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Act III: Elizabeth Shelby entered her quarters from her dressing chamber. The thin satin night-shirt she wore clung to the curves of her body like a film of paint. Elizabeth stroked her hair with a gold inlay hairbrush. Her hair hung down in soft, blond curls that framed her face. She made her way to the food replicator unit mounted on the wall. "Hot cocoa - blend Shelby four," she requested, and obediently a cup and saucer materialized. Steam rose from the thick brown liquid, tickling Shelby's nose with it's mint chocolate aroma. "Ummm," Shelby breathlessly intoned, as she closed her eyes and let the stress of the day drift away. "Computer, queue audio," ordered Shelby as she made her way to the sitting chair next to the bed. "Selection and volume output required," stated the computer in it's perfunctory way. "Set volume level to 40%, music list - Shelby one, selection . . . oh, you pick one," instructed Shelby in between sips of the cocoa. "Random selection verified," confirmed the computer voice, and after a short chirp, the sound of bells began to fill the Admiral's bedroom. Shelby began to lose herself in the melodic patterns, but was startled by a sound that did not belong. Listening closer she heard it again. "Computer, reduce volume to 10%," ordered Shelby, and then the doorbell sounded a third time. Smiling to herself and drawing the cup closer to her lips for one more sip, Shelby instructed, "come." The door opened to reveal Commander Donovan. He was carrying a padd and had his eyes focused on it as he entered the room. "I was going to leave these work authorizations and inspection schedules for tomor..." Kelly's voice trailed off quickly as he glanced up from the padd and saw Shelby's naked, crossed legs right in front of him. Donovan's cheeks turned a faint pink as he turned his face away, "forgive me, admiral." "For what?" Shelby snickered. "Haven't you seen a woman's legs before?" 'Yes, but they never belonged to my CO before,' thought Donovan. Feeling uncomfortable, the commander took in the rest of the room. On the dressing table beside Shelby's bed was a holographic image of her with two other women, possibly Shelby's mother and sister. Next to that was a small, colorful cube, 6 centimeter wide, with 9 colored squares per side. On the wall across from the bed was a hand-painted, art deco illustration of lines and squares. Below that on a small bookshelf stood 5 newly replicated volumes, all made to appear old and worn. Donovan took a few steps toward the wall, noticed the signature on the illustration, and asked, "Is this artwork really from Commander Data - the android?" "Yes," responded Shelby. "It was recovered in the salvage operation from Veridian III. I had him sign it several months ago when the Enterprise stopped at Starfleet Headquarters." Shelby stole one more sip of cocoa. "He was just here, you know?" "The Enterprise was to escort me here to replace Admiral Johnson, but the destruction of Utopia Planetia changed things a bit." Setting the cup and saucer on the night-table next to her chair, Shelby stood to remove some of the discomfort she was causing the commander. "Speaking of starships, I'm sure that there are a few captains on board that would much rather be back out among the stars." Turning his attention back to the padd in his hand, "That's for sure," replied Donovan. "The Uinta, the Moab, and the Auglaise have all completed repairs and refits. And orders have come for the Sahara to join the third fleet." Donovan handed the information device to Shelby, and continued, "I wasn't going to authorize anything until Mr. Chen completed his . . . assignment." The word stuck in his throat as if it tasted bad. "I'm sure the Lieutenant would appreciate your thoughtfulness." Shelby scanned the orders on the padd. " Don't worry, I'm sure his first duty will be complete soon." At that moment the admiral's communicator came to life. "Admiral, come in please." "Well, speak of the devil," said Shelby. Turning her gaze to the center of the room, she continued, "I'm here Mr. Chen. What have you found?" The heavy oriental accent of the lieutenant added a mystical quality to the communication. "Yellow, iso-linear chip. I repeat. A yellow, iso-linear chip." Donovan got a questioning look on his face, but didn't say a word. Shelby turned to Donovan with a concerned look on her face. "Understood, Lieutenant. What's your 20," said Shelby as she quickly returned to her dressing chamber. "Docking port Beta-Six. Chen out." Shelby quickly returned to her dressing chamber. As she got back into uniform, Kelly tried to put two and two together. Muttering the question that was foremost on his mind he asked, "What the hell's a twenty?" . . . "... 