessel. "Captain,
if the Romulans are behind the Last-Hope following us... well, sir, we may not
have twelve hours to play with."

"I know, it seems we will have to carry out our plan as it was first devised,
Hawkins, you know what to do. Pack up down there as soon as you're done." Vince
turns toward Pacal. "Check the exo-comm logs. Have they been communicating with
the Romulans?"

"Uh... sir, the logs have been wiped clean. They must have erased them in
anticipation of being boarded."

"Damned. Then we'll have to assume that they have kept the Romulans informed
all along until we see proof to the contrary. If there's nothing more to find
here then let's go."


Stardate 6003.28 at 1430 Hours: USS Phobos, Security Conference Room
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Although the Phobos doesn't have any interrogation rooms, per se, it does have
a number of small conference rooms. Unfortunately, the chairs are a bit too
cozy for the purpose of questioning prisoners, and they just don't evoke that
wonderful sense of stark screaming terror as do all decent interrogating
chairs. If Duran had his way, he'd wrap them in barbed wire and bits of broken
glass, perhaps going so far to devote an entire chamber to the purpose,
decorating the walls with blood and meathooks and large tins of salt, and for
those really tough customers, large ostrich feathers. There's never been a
villain yet who could resist the great tickling torture. Duran grimaces at the
thought as he enters the conference room and has himself a swift look around.
Sure enough, the weird dude with the goofy hairdo is there, and he's not
looking the least bit pleased about it.

"I demand an explanation!"

"Name?"

"Eh?"

"Your name," Duran looks him straight in the eye.

"What about it?"

"What is it?!"

"Oh," the alien shrugs, "why didn't you just ask?"

"I just did!" Duran rubs his face and takes a deep breath. "Look, let's just
start from the beginning. Who are you?"

"What," he looks somewhat affronted, "that lady-friend of yours didn't tell
you?"

"Look, first of all, she's not by friend! Second, she's not a lady! Third, I'm
asking the questions here. Not the other way around. Who are you?!"

The alien shrugs again, "Let's start with who you are. Eh?"

Duran stares at the little guy in disbelief, "Wha..."

"She called you Khemsa. Am I right or am I wrong?"

"You're wrong."

"Oh yeah? Then what's the name of you?"

"Look buddy. This is an interrogation. If you cooperate, I'll tell you my name,
and if you don't, I'll throw your corpse out an airlock and my name won't
matter."

"Ah... I get it. First you blow holes in my boat. Now you threaten my life. I
want to know your name, rank, and serial number."

"Not yet. First, I'm going to ask _you_ some questions. Don't worry. They're
easy ones. Even a simpleton like yourself should be able to understand and
respond." Duran walks around behind him, "Tell me, what is your name?"

"Eh... my name. Let me see now. I'm trying to remember." He makes a goofy face,
like thinking hard makes him constipated. "Wait... wait now. I think it's
coming." He picks his nose, then flicks the booger on the floor. "Hey, wait a
second. I just thought of something. Don't I... you know... get an attorney or
something?"

"No," Duran says, "but you are entitled to a medic." He then smashes the
alien's face into the desk top. He walks over to the door and opens it, "Quick!
Go get a medic! This guy fell and hit his face on the table!"

The security guard blinks back in disbelief.

"Quick, call Bannister or someone!" Duran lets the door slide shut, then turns
back to the alien, smiling as a stream of blood dribbles from his prisoner's
pudgy nose. "You should be more careful, you could've seriously hurt yourself!"

"You stinking Andorian filth!"

"Oh, I see you want more, eh?"

"I don't talk to you no more, you empty-headed animal food trough whopper!"

Duran smiles again, wondering where this guy comes up with his insults. "Oh,
but you will talk to me. You'll tell me everything I want to know, quickly,
clearly, precisely, and as many times as I want you to."

"Hah! I excrete offensive smelling gaseous matter in your general direction!"

Duran grabs him by his hair and waps his face into the table again, only harder
this time.

"Look my friend, if I don't start getting some cooperation from you, they'll
send Kris in to do the interrogation, and she's not nearly as nice and
forgiving as I am."

The alien uses his shirt to stem the leakage of blood from his nose and
mouth. "You know what you are?!"

Duran grins evilly, a grin that clearly says he is enjoying every moment of
this interrogation. "Why don't you tell me? This should be amusing."

"Your mother was a Horta, and your father smelt of locarbeans!"

"Is that a fact?" Duran grabs the alien by the mane, ready to whip his skull
into the table yet again, only this time he plans to aim for a sharp corner.
That ought to really hurt.

