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Technical Difficulties
Chapter 15: Of Trials, Truth, and Testimony
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Kirk looked upon the Starfleet courtroom grimly. The high, sloping ceiling, the vaulted chamber for judges, the rows of polished wood. Stately attire, dress uniforms strutting around. It was all so very familiar, so formal. With a flourish, he limped grandly up the center aisle to sit in the front row of witnesses.
Less than twenty four hours ago, he had been knee-deep in his own blood in an enemy ship. Now he was at the trial of the man who had done it all to him. And Kirk was intending on forcing the truth out of Finnegan while forcing him into jail for the rest of his life. He set his jaw firmly as he promised himself.
He came up to the front of the courtroom, past the rows full of people waiting to see the person who had wrecked their flagship. Waiting to see what would happen to him. The crowd was jittery and loud, full of movement as Jim cast his eyes over the masses in search of someone he knew.
"Jim, it's about damn time you showed up. I was beginning to worry you'd sleep through it all."
"Bones! Fancy seeing you here." Jim clapped him on the shoulder and took the empty seat next to him.
"Yeah, well, someone's gotta present all the goddamn medical information in this trial. Might as well be me." Actually, Jim knew that Bones had done so many hours over the past week that Starfleet had requested another medical officer to go over all of the medical facts and resulting implications for the trial. Something about overwork and an officer's need of good rest. Bones had had none of it and came to the trial anyway.
Shaking his head, "Sure, Bones, sure. Just make sure this time, you sleep for over a week when everything's calmed down. Seriously, they'll start docking the funds for engine repairs just to scrape together enough for your overtime paycheck, and then where will we be?"
Bones rolled his eyes. "Goddammit, it's like nobody here has ever heard of a twenty-four hour ER hospital."
"Well, I've seen the show, does that count?" Jim smirked, ruining his portrayed look of innocent curiosity.
"Wait, the one from over five hundred years ago? I don't believe you. You haven't watched any sort of thing, I'm sure of it. At the least, you're just guessing that there's some sort of medical drama about an ER hospital because there were so damn many medical dramas back in the day of 2D television."
"Got me pegged, Bones. Oh, look who it is – Pavel Chekhov!" Coming from across the room after spying his captain, Chekhov waved enthusiastically, dragging a tired-looking Sulu behind him. "And Sulu too! How's it going?"
"Vell, keptin. Ve haff just arriwed, vondering iff ve could help een any vay? Eef not, ve vill be here anyvay, so…"
"Oh, yes, I'm sure that if there's any need, they'll call on you to help." Jim noticed with a flick of his keen eyes that Sulu was in serious pain. "Sulu, you okay there? I've got a Doctor here who could help…" Jim winked at Bones, who hid a grin with a disgruntled sigh and reached for his medical bag he kept on him at all times.
"What's yer problem, Sulu?"
"Well, I just got this terrible headache… Can't stand looking at bright lights…"
Bones whipped out a hypo in a second. "Got just the thing – come over here, it'll just take a sec – and there. Good to go."
Sulu straightened up immediately and smiled radiantly. "Thanks! I feel so much better."
They went and sat down after another minute, then started chatting among themselves. Jim looked at Bones in wonder. "How did you know what was wrong with him just from that? He had headaches and couldn't look at lights?"
Bones harrumphed. "He had a hangover, knew it the second I looked at him. He came in with Chekhov, the Russian kid? Chekov keeps a store of heavy vodka in his room at all times, and those two are pretty close. Their rooms are pretty close together too, and they get off shift at about the same time. I'm guessing after all the stress from last night they decided to unwind a little with some help from Chekhov's vodka. Sulu doesn't hold liquor at all either, it's a Japanese genetic thing he's complained about before that I checked out, and so he would've gotten completely drunk within a few sips of the stuff, no wonder he's got a hangover."
"Whoa, Bones, you pick up on a bunch of shit I don't even think about."
"Yeah, well, comes in handy every so often. Mostly when we get another mission from hell and nobody tells me shit until everything's over."
"Next time I'll quiz you on my schedule when I'm lying on the operating table."
"You do that, I might decide not to operate. You'd be in too good of a condition for something as invasive as that."
"Aw, don't get angry." Jim clapped him on the back. "It's all in good fun… But seriously, do you pick up on everything? Everything?"
Bones shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I try to keep tabs on everyone… I don't think I'm that good, I still have pretty sizeable gaps…" He glanced sideways at Jim. "But some things are so incredibly obvious that even I couldn't not pick up on it."
Jim blushed. Vividly.
"Greetings, Jim, Doctor McCoy." Spock seemed to have materialized behind them, making them both jump.
"Spock! Nice of you to drop in. Thinking of running the whole show here?" Jim smiled up at him, eyebrow cocked.
"Actually, Captain, I am indeed, as you say, running the show. I am the prosecutor in this particular case."
Bones whistled. "You have a degree in law, too?"
"Yes, Doctor. Several of them."
"How did you get this position, exactly? Hook up with the right people?"
"No, Jim, I simply applied for the particular position last night and received my orders this morning. I was decreed by the court to act as prosecutor, as a spokesman for both the Enterprise crew and for Starfleet."
Jim whistled this time. "Must have been that awesome speech you gave to High Command when you were explaining the situation. You know, that one time."
"Indeed, Captain." Spock noticed movement off to the side, probably seeing someone beckoning him to begin to prepare his papers, and turned back to Jim. "I am to sit in my place now. I shall call upon you for testimony as to the events that transpired on the Sealion. Please prepare yourself for that."
"Thanks. Good luck."
"Luck will hardly be – "
"Just do your best, then." Jim smiled, Bones smiled, everything about it was all smiles. Even Spock's lips twitched ever so slightly.
"Yes, sir."
Spock took his position as prosecutor.
Jim kept glancing around to all the rows of people. Who else besides himself and Bones would be called on to speak? Who else on the Enterprise held enough rank and know-how that Spock himself would call on them for further information?
Well, Sulu and Chekhov were sitting over there. And Uhura was walking down the row – wait a second, Uhura was joining Spock at the prosecution table! She grinned at Jim's dumbfounded look. Huh. Well then. Spock's eyebrow raised a bit, playfully, and Jim pointedly looked back at the crowd to find Scotty or Giotto. He didn't see either of them.
Jim knew that Giotto was probably still doing Security rounds or some such thing, he knew Giotto had loads on his plate after such a fiasco. But Scotty had just been cleared from Sickbay, and had nothing else to do but wait for the Enterprise to open to crew again so he could stash himself away in the throes of Engineering. Jim had completely expected him to show and was kind of thrown at the fact that he didn't see him there.
"Hey Bones," Jim whispered as the hall quieted, "Where's Scotty? Still recovering?"
