From: Jamie LeBlanc (plainsimplegarak_at_yahoo.com)
Date: Sun Apr 13 2008 - 22:31:17 PDT
"When the Cat's Away" (Continued from "Mission Almost
Accomplished or Not")
~*~*~*~*~*~
Location: GS2
Stardate: 2.80414.0025
Scene: Promenade
~*~*~*~*~*~
"The first sign of corruption in a society that is
still alive is that the end justifies the means."
~Georges Bernanos
~*~*~*~*~*~
“Lets face it, you’re a criminal.”
Zel rolled his eyes at the restaurateur as she
shook a spoon at him. “Let me assure you, Belinda…”
“That’s Missus Lemiuer to you, boy!” she yelled
back, smacking Zel with the long handled spoon. The
half Cardassian winced and pulled back a bit.
“Alright, let me try that again.” He fanned his
fingers out in a gesture of compliance. “Mrs.
Lemiuer, I assure you that I am an honest businessman.
I have every permit in line…”
“Honest my ass. You and this little cart.” She
gestured to the merchandise display that hung
forlornly on its hangers. Business has slowed to a
snail’s pace after the disappearance of Commander
Davidson. “If you ain’t moved on by now, you have to
be up to something fishy with a set up this flimsy.”
Zel gave a long, low sigh. He would argue that
more vehemently, but her reasoning was actually quite
good. Had it been two weeks ago, she would have been
dead on accurate, since he was staying until Grek
decided that his debt was repaid. But as things
slowed down he got a call from the Ferengi, saying
that he could keep the rest of the merchandise, his
debts were even. That sat poorly in Zel’s stomache –
the hybrid knew he had paid back less than half of the
money he actually owed, so he wondered what else Grek
was getting out of this bargain. But when it came
down to it, Zel didn’t have the time or the energy to
worry about that.
Had he the opportunity, he would have left right
then and there. This station didn’t sit well with
him. The Starfleet presence was both blind and
overbearing. The marines loved staring at him from
the balcony, and the Starfleet personnel were cold, if
not downright unfriendly. Sitting behind this
miserable little cart, with the mockery of figurines
staring down at him was depressing to say the least.
It felt like an albatross around his neck, giving him
a sinking feeling no amount of Galaxy Disx could lift
back up.
So, while he stared the Cajun cook back in the
face, he swallowed the desire to rant at her and tell
her exactly why he was still here. He was flat broke.
Oh, sure, the dolls had pulled in quite the
handsome profit in the opening weeks. Enough to make
even Grex proud. Zel would be sitting comfortably had
he kept half. But he didn’t keep half. He was
required to give half to Grex to repay his debt; and
half to the Andara children’s fund to keep his
license. That left Zel barely enough money to keep
eating. With sales dwindling to a pitiful trickle,
Grek’s proclamation that he could keep the rest of the
profits for himself was insulting. Zel hung on,
trying to eke out just enough money to get himself a
ticket off of this station while putting forth the
happy face towards anyone else. He didn’t want them
to know.
It left him standing in the Promenade, stomach
growling and facing the stupidly irate questions of
the other shop owners. “Maybe I’m just a man,
standing here, waiting for a better ship to come in.”
he replied to Mrs. Lemiuer evenly.
“Well, the prison ship don’t come in for another
few days, better get ready.” She spat back, shaking
her spoon. “I don’t want you hangin’ around my
restaurant.”
“I wouldn’t dream of soiling your respectable
establishment” the shopkeep replied, sourly.
The heavyset woman folded her hands across her
chest. “Good.” She looked satisfied. “Keep it that
way.” She whirled and stalked back towards her
restaurant as Zel returned to his booth, unwrapping a
Disx. Glaring at her perfectly white chef’s coat, he
felt a rising desire to scream at her, before he
narrowed his eyes, and licked the Disx. Leaning over
the counter and pushing the plush black cats out of
the way, he pitched the tiny candy through the air,
and it landed on the back of her white coat with a
satisfying splat. Blue and green dye spattered across
her back and dripped down. Zel indulged in a pleased
grin for a moment.
Belinda turned, her expression slightly paranoid.
“What th?” she asked wiping her back. Not able to
reach down far enough, her hand came away clear. Zel
rewarded her with his most innocent, glittering smile.
“I’m watching you Mr. Rohan.”
“Zel.” He corrected, automatically.
“Fine. I’m watching you Mr. Zel.” She snapped,
angrily.
“Rohan.” He murmured, absentmindedly.