"Don't do it, Agent Duran." The alien's eyes flicker with an ominous light.

Duran steps back and instinctively draws his knife, "Oma eh taliss Andorvia!"
'Even the God-damned aliens know who I am.' Duran circles warily, "Who are you
and how do you know... my name?"

The alien chuckles, carefully wiping the blood from his face. Without a wet
towel, however, he can do little more than smear it around. "I told your
security chief that I was Admiral P'notto of the Tricani Star League, as my
ship's log will no doubt confirm. That, of course, was a lie."

Duran's eyes narrow, "Go on."

"The reason I know who you are... Agent Duran... is because you and I are on
the same team. I can't tell you my real name, but I work for SFIC. My orders
were to supervise your mission from afar, and to get involved only if the
circumstances warranted it."

Duran blinks a few times. "I'm sure if there were a Tricani in the service..."

"It's highly confidential, but the Federation made a deal with the Klingons.
A secret deal. Tricana is a protectorate of the Federation, even though it is
inside Klingon Territory."

"Since when?"

"Since nine year ago. It's ironic that Sarin was instrumental in bringing about
that deal. And now I must kill him, the so-called savior of my people."

Duran blinks again, then sits down. In a twisted sort of way, it makes sense.
The Klingons would never want word of such a concession made public. It would
make the Emperor look weak, almost like a vassal of the Federation. No doubt,
the maintenance of such a provision would depend upon its secrecy. On the other
hand, this Tricani may be lying though his crooked teeth.

Duran sheathes his trusty blade, taking a seat at the table across from the
prisoner. "If you were SFIC and knew I was too, why didn't you just say so? I
wouldn't have... questioned you so intently."

"Malcolm wanted me to." Malcolm, the code name for Duran's Controller. This guy
is definitely on the level. Either that or he's awfully well-informed.
"Something about your psyche evaluations. He said they were a little bit
erratic after your last assignment, and he just wanted to be sure you still
remembered how to do your job."

"You *talked* to him?"

"No, of course not. Nobody sees Malcolm. But he communicated his wishes to me
via a chip."

"Still have it?"

"What, you kidding?"

Duran sighs, "Okay, let me get this straight, you claim to be SFIC and sent to
supervise me from afar. Why would you be supervising me?"

"Oh, for Christ's Sake," the Tricani gets up from his chair. "You figure it
out, eh? Because... that's how it works. They wanted to be sure."

"And if this Klingo-Federation agreement is so tightly guarded, why tell me
about it?"

"Because I'm an idiot. Just don't tell anyone, okay? I have enough troubles."

"Don't worry. I won't. But I'm still not entirely certain I believe you... or
anything you've said for that matter."

"Well, you're gonna have to make up your mind."

"Maybe you can help. Why do you need to kill Sarin?" Duran looks at the man
skeptically, his left hand resting on the phaser below the table.

The Tricani turns around. "Why? They didn't tell you? Look my friend, let me
explain it very clearly."

At that inopportune moment, the door opens and two medics walk in, both rushing
over to the Tricani. "What happened?"

"He fell face-first into the table."

One medic looks oddly at Duran, "He fell?"

"That's what I said, he fell. Okay?" Duran makes it clear from his tone of
voice that the discussion is over. "If you don't mind, I was interr... ah...
questioning the prisoner, so please hurry. We need our privacy."

"You okay?" the other queries of the Tricani.

"Of course I'm not okay! I've got blood all over my face!"

As he resumes his usual ranting, one of the medics tries to hold the Tricani's
face still for long enough for the other to wipe the blood off and apply a
low-power protoplaser.

"He's got a broken nose. Jesus, look at this scan. He must've hit hard. Looks
like you're gonna have to come in to sickbay so we can reconstruct some of this
cartilage." A moment later, the sliding door opens again to reveal Jake and the
Captain.

Duran winces, "Can't it wait?"

"Uh... he'd be better off if we attend to it now."


Stardate 6003.28 at 1440 Hours: USS Phobos, Sickbay
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After returning from the boarding party, Jake heads to sickbay to check up on
the wounded who were brought aboard. A perplexed expression dons his face,
however, when he finds the intensive care ward nearly empty.

One of his nurses walks over, PADD in hand, "Well, I see you slipped out of
your PJs," she smiles slightly, coming to a halt in front of him. "Sorrows took
the patients to the brig... all except for this one." She points to the fellow
laying in a nullfield.

"How is he?"

