Epilogue to Episode 2/Prologue to Episode 3

[KendleRJ]

Nav watched the two men leave Engineering, still standing, still waiting... and she was unsure just what transpired. Well, with the Chief in Sickbay, she would need to make sure she was on duty, so instead of hanging around, she smoothed her hair from her face, despite that it hadn't moved, and walked to her office, and began the tedious tasks of organisation and cataloguing... and reports, and... and... and...

Soon, she was lost in the bowels of the red tape Frankie was rife with, and her own fate took a few resolute steps back.

Tags everyone

[Sjet]

"I am big enough to admit..." Keth said with all due sincerity to Lucas "...that you made a mistake."

The two were surrounded now by boxes, and boxes, and boxes, of beef burger patties on white flour rolls. They were stacked on tables, on chairs, and a pair of fellow ensigns were forming an impromptu bucket brigade aiming to feed the growing horde into the recycler. But still the replicator pinged incessantly, not even bothering to name the item it was fabricating, before spitting out a box at speed. Keth had taken a catcher's stance before the machine, nimbly batting boxes left and right. Where the red button had been was now a empty void, as Keth had been a little to excited and had pushed it through the machine's housing and into its guts.

It had been that on which the machine choked, or it had been Keth reaching into its innards and poking around. The phrase 'I've been electrocuted before, I know what I'm doing' should have warned anyone near by that ominous dice were rolling. Because in the grand game of life, Keth was a wizard: and he had just learned the spell 'Summon Hamburger!'. It was super effective.

"Becoming a ship driver person." Keth said, standing up and turning as his tail took over the job of batting aside the flying burger boxes. Keth mused, looking at Lucas @You know...you could transfer like I did. Yes...YEAH! Then you to could work with TK, who is cool, and awesome, and super neat. And you get to wear a red shirt, so that the bad guys can't see how much of their blood is on you! And you get to go on all the away mission, which are always exciting, and there are always new faces in the department! So new friends always come to replace the old ones that go away."

Keth didn't mention they went away in boxes, which only made his stomachs growl as he thought about the hamburger boxes.

"I could put in a good word for you, you know, with TK. The Man." Keth said in as sauve a way as a three meter tall being of chaos could "Bet you'd make a commodore with a fancy hat quicker than sitting up on the bridge. And just like on Huan, the females dig scars! Thats another thing we have in common! Along with a deep and meaningful understanding of art and culture."

Primary colours and shapes were Keth's favorite type of art, apart form the neoclassical impressionistic revival pieces that had arisen in Earth's post WW3 years.

TAG-The Hamgurgular, and Lucas. Also anyone who is peckish, and near the mess hall.

Ensign Keth Soban
Security (Space Wizard)
USS Legacy

SppppaaaacceeeeeeWiiiiizzzzaaarrrdddd...

[Cmdr Phil]

"Commander. A moment of your time?" Williams requested.

Phil frowned, he had plans that he needed to get on with, while Whitney was still occupied, but he could spare a moment...

"Lieutenant," he nodded in acknowledgement. "How are you doing?"

TK gave Phil a blank look.

"I've been stabbed in the kidney, Sir. Though I have it on good authority that I'll live," he answered semi-professionally.

Phil tapped his own prosthetic leg with his cane. "These things are sent to try us," he observed, wryly. "You wanted something?"

"Some things are more trying than others." He was dismissive of physical injury, it was an inherent risk in his line of work, "Would you agree that Legacy's mission and the subtext of showing strength to convince other galactic powers that the Federation is not ripe for invasion is vital to the security of the Federation?"

“Speak softly and carry a big stick, Lieutenant,” Phil nodded. “Strength is vital and certainly we do need to dissuade those who might regard the Federation as a tempting target, but we also need to seek out potential alliances, so diplomacy travels side by side with it. Your point?”

"Certainly Sir," TK agreed, "And therefore, by extension anyone who actively works against our ability to effectively deter potential enemies during this time of crisis would be committing treason, as defined by the Starfleet Code of Service."

