FedKIN Offices, Starbase 24,
Friday 19th July, early hours.
Inevitably, the atmosphere in the large, open plan office was heavy. Nobody had gone off duty and they were all tired and irritable. Trying to find their missing boss was like looking for the allegorical needle in the haystack, with a microscopic needle and a galactic-sized haystack. The starbase alone was huge. With over a thousand decks, and teeming with people, it could take days or even weeks to search it completely. The same was true of the planet. Extensive scans had been initiated as soon as they'd received news of the abduction, but really, they were only good for ruling out the obvious. There were far too many places on Frontera, the cave system under the Northwest Hills, for example, with natural deposits that blocked even the most advanced scanning technology. All such locations would have to be searched manually.
Krang had, of course, been carrying a communicator, and calling it had been one of the first things they had tried. There had been no answer, not that they'd really expected one, but nor were its messaging system or the location chip functioning, which indicated that it was either broken or, more likely, that it had been destroyed.
The big question that had perplexed all of them had been quickly solved. How had they beamed through the shield? Transporter and shielding technology was an ever evolving market, and while, thanks to the presence of Starfleet, the park had benefitted from the latest available tech from the Daystrom Institute, it was always possible, if unlikely, that a nearby ship would have a more advanced system. Kahsil's tired mind jumped in a hundred different directions as he tried to work out the possibilities.
With the current political upheaval in the Romulan Empire, and Arwen's description of the beam, it did appear as though the Roms… and Kahsil barely noted his use of the old slur for people of that race… might have at least some involvement. He shook his head, instincts and common sense telling him that he was, as the Terrans so colourfully put it, barking up the wrong tree. Certainly, the Tal Shiar were ruthless enough, and had the ability to pull off the abduction, but since they benefitted from FedKIN's existence, he could see no motive.
In the end, it had proved to be nothing so complicated, although the answer had opened a whole new can of live, squirming gagh.
"Colonel Kashil…" One of the technicians, a young man whose name escaped Kahsil for the moment, and who spoke with an accent he'd been told was typical of the London area of the United Kingdom, as though that meant anything to him, completely butchered his name as he called for attention. "Sir, I've been going through the park data records." He pulled up a schematic. "Look, this is the energy draw-off for the park. It covers everything – lighting, transport shielding and so on. See how it spikes here at 08:55 hours just before the park opens?"
Kahsil nodded. That would indicate the shielding being activated. Looking over the human's shoulder, he studied the graph, following the line on the chart. It stayed steadily high with only minor fluctuations until… "There." He pointed to an unexpected dip. "What is that?"
"Exactly, sir," the technician said. "According to this, at 11:35 this morning, the power usage dropped and the only thing that could have caused it was the shield going offline."
Ten minutes before the abduction. Kahsil let out a low, menacing growl that left the technician feeling unaccountably nervous, even though he knew it was not aimed at him. Being close to an angry Klingon was never a safe place to be.
"You've done well," Kahsil said after a moment before giving orders for the information to be sent across to the programming experts. Something or someone had caused the shields to fail, or perhaps just switched them off and Kahsil wanted to know how it had happened and who was responsible. There was no possible way that this had been an accident or a coincidence.
"Sir… I've got something. We have a match."
The voice this time was one of the team working to identify the man seen on the illicit recording given to them by the ice cream vendor. Jacob had done well there, in obtaining the information after it had been so carefully withheld from the previous investigating teams. At any other time, Kahsil would have been amused, and might even have laughed as he'd listened to the report the two agents had given him.
"… turned out she had a recording." The agent named Mark glanced sideways at his colleague before adding, "I don't know why he didn't just download the footage."
Jacob had just smiled. "But then I wouldn't have to go and see her to return the padd."
"Well, I am glad our boss's disappearance has facilitated your love life," Kahsil had snapped sarcastically. "Get that footage uploaded to the search database… and Lieutenant Lawal, you can take that padd back on your own time."
"Yes, sir." Slightly chastened, both agents had got to work, neither of them bothering to point out that they'd been on their own time since early evening.
That had been several hours ago. Several long, frustrating hours, punctuated only by the occasional yawn, mugs of hot coffee from the vending machine, and surprisingly, by a tray of fresh donuts some unknown benefactor had sent from the bakery a few decks away. The coffee wasn't bad actually, even if it did not have the raw strength of Klingon raktajino, but that beverage had run out some time ago and no one had got round to refilling it.
Kahsil swung round, hope dawning. "You have a name?"
"Yes, sir. Gediminas Jonaitis. He's from Earth, a Lithuanian national, registered as junior crewman on the SS Sundance. His record says he's been with that ship for six months, previously supervisor on the Romney Trader, but was sacked for fighting. Several prior convictions for theft and aggravated assault.
"Hmm." Kahsil grunted. A casual labourer and petty criminal. That figured. No doubt a paid stooge with little information as to who had hired him. Still, he might know something, and he should be made to pay for his part in the crime. "Pass the information to Starbase security. I want him found and taken into custody, and I want that freighter searched from top to bottom. Tear it to pieces if you have to. Suggest that they have a chat with the captain of the Romney Trader as well. He might know something that can help us."