Bones grunted, almost completely silent, concentrating on the proceedings at hand. Jim elbowed him, only to get a, "Dammit Jim, not now," in response.
Ah, the trial was starting. Or rather, important people in uniform were appearing to serve on the jury, and everyone wanted to watch them march on in a grandiose manner. Jim would have rolled his eyes, but he found that in spite of his usual attitude towards processionals like this, he was extremely interested in who exactly would be judging the fate of Finnegan. So he focused intensely on each face that came through the small side door, and found that he knew each and every one of them. Not personally, but through either working with them or notoriety or something like that. All of the jurors were famous within Starfleet, being top ranked and held within the highest esteem Starfleet could muster for its officers.
This intrigued Jim. Starfleet was giving this trial its very best people to be jurors, allowing Spock to speak for Starfleet as prosecutor, and allowing a vast amount of people to watch the proceedings. Usually a trial was cut down to the bare minimum of onlookers: the people called to speak in the trial. But for some reason, when the charges included treason for a Starfleet officer no less, not only was the venue of the trial large enough for an entire starship crew to watch, there were faces across the room that Jim was beginning to realize had much more significance than he had previously thought.
Across the room, Jim spied Klingons and Romulan ambassadors. Not sitting next to each other, surely, but they were both there, among the countless Starfleet officers in uniform. He pondered this new discovery with a grim dash of a mouth before turning back to the trial.
The presiding member came out from the back room. It was Admiral Fayden, a man renowned for his previous works of diplomacy in interplanetary disputes; most famously, he had ended the Federatin's dispute with the Saurians and had helped sign them into the Coalition of Planets. Jim and everyone else here had studied his diplomatic talks in the Academy.
Softly, ever so softly, Jim whistled under his breath. Starfleet was really pulling out all the stops, getting all the big celebrities to serve for this trial.
Then the next step proceeded in the form of a rousing speech about the justice system of Starfleet: its basic goals, its expectations for the crowd behavior, its rules of governing condensed into a few short phrases. All rose for the honor of the court and then all sat, waiting for the start of the trial.
A moment of silence, before –
"Seamus Finnegan, you are called to the court."
He was called to the stand, finally. It's what the entire mob is doing here, to see this man, the man who destroyed the Enterprise, tortured its captain.
The door opened, the one right behind the stand.
Polished, dark, rich wood gleamed in the quiet courtroom, as the sunlight gleamed through the tall, thin windows, cutting through the puffy clouds outside. Jim had never fully appreciated the beauty of his surroundings in a courtroom before. Had he been any other man, even himself from a year ago, he could not have possibly held himself with such poise and grace, especially with the pounding of nervousness attacking his knee, which should have been shaking, his fingers, which should have been tapping, his teeth, which should have been chattering.
As it was, Jim had been through so much shit that his body no longer responded to his panic. His face was certainly not expressionless, but it was certainly sharply cold, like a perfectly sculpted marble statue, regal and stately in form; his features revealed an almost merciless sense of justice, with a glimmer of satisfaction lurking behind the curl of his mouth. His stance hadn't become rigid, but had actually smoothed and rounded, as his body naturally relaxed into a pose of a model for a photoshoot, hands folding together, arms falling into place, legs crossing and stretching seamlessly into where they were meant to be.
But the most frightening thing, the thing that clinched interplanetary disputes, the thing that ended threats towards the crew of the Enterprise, the thing that drew his crew to him in absolute devotion, the thing that quite simply scared the hell out of Finnegan when he walked out to his trial, was that look in Kirk's eyes. That inexplicable look, the one you saw and knew exactly what Kirk wanted you to know. It exuded strength, incomprehensible passion, mysterious ingenuity, cutting shrewdness, a sense of command, a sense of expertise. And most of all, that defining factor, a certain animalistic ruthlessness.
Finnegan had seen those same eyes, had seen those very eyes, once before. Of course, knowing Kirk he'd seen those blue eyes countless times. But these eyes – the ones that could easily cut into diamond – these he had only seen once.
Once before, at another trial, at another time, at another place. They had been just like this, one on the stand and one in the stands. One watching the other's disgrace, one watching the other walk free.
It clicked with both of them, at that moment, both of them remembered, both of their eyes glassed over for a moment, seeing the other side, seeing the past, seeing what the other had seen –
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Regret; regret piling up one after the other, just a mess, a wad of guilt lodged inside of you, a long splintering chunk of wood forcefully embedded into your gut. Stare up from the long rows of emptiness, where a flock should be, where a crowd should be watching, if only to see me, like I am now, in this state, so entirely pathetic, so they can go tell the world about this pathetic man they see, so incredibly wrapped up in himself, so incredibly stupid for such an intelligent man. A crowd to point fingers, snigger quietly but just loud enough to be heard in the short silences between tracks, a crowd to announce his utter devastation to, to hear his misery and mock him in his pathetic struggle. A crowd to beat him down, choose him for the sacrifice, tear him apart in a mobbing frenzy. Anything to escape that, the burning look of that man. A crowd, a country, a planet, a galaxy of anyone else, anyone, please, but that one man's eyes on him, seeing him, knowing that he was here, that he was sitting in this stretch of wooden seating, that he was here in this old-fashioned courtroom, that he was here watching it happen, the results of his plan, his great work. His masterpiece of a failure, his greatest symphony of clashing, falling glass onto a gritty concrete. But he couldn't look away.
A flash, another, another flash of the camera, right in his face, right there, bright afterglow of the shining light fading in the corner of his eye, but he can't close his eyes at all, he's too focused on the lone man in the pews facing him, that one man in uniform, his cadet uniform, the one over there with the sneer and that shitfaced look in his eye. That one, he had to focus on, couldn't stop focusing. Cheese, take a nice picture, that's the man you really want. That's the real culprit here, the lying shit watching all of you condemn me, that's who did it, that's who really did it. But I can't say it, I can't say any of it, no, I've got to go about this the right way, the way it'll take to get true justice, if I just up and said it the bastard would never get what was coming to him, no, that wouldn't do at all. Flash, flash, another flash right in the face, and the trial hadn't even started yet, can't believe how much that hurt, not sure if I'm talking about the flash in my eyes or that man across the room and what he did, can't tell, probably both, of course it's both you dumbass, why do you always try to fool yourself, unless it's just the fact that he betrayed you, the cameras you could care less about.
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- but it was only a flash, just a moment, anything but a moment of understanding. Seeing, yes, but not understanding. A moment in time, crystallized into the throes of time as one of those infinite moments, when for that one second, everything is deeper than it seems, and everything stops to contemplate that infinite vastness.
And then it was over. Finnegan looked into his lap as he took a seat at the stand, brushing his skin against the cool metal of the restraints circling his wrists. Kirk's look did not falter, did not deviate, but stayed on target, mouth hardening into a thin line. His eyes blazed with an incontrollable, inexplicable emotion, radiating.