"He'll live," she hands over the PADD. From the looks of her readings, he'll
not only live but he'll fully recover, though it may take some time. He got the
worst of their deceleration and ended up falling from a gangway in engineering.
A few broken bones, a couple ribs, and a severe concussion. "I decided to hold
him here for now to allow us time to monitor his condition."

Jake nods, "Good... sounds like everything's under control then, Ensign..."
he forgets her name.

"...Kreis, sir. But most folks just call me Sarah. By the way, the staff is all
here if you still want to have that meeting."

Jake enters the medical conference room, finding a seat at the head of the
table. "Now as most of you all know, I'm the new ship's doctor. The name's
Jakob Bannister, but most call me Doc or Jake. I'm from Xanadu Base on Venus. I
graduated from the Academy as an engineer and served a tour as such, but I
decided that wasn't for me and became a doctor, finally graduating from Star
Fleet Medical as an MD on Stardate 5712.08. I spent two years as Asst. Surgeon
on the USS Gladiator, and now I am here. That pretty much sums it up. Are there
any questions?"

"I have one," says a voice from the back. Jake looks up and is slightly
startled to see the Captain standing in the doorway. Vince smiles politely.
"Well, in reality, two. Where did you learn to run like that? And where are my
prisoners?"

"One, I was a sprinter and baseball player at the Academy. Two, all of them are
recovering in the brig as their wounds were minor, all except this guy," Jake
gestures towards the IC ward, "he got pretty beat up by the deceleration from
warp."

"Is he going to be okay?"

"He'll be fine, just needs some time to recover."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you all ladies and gentlemen, and I must
congratulate you on your competence. Now, I must be off to the brig to see to
our other guests. Care to join me Dr. Bannister?"

"Sure thing, Captain."

"Oh, and should your patient feel like talking, I will want a recording of
every word he says."

"Will do Cap'n. And what about that inspection?" As they head out of the
conference room door, an announcement comes across the Medical PA.

*** Medic, please report to security conference room. ***

"I wonder what that's about," Jake muses as Archer and Garcia rush by.

Vince shrugs, "Probably Kris and Khemsa having one of their little tiffs. I got
those to started out on the wrong foot, I'm afraid."

"Really."

"Just speeding along the course of fate, way I see it," Vince grins, hoping
that Kris is kicking some andorian butt. "As long as they don't kill each
other, it's not my problem. So what about you, Doctor?"

"Me?"

"Been getting along with all your subordinates?"

"Uh... I've been so busy in engineering, I've only barely met them."

They finally reach the brig and have a look around. There are ten people in two
different cells, five apiece. And no guards. None whatsoever. Vince grits his
teeth, "I don't believe this. How long have you people been unguarded?"

"Just a few minutes," one of them answers.

"And how did this hole get in the floor?! This looks like phaser scarring!"

"The guard shot some... thing."

"Thing?"

"It looked like a big snot wad crawling across the floor."

Vince makes a confused face. Then a lightbulb clicks on over his head. "Ahh...
Tsandzia's little pet. Good. I never liked that thing anyway. Who did it?"

"Uh... blue. With white hair, and two spouts on his head."

"Yeah, that's Khemsa. I take it he's interrogating your captain right now."

They nod. "Hey, how long are we gonna be held here? We didn't do anything
wrong."

"I'll be the judge of that. C'mon, Doc. I want to see this Tricani fellow
first-hand." On the way out he hits a comm-port. "Trozena, contact Kris and
have her send a guard to the brig. Just because we have forcefields is no
reason for her to get lazy."

"Aye sir."

"Oh, and could you tell me where Khemsa is running his interrogation?"

"Umm... security conference room, I believe."

"That's where the medic was called to," Jake states.

In a flash, they both take off running.

Once there, they find Duran, P'notto, and two medics. The latter seem to be
attending to the Tricani Admiral while Duran looks at the trio with an
uncomfortable glare.

"Can't it wait?"

"Uh... he'd be better off if we attend to it now."

"What's going on here?" Jake opens up his medical tricorder.

The medic looks around somewhat startled. "Uh... the prisoner fell and hurt
himself."

"He fell?"

"He's rather clumsy," Duran offers by way of explanation.

"I am not! He pushed me!"

"I most certainly did not!" Duran tries to look righteously indignant.

Vince, somewhat startled, finds himself momentarily frozen, but he soon regains
his senses, "Oh my God," and is off running down the hall cursing. A few
seconds later he reappears with a large box full of popcorn and soda. "Why
didn't you tell me this was going to be a hands-on interrogation. I *love*
these things!" He has himself a seat and starts munching, a big grin coating
his face.

