From: Katrina L. Browne (kbrowne_at_wellesley.edu)
Date: Sun Sep 16 2007 - 13:20:21 PDT
-=(^)=-
“No god, but…no god?”
Con’t From: "Zzzzz..."
-=(^)=-
Location: GS-2
Stardate: 2.70916. 1316
Scene: Café Overlooking the Promenade
Ismaln Reth sat at a booth that over looked the vastness of the promenade.
He nursed a glass of frothing green liquid that had a name difficult for
the human tongue to pronounce. Because of that fact he usually just asked
to see the extended cocktail list and pointed. He’d end up with the wrong
thing too many times when he’d tried to name the drink and considering
that different species had different chemical tolerances that could be
dangerous. Rebekha Dawson sat across from him, sipping a distinctly tamer
brew. Her press pass dangled around her neck, revealing tantalizing bits
of her décolletage whenever she moved. But even those passes had not let
either of the pair in on the best story on the Station: the election.
Their editors had respectively assigned them to stories involving Security
and the very strange happening around the Engineering module.
Ismaln let the smell of his drink, which reminded him of a combination
between ginger blossom and Risan Brill flower, reach his nose before
taking his first swallow. “I heard a rumor about the science center.”
“Oh?” Rebekha asked non-committally.
“Apparently another fight broke out between some officers in one of the
labs today.”
Rebekha looked up from her P.A.D.D. that she had been attempting to author
a story on for the last twenty minutes and frowned. “Starfleet morale must
be really low for all of these fights.”
“Starfleet has no morale on this station, at least according to the
dictates of the GATE’s Commander,” Ismaln noted, the voice of his former
fact-checking career coming through.
“You know what I mean,” she said impatiently as her next sentence escaped
her.
Ismaln shrugged apologetically, “Old habit.” Before he added, “But don’t
you think it is all a little strange? I mean, most of the fights have been
confined to the engineering staff.”
“You said this one was in the Science Center,” she pointed out as she
examined her notes on the discovery of the dead nurse.
“I know. But the Science and Engineering departments work a lot together.
I just can’t shake the feeling that this outbreak of scuffles is more
complicated than low morale,” Ismaln said, lifting up the mostly gone
fizzing drink. He frowned when he noticed that Rebekha had hardly touched
hers, “Something wrong?”
Rebekha looked up to see where he was pointing, “No. Just have a deadline.
It’s not only poor morale; it’s poor leadership. You said that every time
you’ve hung around engineering trying to get a comment from CEO, he hasn’t
been around. That’s not normal.”
The Engineering-beat reporter nodded before saying, “Yeah, but my editor
won’t let me run with a poor leadership story considering the current
political situation. He’s afraid this provisional military council isn’t
as provisional as the ex-fleet people keep saying.”
“Yeah, Warren’s had me following that new Chief around since she got here.
He’s afraid that Kane started replacing officers with his own people to
make the transition to martial law smoother,” she said, but then
half-frowned before continuing, “I know Kane has a colored history…how
colored only Starfleet Intelligence could probably tell, but I’ve done
some digging into this new Chief. There’s no evidence they had ever met
before she came aboard. I’m just not buying the loyal henchmen angle.”
“He may have chosen some one who he thought would accept the concept of
martial law. He wouldn’t have to have loyal minions if he selected
officers who were at least of a similar philosophic bent,” Ismaln argued.
“I heard a rumor that the Kor woman advocated for martial law at the
meeting in which the senior staff decided to secede.”
Rebekha sat up quickly and pushed her writing aside, “Who told you that?
Our guy covering secession news hadn’t been able to get anyone to talk
about the contents of that meeting.”
“Oh…one of Resmuth’s people. He bugged the conference room a while back.
Hoping to get earlier warnings about Starfleet goings-on that would affect
his businesses, I expect. Guerin handles our business stories and he’s
thought for years that Resmuth has been insider trading.”
“Do you trust the source?”
“Oh, sure.” Ismaln said lightly. “He doesn’t have any good reason to lie
to me. I don’t cover those types of stories. Plus, it was over a few
drinks. Everyone knows you don’t drink with journalists if you’re keeping
a secret.”
“So I guess you’re not keeping any secrets then,” The brunette teased.
“From you?” her companion asked, but then answered his own question,
“Never.”
“That’s good,” she said as she looked back down at her work. “I’d hate to
have to break your fingers.”
“I knew there was a reason Warren had you reporting on security,” Ismaln
shook his head.
“Yes and it’s the same reason you date me. Now, does this source have a
name?”