And the trial officially began.
Admiral Fayden gestured, and all rose. With a small and elegant metal pointer, he tapped the rather large bronze bell (ding ding, ding ding, ding ding) before, "This court is now in session."
All sat.
Fayden continued to speak. "I have appointed, as members of this court, Vice Admiral John Gill, Admiral T'Pol, Commander James Williams, Doctor Soong the Third, Commodore Stone, Captain Lindstrom, Admiral Jonathan Archer, Vice Admiral Gardner, Admiral Erika Hernandez, Captain Kraznovsky, Rear Admiral Stephen Carabatsos, Fleet Admiral Nogura, Admiral Christopher Pike, and Captain Nensi Chandra. Lieutenant Seamus Finnegan, I direct your attention to the fact that you have the right to ask for substitute officers if you feel that any of these names harbor prejudiced attitudes to your case."
Finnegan's face was wooden. It was clear to all that, as a Starfleet officer, he had heard every single name of that jury in his textbooks in the Academy. His voice was small, even in the echoing courtroom. "I consent to this court."
Fayden's lips thinned. "Do you consent to the services of Commander Spock and Lieutenant Nyota Uhura as prosecuting officers, and to myself as president of the court?"
"I consent."
"Very well. Now to the charges."
Fayden signaled, and the charges were read off by the computer.
"Purposeful misinformation input into computer terminals. Frivolity of duty. Tapping secure and confidential communication frequencies. Theft of Federation equipment. Breaching privacy of fellow crewmembers. Destruction of Federation property. Breaking and entering into an unauthorized area within a starship. Capture of a fellow officer. Conspiracy to commit murder. Murder of a fellow officer. Flying an unlicensed spacecraft in Federation space. Capture, removal, and extreme physical assault on a commanding officer. Conspiracy to commit murder. Attempted murder of said commanding officer. Evasion of capture of the authorities. Responsible for starship malfunction or destruction, and all damages resulting."
Fayden's eyes looked down upon Finnegan rather coldly as the computer finally stopped reciting. "…What is the plea?"
Finngean stood rather timidly, unable to look Fayden in the eye, as he wet his dry lips with a flick of the tongue. Jim's eyes were focused on the back of his head, avidly watching his every twitch. "Nolo contondre," he muttered, voice barely breaking over the silence of the court.
Jim's mouth gaped open, President of the Court Fayden's jaw tightened, Spock's eyebrows shot up, Bones' hands clenched, Uhura inhaled with a gasp of surprise, Chekhov cursed softly in Russian, Sulu cocked his head in confusion, and everyone else present reeled back from this shocking plea. Most of them had never ever even heard of this type of plea, Jim was sure. Most people, even lieutenants, had only heard of the customary "guilty" or "not-guilty" pleas. This was certainly different. For such a famous, unique trial, Finnegan was certainly pulling out all of the stops, most certainly for the least amount of punishment he could possibly receive. Jim glanced at his attorney, who was some seedy looking lawyer in a suit. Evidently not a Starfleet officer.
Clearly, the next step for Spock was to go through each plea by witness and convince the jury of Finnegan's guilt in each instance, instead of simply getting to the most controversial matters. That was exactly what Finnegan wanted, so he could be cleared of some of the lesser charges, perhaps even cleared of some of the most essential.
Fayden recovered quickly. "Proceed, then, Prosecutor Spock."
Spock inclined his head in deference. "I first call Lieutenant Gables to the stand."
A middle-aged officer wearing yellow Command colors stood from the pews and sat at the stand, placing his right hand gingerly over the glowing arm of the chair. The bailiff took his card and input it into the computer.
"Garfield Gables. Serial Number: H359-863CL. Service Rank: Lieutenant. Position: Operational Command. Current Assignment: USS Enterprise. Commendations: None."
Spock rose from his seat and stood before the witness. "Lieutenant, I understand you are an Operational Commander on the Enterprise. Would you care to elaborate on your specific position?"
Gables cleared his throat. "Yessir, Commander, sir. I create, manage, and coordinate the shifts of all officers on the Enterprise with the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade within Command within my section as Roll Officer. I also periodically observe officer status, and consistently take roll electronically."
"Thank you, Lieutenant. How many officers do you schedule?"
"No more than fifty, sir."
"I believe one of the officers you observed was the Lieutenant Junior Grade Seamus Finnegan?"
"Yessir, Officer Finnegan has been under me since the beginning of the Five-Year Mission, sir."
"What were Lieutenant Junior Grade Finnegan's normal tendencies, from your perspective as Roll Officer?"
"Finnegan was always on time and never missed a day, unless he specifically took leave. I heard from fellow officers that he was a troublemaker, but I never had any difficulty with him."
"What 'trouble' was he accused of?"
"Oh, I heard he sometimes pulled harmless pranks on other officers. I also heard that he had a previous criminal record, though I never take that to heart. I figure a man's got a second chance to prove himself, and I thought Officer Finnegan had."
Spock produced a small PADD and laid it before the lieutenant. "Would you please examine this piece of evidence, and present your findings before the court."
Gables studied the contents of the PADD. "This is one of my shift tables. The date is the same day as the alleged crimes, and Finnegan's schedule is listed here."
"What times are indicated for Finnegan's shifts on the schedule?"
"He had two shifts that day, one at 500 hours and the other at 1800 hours."
"How long is a typical shift for Lieutenant Junior Grade Finnegan?"
"He always had five-hour shifts according to his station."
"What exactly was Officer Finnegan's station?"
"He was in Command, and consistently filed reports on official communications between officers on board the Enterprise."
"What were his typical command duties?"
"He commanded a section of Ensigns that collected data as to the communications themselves. They would report the communications to him, and he would report on the general workflow and competence of the Ensigns assigned to him."
"Was Officer Finnegan at his post on this specific occasion, according to the shift schedule in your hands?"
Gables glanced down at the PADD screen. "Yessir, it says here that he was at his post."
"Were you observing him on that shift, Lieutenant?"
Gables checked the PADD again. "No, sir."
"Thank you, Lieutenant. I have no further questions."
Fayden nodded to Spock, who took his position behind the prosecution desk. Then Fayden turned to Finnegan's table. "Attorney Mendlesson, do you have any questions for the witness?"
"No, Your Honor." Mendlesson stayed seated, lying back in his chair, brow furrowed. In all fairness, there were no more questions available to him that would have put Finnegan in a better light. Spock had certainly covered all ground with Gables, and had gained an unbiased perspective of Finnegan's usual routine. Besides, Jim thought a bit snidely, Mendlesson probably wasn't smart enough to know where Spock was going with this line of questioning.
"Very well. Lieutenant Gables, thank you for your testimony." Fayden inclined his head at the witness stand. At this, Gables stood, made a customary sign of respect, and returned to his seat.