17, 18, 19, and 20. That's twenty slips of latnum to the man with the most incredible luck at dom-jot that I have ever seen," said a gruff voice. The voice belonged to a man, in his twenties or thirties, wearing dingy gray clothes. He was clearly a miner on weekend leave and handed the currency over to the blue-faced lieutenant in a tentative manner. "It's not luck; just simple spatial Euclidean-geometry," said our andorian friend. "For 50 slips, I could teach it to you." The miner chuckled in his own dingy way. "I couldn't learn nuthin' when I was young. That's why I do what I do. Don't think money could change me now," joked the man in a voice as dingy as his clothes. If it were possible to breathe clean air from an air-filtered environment and exhale dust, this man could do it. "Maybe later, friend," replied Laxis. "I'm suddenly ... quite thirsty." With a smile and a nod, Laxis made his way over to the bar. The sonic dampening field on this side of the enormous lounge was either disabled or non-functional. Either way the noise added to the atmosphere of fun and frolic. Laxis found an empty chair at the bar, got the bartender's attention, and ordered yet another andorian ale. The replicators here got the flavor just right, and besides - as Laxis looked at the chronometer on the wall above the bar - he still had over six more hours before Jennica would end her shift. The Andorian decided to enjoy the noise and commotion. He turned his head and overheard the conversation next to him "... and this is the third double shift my team has pulled this week. It's inhuman," said the obviously non-human federation maintenance worker seated next to Laxis. He was a large, hairy being, and although he was to facing away from the andorian, Laxis could smell his foul breath. "I've pulled the same shifts and it hasn't affected me any," said the companion of the maintenance worker. Laxis couldn't see the companion because the being was sitting on the other side of the maintenance worker exactly opposite Laxis, but could tell by the way he rolled his L's and hissed his S's that he had a forked tongue. "How do you keep alert? I'm starting to be unable to tell my type-L verteron capacitor from my class 3 welding torch," asked the maintenance worker. "As long as you don't confuse either of those with your personal tool," joked the companion. Laxis smiled slightly. 'Maybe I should introduce myself?' thought Laxis. Before he was able to decide, the companion hissed, "this is what you need." Laxis heard a faint clink as the companion put something on the bar. Curiosity was killing him, but Laxis was having too much fun playing voyeur. "What is it?" asked the maintenance worker. "An edible wafer," replied the companion. "Is not that obvious?" "Yes, yes! I can see that," said the maintenance worker in an irritated tone. "But what's in it?" Laxis raised his glass and took a drink, but shouldn't have because the companions answer almost made him choke. "Drugs," answered the companion frankly. Laxis worked hard to keep from spewing his blue beverage all over the bar. The companion continued, "Caffeine, sildenafil, and other base amino acids. By themselves, completely harmless to humanoid life, but combined they become . . ," the companion paused for effect, " Perk." This was something Laxis had not anticipated. He believed he was listening in on a drug deal. Laxis realized that he must be very careful because 'setting the hook' on new victims was usually monitored. Laxis didn't know if the companion and his prey were being watched, recorded, or any other manner of surveillance. Laxis only knew that he must do two things: avoid contact with either man, and alert Commander Donovan to the situation. If he was being watched, the last thing he needed was a death mark on his head. . . . "I can almost imagine the old man's head floating with all the rest of the debris in orbit of Mars," said Ensign da Silva snidely. He looked ragged, beaten, as if in the last few hours he had aged ten years. He didn't look at the person seated next to him at his table near the center window of the Rendezvous Lounge. This was 'his' table because of the excellent view of the nebula just a few light-years away. He didn't see the Cygnus Nebula outside of the window. He didn't see the person next to him. He only saw oblivion. "That's a disgusting mental image," replied Dr. Leah Brahms. She had spent the last few hours getting to know the people on the station. If this was to be her home, she wanted to make damn sure she liked the company. After sharing some charming conversations with perfectly happy 'station-mates' as she began to think of them, she spotted Ensign da Silva. He was alone, trying to get drunk on synthehol, and silently yearning for company. After the decidedly sickly-sweet happiness of the 'station-mates' Leah had become acquainted with, the ensign was a dark brooding hole. This intrigued Dr. Brahms, and she was drawn in further. "I bet he was vaporized