"Uh, sir," Jake interjects, "we should really take this guy back to sickbay.
His nose needs some work, and I'd like to get to it before it's too swollen to
work on."

"Aww..." Vince looks bummed. "What's wrong with a little swelling?"

"Sir, I wouldn't want to be implicated in the unethical treatment of
prisoners."

Vince sighs, "Alright, Doc. You win. Take him down to sickbay, and let it never
be said that Star Fleet mistreats its captives." Vince puts down his box of
popcorn, longing for the good ol' days when you could slap a prisoner around a
bit, just for the heck of it, and when diplomacy consisted of a phaser and a
smirk.

Duran grits his teeth, shaking his finger at the Tricani. "Don't think we're
done. You have some explaining to do. Just because you're clumsy doesn't mean
you're going to get off that easy!"

"Hey. Do me a favor, eh?"

"What?"

"Consume excrement and thus expire."

"Why you little..." but before he can strangle the Tricani, some random red-
shirts conveniently show up to escort the prisoner to sickbay. It's just as
well, as Duran didn't feel much like killing his best information source to
date, particularly since they're supposedly on the same team.

"Keep a close eye on this one," Vince advises. "He's quite the troublemaker."

"Aye sir."

After they're gone, Vince turns to Duran. "Did you manage to get anything out
of him?"

"Not yet," Duran lies. "But I will after they're done with him. In the meantime
I think I'll check up on Sarin."

"Not without me, you're not."

When they get to T'lar's quarters, however, they find out that Sarin is no
longer there. Duran hits a comm-switch. "Khemsa here. Where did Kris move the
Ambassador to?"

"Room 17 on your current deck," Trozena sounds a little over-worked.

Duran nods, "Thanks." When he keys in his security code, however, there's no
response. "The bitch locked me out."

Vince grins, "I can't say I'm surprised."

"Sir, I need to finish my conversations with him. We are on the verge of a
breakthrough."

"A breakthrough? He's been divulging state secrets?"

"In order for us to protect him, we really need to know more about his mission
to Rigel. I'm very close to getting the information I need. Will you authorize
an override for me to continue with him?"

Vince rubs his beard. "Sorry, Duran. Not for now, anyway. Things have been
happening so fast lately, that I need time to get back on the saddle so to
speak. I still have yet to get a report as to what happened around his
disappearance. Until I get to reassess the situation for myself, and get all
the information I can out of our new guests, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to
concur with Kris. The Ambassador is off limits."

Duran winces, not wanting to hear those words right now. "Sir, I was on my way
to give you a full report when I was told you wanted me to interrogate the
prisoners. I can't do both at once. Is there a place we can sit down? I'll be
happy to enlighten you."

Vince points down the corridor, "How about my quarters?"

Though the quarters on the Phobos have never been much above the bare
essentials, there is one notable exception. The Captain's quarters. Vince's
room is outfitted with a six-foot holoviewer, a personal food synthesizer, and
configurable wall scenery. Vince switches the walls to a view of the beaches
back in his homeland of Spain, conjuring up a pair of martinis from the synth-
port. "Here," he hands one to Duran.

"What, no olive?"

"Trust me. You don't want to taste synthesized olives." Vince finds himself a
seat. "Now where were we?"

"Well, I arrived on scene at Sarin's old quarters to find no guard present and
no Sarin. I tried to contact the bridge but the red alert had just sounded.
Finally Kris arrived and managed to get through. I left her in charge as Chief
of Security and left to check on Histlin. I can't explain it, but I had a
feeling that I would find Sarin in the brig. Call it a psychic vibration or
just a lucky hunch. Whatever it was, it panned out. He was there, alright."

"What was he doing in the brig?"

Questioning Histlin, or at least attempting to. I informed him that wasn't his
job. About that time, Kris arrived, dumped the prisoners in my lap and wandered
off with Sarin." Duran pauses for air, "All day I have been trying to sit down
and finish with Sarin. As I said, I am on the verge of getting useful
information from him that may shed a great deal of light on everything."

"On everything."

Duran nods, "Yes. He's withholding something, Captain, some critical piece of
information."

"Why?"

"I don't know yet. But I'm on the verge of finding that out."

Vince sighs, "Look, Agent Duran. Our mission is to get Sarin from here to
Rigel. I don't see how the Ambassador can have any information that can either
help or hinder that mission. If you want to practice your skills at
interrogation, fine. But put them to use where they're applicable. We have
a whole brig full of prisoners. And that one in sickbay is a real peach."