"Prosecutor, proceed."
"Thank you, Your Honor. I call Ensign Madison to the stand."
A young blonde stood up from right behind Jim and stepped to the front of the court. She held her card with both hands, almost reverently, and moved as if she was unsure of herself. The bailiff took the card from her kindly, and guided her to the witness stand.
"Julia Darling Madison. Serial Number: D887-496H. Service Rank: Ensign. Position: Communications Transceiver. Current Assignment: USS Enterprise. Commendations: None."
Spock was once again before the witness stand, facing the blonde with both hands clasped behind his back in standard Starfleet ease. "Ensign Madison, you worked under Lieutenant Junior Grade Finnegan, did you not?"
"Yessir, I was one of the Ensigns assigned to him. I received notifications of official onboard communications between officers and relayed the messages to him."
"As you were under Officer Finnegan, were you usually assigned the same shift?"
"Yessir, I am automatically assigned his shifts."
"While you work, are you in constant communication with Officer Finnegan?"
"No sir, but I do contact him often when I receive a new transmission."
"Do you see Lieutenant Junior Officer Finnegan when you report new transmissions?"
"No sir, but I message him, and he responds."
"Would you say that his responses are personal in nature, or very professional?"
"Professional, sir."
"On the date of the alleged crimes, were you at your post?"
"Yessir, I received quite a bit of communications on my second shift."
"What were the messages about, generally?"
"They were mostly about the crewman who was found murdered, sir, and the need for medical responses and security teams."
"Did you send these messages to Officer Finnegan?"
"Yessir, directly."
"Did you attach any message of your own to warn him of the contents of these messages?"
Madison blinked, as if she hadn't expected Spock to ask her this question. "Yessir, I sent him a small note explaining the gravity of the situation and that most of the communications were rippling through the ranks in attempt to spread the information among the entire crew."
"Did Officer Finnegan respond to your message?"
"Yessir, he did."
"Did you find his response odd in any way?"
Madison blinked again. This time she looked up at Spock in surprise before continuing. "Yes, I did, sir! I found his response to be too cold and professional. I thought he responded differently during other emergencies."
"How were his responses different during times of other emergencies?"
"Well, instead of saying standard things like, 'thank you for your work, I have received your message,' he would say things that directly responded to the situation. When I sent my message, I thought he would say something like, 'Yes, the rippling effect of the crew is necessary in times of crisis,' but instead I got his standard reply."
"Thank you, Ensign. Would you inform the court how an officer under Lieutenant Gables, such as yourself, reports in for duty."
Madison tensed. She understood where Spock was going with his questions this time. "Yessir. I report to my station and manually clock in with my identification card."
"Is it necessary to continually keep your card of identification within the station in order to prove attendance?"
"No, sir. I just clock in at the beginning of my shift."
"Do you clock out at the end of your shift?"
"No sir, my shift automatically ends, unless I clock in again."
"Or someone else clocks in?"
"Yessir."
"Would it be unheard of for an Ensign to clock in and leave their station before the shift is over?"
Madison started. "Not aboard the Enterprise, sir. Though I do hear that it happens sometimes on other starships, you know, that Ensigns skip their shifts sometimes."
"Thank you, Ensign." Madison momentarily relaxed. Then she tensed again as Spock returned to his questioning, taking a step forward. "Ensign Madison, what type of communications between officers do you usually oversee?"
"On a usual basis, I oversee official communications between ensigns. From there, I send them to my Lieutenant Junior Grade Officer, and he reports on my performance as well as the efficiency of the communications system the ensigns are adhering to, in both mechanical and rhetorical senses."
"In summation, your job is to help further refine the processes of communication aboard ship between the lowest-ranking officers."
"Yessir."
"Ensign, according to your knowledge, during an emergency situation, are ensigns given to much communication?"
"Yessir, I would say so."
Spock rephrased his question. "Though I understand that many ensigns receive messages from their higher-ranking officers during a crisis, do ensigns normally send many messages to fellow ensigns?"
Madison thought for a moment. "…No, sir, as you said, usually ensigns receive messages from their ranking officers. I mean, messages of consequence. Usually an Ensign just responds with 'yessir' or 'understood' during an emergency."
"Have you been on the Enterprise for long?"
"Yessir, since the beginning of the Five-Year Mission."
"Then you have experienced many emergency situations aboard the Enterprise, have you not?"
"Yessir, I have."
"You have therefore gone through a fair amount of communications between ensigns during an emergency."
"Yessir."
"And your position aboard the Enterprise as a Communication Transceiver is solely to observe and record communications between ensigns, is that correct?"
"Yessir."
"Here is a copy of the transmissions you recorded and sent to Officer Finnegan during your 1800 shift on Stardate 3478.2. Would you please inspect them."
"Yessir." Madison scanned the reports.
"Ensign Madison, would you please read the ranks of the officers listed."
"Um, yessir." Madison slowly scrolled down. "Ensign, ensign…Lieutenant Commander! Lieutenant, Lieutenant Commander, Lieutenant, Lieutenant Junior Grade… Ensign, Ensign, Ensign, Ensign, Ensign, Ensign, Lieutenant Junior Grade, Ensign, Ensign, Ensign, Lieutenant Commander, Lieutenant, Lieutenant, Lieutenant, Ensign, Ensign, Ensign, Ensign, Ensign, Ensign… Lieutenant, Ensign, Ensign, Lieutenant Commander, Ensign, Ensign, Ensign, Ensign…Lieutenant Commander – Commander! Lieutenant, Ensign, Ensign, Ensign…"
"Ensign Madison, are you usually aware of the ranks of the officers you track?"
Madison visibly paled. "No, sir."
"Ensign, are you aware of the caliber of the misconduct indicated here?"
"Yessir."
"Please extrapolate."
"Yessir, sir… the communications between any officers with ranks above that of an ensign are out of my jurisdiction. I am only permitted to scan the communications between ensigns."
"What is the consequence for you to scan the transmissions of ranked officers?"
"I could lose my job, sir. Communications of a lieutenant or higher are considered secure lines of transmission, even aboard ship."
"How did you come to scan these transmissions between even the Commander and Lieutenant Commanders?"
"Sir, I receive all of my possible transmissions from officer serial numbers that are all allowed to be scanned."
"How do you receive these serial numbers?"
"They are sent to me by Lieutenant Junior Grade Finnegan, sir."
"How often are they changed?"
"Sir?"
"How often does Officer Finnegan send you serial numbers?"
"Usually once a month, sir."
"So, you usually monitor the same group of ensigns for a month."
"Yessir."
"When was the last time you received serial numbers from Officer Finnegan?"
"The same day, sir."
"When was the last time before that?"
"At the beginning of this month, sir. About a week before."