“I don’t think Guerin would like it very much if I started giving my
sources to our rivals. Why should I upset the man? He does have a heart
condition after all,” Ismaln rubbed a day’s worth of stubble on his chin.
Rebekha leaned in, her cheek brushing his slightly and whispered something
inaudible. He tried keeping a straight face as she pulled away; tried
being the operative word, “You make a persuasive point. Talk to Muj’haa’n.
He’s very sociable.”
Rebekha nodded before returning to her piece, due in less than an hour, it
now seemed a little irrelevant. “I can be sociable.”
Ismaln snorted and watched his “date” as she attempted to ignore him, a
slight scowl giving away the fact that she tried in vain. “Shall I order
another round?”
“Sure, same,” Rebekha said, not really giving his question much thought as
something in the corner of eye caught her attention. “ ‘Maln? Isn’t that
Ambassador Bonviva?” she asked, referring to a tall white haired figure
walking on a lower level.
“Former Ambassador,” he corrected again, “And I doubt it. She’d have a
press core buzzing around her.”
Rebekha squinted, trying to get a clearer look. “Seems like the *former
Ambassador* to me. Maybe she gave her tail the slip? She did help design
this station and she used to be involved in security after all.”
He gave another look, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. She does look a lot
like Bonviva. Wanna follow her?”
She made a jesture like he was crazy, spreading her hands and wrinkling
her brow. “Why would I want to do that?”
“What’s a politician without the press?”
Rebekha shrugged, more in an anttempt to ignore rather than humor him.
“Out of a job. Come on, could be interesting? Just call Warren and tell
him you heard a rumor which invalidates the story you were working on and
need an extension. It’s the truth after all. Isn’t it?”
“You’re going to get me fired one of these days. You know that, don’t you?”
“Aww…” Ismaln congured up his best ‘pity’ voice. “Bex doesn’t want to be
barefoot and pregnant. How cute.”
She scowled at him and contemplated whacking him with her P.A.D.D. “You
can be a real jerk sometimes.”
“And my mom always said I’d never amount to anything.”
-=(^)=-
Scene: Sickbay
“So how exactly did this happen?” the GATE’s resident Andorian department
head asked. She tried to resist the urge to get angry. It hadn’t helped
her much the last time she had dealt with the medical people.
Her two security guards looked ruffled by the situation. They had found
the body when the nurse hadn’t come back from his usual break. “The
changeling must have taken Odan’s form,” the taller of the two said.
“Evidently,” Lieutenant Kor said. Her patience running thinner. “Didn’t
the bio-bed register that something wasn’t right?”
Jeffrey Gorman sat leaning against the wall beside the bed where Odan had
died. Roke had already cleared the body and begun an autopsy. He had
stayed quiet as the Chief of Security had barged back into his sickbay for
another unwelcome time this week; he just didn’t have the energy to deal
with it right now. But the Lieutenant Commander knew a question for him
when he heard one, “It did. According to the logs. It probably even let of
an alarm for a moment or two, but Founder-Odan disabled it shortly after
it began.”
“And didn’t the alarm *alarm* either of you?” Chief Kor asked her two
underlings.
Another question for the Doctor, even though the tall woman had addressed
it to her own people. “His bed had been giving of random alarms a lot. We
assumed it was to due with the very different nature of changeling
physiology because they seemed to correspond with when he’d re-enter
liquid state.”
“What about the force field? It was agreed that one would be resurrected
around the prisoner to prevent just this.
“And it was. But our people have to put them down to enter the treatment
space,” the Doctor said.
Eishnala frowned, but kept her tone even. “Was it standard procedure to
raise them immediately after entering the area around the biobed?”
Jeff nodded.
“Look,” the shorter of the two guards said, causing his boss to turn
around. “Odan was a good guy, but he’d been on duty for twelve hours.
Something about a nursing shortage. He probably just forgot to raise it
again.”
“And whose job is it to remind non-security personnel about maintaining a
secure environment?” Lieutenant Kor asked, arching an eyebrow.
The shorter guard swallowed.
“Computer, did Petty Officer Odan re-raise the force field surrounding
this biobed after he had passed through space?”
A hallow voice answered, “Negative.”
“Well, it’s pretty clear what happened here,” Eishnala said before
addressing her underlings, “You two get to spend the next two days
reviewing standard procedure for patient-prisoner guard duty.” The woman
with powder blue skin than looked at the doctor, “Thank you for your
cooperation. I’m sorry about your guy.”
Jeff stood up a little straighter, surprise that she could muster a
modicum of cordiality since all of their interactions so far had proven to
the country. “Thanks,” he noted.