"Sir, I understand you want me to finish interrogating the prisoners, but in
the meantime, talking to Sarin is a more productive use of my time. The Iotians
are notorious for being useless. You are unlikely to get any useful information
from them. Why don't you and Kris chat with them while I finish with Sarin and
the Admiral. Then we can sit down and compare notes and try to put this puzzle
together and this mystery to rest."

"What mystery?"

"The Romulans are after him in a serious way. I want to know why."

Vince sighs, "I appreciate that. But isn't it enough that he's a Federation
ambassador on his way to a meeting along the Federation-Klingon border? The
Romulans don't want us jumping in bed with the Klingons."

"Sir, there's more to it than that."

"You mean the technology transfer?"

Duran coughs, trying to cover up his surprise. Vince just grins in response.
"Ash told me about it."

"How the hell did he find out?!"

"Apparently Histlin said something. According to her, the chameleons weren't
just ordered to kill Sarin. They were supposed to mimic him in order to divert
the transfer into Romulan hands."

"And what exactly is this transfer?"

"I don't know. Ash said that Histlin didn't know either. She was an underling,
largely in the dark except for what she had to know in order to complete her
mission. I expect we could have learned a lot more from Karameth or even
Tanara. But, unfortunately, we got the idiot of the bunch." He takes a sip of
his martini, really wishing he had some fresh olives to go with it.

Duran sighs, wondering how many other people know about the central focus of
his mission. This whole thing has gotten so far out of hand, it's nothing short
of ridiculous. "Sir, I still believe that in order to protect Sarin, it'll be
helpful to know the details of this transfer, whatever it is."

"And you think he's on the verge of telling you."

"I'm certain of it. Vince, trust me on this. This is my job. It's what I do,
and I'm very good at it."

Suddenly Tsandzia's voice come's blaring over the loudspeaker. "Has anybody
seen my Blobby??!"

Vince gets a chuckle out of it. "Well, you're good at phasering Tsandzia's
significant other. The Iotians told me about it."

"Did they."

"Don't worry. I won't rat on you. But in the meantime, I can't have you
bothering Sarin."

"Bothering him?"

"He is an ambassador, after all, with all the privileges that go with the job.
He's not a prisoner, and we have no authority to make him give us any
information. Our duty is simply to protect him and get him to the meeting, not
make him divulge state secrets."

Duran scowls, "He's confiding in me _voluntarily_. He _wants_ my assistance."

"What exactly does he expect you to do for him?"

"I'm not sure yet," Duran lies, knowing exactly what Sarin wants. He wants
Duran to drop his assignment (and hence his career). That, after all, is about
what it would take in order for Sarin to make it to Rigel and still be
breathing when he gets there.

"He wants something, but you aren't sure what it is?" Vince stares at the
SFIC agent with an incredulous expression on his face.

"He's in a very delicate position at the moment."

"No shit. Look, Duran. I didn't believe in the vacation bullshit for one
second, and you are virtually hounding Sarin here."

"Hounding him?! Hounding my ass! I've talked to the man ONCE. If that's
hounding, you must have attended the same school of security as Kris."

"As a matter of fact, I did!" Vince stands up. "It's called Star Fleet Academy,
And we have regulations. Something which you probably never heard of!"

Duran sighs, "Captain, we're on the same team here, and for your information,
I'm not on vacation. I'm here to keep Sarin's ass alive, and quite frankly, you
and Kris are getting in the way."

"We're getting in the way?!"

"Yes. You may not want to hear this, but Sarin's life is in MY hands right now,
not yours not Kris's not Ash's... mine. I can assure you that if you don't let
me do my job, Sarin will NOT arrive on Rigel alive. It's as simple as that."

Vince rubs his temples, then pours another martini. "What the hell are you
talking about? Of course he'll make it to Rigel."

"No. He won't. He knows it too. That's why he needs my help."

"You're being as clear as mud, you know that?"

"Like I said before, he's in a delicate position. I don't want to compromise
more than I have to."

"Well, you're going to have to. So far, all you've been telling me is that me
and Kris are standing in your way. Well, unless you weren't with the program,
me, you, and Kris are all on the same team. We've all got the same mission. I
see you collecting information, but when I finally get a chance to talk to you,
I get this vague shit. Now either you tell me what's going on, what makes you
think that Sarin won't make it, or I'm not going to give you access to the
goddamned fresher! That's right, Duran. You're gonna need a guard with you just
to take a leak. And don't think I'm bluffing. We're on a team, here, and until
you start cooperating and acting like a member of this team, then you are of no
use to me or this mission. Are we clear?"