TK deliberately presented that as a statement of fact, not a question. He handed the Commander a small recording device.

"That holds a recording of a conversation I recently had with Lieutenant Whitney regarding a series of overhauls to the ship's tactical systems. He has refused for reasons that I find selfish and petty, and likely in response to the fact that I fielded the request through Lt. Khangura, of whom he has expressed an obvious dislike despite, or perhaps because of, her superior technical skill."

Phil raised a single eyebrow, taking the device. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Lieutenant. I will review this and get back to you later.”

TK snapped a salute and strode back down the corridor. Phil watched as he left, then gazed at the device in his hand, a small smile threatening a corner of his mouth.

With Whitney safely ensconced in Sickbay, Phil headed in search of Norquay. He found her in a nook, reading a book, on the observation deck.

“I need your… professional eye…”

"Oh?" Martian raised an eyebrow at the... Hesitant tone to the commander's voice.
She had been somewhat of a persona non grata on the bridge since she held a gun on the bridge team. She'd been authorized to do so, but she could tell it was resented that the public affairs officer was brought in to settle a security issue. She hasn't seen TK in a while and guessed that was for the best.

"I'd be glad to be of assistance, Commander. What do you need?"

Phil gestured towards the small meeting room off the observation deck and she followed curiously.

Once the door was closed, Phil logged into the terminal and selected the file he had copied from Whitney’s PADD.

“As I’m sure you will appreciate, the content of this file is restricted, as there may be disciplinary action dependent on it. However, I believe you are the best qualified person on the ship to act as an expert witness.”

He turned the display round and set it to play, showing the footage of Khangura’s alleged attack.

"Simonaque!" Marian grabbed the display and leaned in close, replaying the scene. "What is this?"

She watched the attack play out a half dozen times before sitting back and releasing a stream of French curses beneath her breath.

"This cannot be real."

“I don’t want to jump to any conclusions, either way, but there are two things I would like you to check…” Phil’s voice was low, conspiratorially so. “Were you recording at that point? I would take the Bridge footage, but if this has been falsified, that could just as easily be compromised. I’m assuming your own recordings would be out of the main storage?”

"Yes, my files are on a secure server, and the only access port is the desktop in my quarters. I'm always recording, Commander, but most of what is catch I wipe after the data dump I send to Starfleet- I don't have endless storage space... I keep some choice bits to use for press releases and such, others for the coxswain's morale and discipline records, et cetera." She paused and frowned. "This was in main engineering? I don't know if I kept that bit, most of my attention was on the bridge, sickbay, shuttle bay, and on the away team."

“Pick a common feature as a reference point - a comm between Engineering and the Bridge. Then check for timings of other common features, the lurch as we changed course, any other communications - see if the timings between the events are consistent. Second - the footage itself - are you able to check the metadata to see if there are any inconsistencies? Perhaps an image taken from elsewhere overlaid in some way?”

Marian mulled it over. "That should work... But might I point out, sir, that while I can pour over data like a champ, I am hardly a forensic investigator..." She made a face as she realized herself what she was about to ask. "I think we should bring in Lt Williams in on this. He and I will look at the same data from two views, catch what the other might miss... Plus, this is part of his pie... He is going to be pissed if his security logs have been tampered with!"

Phil chuckled. “You have a very valid point.” He toggled the comms. “Lieutenant Williams, this is Commander WIlson. Please join me in meeting room eight at your earliest convenience regarding the issue we discussed earlier.”

He pulled another terminal over and inserted the recording device TK had given him. “There are threads beginning to knit together here…” he murmured and began viewing the recording.

tag - TK


OOC - a jp by Phil, Marian and TK (with info from Stu)

[T-Prime]

[Cmdr Phil]

Phil was so intent on what he was viewing, he was a little slow to react to the door opening.