Finally, answers were starting to come in, but they were still no closer to finding either their boss or the culprits. Kahsil stifled a yawn. He was so tired. Having worked through the previous night with Krang, he'd been on duty for almost forty-eight hours straight, and could not remember the last time he'd eaten. Oh yes, that was right, he'd had one of those donut things, sickly sweet and covered with chocolate and powdered sugar. The rest of the team were just as bad and after due consideration, he decided to send those who had been on duty the longest home to rest for a while. It was not that they could afford to lose the time, but tired minds made mistakes and that they could afford even less. For those who could not yet be released, he'd call for some food. Burgers maybe, from TB24, a nearby burger joint that according to the Terrans, was the best one on the station. Maybe if he asked, they could do some that were only partly cooked so that the Klingon officers could eat them as well. And wasn't there a Chinese restaurant on the same deck? He quite liked Chinese food. If they were still open, maybe they could send some food as well. He needed to eat and so did his people.
He yawned again, not quite able to hold it back this time, and just for a moment, allowed himself to give in to a despair that was uncharacteristic but perhaps understandable. For all that he was the senior officer present, he was hampered by his newness to the role and the fact that even with the emergency authority he'd been given, his clearance was not quite high enough to do what must be done to protect the organisation. He had no choice but to assume that any and all information the missing security captain had held was now vulnerable. It all seemed so hopeless, and he would be glad when Security Captain Moragh arrived to take charge.
Saturday 20th July 2391
"Romney Trader, Your flight plan is logged and approved." The voice was that of the duty flight controller responsible for commercial departures, Lieutenant Commander Richie. As he'd promised, if not in so many words, he was making sure that in thanks for his support, Thurgood's ship was one of the first to be allowed to leave the station. "You are cleared for immediate departure."
The control deck was understandably busy; with two days of nothing in or out, ships were backed up all over the place, patiently waiting either to leave and get on their way, or to come in and dock. As senior controller, Richie had been putting in a lot of overtime, something that did not bother him as much as it might, since placating bad tempered freighter captains was much simpler than dealing with his wife's tantrums.
"Understood, Flight Control. Docking clamps and umbilicals released. Engaging manoeuvring thrusters."
"Safe Journeys, Captain Thurgood. Enjoy Risa. Try not to get into too much trouble there, and we'll look forward to seeing you when you get back."
The sound of laughter. "I'm looking forward to it, we don't often get the Risa run. We'll be gone about six weeks, I think. Don't worry, I won't forget your Horga'hn.
More laughter, from the control room this time. "You'd better not."
Another voice broke into the conversation, sounding both amused and irritated at the same time. "Get outa here, would you, Thurgood? We can't move until that fat-assed garbage scow of yours is out of our way and we're already three days behind schedule."
"All right, all right, I'm going! Keep your knickers on straight, Sundance!" Thurgood's indignant tone turned serious as he added. "And Starbase 24, rest assured that us freighter captains will be keeping a look out. If we see anything even remotely suspicious, we'll be in touch.
"Hear, hear!" Sundance's captain agreed brusquely. "You have our word on that."
Listening to the comm chatter, Kahsil raised a bushy eyebrow, glancing at his colleague. Officially, Captain Mark Griffiths was head of Starbase security, but Kahsil was in a position to know that for over twenty years, he had also been working for Starfleet Intelligence. "Are your flight controllers always so… informal when on duty?"
"What? Oh, you mean all the banter?" Griffiths shook his head. "No. Richie is good at his job; he knows what he's doing. Things have been pretty tense over the last day or two, for obvious reasons. None of those captains were happy about the delay and that could easily have turned to rioting."
"But they went off happily," Kahsil said slowly, "promising to help with the search."
"Exactly." Griffiths sighed before adding, "We can only hope one of them will find something.
"We will find him," Kahsil insisted fiercely.
His colleague shot him a disbelieving look. "You really think so? Every clue has come to nothing. It's just been one wild goose chase after another."
It took the Klingon a moment to understand the meaning of that colloquialism. It was true, he conceded eventually, that the search did seem fruitless, a waste of time. He'd had high hopes when they had identified one of the abductors. Griffiths had pulled in the captains of both freighters on which the man had most recently served, and as a professional courtesy had allowed Kahsil to be present during the interviews. Personally, he'd have preferred a full-on interrogation, Imperial Intelligence style and thought that the Starfleet officer had been far too polite, but he did understand that the Federation had a different, 'gentler' way of doing things and that the two men were witnesses rather than suspects. Still, it was frustrating.
The man was trouble, Thurgood had told them. He'd needed a crew supervisor and had been willing to give Jonaitis a chance. "Everything was fine for a while; he kept his head down and got on with the job, but he had an alcohol problem – started turning up for work drunk, and eventually got into a fight that left another crew member in hospital." Thurgood let out a heavy sigh. "I had no choice but to sack him after that."
