From: Hannibal O'Patterson (hannibal.opatterson_at_gmail.com)
Date: Tue Apr 24 2007 - 20:01:02 PDT
"I, Murderer" (continued from "The Return")
Location: Gateway Station
Stardate: 2.70424.2252
Scene: Voiceover panning the streets of the Gemini Colony
I'd always thought that I could escape my own nature. I thought
that 50 years in the slam would be enough to cool me off, and I suppose I
was wrong. Once you ghost that first person, watch the lights leave their
eyes, you've got two options, and neither one are pretty.
You can crack; this happens a lot in self-defense cases, where
someone has to step up to defend their lives, or the lives of someone else.
It's a lot like getting religion, there's fervor, zeal to it. You bring it
up, but you act coy about it, like you're not bragging or anything, but you
really are.
Your other option is to let it slide. Real Professionals let it
slide, you see. It's nothing to them, like flipping a burger on the grill.
You see it's time, you slip the spatula in, and it's done. Then, you go onto
something else entirely, forget the burger, until it's time to plate and
serve. It takes someone ice cold to pull it off though. You see it on the
faces of the career soldiers; the guys who scoot along, never make rank, and
just go on pulling the trigger.
I cracked.
Nothing I want to admit to anyone of course. I perform a job, a
duty, and so I have to be professional, but I am not, by any means, a
Professional. Sure, I did the job, I enjoyed the job, but you don't really
enjoy it as a legit Professional. I liked it; it was something for which I
felt I was uniquely suited.
It comes a lot with your childhood environment, which for me was
growing up in a lousy slum on the most imbalanced colony in the system. The
rich were extremely so, but so were the poor. All the money wound up in one
place and stayed there, cycling around in an economy so stagnant that if it
weren't for the exploitation of the poor folk, it would have spelled the
doom of the entire colony as a financial entity which was only sort of
related to the UFP, and that only by name. It was once described by an
anthropologist as 'The most depressing and suicide inducing planet in the
galaxy.'
The scientist was a Vulcan.
I try not to think about it, but then again, I also try never to
forget it.
=/\= Four Corners =/\=
=/\= The day everything happens in the post =/\=
Hannibal wiped his mouth and tossed his napkin down as
Ambassador Bonviva stepped into the section in which he was seated. She was,
of course, shadowed by Vukovic, which meant Gene was, somewhere else, and in
Hannibal's mind, that meant the man was burying his nose into a cause. Maybe
not a big cause, but a cause nonetheless.
Bonviva was another matter entirely. She was a Federation
Ambassador, and if Hannibal was right, a major contender for presidency of
the UFP as a whole. Scary, that thought, but he figured he might land a
secret service job if it ever happened. Of course he'd answer to Vukovic as
Xana's own private Gestappo, but that was to be expected.
She was trouble, that one. Hell on wheels and pure damnation and
ruination like a guided missile locked onto someone's day, even when she was
being sweet, nice, and sincere.
Actually, that was when she was scariest.
Women like that made positively no sense to the mongrel hybrid.
Sure, she had a dark streak, but such utter nicety boiled from her like a
rainbow and puppy pus from a sunshine-infected wound.
It put him in mind of one former Captain Spankryz, who could
count the number of shots she'd fired in anger on one hand. No one can live
that long, being that open and altruistic, and not feel the aftermath. It
was sort of like living in a radiation zone. Eventually the cancer consumes
you, even if the radiation poisoning doesn't.
The Ambassador and her own nano-infested puppy took a seat,
mercifully away from Hannibal, which left him plenty of time to get back to
his barely cooked wild salmon; black trumpet and porcini in a mushroom pot
au feu. The flavors were delicate, but assertive, and the pot au feu was
excellent. It was the kind of meal that got Hannibal thinking. It was, for
him, good brain food indeed.
This was exceptionally useful when he realized that the
Ambassador was being watched. A Bajoran man, so plain it was noticeable,
though edging enough on homely to be described as such. He wasn't
particularly dressed for the three star experience, which was probably the
most painful giveaway. He was munching the bread like he hadn't eaten in
days, filling his palate with enough salt to ruin the subtleties and
delicacies, not to mention just outright stuffing himself. His second
mistake was ordering a soft drink. Some people didn't do alcohol with their
meals, and Hannibal understood that, but a plain fruit juice was much more
preferable, or simple clean water for that matter. The too complex sugars
also wreaked havoc on the palate, and again simply didn't work in three and
four star dining.
So, Hannibal killed time, ordered a dessert, which turned out to
be an impressive slow-baked Apple confit, with poached dates, yogurt sorbet,
quince and Ras el Hanout Coulis. He took this with a crisp chilled white,
and just watched Xana and Tomas' chatter. He was grateful to be dressed in a
button down shirt, slacks, and oxfords, all in a nice basic black. In such
attire, he was just one more man having a meal, and most certainly didn't
give himself away as head of station Security, where the basic conversation
might drift from energy output to who conquered who that weekend. Not that
these weren't admirable subjects of discussion, but it helped to know when
to turn it off and act like a grown up (Which for Hannibal meant not acting
like a cook or a con).