Spock paused. "Did you consider the arrival of new serial numbers to be odd, Ensign Madison?"
She bit her lip. "Yessir, as I said, usually we study the communications of the same group of ensigns for a month before moving to a new group. We had only studied group – " Madison checked her PADD. " – B6, for a week before we moved to B7."
Spock's tone, which had so far remained very stagnant, grew a bit colder. The poor ensign shrank into her seat. "Ensign Madison, does Lieutenant Junior Grade Finnegan have direct access to the serial number of other officers?"
"Yessir."
"Does Officer Finnegan have access to the serial numbers of all officers aboard ship?"
"No sir."
"Does Officer Finnegan have any higher-ranking officer directly in command of him that would have access to the serial numbers of all officers aboard ship?"
"No sir, none that directly command him."
"To your knowledge, which officers aboard ship have access to the serial numbers of all officer aboard ship?"
"I… the Captain?" Madison blinked rapidly. "…And the Commander, and probably the Chief Medical Officer."
"This is correct, Ensign. The only officers who have access to all serial numbers are specific Lieutenant Commanders and above. Serial numbers of ensigns are commonly used for transceiver purposes, and even lieutenant junior grade serial numbers are sometimes accessed by lieutenants. However, the serial numbers accessed by yourself during your 1800 hour shift on Stardate 3478.2 are clearly restricted, even including myself, the Commander."
Ensign Madison looked as if she would rather be in a cave 5000 miles underground with no food or chance of escape than stay on that witness stand.
Spock continued to speak. "Clearly, as you yourself had no connection whatsoever to the process of systematically uncovering these restricted serial numbers, there is no possibility that you could be charged with tapping a secure communications frequency. However, there is the possibility that, as the officer in charge of assigning serial numbers and therefore with some amount of clearance to the program containing all serial numbers aboard the Enterprise, with no directly superior officer to assign serial numbers to him, Lieutenant Junior Grade Finnegan illegally input a virus into the serial number system to gain all serial numbers. Is this a fair assessment, Ensign?"
Madison's eyes bulged. She nodded mutely in response.
"Objection!" cried Finnegan's defense attorney, who had sprung onto his feet as he finally realized what Spock was doing. "Your Honor, the question calls for speculation!"
Fayden coolly observed the attorney, and then turned his attention to Spock. "Prosecutor?"
"You Honor," Spock stated, "I am a Vulcan. I do not speculate. I logically conclude possibilities." Jim had to smirk a little bit at that. He turned to Bones, who rolled his eyes with a grin.
Fayden nodded. He turned to Mendlesson. "Overruled."
Wilting, Medlesson crumpled back into his chair.
"Continue, Prosecutor."
"Thank you, Your Honor." Spock took a second to consider the ensign before him. "Ensign, you are undoubtedly aware of the seriousness of the misconduct in the act of tapping a secure frequency, as you indicated you would have lost your job if you had been culpable."
"Yessir."
"Are you aware of why this is the case?"
"Sir?"
"Could you please explain to the court why secure channels are necessary for communications between the higher officers?"
"Well, sir… I believe the higher officers have serial numbers that relay frequencies that are more difficult to decode as you go up the hierarchy, so it might be because the higher officers routinely transmit confidential information."
"Quite correct, Ensign. Confidential information includes what types of topics?"
"Um, the exact ship position, the ship's next actions, the health of the most superior officers, um, even the latest political movement of the Federation, I suppose."
"Yes, all of the above are transmissions that are routinely passed through communications that rely heavily upon confidentiality." Spock glanced at Uhura. "Communication is the most fundamentally important function on a starship, and a requirement for the safety of all involved is the confidentiality of the most essential information that is passed along."
Spock's hold behind his back tightened even more. "Ensign, please regard your reports of communications once again."
"Uh, yessir."
"Please read transmission AA1034."
"Yessir… 'This is Chief Security Officer Giotto. I need three emergency response teams at my position, Deck 5, Section 7, ASAP. I also want another two teams to scan the entire section of the ship for any suspicious activity using pattern Alpha 4. Arrest any suspicious persons.'"
"Ensign Madison, how could someone use this confidential information?"
"They could avoid the security teams, if they knew the ship well enough and if they knew the security rotation pattern."
"Do you know the security rotation patterns, Ensign?"
"Yessir, everyone on board knows them. We are all required to know them."
"And everyone is well aware of the sections of the ship?"
"Yessir. Every nook and cranny."
"Thank you, Ensign Madison. I have no further questions." Spock stalked back to his place and took a seat.
"Attorney Mendlesson, any questions for the witness?" Fayden looked over the point of his nose to see Mendlesson withering where he sat.
"No questions, Your Honor…"
"You are relieved of the stand, Ensign Madison."
"Thank you sir." She got her card, returned the PADD, and rushed back to her seat.
"Prosecutor."
"Your Honor. I call Lieutenant Ridley Cornell to the stand."
Cornell stumbled onto the stand, thrusting his card to the bailiff and nervously tapping his foot. He was younger than Madison had been, and twice as anxious.
"Ridley Scott Cornell. Serial Number K772-593FL. Service Rank: Lieutenant. Position: Computer Engineer. Current Assignment: USS Enterprise. Commendations: None."
Spock began his interrogations for the third time. "Lieutenant Cornell. You are a skilled computer engineer aboard the Enterprise. In what do you specialize?"
"P-programming, sir."
"Are you in the Engineering section of the Enterprise, Lieutenant?"
"Yessir, under Ch-Chief Engineer Scott, sir. But we all call him Scotty."
"Indeed. I have here on this PADD a copy of the program found running on Lieutenant Junior Grade Finnegan's station. Please observe its intricacies."
"Yessir." Cornell focused all of his energy on that small screen, and his foot stopped its nervous tapping. Minutes ticked by, and finally Cornell looked back up again.
"What type of program is this, Lieutenant?"
Cornell's voice now rang with authority. "This is a receiver module coupled with a transceiving audio-communicating function and a looping, standard replying mechanism, sir."
There was an immense gasp that traveled around the entire courtroom.
"Thank you, Lieutenant Cornell. Given the previous questioning of Ensign Madison, what are the immediate implications of this particular algorithm?"
"The station in question would receive any messages sent to it, send the messages directly to another receiver, most likely on a private server, and then automatically respond to the original sender of the message with one standard reply."
"More specifically, Lieutenant?"
"In this particular case, the messages Ensign Madison sent were routed through Officer Finnegan's station to another device he had on him, while Ensign Madison got a standard reply in return that was not actually directly composed by Officer Finnegan."
"Lieutenant Cornell, would an officer at his station use an algorithm like this one?"
"No sir, the station would be completely frozen except for this one function if that were the case."
"Is it wise to assume, if that is the case, that Officer Finnegan was not at his station when this program was running on his station?"