"Ah, yes, Williams. Thank you for joining us. Take a seat, do..." he waved vaguely at the remainder of the conference room. "You're going to need another terminal. When's your next duty shift? It may be a long night..."

tag - Williams

Phil nodded. "Coffee, then. Probably some biscuits... Blood sugar levels and all that. I'll sort that out in a tic. First of all..." His manner changed abruptly from the jovial, avuncular fluff to a stone cold, laser-focussed seriousness. "I am currently investigating a serious allegation of misconduct, but that I suspect rests on potentially fabricated evidence which, if my suspicions are correct, in turn implies a breach of both ship's protocol and security. I'm sure you can appreciate, if that is the case, we have to be one hundred percent certain of our facts before laying any counter-charges." He paused as he registered TK's eyes flit toward Marian.

"I want you to use Norquay's footage as the benchmark. Compare the timings of any common events - comms, movements, any little detail that could imply editing of the footage. If you find one, home in on that section - pull it apart. We need fingerprints, Lieutenant." With that, he stood.

"So, bourbons? Or are you more of a Garibaldi?"

tag

[T-Prime]

[lucasausems]

[Amanda Rose]

Ironhooves was returned to her previous location as the Admiral had promised. There was no gratitude from the Admiral and no formal dismissal. He merely kept his word. In the distance, Ironhooves could see another creature with four long legs. On top of it was a figure and it was racing in Ironhooves direction.

Horseback riders were common enough on Arboria, and the physician assumed that was what was in the distance. But given the rarity of tourists out here at this hour, the grand dam cantered off that way. After the meeting with the admiral, she needed some exercise to burn off her frustration. The rider in the distance might just be willing to run together, and there was only one way to find out.

The ridden creature picked up its pace and headed directly at Ironhooves. As they neared, Ironhooves could guess that the creature appeared to be an American Quarterhorse. The rider, however, was harder to discern except for waves of red, likely hair, that appeared over the horse’s back.

A charge? Interesting. While she didn’t have a lance handy, if the rider wanted challenge she’d find that the old warhorse was no easy target. Picking up speed Rhiannon closed the distance, lowering her head and bracing her shoulder for the charge. If it was a joust they wanted then they’d get one- it wouldn’t be the first time she’d done it sans lance, shield and armor…

The horse with the rider continued to rush towards Ironhooves, though the rider picked up her head when she noticed that Ironhooves was coming at her. She hollered, “Woo hoo!” and started to whirl a rope fashioned in a lasso above her head. Trying to time the throw correctly, as she got nearer, she cast her rope, hoping to catch Ironhooves’s neck.

A real damned charge, and with a lasso no less. On this planet of all things in one of the only ancient forests left on Earth. The old warhorse grinned as she closed the gap, even as the lariat settled around her neck and outstretched arm. Digging her hooves in, Ironhooves turned hard, her outstretched arm whipping about the rider to gently clothesline them. The maneuver unhorsed the rider, snapping the cinch and breaking the saddle free. It was a wrestling tactic of her herd, and one in which she was well practiced. She could perform the same maneuver not so gently, but she wasn’t armored and that would hurt her nearly as much as the target.

Her largesse in merely unhorsing her rider turned somewhat less beneficial as she slowed her gallop to come by for another pass, only to be brought up short by the lariat looped about her, bringing her left hand up to suddenly and comically smack her in the face then remain pinned there as the sudden pull on the lariat choked the high-speed centaur. It seemed the rider had tied the lariat off to the saddle, and still perched in the saddle she was a sudden and unexpected anchor against the charging centaur’s neck, and though she bucked suddenly another five meters or so, the four-legged physician came up short and plopped to the earth, struggling to swallow and catch her breath from nearly being hung.

Ironhooves had not expected any resistance from the lariat, and she’d been dead wrong.

Battered and bruised, the red head circled around to Ironhooves’ face. The woman had a pear shaped figure and she was solidly built. She stood approximately five feet eight inches in height. Her red hair cascaded wildly from her head. It now contained bits of grass and dirt from the tumble she took. Her eyes were green. Her face was round and her cheeks were puffed and flush. Some grandmother, somewhere would enjoy pinching them.