“Shut up!” she screamed, turning red
From across the hallway, one of the Marines
looked up and over. “Is there a problem, folks?” The
tone of his voice was one of stern authority, the sort
that gives only one warning. It was enough to shush
both civilians.
“No, just not seeing eye to eye.” Zel offered in
a soft voice.
“I’m fine. I’m going back to my gumbo.” Mrs.
Lemiuer replied, hastening back to her kitchen. Zel
offered a calm little smile to the military man and
went to cleaning up his storefront, allowing himself
to smile again at the tiny victory once everyone had
cleared.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Scene: OPS
“The power fluctuation is on deck 15, Sir.” Lt.
j.g. Catherine Powers turned, her brows furrowing.
Randall Giles looked over the slender young
woman’s shoulder, frowning. Usually flirtatious
thoughts would be on his mind, but the steady stream
of malfunctions on the station weighed on his mind.
Swallowing, he made his voice sound steady. “Can you
track the source of the fluctuation?”
“Engineering reports there is a damaged relay in
junction 45-A” Catherine replied, calling up the
schematics on the screen. “It can be fixed within the
next forty-five minutes. Until then, power will be
down in habitat area G-4” her voice sounded
apologetic, as if she wished there was a way to simply
will the malfunctions to cease.
Giles sighed, taking in a long, low breath.
“Dispatch security to patrol the engineering
corridors, and tell Engineering to see if they can
stabilize and safeguard the station’s power systems.”
He turned, spreading his orders out around Ops, and
double-checking that the rest of the systems were
stable before leaning back against the console. He
was just about to relax when a voice cut through OPS
that made him snap to attention.
“Giles…” the stern tone of Major Alex Towers cut
the air like a knife. “A word with you.”
Randall knit his brows and gave a nod, heading to
the office off of the main OPS room. “Allright.” He
started, amiably.
Towers was silent until the doors closed, and as
soon as the last crack of light disappeared between
the door and the frame his folded his arms across his
chest and snapped, “what the hell are you going to do
about this?”
Lt. Giles turned, looking irritated. “Do about
what?”
“Seventeen malfunctions in the last three days?
Six of them causing major power fluctuations, and
three times power has been cut off to non-essential
areas of the station. This is a build-up, Giles.” The
marine replied angrily.
“A build up to what, Major?” the younger man
humored him.
Major Towers shook a fist in the air. “Are you
blind, Giles? You have a saboteur on board!”
Randall waited for his temper to flare and then
cool before he responded. “Yes, Major, I remember
your report. A dead man wandering the corridors. I
took it seriously, increased security, I even released
Clooney St. George’s medical records to you so you
could do a detailed scan. From what I remember you
didn’t find him on the station – alive or dead.”
“Your security measures are worthless, and in my
opinion you have taken this whole situation far too
lightly.” Towers’ voice was low and dangerous. “Have
you even thought about the implications of what the
security cameras show?”
It was Lt. Giles’ turn to fold his arms across
his chest. “I have done a lot of thinking about
implications, Major.”
“Not enough.” Towers’ glared. “A mysteriously
reappearing dead man? Someone who died in a dominion
stronghold? Don’t you see the obvious answer?” When
he didn’t get a reply, the marine continued on,
speaking as if Giles was a retarded toddler. “You
have a founder on board.”
“There is no proof of that.” Giles protested.
Towers stared at the OPS officer, his jaw falling
open, as if he was stunned by the other man’s
stupidity. “That is exactly what they want you to
think, so you’re complacent while they take over the
station.”
“We are taking every step to ensure the safety of
the engineering systems.” When his reply got a stiff
negative glare, Giles added, “then what do you suggest
we do, Major?”
Alex Towers had been waiting for this moment and
he began to tick his preplanned list off on his
fingers. “Any corridors with power relays are now
secured areas and restricted to anyone without
clearance. A strict curfew will be enforced on the
promenade. All personnel will submit to unannounced
blood screenings. Civilians will be restricted to
only the promenade their personal habitat areas. The
marine team will take over security of all sensitive
areas. For starters.”
Giles blinked, his jaw falling slightly open.
“You’re talking about Martial Law…”
“I’m talking about the safety of this station.”
Towers spat back.
“I am not going to take away the personal liberty
of everyone on this station just because we think we
might have a shape shifter on board.” Giles replied,
acidly.
Towers shook his head. “If you don’t, they might
not have a station to be on.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Scene: Promenade
It was late. There were no two ways about it.
The promenade was nearly shut down, only a few
stragglers trying to slink away from Schrodinger’s Cat
as it shut down so things could get their nightly
cleaning.