Stardate 6003.28 at 1505 Hours: USS Phobos, Bridge
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Kris steps back onto the bridge after her workout, she can't help but sense
great distraught and unhappiness. Maybe it is Tsandzia's whiny, high-pitched
voice which tipped her off, or the way Trozena is crouched over his
communications console, seemingly enthralled by the strange mannerisms of
subspace transmissions, or even the way Oein is cringing from the center
seat, trying hard not to notice the Calainian flip-flopping in and out of
hysteria.

"I've looked everywhere! He's gone!"

T'lar looks mildly sympathetic, saying things like, "I'm sure he'll turn up
eventually," and, "Where did you last leave him?"

"What's going on?" Kris walks up.

"Somebody stole my Blobby! And it's not funny!"

"I never said it was."

"You didn't see him, did you?" Tsandzia makes an immensely hopeful expression.

"Sorry. Can't say I have. And on a starship this size, I doubt you're gonna
find him."

"Don't say that!" Tsandzia runs up to Trozena's station and puts herself on
the PA. "Has anybody seen my Blobby??!"

Trozena scowls at her, "Tsandzia, Jesus. Just shut-up for a minute."

"Oh yeah. I don't see _you_ doing anything to find my Blobby!"

"Sshhh!"

The three women glance over his shoulder, slightly intrigued, only to notice
that Trozena appears to be listening intently to his earphone while
simultaneously recording something to isochip.

"What are you listening to Troz?" Tsandzia leans close to the earphone to see
what she can hear.

"Sshhh!!"

"Fear not, Tsandzia," T'lar whispers. "The Three T's cannot fail to find him...
it is... inevitable."

Kneeling beside the chief communications officer, Kris whispers to Trozena,
"Either you tell me what you're recording, or I'll take that chip out of the
recorder right now." She flutters her hand over the eject button to back up her
threat.

"It's the Captain and Khemsa. I mean, Duran. Or, whoever he is."

"You know about that too?"

"That Tricani guy called him Duran during the interrogation. I got the whole
thing on isochip," he half-whispers, half-screams.

Pacal turns around, unable to suppress his curiosity as to the commotion around
Trozena, and even Oein swivels his chair, casting an imperious gaze toward the
four officers.

"Excuse me, gentlesophonts, but this _is_ a bridge. Would somebody mind telling
me what's going on?"

Trozena looks up, somewhat dumbfounded.

"We're just checking on a security recording," T'lar explains, neglecting to
mention that it's a recording OF security, not FOR it.

"Indeed."

Kris steps over to the security station and quietly taps into the comm-line
that Trozena has arranged for himself, initiating a recording of her own while
she makes a remote copy of the data already on that isochip. Tsandzia,
meanwhile, kneels beside the communications ensign, her snoopiness threshold
long since surpassed. "Ya know, it's really bad form to eavesdrop on the
Captain. What are they saying?"

"You don't want to know," Trozena whispers back, handing her an extra head-set.

T'lar tries hard to look innocent. "It would seem it is going well, sir."

"Exactly what sort of security recording are you looking into that requires
three of you?"

"Oh... the usual sort." She breaks out with her patented deadpan stare, not so
much as batting an eye.

Oein arches an eyebrow. T'lar arches hers in response. Then he arches his other
eyebrow, and this goes on until they finally run out of eyebrows and are
looking quite silly.

Finally, K'tar marches in. "Stop this silliness at once," he growls.

"What silliness?" inquires T'lar.

"No silliness here," Tsandzia looks around for silliness but doesn't find any.

"Why are you here, K'tar?" Oein finally asks.

"I am looking for the Captain," K'tar bares his teeth.

"He's with Duran," Tsandzia blabs.

"Duran?! Who is _Duran_!?"

"Oops."

"Er... Duran Duran," Kris offers. "You know. The musical ensemble?"

"Right," T'lar agrees. "Music does tame the savage soul... or so I've heard."

Oein stands up and waltzes over, "...and this security recording..."

Tsandzia makes a half-hearted grin, "Oh, Trozena thought her heard sounds of
Duran... I mean blobby."

"Blobby sounds," Oein states, not batting an eye. "And exactly what sort of
sounds does a Blobby make?"

"Er... squishy sounds!" Tsandzia bobs her head emphatically.

"Squishy sounds," Oein doesn't look terribly impressed. Nor does K'tar for that
matter, who seems to getting increasingly impatient with every mention of the
green slimeball.

"Sir... I respectfully request permission to space Tsandzia."