She cocked her head to the side and bewildered told Ironhooves, “You’re not a horse.” She looked at Ironhooves a while longer and asked, “So, what are you, then? I’ve never seen anything like you. I don’t even know what to do with you.”

“I’m a Kutchi, from Arborea. I’m an alien, you provincial...” the rest of the statement devolved into snorts and short whinnies as the alien physician switched to her native language to finish the diatribe against the eager cowgirl who had lasso’d her.

The redhead gave a verbal “Oooh,” indicating her absentmindeness of the rope hanging around Ironhooves face. Her work was quick and skilled as she unharnessed the centaur. “Sorry about that. It is not often to see horses out at this hour. I thought, well, you might have escaped…. I was just trying to do…. Well, it doesn’t matter.”

She stuck out a hand and said, “Oh, I’m Farran. Where is Arborea, if I may ask?”

"Escaped is somewhat the opposite of my situation," grumbled the cranky centaur, coughing a bit and massaging her neck. "Sorry about the clothesline. When someone charges, I tend to react with old battlefield reflexes." There was a moment of consideration, then she grasped the young woman's arm in the more traditional greeting of her people.

"I am Rhiannon of the herd Ironhooves. I am a priestess of the twelfth order, and a physician. I came here because your Starfleet recruited me, and I'm from about," the centaur paused to orient herself, sighting along the Big Dipper to point toward her home system, "nearly 90 light years that way."

“Huh,” Farran replied with some consideration. “As to the wrestling, think nothing of it. I’m tough and I have had tumbles before.”

She released the arm of the centaur and after a time continued, “I’ve read fairy tales about creatures similar to you. Centaurs, they were called, I think. But I seem to recall them all as male.” She took a look at Ironhooves underside to verify Rhiannon’s sex. “You’re definitely not that."

"Must have been hard for them to reproduce," the centaur quipped dryly. "And yes, that's what the Federation calls my species. We say Kutachi, but like the denizens of the Orion system we apparently did not get a vote as to what they would choose to call us."

“I would think that you could insist, if it meant that much to you. How and why were you recruited? Sounds like you don’t much like being here to me. It is a shame. This is a beautiful planet.”

"This world is overrun with pavement and people, buildings and bases. I miss the forests and plains of my home world. But I wanted to learn medicine, the science of healing instead of faith curing wounds and maladies. Which was fine, the heavy-hooved healer flopped onto the ground to sit, "until they insisted on shoving me into duranium cans in space. But that is tomorrow, not tonight. Tonight as the sun sets and the stars come out, I can spend time among the trees and the fresh air and I can feel my centre and run free for a little while."

Farran looked wonderingly at Rhiannon. “Here and many places like it, there is no pavement and few people.” She paused for a long time and said, “I always wondered what it would be like up there….” She looked up at the sky and sighed dreamily.

"One of the few places, and precisely why I am here," the old warhorse explained. "As for up there? A friend summed it up as disease and death wrapped in darkness and silence. I hate space travel. But it seems such is my fate."

“If you hate it so, then why do you do it? You had to travel 90 light years to here. That was space travel. I seem to understand from what you said earlier that you have done it more than once and you will be going again tomorrow. Why not stay on terra firma either here or on your world? Seems an odd thing to me to live a life you hate.”

“Travel from there to here was necessary. This is where the university stood, and this was where I could enter service to learn and be trained. And stationed here I am far from my home, but it is quite bearable. But I am Starfleet. I signed on, I swore the oath.” The old grey mare whinnied softly, exhaling through flapping lips in yet another distinctly equine expression. “Despite how rotten and uncomfortable space travel is for me, when I get ordered I have to go or leave Starfleet. So my desire for open space and firm earth under my feet is secondary to my orders.”

Throughout her explanation to the young woman the centaur had maintained a calm if cranky air. But now it turned to melancholy, and she stared off into the distance. “I’ve seen my stallion for a week of the past three years. My colts are grown, and their colts are having colts who will likely have colts before I return. I’ll be a great great granddam and the wee ones will never know my face til they are grown.”