"Yessir, or just not manning it."
"Since the messages were automatically routed to a private server, is it even more likely that Officer Finnegan was away from his station?"
"Yessir, since if it wasn't routed he would have to receive the messages from his station, which he wouldn't need the algorithm for in the first place."
"Lieutenant, who created and ran this algorithm on Officer Finnegan's station, and how can you be sure?"
"Well, sir, only the officer on shift at a station is permissible to change any programming on that station, and since Finnegan had already signed into his shift like you said before, there was no way anyone else could have turned on the algorithm unless a superior officer signed in on that station personally."
"There was no such superior officer."
"Then sir, Finnegan was the one who triggered this algorithm."
"Thank you, Lieutenant. On the same PADD you hold in your hands, there is another file stored. Please access it now."
"Yessir."
Again, Cornell's brow furrowed and he leaned over, scrunching his face into the screen. Lines and lines of programming went by his eyes, and he gobbled them up like snacks. When he had finished, he looked up at Spock in amazement.
"Commander…" Cornell stammered "Sir…"
"Lieutenant, what you find as another file on that PADD was another algorithm found in the Enterprise mainframe computer and traced back to Officer Finnegan's station." Spock paused for emphasis. "What are the specific contents of this algorithm?"
Cornell's face slackened. His eyes were unfocused, staring at the warm glow of the PADD's screen, but his mouth moved as if he had no control of it. "This algorithm is exceedingly complex and multi-faceted. It's meant to bypass the Starfleet security system that I helped design. More specifically, it's meant to cut into the system, copy exceedingly confidential information, and send that information to a private server."
"What type of confidential information, exactly?"
"Sir, this algorithm specifically targets serial numbers."
"A limited set of serial numbers?"
"No sir, all of the serial numbers available to the server."
"Do you recognize the private server, Lieutenant?"
"Yessir… It's the same private server that was in the first algorithm."
"Is it then logical to assume that Finnegan himself triggered this algorithm as well?"
"Yessir, the private server is the same, and the time the algorithm was launched was directly before the second algorithm was launched. The two had to be timed."
"Thank you, Lieutenant. In effect, Officer Finnegan triggered both of the algorithms, copied confidential information and as a result began receiving confidential communications, he froze his station and routed all of the confidential communications from all of his ensigns to a private, portable server, while keeping all of his ensigns assured that he was still at his post from the automatic standard replies. Is this not the case?"
"That's exactly it, sir."
"And if Officer Finnegan was in possession of a private portable server with all communications on board the Enterprise coming through it, with the ability to move throughout the ship, and he had the knowledge of the ship's procedures and blueprint, could he not navigate throughout the ship undetected?"
"He could, sir."
"Would these actions be illegal in any fashion?"
"Yessir, Commander sir! It would constitute purposeful misinformation, when Finnegan lied about being on duty to his commanding officer and to his ensigns, it would constitute frivolity of duty, because he did not stay at his station during his shift, and it would constitute breaching secure and confidential communication frequencies. There's no doubt his actions would earn him a court martial at the least, not to mention his position, rank, and status as an officer!"
"Thank you, Lieutenant. No further questions."
Spock calmly stalked back to the prosecution table. He had a sparkle in his eye.
The entire courtroom was deathly quiet.
Fayden broke the silence. "Mr. Mendlesson?"
The attorney's eyes were downcast. "No questions, Your Honor."
"Very well. Lieutenant Cornell, you may leave the stand."
"Thank you, Your Honor."
Cornell collected his identification card from the bailiff, and went back to his seat.
Fayden's eyes flickered back to Spock. It was more a formality now than anything. Everyone knew Spock was going to call someone else to the stand, someone just as perfectly fitting as the last witness. Spock was going to capture every angle of the trial so incredibly perfectly that the defense attorney wouldn't be able to ask a single question of a witness – except, perhaps, when they finally came to Finnegan himself. Fayden went along with it, and allowed Spock to proceed.
"Prosecutor."
"Your Honor. I call Lieutenant Junior Grade Nicholas Bradley to the stand."
Bradley marched up to the front of the court with an air of confidence and assurance. He calmly handed over his identification and regally sat back at the witness stand, placing his hand over the glowing light.
His card popped into the computer. "Nicholas James Bradley. Serial Number: I490-238Y. Service Rank: Lieutenant Junior Grade. Position: Security Officer. Current Assignment: USS Enterprise. Commendations: None."
For the fourth time, Spock stepped before the court. This time he held no PADDs. "Officer Bradley," Spock began, "You are a Security Officer aboard the Enterprise, correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"What was your most recent assignment, Lieutenant Junior Grade Bradley?"
"I was ordered to investigate Engineering along with two other men in a squadron, sir."
"What was your team investigating exactly?"
"Well, sir, we were attempting to trace five missing objects from Engineering that had been reported that morning."
"What were the missing objects?"
"The first object was a… it was a handheld device, most commonly used for transmissions. The second object was a small EMP outputter, a device that gives off a pulse that can knock out machinery within the radius of its power. The third object was… hm. I think it was a sort of magnetic device that could bend metal to an extreme degree, usually used for building machines. The fourth object was a... well…"
Here Bradley fumbled, uncomfortable to continue. Spock nodded for him to continue.
"…It was a turkey sandwich. Chief Engineer Scott was… quite particular on this object to be recovered as soon as possible."
The courtroom collectively snorted their laughter.
Spock attempted to restore immediate silence, with relative success. "The fifth item, Officer…?"
"Oh, and the fifth object was this huge cord thing. We weren't quite sure what it was."
"I see. Did you recover any of these items?"
"No sir, we were called to other duties when the ship went to Red Alert."
"Understood. Would you recognize the objects in question if they were presented to you?"
"Yessir, we were shown intricate diagrams of each object."
"Even the turkey sandwich?"
"Yessir, even the turkey sandwich, sir."
Again, the entire courtroom had to forcefully contain their laughter.
"Then as I present each piece of evidence collected from the scene of the murder of Lieutenant Junior Grade MacArthur, will you be willing to identify it?"
"Certainly, sir."
Moving smoothly, cutting across the courtroom with ease, Spock picked up a small black thing from the prosecutor's table.
"Evidence E."
"That is… the thing that bends the metal, the third object we were looking for."
The next object Spock picked up was a shiny, bright square.
"Evidence J."
"That's the outputter, the one that can stop machinery from functioning."
Spock then handled what seemed to be another PADD, though there were slight differences in design.
"Evidence R."
"That… that's exactly it! That's the first object we were looking for, the, um, the transmission-focused device!"
"Thank you, Officer. Now, Evidence W."
"That's the weird cord, I think. I don't really know what it does, but it probably connects circuitry."
"Thank you, thank you…And lastly… Evidence C."