Zel knew he should be in bed, but sleep wasn’t
coming tonight. He was a bit too wound up, too hungry
and too overtired to actually be able to lie down and
sleep. So he figured that a walk might do him good.
It was thinking like that, which usually got him in
trouble.
Though nighttime was normally calm, tonight was
unusually quiet. As Zel Rohan let his green eyes
flicker about the corridors, all he could see were a
few stern faces of security guards staring back at
him. He grumbled slightly, and turned down the
walkway that lead to the cargo bays, trying to find a
place away from prying eyes, to get a chance to clear
his head.
He didn’t know how long he had been wandering,
just letting his feet take him in lazy circles about
the hallways, lost in his own thoughts. He had been
just fantasizing that if he could get enough money to
get himself off this station he might enjoy settling
down for a bit on a colony world and becoming a
chicken farmer or something equally peaceful that
assured him a steady unending supply of fresh eggs
(and Zel adored fresh eggs) when he nearly walked in
to a man digging elbow deep in a wall panel.
“Excuse me…” the Cardassian murmured, looking up,
and for a second or two, shock played across both
faces. The man looked shocked, presumably because he
had been discovered, and Zel looked even more shocked
because he was, in fact, staring directly into the
face of someone he had watched die graphically on
Fedcom broadcast. “…Clooney St. George?” he asked,
incredulous.
“What are you doing here?” the reporter asked
crossly.
Zel blinked. “Walking.” He replied as if it was
as natural as breathing. He paused for a second and
added, “What are you doing here?”
Death had not mellowed Clooney St. George any, as
far as Zel Rohan was concerned, because the reply he
got was a ferocious slap in the face that sent the
much smaller hybrid flying against the other wall.
When he had time to really think about it later, he
decided that whoever that was he was much stronger
than Mr. St. George should have been, but at the
moment Rohan straggled to keep his bearings. When
Zel’s head stopped spinning, he found that Clooney had
run. “Ok, that was strange.” Dragging himself to his
feet he peered at the wall. The open panel had been
replaced, but the wall had distinct scorch marks on
it.
Curious as he was, the hybrid prided himself on
not being stupid. He blinked at the wall, remembering
the rumors filtering around the promenade of power
outages and even the word ‘sabotage’ and decided the
best place for him was to get out of here. And so he
turned, beating feet back towards the Promenade.
Turning into one of the main connecting hallways, he
came upon a pair of officers in dull Marine green.
“Excuse me, sir…?” the shopkeep looked up, eyes
wide and innocent.
“What?” the older of the two demanded.
He sucked in a short breath and pointed back
towards the way he came. “I was in the cargo bay,
doing inventory, and I passed a strange man… that,
um… that reporter.”
The two marines looked at one another and nodded
silently, the younger picking up a phaser rifle and
running off the way Zel had pointed. The elder stayed
put, staring at the small man with a strict glare.
The marine narrowed his eyes. “What were you
doing there? This is a restricted area.”
Zel blinked, looking around, as if a sign might
magically appear telling him that yes, in fact it was
a restricted area, even though he was sure he had
traveled the exact same route before to pick up crates
from the quartermaster and it most certainly was not
restricted. “Are you sure? It wasn’t restricted
yesterday…” he protested lightly.
“Well it is restricted now.” The marine replied
in the same sort of tone one used when your options
were to obey or to, well, obey.
“But…” The hybrid started to protest. The sound
died in his throat when the man pulled a phaser out
and leveled it evenly at him.
“I said it was restricted.” The marine repeated,
solidly.
Zel fanned out both hands in a ‘but I’m not
dangerous!’ gesture. “All right, I get the point. It
is now restricted and I am leaving.” He shook his
head and started to back off slowly, watching the
officer until he was back on the promenade and the
phaser was no longer trained at him.
He slunk back to his quarters, trying to stave
off a monster headache, feeling a sinking feeling of
dread in the pit of his stomache.
~*~*~*~*~*~
NRPG: Seems likely that with sabotage, and the senior
staff away, the station would take a turn for the
worse.
Clarification: yes, Clooney St. George is dead.
Moorit, mentioned last post from me is impersonating
him while committing sabotage, to spread confusion.
Chameloid was the race from star Trek 5.
(Rura-Penthe)
~*~*~*~*~*~
Jamie LeBlanc
Civillian Zel Rohan
Shopkeep under suspicion
GS2
"Why do we fly? Because we have dreamt of it for so long that we must"
~Julian Beck
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