“So why not resign and be with them? It seems that you are more of a homebody than an explorer. Or do I read you wrong?”

The aging warhorse inhaled then sighed deeply. "Science and medicine could be used by any of my people, not just the spell casters. We could be so much more than we are, and it could change the course of my people's history."

"But I am not ready yet... science and medicine are very difficult to learn, and I am no prodigy. My knowledge is very incomplete, and I still have much to learn. So I put up with the idiots and the orders and being trapped in a tiny claustrophobic little space so that someday my people will be able to perform surgery instead of praying to ambivalent gods." Though the young woman was a stranger poorly met, Ironhooves had no trouble opening up to her. After all, what harm was there in sharing knowledge?

“Spell casters? Are you saying that you’re a witch?” She laughed. “Magic? I heard that once our ancestors would have thought that science is magic. Are you saying that your technology is somehow superior? And what Gods? Are you pagan?”

An upraised eyebrow accompanied a snicker. “I introduced myself as a priestess, little one. I am no witch, and you are likely referring to the Aasimov quote... was it Clarke? ‘Any sufficiently advanced science is indistinguishable from magic’ I believe. As for the rest, you ask a lot of questions. Are you a Federation interrogator? Cramming together a string of questions isn’t a conversation, it’s an interrogation.” Easing up onto her hooves, the cranky centaur stood, shaking off the dust of the trail from her glossy black flanks.

“Federation interrogator?” she asked confused. “Why would anyone have a need for that?” She slowly rose up and said apologetically, “I didn’t mean to offend. I am just curious. I have never been away from this place and I have never met anyone like you. Please excuse my rudeness. I’ll leave you be, if that is what you desire. There is a lot of room out here to run.”

The four-legged physician shook her head at the naivete, feigned or otherwise, at why there would ever be a need for a Federation interrogator. Likely this was some ploy of the admiral’s to feel her out about her attitudes or motivations that he’d not gleaned in the meeting. Or this was some other agency of which she was unaware, but the spy was a poor one. “No one is ‘from’ this place- it is a preserve, one of the few ancient forests your people have managed to not chop down and pave over. And your people have mastered teleportation, so if your worldview lacks scope, then that falls to you. As for me... yes. I think I will spend my last night free running amongst the trees, beneath the canopy of leaves. Feeling the wind in my face, smelling the fresh air and being surrounded by that which grows. For tomorrow all of this will be a memory, and those are all that sustain me in space, where the canopy of stars is under glass and the air is precious and limited.”

Rearing slightly the centaur pivoted and galloped off at that, into the dark of dusk.

Farran watched Rhianon galloped away. Why did the centaur not believe her? A preserve it might be, but it was her residence. She shook her head and her red locks flowed in every direction as she did so. She muttered to herself, “Seems that mares are temperamental in centaurs too.”

[Sjet]

[T-Prime]

TK had been pouring over records for hours. He grudgingly admitted that Whitney had a degree of talent in manipulating data records. There were no obvious rendering flaws, the audio and video were perfectly synced and it all meshed seamlessly into the files TK knew were legitimate. It was all starting to give him a headache. Luckily he could use the pain to stay focused and alert.

He tapped a few buttons on the padd and the segment of video rewound and began again for the... what? Eleventh time in a row? Absently he pulled up personnel records on a whim for both Whitney and Nav. He skimmed the contents with the surveillance footage still playing in his peripheral vision.

TK tossed the padds on the table in frustration. His own recording device lay on the table nearby and he stared at it for a moment before grabbing and dumping the raw data onto a different padd. It was a simple matter to strip out the audio component and the computer was easily able to positively identify himself, Nav, and Whitney. He did the same with the surveillance data; the computer identified Nav and Whitney.

Damnit.

He diasbled the heuristic pattern matching and analysis for voice identification and reran the test. The display read:

Lieutenant Whitney, Chief Engineer
Unknown Sample

"Commander?" TK reported, "I've got a lead, but it's shaky."

tag Phil and Marion