Griffiths had, of course, checked that out, and the city hospital at Proxima Centauri confirmed that a man registered to Romney Trader's crew had indeed come in with injuries consistent with brawling. Security records on that world also showed Jonaitis hanging around, causing minor trouble for a while and then skipping town onboard the Sundance. The general consensus had been 'good riddance'.
Sundance's captain had had little to add to the story, except to say that on their arrival at Starbase 24, Jonaitis had taken his pay and signed off the ship. He'd added that he'd known it was risky taking on a known troublemaker, but if he rejected everyone with a bad history, there would be no one to crew his ship. Jonaitis had turned out to be quite a good worker – strong, willing and capable of following instructions. He'd seemed quiet, subdued even, but the captain had put that down to the trouble he'd been in. He'd ended with a shrug, saying that he was sorry to lose the crewman
On being asked if he had heard anything on the grapevine or had any idea who the other man might be, Sundance's captain had remained silent for a long time, before speaking. "Jonaitis wasn't the only one to disembark," he eventually admitted. He'd been friendly with another crewman, and the two had occasionally drunk and played poker together. The captain had watched with suspicion, remembering the man's previous record with alcohol, but he'd not overindulged and nothing untoward had happened. About an hour after Jonaitis left the ship, the other man had also claimed his pay and left.
That could easily have been a massive coincidence, Kahsil thought grimly, a red herring as the Terrans liked to call it. Except… some hours after an alert being put out for the two men, both of them had been found dead - one in the janitor's cupboard on deck 359, the other in a toilet cubicle in a bar on the lower promenade. Both had been killed by an old-fashioned bullet in the back of the head.
The Klingon growled. This was looking more and more like a highly professional operation, and he didn't like it at all.
Ranger Ship 247
Sunday 21st July 2391
It was quiet on the ship, which was at minimum power, deep in a crater on a small moon, watching, waiting. Their current case was an old one, long thought to be cold, until examination of seemingly unrelated material had led to a breakthrough in the murder of one of their own more than twenty years ago. Rangers were patient. They needed to be. Two weeks they'd been watching, two long weeks. Still, there was work to be done while they waited, reports to be written, data to be analysed, plans to be made... and other things, more pleasurable than work.
Antonio had never expected to fall in love, let alone with the partner he respected and admired. For all no vows of chastity held him, he'd thought such a thing would be forbidden, considered sinful. Their ruling council, however, understood that when two people lived and worked together in the confines of a small ship, far from home for long periods of time, relationships would form. Not all partnerships worked out, of course. Sometimes, no matter how carefully pairs were chosen, there would be conflict which was not always reconcilable, and reassignment would be necessary. More often they got it right and deep friendships would be forged, which lasted a lifetime and occasionally turned to something more.
Flushing slightly at that thought, he glanced across at the Klin Zha board sitting on the table next to the three-dimensional chess set. It was a Klingon game, broadly similar to chess, although played on a triangular board. He'd learned the game, or at least its standard 'Open' form, as a child and had been trying to teach Liam to play, with only limited success. In the end, after Antonio had destroyed his opponent's goal for the third time, Liam had put down his Fencer in disgust and persuaded him to come and try something more fun.
The memory causing his flush to deepen, he got up and made his way into the cockpit, the bridge as he liked to call it although it was far too small for such a dignified titled. Whatever it was called, he found the space conducive to work, and had developed the habit of using it as a mini office. He enjoyed data analysis and was good at it, often finding patterns or anomalies that others missed, and before long, he was deep in thought, padds and papers spread out around him on the various console surfaces.
The comm made a low sound that neither Ranger had heard very often. A priority message was coming in despite them strictly maintaining comm silence, sent on a very narrow beam on a channel used for nothing else. Antonio answered and was shocked into immobility when he saw the troubled face of a friend, an older Ranger named Roland, whom he'd thought halfway to the rim on an urgent mission, three weeks ago or more.
"Rollo!" One look at the long, patrician face, blue eyes dark with bad news, forehead wrinkled, told him that whatever it was, it was bad. "What's happened? I thought you were long gone, mon ami." He heard Liam come in quietly and crouch down next to his chair, one hand sliding not along the top for balance as might be expected, but lower, coming to rest comfortingly against Antonio's back.
"We were delayed and a good thing, too. There is no easy way to tell you this, Antonio so I'll just give it to you straight. You're needed at home. Your father has been taken. There a lot of people looking for him, including us, but you're to be picked up in a few hours to get you on your way. That would be me, on one of the new, faster ships. I'm in the prototype, in fact, less than three hours from you."
Antonio could not seem to take a breath. Taken. What did that even mean? By whom, when? How had a message even been sent? His mother must be frantic, Fina too. He shook his head hoping to clear it but it only made him dizzy. The only thing he could feel was the warmth of Liam's hand where it rested against him. "I don't... how..."
"Your sister commed Marcel as you'd instructed her to in an emergency and the message was routed from one ship to another until your exact location was pinpointed. Another team took our mission, and I was sent to pick you up. Liam will stay behind to complete the extraction. I'm going to sign off now, chéri. I have all the data here, but we cannot keep this channel open. Be ready."