when the blast went off," Leah retorted. "It doesn't really matter," said da Silva, his voice not much more than a whisper. He took another drink of his cerveja - a Brazilian drink that looked like beer, smelled like beer, and tasted like beer, but the ensign swore was far superior. Putting the heavy glass down on the table the ensign began, "you now what the real kicker is? Huh? I'll tell you. . . . Commander Donovan." Leah looked at da Silva and saw that his eyes had a dark fire in them. Afraid to ask but curious nonetheless Leah questioned, "What does Commander Donovan have to do with your father's death?" "Plenty!" barked da Silva. "He's the one who told me about the big explosion and my father's death. You know, he must have told me every, lousy, cliche about death that has ever been thought of. Like, 'Mortality defines our existence,' and 'Every man dies but not every man really lives.' puxa vida!" "Push what?" asked Dr. Brahms. She was unfamiliar with the Brazilian's exclamations, but she understood the connotation. Ensign da Silva continued without hearing her, "And my favorite one - you'll like this - 'Nothing is certain but death and taxes.'" da Silva laughed out loud. "Donovan was really scraping the bottom of the barrel with that one." "I'm sure he meant well." Leah was reflecting on her own conversation a few hours ago with Admiral Shelby, and began to see things from the admiral's shoes. "You know," Leah leaned toward the Ensign, "I lost friends, people close to me - my husband - on Utopia Planetia too." She almost sobbed. The tone of her words hit the Ensign like a pillow. It was a feather, but it was enough. The Ensign stopped his tirade and began to listen. "It isn't easy. I don't know how to go on. Sometimes I don't know if I want to try." Da Silva leaned forward and took Leah's hands in his own. The Ensign's hands were warm, dark, and tender. They sent a shiver up Leah's arms and over her shoulders. Leah started to yearn, "It's been a long time since I've been touched tenderly by a man." In a much subdued voice, da Silva whispered, "That's hard to believe." And it was. For the last two weeks Geordi LaForge, the chief engineer of the Enterprise-E, had been following her around like a puppy dog. She kept him away with the knowledge that her husband was there for her. How ironic that he wasn't even alive during that time. But Geordi was a fine friend and knew not to push her. However, this man holding her hands was different. He wasn't a 'friend' but a person. A person - like herself - who hurt deeply because of personal loss. A person - like herself - in need of comfort. A person - like herself - who deep down needed to have someone to care for. Leah realized that several seconds had passed in silence as she collected her thoughts. Silence that was filled with her hands in his. "What's your name?" she asked candidly. "I mean your given name." "Emmerson," he replied. "Emmerson Fitipaldi da Silva." Leah would have swore she saw a twinkle in his eye when he spoke the name. "I was named after a great Brazilian champion." "Oh, what sport did he play? Basketball? Soccer?" "No, not like that," Emmerson shook his head. He pulled his hands away and held an imaginary circle. "He was a race car driver. The best in the twentieth-century. I re-enact his races on the holodeck. Not as a spectator, mind you, but a competitor." "So, let me get this straight. You drink artificial Brazilian beer, and drive artificial Brazilian race cars?" Leah meant it as a question, but it came out like a slap in the face. "What's your point?" asked Emmerson defensively. 'What is my point? ' thought Leah. Did she really want to do this? There was a bond she was sharing with this man - this younger man. Emmerson was almost 13 years her junior. Would it really make her feel better to take things one step further? Leah made a decision, "Come on." She stood up and extender her hand to Emmerson. "I got some of the 'real stuff' back in my cabin." Emmerson was smart, but didn't comprehend the full meaning of Leah's words. He took her hand and followed. . . . Claxons wailed in main engineering. The door to the chief engineers office slid open and the changeling came out yelling, "Okay Ensign, what's the REAL emergency." It had been reviewing the logs of the former chief engineer and had his mannerisms down cold. Right now it was acting annoyed, but it was more than an act. It didn't like to be interrupted, especially when the computer viruses it was preparing to counter-mine Starbase 47's security safeguards weren't fully programmed yet. It had already let loose the 'simple' viruses, but took considerably longer to get the more complicated ones just right to avoid detection. Besides it knew that the more interaction with the crew, the more chance for mistakes. "Over here, sir," explained a nervous technician. "I spilled a canister