“I’m going to check station security sensors to see if we can figure out
whose skin he’s walking around in now,” she added.
“What about scanning modulation you used to find him in the first place?”
“Takes a day to remodulate the emitters and Engineering is ‘busy’. Nothing
wrong with the old fashion way,” the Andorian woman emphasized her
statement by shaking her bouncy locks.
-=(^)=-
Scene: Arboretum
The Bajoran woman who lead one of the Station’s many classes for children,
looked up somewhat startled when a very recognizable Bolian figure entered
the Aboretum. Payla had taken her class here to do a unit on botany, but a
teacher knew when to seize a learning opportunity for her students. “Ms.
Bonviva?” the schoolmarm called out.
The Bolian woman looked slightly startled as well when she heard the name
called out from across the arboretum, but quickly recovered. Striding
across a manicured lawn surprisingly quickly considering the towering
heels she wore, the former Federation politician nodded, “Yes. What can I
do for you?”
“If you’re not too busy, I’m certain my class would love a chance to speak
with you. It’s not every day a major election is held on the stations.
You’d like that wouldn’t you kids?”
A mottled chorus ranging from apathetic to enthusiastic called out a
‘yes.’
Bonviva clasped her hands behind her back, “I guess I have a little time.
Who has the first question?”
A girl in the corner raised her hand and the candidate called on her. “If
you win, what will happen to us? Will you find away for my parents to get
home? They left just before the ‘hole collapsed.”
“Well then they’re likely dead,” the Ambassador said calusly as an
incredulous look spread over the teacher.
“That wasn’t very nice,” a little boy near the front of the groups opined.
“Nice won’t keep us alive here. We need to have powerful allies and nice
doesn’t attract those.”
“What do you mean?” another child asked.
“I mean we need to convince the Dominion that we’re not their enemy and
Starfleet is too attached to federation principles to see that.”
“You want to join the Dominion?” the teacher asked, shocked.
“Of course. They took me in. They were good to me. I don’t see why they
won’t do the same since the wormhole aliens have abandoned us,” the
candidate noted.
“The Prophet’s have not abandoned us. We just don’t understand their
ways,” a taller boy said defiantly. His hair was shaved in the tradition
of a Bajoran religious student.
“I’m sorry, but you’re gods have indeed abandoned you. Praying for it to
be otherwise is pointless.”
“You know what? This was a bad idea. Kids, come this way,” the teacher
said, mollified.
Across the way, Ismaln held a camera. Rebekha leaned in asked,“Did you get
all that?”
“Yeah. Is she…drunk?”
-=(^)=-
Scene: Bonviva Campaign Headquarters
Commander McInnis stood cordially talking with some campaign supporters.
“Well, we’re glad you came out today. We’re planning on doing some
canvassing later in the week. Can I count you in?”
One of the trill women, McInnis sort of remembered her name was Elza but
names had become a blur as he met more and more people on the station
nodded enthusiastically, her spots bouncing. The other woman, more solemn,
nodded once before saying, “Yes, of course.”
Gene smiled, “Excellent. Well, I’ll see the two of you…”
Ben, who had been helping staff his former bosses headquarters, bustled
into the campaign director. “Sorry to interrupt, but you’d better see
this.”
The counselor’s brow furrowed for a moment before he politely excused
himself. Than, looking at the former intern, he lowered his voice to a
conspiratorial level. “What’s wrong?”
Ben directed him into an unused conference room and flicked on the FedComm
channel. “Two reports caught a tape of the Ambassador and its been playing
non-stop. It’s not very flattering.”
An image of his wife projected on the viewscreen. {{...but you’re gods
have indeed abandoned you.}}
“She’d never say that. When was this taken?” Gene said, shaking his head.
“Earlier today.”
“She’s been here all day, meeting with a bunch of other former ambassadors
and a few policy advisors,” Commander McInnis noted.
“I know. But it sure looks like her,” Ben said, shrugging.
Gene frowned for a moment, something catching his eye. “No…it doesn’t. She
hasn’t worn her hair like that…in at least the last couple of weeks. She
told me she was bored with that look.”
“Do you think this could be a stunt the Rixx campaign is pulling?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him, but I don’t see how. We need to issue a
statement immediately though.”
-=(^)=-
NRPG:
J: Again, I hope this is somewhat in line with what we talked about.
-=(^)=-
Katrina Browne kbrowne [at] wellesley [dot] edu
Lieutenant Eishnala sh’Kor
Chief of Security
GS-2
From HyperNews_at_youth.net
This archive was generated by hypermail 2.1.5 : Sun Feb 17 2008 - 03:10:18 PST