He continued to watch until Xana's meal was finished, and she
and Tomas' left their damages and what looked like an admirable tip on the
table. Sure enough, Ugly and Dumb got up soon after, which, to Hannibal, was
the cue he needed. He might not be on duty, but this was going to be fun
nonetheless. He tossed a few strips more than his tab on the table, and
casually walked out, confident that the Rabbit wasn't smart enough to
realize he wasn't actually the Fox he probably thought he was.
They walked through the promenade, stopping at a number of
shops, apparently the ambassador needed more clothing for herself and her
daughter, and she apparently had a taste for looking at, but not buying
Prada, Gucci, and Dior. Sensible, or so Hannibal supposed; the only brand
he'd ever put faith in was K-Bar, who'd been making Marine knives for over
400 years.
Finally, an opening for movement occurred when Xana apparently
decided she'd had enough, and led Tomas' away from the Promenade altogether.
What they were talking about wasn't a bit of Hannibal's business, but it
didn't seem pressing. Still, it was perfect time to make a move.
=/\= Away from the lifts =/\=
I wait, in one of the construction zones. This place is
constantly renovating and refitting for civilians, and there are zone
blackouts in construction locales all the time. It's construction equipment
and debris left by the engineers until their shift tomorrow. Homely watched
the Ambassador, noted something on a PADD, and headed away. If I had to make
a guess, I'd say her habits were being observed. I'd do it, just not as
sloppy.
I whistle, just loud enough for homely to hear me, but
apparently, he's deaf, since I have to do it twice more. He wanders into the
dark, trying to find what's trying to catch his attention, and I move away
from him, whistling again.
Stupid, he follows.
"Who's there?" He asks. "Remos? Is that you?"
I shake my head and toss a piece of scrap plastic wall his way.
It's enough to keep him interested.
"Remos, this isn't funny. I've got her movements, you want
them?"
And that's all it took. Amid what would become an access shaft,
he stood there, alone, in near total darkness, wrapped up in most people's
most primal fear, the place I'm most at home. He steps a few more towards
where I was, and then, I'm past him, using an empty crate and draped plastic
for the last bit of cover.
Next thing he knows, my right arm is pressing his carotid, and
my left is wrapped under his own left arm, to add leverage to the right.
He's out before I can count to ten, but I make it an even twenty, just to be
sure.
Now, if there's one thing I hate, its good cop/bad cop. Hell, I
hate cops, period. This guy, all he's getting is me, as bad as it gets, and
when I get him back to the security station, I'll have a knife.
=/\= Ambassador's Office =/\=
=/\= Next Morning =/\=
"Ambassador," Tomas' said, walking into Xana's office with a
peculiar look on his face. "I have urgent news."
Looking up form her work, Xana regarded Tomas' with a look of
almost boredom. "When don't you?"
"Security has just brought in a number of conspirators from the
PBLA,"
"The who?" Xana asked, genuinely curious.
"Patriotic Bajorans Liberation Army, an offshoot of the mostly
defunct Maquis. They're a militarily progressive political organization
seeking to restore the independence of Bajor from the UFP." Tomas' quoted
almost automatically. "Security has almost a dozen people in custody after a
massive arrest operation late last night."
"Well, that's good, why is this so important to me?
Eugenebeside the point, that is." Xana asked as she fully put away her
current
distraction and looked at Tomas' directly.
"Apparently, there was an attempt on your life being coordinated
as a political action. Ensign O'Patterson sends his regards, and a recipe
for truffle and eggplant marinara Toscana."
"His food is always too expensive," Xana said, almost totally
unmindful of an action which was, for her, becoming entirely too common. Of
course, living her life in paranoia of it wasn't exactly living at all.
"Anything else?"
"Some of the detainees are claiming that one of their number is
still missing, and claim his information was keystone to the arrests of the
lot of them."
"What do we know?"
"According to one of the detainees, he was to be the 'trigger
man' when the assassination attempt was to be executed. Ensign O'Patterson
said he would give the investigation his full attention, and has assigned a
small team of plain clothed security personnel to become discreet security
while you move about station. According to evidence, however, I would
imagine they will be quite unnecessary, as the entirety of their operation
seems to have been uncovered in the arrest." Tomas said as he poured Xana a
cup of coffee and one for himself.
Xana accepted the cup and inhaled deeply before drinking. "Good
to know things are normal here in paradise." She said, and went back to her
work.
=/\= Elsewhere in the Station =/\=
So maybe old habits die harder than I expected, and maybe
Darwinwas right. Besides, I happen to like the Ambassador, there's a
stone cold
killer in there somewhere, and if it gets let out, I'd have too much
competition on my hands. Better to keep the status quo exactly that.
Where's that leave me? Just the same as every other day. Just
doing my job, biding my time. You can take the Dog out of the fight, but you
can't take the fight out of the dog.
<<NRPG>>
And, he's back, everyone's favorite Stone Cold Ghost Faced Unrepentant
killer, in an exciting new… wait, never mind, here's a post. Sorry I been so
quiet, just been a very busy time for me. If I've messed anything up, call
this a What If and ignore it. Otherwise, hope I did OK, I know I'm a bit
rusty. Missed everyone, and Jerome, welcome aboard!
--
Chance Deveraux
Ensign Hannibal O'Patterson
Cheif of Security/Tactical
Gateway Station GS-2
Book: What are we up to, sweetheart?
River: Fixing your Bible.
Book: I, um... what?
River: Bible's broken. Contradictions, false logics. Doesn't make sense.
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