"No, K'tar. That won't be necessary. But I would like to hear these 'squishy
sounds' for myself. He reaches over Trozena and flips a switch, cross-
channeling the line over to the bridge's speakers. Suddenly Vince's voice is
there for all to hear.

"...think I'm bluffing. We're on a team, here, and until you start cooperating
and acting like a member of this team, then you are of no use to me or this
mission. Are we clear?"

Duran's voice responds, "Captain, I've already told you everything I can. I
CAN'T tell you any more than I have."

Tsandzia makes her most innocent face and stares at Oein in shock, "What is
that? Those aren't blobby noises! There must have been a glitch." She starts
fumbling with the controls, hitting random buttons and such, which only serve
to increase the volume, "Where were those squishy sounds?" Oein looks rather
dismayed by all this, blinking a few times to recover from the surprise. K'tar,
however, isn't the slightest bit perturbed.

"Can I space them now?"

"No!" Oein grits his teeth, "Not yet."

Vince: "Fine. Let's start with the basics. Why do you think Sarin isn't going
to make it to Rigel? And what could he possibly have to say that would change
that prognosis?"

Duran: "I believe you are a good officer and are functioning to the best of
your abilities. It is for that reason that I have been overlooking certain
things that, given this recent turn of events, I can no longer overlook."

Oein's veins bulge from his neck, "Who's idea was this... this spying!?"

They all point fingers at each other, Tsandzia babbling something about her 6th
amendment rights.

Vince: "Such as?"

Duran: "You are a security officer. You know damn well that I can't provide you
with classified information without authorization from my superiors. Don't even
bother to ask me for it. I CAN NOT provide that information. Star Fleet does
not recognize personal privilege in this regard."

Oein finally reaches over, cutting the channel and sliding the isochip out of
its drive.

"Pacal and K'tar, please escort these three to their quarters, I will send
guards immediately."

"What?!" Tsandzia looks indignant. "Surely you don't mean me!"

"Yes, I do, and don't call me Shirley!"

"But... we were just looking for Blobby you Romulan retard!"

"That will be all, electrode-brain!" Oein proclaims, gritting his teeth angrily
until they are finally shuffled out, Tsandzia sticking out her tongue in
defiance.

"Well, that was amusing," Kris states. "I'm trying to locate the comm-records.
That should at least show us who exactly initiated the surveillance... and
when. Would you also like me to inform the Captain?"

Oein turns around, only now regaining his composure. "I don't believe it. I
actually... lost it."

"Well, welcome to the human race."


Stardate 6003.28 at 1510 Hours: USS Phobos, Captain's Quarters
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Star Fleet does not recognize personal privileges in this regard," Duran
states.

"I know, and I'm not trying to press you for information. I simply wanted to
know why you think Sarin isn't going to make it to Rigel. Doesn't seem like
classified information to me."

"Trust me. It is."

"Okay. So maybe it's a tinsy-bit classified. I'm the ship's Captain for
Christ's sake. You can trust me, can't you?"

"It's not a matter of me trusting you. It's a matter of policy, the violation
of which could get me thrown in jail. Speaking of which, and I don't want you
to take this as a threat, but it's my opinion that you are current violating a
number of regulations... and general orders. 19, 20, 22, 25. Do these numbers
mean anything to you, Vince? As a Star Fleet officer, I ought to place you
under arrest and relieve you of Command... but I'm going to give you a break."

"I really wish you would. This is getting tiresome."

"Just hear me out."

Vince takes a quiet sip of his drink, "You're as bad as T'lar, you know that?"

Duran continues, "Detaining Sarin and preventing him from speaking with people,
that is, with me, or requiring someone to be present during those conversations
is illegal. You know this. You are a Security Officer."

Vince smiles weakly, "Duran, it's not illegal until Sarin presses charges, and
so far he hasn't. Heck, he knows that he's in protective custody, and after
that little incident with the phaser set on overload... oh yes, I heard all
about it from Ekstrom... let's just say that I'm sure Sarin is rather happy
with the current state of affairs."

"I honestly doubt it," Duran warns, sitting back and assuming a somewhat more
conspiratorial tone. "Look, you and I both know my job here involves Sarin. We
both know I can't talk to you about it. So, we can play nice together like the
team players we are supposed to be, you can help me do my job by getting out of
my way and keeping Kris off my back... or, we can do this in an adversarial
mode, and I can arrest you."

Vince laughs, "Arrest me?"

"If it'll help me do my job."

"You're talking about mutiny. You try that stunt, and you'll find yourself in
the brig."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Maybe not my ass." Vince gets up to draw a refill. "You want some more?"

"No. Thanks."