"Ah!" Bradley laughed. "It's the turkey sandwich!"
This time, the court didn't even try. They just let their laughter out.
"Is there anything particular which you observe about this sandwich, Officer Bradley?"
"Yessir, it's got a bite in it, sir!" Bradley was still quite overtaken with mirth, but he was feigning a very intensely serious face.
"Was the object you were searching for already bitten, Officer?"
"No sir, we had very specific directions that we were to bring it back – without a single bite."
"Thank you, Officer. Now, given all of this evidence from the very crime scene of the murder of Officer MacArthur, would you say that the perpetrator who took the five items from Engineering was also present in the same chamber where the murder took place?"
"Yessir, I would."
"And would this perpetrator be the same person as the murderer of the Lieutenant Junior Grade MacArthur?"
"Either that or an accomplice, sir."
"That is very logical statement, Lieutenant Junior Grade Bradley. Thank you for your time. I have no further questions."
Spock returned to the prosecution table. Fayden asked Mendlesson if he had any questions for the witness, but he had none.
"Please proceed, Prosecutor."
"Thank you, Your Honor. I call Lieutenant Joy Chapel to the stand."
Chapel did not scurry to the front of the court, but gracefully walked to her position with dignity.
"Joy Chapel. Serial Number: SR478-0625CN. Service Rank: Lieutenant. Position: Head Nurse. Current Assignment: USS Enterprise. Commendations: Decorated by Starfleet Nurses."
"Nurse Chapel, I believe you were instrumental in the autopsy of Officer MacArthur."
"Indeed I was, Commander. I processed the entire autopsy."
"What is your diagnosis?"
"Hours before the murder, Officer MacArthur was taken forcibly captive, beaten into unconsciousness by what I believe to be a blow to the head, but this is uncertain. He was bound and gagged, as evidenced by the gagging found deep within his throat. Directly before Officer MacArthur expired, he was put through a series of bludgeonings, then he was stabbed through the chest cavity with four separate puncture wounds, and lastly his entire head was systematically blown apart. I believe what killed him was the puncture wounds, and the partial decapitation was after he had died."
"Nurse Chapel, do you have any comparative cases from past experience?"
"Yes, directly. The case of Chief Engineer Scott, when his entire chest cavity was removed by the creature named Slistastostas."
"So in this case, there is no murder weapon, but simply a murderer?"
"Indeed, Commander."
"And you suspect the actual murderer of Officer MacArthur to be Slistastostas."
"Yes, sir."
"Do you believe the entire act was the work of Slistastostas alone?"
"No sir."
"Why is that?"
"Because, sir, Slistastostas acted on instinct alone when he killed. Doctor McCoy and I thoroughly studied his brain patterns; even though Slistastostas is perfectly capable of complete animalistic killing intent, that is only possible when all other realms of thought patterns have been wiped from his mind. When Slistastostas is calm, he is incapable of violent or derogatory thought. Though the act of murder was indeed done by Slistastostas, the entire instance – the beforehand captivity, the murder being within your chambers, Commander, and the victim's unlucky placement within the chamber – point to the existence of another criminal, one who thought through the entire thing."
"In other words, the mastermind."
"Yessir."
"Thank you, Nurse. I have no further questions."
"Attorney Mendlesson?"
"No further questions here, Your Honor."
"Very well. Prosecutor."
"Your Honor. I call Lieutenant C. C. Giotto to the stand."
Jim whipped his head around to see Giotto stand up. He hadn't seen him when he'd scanned the room earlier, and Jim was known for his eagle vision. Giotto had been hidden by a very tall lieutenant, to the far left of Jim. He reached the witness stand, calm and very much in control of himself. Just what Jim liked to see in his Chief Security Officer.
"C. C. Giotto. Serial Number: RD165-229CG. Service Rank: Lieutenant Commander. Position: Security Chief. Current Assignment: USS Enterprise. Commendations: Award of Valor."
Spock stepped up for the sixth time. "Lieutenant Commander, were you in charge of the investigation of the murder of Lieutenant Junior Grade MacArthur?"
"Yessir."
"What was the result of your findings?"
"After testing the entire room for all types of evidence, we found DNA evidence from Officer Finnegan at the crime scene."
"In which particular piece of evidence?"
"The turkey sandwich, sir. He'd taken a bite of it."
"Were there any more instances of his DNA?"
"Yessir, after finding his DNA there, we also found traces on Evidences E, J, R, and W."
"Will it please the court to recall that these pieces of evidence are the same objects that Officer Bradley identified as the missing objects from Engineering."
"Point taken." Fayden was following along quite interestedly.
"How were these Evidences rationalized?"
"Well, the outputter was a useful tool for the suspect to knock out the security system to the Commander's door, and the metal bender, I forget the name, was used to forcefully pry the door apart. So those two were easy enough to place at the scene. The handheld device had less logical means, but it had Finnegan's DNA and prints all over it, and obviously it came in use earlier. The strange unidentified cords, however, are still a mystery. We know they were extensively used by Finnegan, and they were in extremely close contact with both Slistas and the victim. But that is all we know; the scientists and engineers have probably figured it out by now."
"You knew, then, that Slistastostas was intricately connected to this crime?"
"Of course. His signature is all over the crime scene."
"It is known to the court that Slistastostas was imprisoned in the brig as a possible suspect for this murder. How was the investigation affected by this assumption?"
"We knew there was more than one perpetrator involved, and though we knew one of the murderers was Slistastostas, we also knew that we had to find the other one."
"How was the investigation to find the other criminal impacted when Slistastostas escaped the brig in a moment of emergency?"
"We were able to focus more manpower on finding the other suspect, knowing that we could not capture Slistas again with the damaged ship and other priorities."
"What were you able to find?"
"…Before we had time to find anything, news came that the Captain had been taken hostage by Finnegan on an enemy ship. By then we had gotten the DNA evidence, and for all of our knowledge, it was too late to act."
"Do you assume that it was Officer Finnegan who stole the items from Engineering?"
"Yessir."
"Do you also assume it was Officer Finnegan who captured and restrained Officer MacArthur?"
"Yessir."
"Do you further assume that it was Officer Finnegan who forcibly broke into my quarters?"
"Yessir."
"So you even assume that it was Officer Finnegan who took Officer MacArthur and put him in my chamber?"
"Yessir."
"Do you, Chief Security Officer C. C. Giotto, believe that the murder of Officer MacArthur was physically perpetrated by the creature Slistastostas, but was masterminded by the Officer Finnegan here today at this court?"
"Yes sir," said Giotto with relish.
"Thank you, Lieutenant Commander. I have no further questions."
Presider of the Court Fayden was still in a silent shock, completely engrossed in the proceedings, when he started out of it to continue his duties. "Ahem, yes, Attorney?"
"…No questions, Your Honor."