"Fine by me." He pours himself another glass. "Since we're being totally up
front, let me just say that if I wanted to, I could have your ass boiled in
oil, and that's no lie. You haven't exactly made any friends here, Duran, so
even if you in some way had the authority to do what you say, who would carry
out your orders? Face it, you are the man least suited to start a mutiny aboard
this ship. Compared to you, I'm Mr. Popularity."

Duran lets the argument twirl about between his ears for a moment before
responding. "There are enough crew who would support an SFIC officer."

"Not on this boat."

"Well, we can find out if that's what you want. Personally, I'd prefer we work
together. It's cleaner and friendlier."

"Yeah, I kinda figured you'd say something like that. Tell me something Duran,"
Vince steps over to his private game table. "You ever play chess?"

Duran looks slightly bewildered, "I'm sorry. Did this conversation just take a
left turn?"

Vince rolls the table in front of them and begins setting up the board. "It is
a noble game, a game of balance, the balance of offense and defense. You must
master both arts to master the game as a whole. If you are too aggressive, you
risk leaving your pieces undefended and vulnerable, while if you play too
defensive, you end up simply reacting to your opponent's moves."

"Perhaps. But it has one glaring deficiency. It is purely a game of skill. I
have found that life involves more luck and chance than skill."

"Nonsense," Vince takes white, and opens the game. "C'mon, your move."

"You mind telling me the point to all this?"

"No point. I just want to see if you play chess the same way you play your
life."

"Like I said before. It's not realistic."

"Meaning that you're not very good at it," Vince makes a bemused expression.

"I have better things to practice than ancient amusements."

"Working on your luck?" Vince shoves away the board.

"If I only knew how," Duran thinks once again about that mysterious force which
seems to guide his life, constantly pushing him into making hard choices,
choices where there is no win, only different levels of loss. "What are the
odds that I should end up on a ship full of... of... I don't even have a word
for it!"

"The USS Kindergarten. Tell me about it."

"It was my bad luck and no lack of training nor skill that has brought me to
this point."

"Not really. People bring bad luck upon themselves. You believe in Karma?"

"Who's Karma?"

Vince winces, "Never mind. I'm sure Nien can tell you. She was quite the devout
believer when last I knew her." Vince smiles. "It was one of her more endearing
qualities. No, the reason you're in your present predicament, at least as far
as Kris is concerned, stems from some actions I took. I told her to keep you
busy while we were still in dock. She was only following orders. If I'd know
how things would escalate between you two..."

"Like her pulling a phaser on me? Twice?!" Duran grits his teeth. "I'll hold
you responsible for Sarin, but not for Kris. She dug her grave all by herself."

"Not really. She had some help. From you, for instance."

"From me?!"

"Ekstrom said you disobeyed a direct order, and that you continued to argue
with her... at phaser point."

"She had no authority over me."

"She had authority over Khemsa."

"Duran takes precedence."

"Not in her mind. At least not until you explain yourself. You've got to see
things from the other person's point of view." Vince takes another sip.

"If I had the leeway from SFIC, then maybe I would. But right now I just can't
afford that luxury. Hell, all I wanted to do here was my job. Oh, well. Here's
the new plan. In one hour I want to meet with you and Oein..."

"...and Kris."

"Sure. Kris can come too. And whoever else you deem appropriate. It's your
crew. I'll give you all a briefing on what's going on. Before I do that,
however, I need to talk with Sarin. He is about to fill me in some of the gaps
in MY knowledge, and I need to find out from him what information HE wants kept
quiet. He deserves that much."

Suddenly there's a whistling noise which goes from low to high and back to
low again.

"Enter."

When the door opens, Oein is standing there. "Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt, but
there's been a breach of security." He pulls an isochip out of his pocket.

"Someday, I'm going to have one complete, uninterrupted conversation before I
die!" Duran scowls.

"I know the feeling," Vince agrees. "What is that, Oein? Some kind of evidence?
What exactly happened?"

"I discovered Lt. Morchainte, T'lar, and Ensign Trozena... eavesdropping." Oein
says the last word as though it's the most heinous sin imaginable.

"Eavesdropping?! On who?"

"On you, Captain."

"On me?!! Gimmie dat!!!" Vince swipes the chip from Oein and plugs it into a
terminal. There's only static, however, along with an error message. "Warning.
This chip is empty."

Oein gulps, realizing that Tsandzia must have erased it's contents when she hit
the controls. Either that or he was mistaken about the whole incident from the
start.

Vince makes a grim face. "Well, Oein. I assume you have an explanation for
this."


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

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