"Very good, then. Prosecutor Spock?"
"Would it please the court for a recess?"
"Yes, in fact," said President Admiral Fayden, "I now call a recess on this trial, so that it may be resumed in one hour."
He took his metal pointer and rang the bell again, to signal the temporary adjournment.
Finnegan was taken to the back once again, and the audience that filled the courtroom filed out one by one, still struck by everything that had happened.
((()))
There was one big question that Jim had.
"Spock, what the hell was the whole 'weird cord' shit about? Why didn't you scientifically explain it and why it was there?"
"Because I do not know yet, Captain. Scotty is still experimenting with it to discover its main properties and functions in the Starfleet workshop."
"Oh, so that's why you called for the recess? To buy him time?"
"Yes, and to eat this particular dinner with my Captain."
That made Jim drop everything and grin. Since when had he become such a big softie, melting at any cheesy thing that came out of Spock's mouth? He decided it didn't matter when, as long as he didn't stop feeling it now.
((()))
Uhura furiously scribbled down notes as she went over all of her evidence one last time. There was no way she was going to mess up any of her interrogations. Every single one was going to be perfect. Spock had done excellently, even according to his own tough standards. That meant Uhura was going to have to be impeccable in every way, even though the people she was interrogating were all from the Enterprise, she knew them well.
She would be damned if she was going to make a fool of herself in front of all of her heros, all of those famous officers on the jury. She would be especially roasted if she made a fool of herself in front of Spock. And she would kill herself in the most painful way possible if she made a fool of herself in front of Kirk, of all people.
She kept on scribbling down notes, tearing up edges of paper, scribbling down, tearing up, scribbling, tearing, scribbling, tearing.
((()))
"Aee theenk zat Commander Spok vill call on me zee next time. Vat do you theenk, Sulu?"
"Hmm, probably. The next section is probably going to be a lot about the chase and the Sealion and all that stuff, so there's a good bet you'll be on the stand."
"Exciiiiiting, no?"
"Uh, well, yeah, I guess. But I don't know, it can't be more exciting than being at the Helm or anything. I mean, it's just a trial, right? Nothing life-threatening."
"Vell, vat eef Finnee-gan jumps frum hees chaer and vips out hees phaser, hm? Then you vill not bee theenking that eet eesn't exciting, hm?"
"Oh, cool! And what if, after that, President Admiral Fayden whipped out like his legendary whip, and then cracked the gun out of Finnegan's hands? How cool would that be?"
"No, Aee am theenkink that zis ees too much. Perhaps, Kepten Kirk vill jump frum hees seat and pull legendary move of martial art on Finnee-gan, and keel heem."
"Nah, I can't see that happening, Kirk is wounded right now. Didn't you see his leg? He had like, a splint on it or something."
"Hm, then mebbe Commander Spok vill use hees Wulcan neck pinch to keel him during hees interwiew."
"Okay, you're on. How much do you want to bet?"
"Hmmm… An entire veek of choosink your lunches frum ze replicator."
"Agreed."
((()))
Scotty tinkered and tinkered and tinkered with the daeum thing, and he came up with all sorts of confusing results on the functions it could have. Not only did it disrupt electrical function, it stimulated it. Not only did it shut down mechanical devices, it started them up. It seemed to have all sorts of confusingly polarized functions, and he couldn't find a way of isolating the causes.
"Hey, Scotty. How's it goin' down here?"
Scotty started out of his haze. He looked up from the worktable and saw a magical, miraculous sight. There, across the table, was the good Doctor, holding two plain turkey sandwiches, one in each hand.
"Doctor…" He was actually speechless with wonder, now's that's a sight. Scotty was never speechless for anything, but this just blew him away.
"Yeah, yeah, just take it and eat it already." Bones grumbled. "You prob'ly ain't had a thing to eat in the past couple of days, anyhow. Don't know how you can still be workin' on those damn machines."
Dropping his tools on the ground, which gave out a great clang to which Scotty didn't even pay heed, Scotty reached both his arms across the table, ever so slowly, his eyes completely affixed on one beautiful thing: that turkey sandwich.
Finally, reverently, he took it from the good, blessed Doctor, and then munch, munch, munch! The entire sandwich was gone. He licked his lips, savoring the taste of the meat. That's funny, it didn't taste like replicated meat…
"Did'jae buy thissae meat from th' market, then? 'Taint replicated, is't?"
"Naw, it ain't replicated. I went to th' store an' I bought some damn good turkey from the deli. This is real meat, Scotty. Real meat."
"Ah, 'tis a blessed thing."
The two of them sat in companiable silence, Scotty staring out into the distance, Bones watching him while finishing up his own sandwich. For symptoms, of course.
Suddenly, Scotty's eyes widened substantially, and his mouth opened in shock. Bones leapt up from his seat, grabbing for his hypo, thinking it was another heart attack.
Then Scotty leaped from his own chair, flinging a fist into the air in triumph.
"Ah've got it! The cord, it responds to its food's quality to work in different ways!"
Scotty grabbed his tools and started working intensely on testing the damn cord again.
Bones relaxed back into his chair, putting his medic bag back down, and picked up his sandwich. He decided that he actually kind of liked watching Scotty work.
He still had a half-hour before the trial resumed.
He didn't have anything else to do, anyway.
((()))
End of Part 15
tbc
((()))
Author's Note: uuuuuugggghhhhhhh finally finished this chapter after three weeks of research into the basis of Starfleet's legal system and further into the UN Charter and the comparison between Guarantees and rights given plus the difference between the Federation Charter and the Coalition of Planets versus the Constitution of the United Federation of Planets, etc., and all of the famous names from the generation before Kirk and Spock for the trial's jury and judge (some of whom I made up, but most of them are actually characters, go look it up if you care enough) and also I watched the entire episodes of every Star Trek episode with a court case in it like a billion times just to get the right feel and tone and dialogue stuff down uuuuugggghhhhh… finally finished this chapter after days of planning the different twists and turns of the trial… finally finished this chapter after hours and hours of typing…(I seriously pulled an all-nighter for this! I haven't slept in over 48 hours! I'm going insane! I'm starting to see things! Spock, is that you…? Why are you painting my walls…?)
I say things like I've finished, but… depressingly… this is only half of the goddamn trial. Uuuuuugggggghhhhhh but I was revived near the end from Scotty's appearance, and Bones being cute. And, I really liked writing the dialogue between Chekhov and Sulu, they're pretty cute too. Uuuuuugh I'm dying… dying, I tell you… I feel like Bones being overworked to the point of DEATH… Oh, the melodrama.
Revive me with your love and reviews. Or I'll seriously die. SERIOUSLY. But not. I don't care anymore, I've been through a near-death experience already…
(By the way over 10,000 words in this chapter alone = PERSONAL VICTORY DANCE)