of trinelton gel." The changeling stopped in its tracks and turned to the female technician, "You spilled what?" "Trinelton gel," answered the technician sheepishly. The changeling still hadn't learned about all the unique substances of the alpha quadrant. However, its time spent on Utopia Planetia taught it about the ones used by the Federation, including trinelton gel. The Federation used it as a coolant for storing temperature sensitive materials. It had no toxic properties, and was no threat to humanoid life. The changeling stood near the area of the spill, and smiled. "Computer, override warning alarm and disable force-field," it ordered. "But sir," began the technician. The changeling knelt beside the canister and turned it right-side-up. "It's alright, sister," it said. Sister was a phase the former chief engineer had used in his logs when referring to female associates, and the changeling though it sounded appropriate. "I'll have this spill clean in a jiffy." "But sir!" The technician almost yelled. The Changeling dipped its hands in the gel and cupped a good amount of the goo into the canister. The gel was warm to the touch, which was odd because trinelton gel was stable at 10° Celsius. "Well, what is it, sister?" The changeling dipped its hands into the gel for another scoop. "I used that trinelton to clean the trilithium resin from the deuterium injectors. That gel is radioactive!" "Oh my," was all the changeling could say. It looked down at its hands which were covered in the goo and thought fast. The female technician was thinking faster. She approached the changeling and tapped her comm badge, "Medical emergency in main engineering." A small crowd of onlookers, all ensigns, began to form. "You, Osborne, give me a hand here. Jake, I'm taking the chief down to medical - you'll be in charge of things." Lieutenant Junior Grade, Flitz Jacco, a bolian, poked his head out from around a console. "You mean me?" he asked timidly. The changeling altered the skin color of his hands to resemble radiation burns and contorted his face into a wicked wince. "You'll be the most senior officer on duty. You can handle it," said the technician as she and Osborne prepared to each take hold of the changeling. Jake swallowed hard and emerged onto the main floor of engineering. "If you think so," he said feebly under his breath. As the technician and Osborne helped their chief out of engineering she replied, "And, for your first duty clean up that trinelton spill." . . . "So Mr. Chen, have you finished with your first duty," asked Shelby as she emerged from the turbo-lift to docking port Beta-Six. Her security chief and several other security personnel were anxiously standing around a few medical technicians. Dr. T'lar left the dead body, which was really just an assemblage of parts, lying on the corridor a few meters further ahead and approached the admiral. "No," responded Chen reluctantly. "I still haven't received word from half the station. I've been focusing my attention on him." Chen indicated the body parts down the corridor. "Who is he," asked Shelby. "Those," answered Dr. T'lar, "are the remains of Ensign Hansen." The vulcan medical officer had no inflection to her voice, as if she encountered dead people all the time. Her answer did however bring a startled reaction from Shelby. "My God. That can't be," Shelby said. "Ensign Hansen was very much alive when we arrived at Starbase 47. After take-off, Mr. Chen performed blood screenings. Hansen then had to go below to repair an ODM conduit. The repair took quite a while, but he returned above and seemed very normal." "His communicator is missing," informed the doctor. "The killer must be on the station disguised as Ensign Hansen." "Computer," ordered Mr. Chen. "Locate Ensign Hansen." The computer obediently chirped and then answered, "There are 164 ensigns named Hansen onboard the station. Please narrow the search parameters or request a full listing." "Great," voiced Shelby. Then, after thinking a second, she ordered, "Hold on. Computer, cross-link with the crew manifest of the USS Diecius and search again." "Results inconclusive," responded the computer. "The Ensign Hansen of the USS Diecius is not aboard the station." "Wait a minute," interrupted Donovan. "Maybe we're going about this from the wrong direction. I assigned quarters for the ensign and Lieutenant Laxis." Kelly suddenly became pale. "Laxis," he spoke under his breath. Shelby saw the concern in her first officer's face. "Computer," she ordered urgently. "Identify the location and condition of Lieutenant Laxis." "Working," replied the computer. It paused for several agonizing seconds while it compiled the requested information. Discovering the location of one individual out of nearly 200,000 was simple compared to verifying the species, acquiring life readings, and comparing them to documented norms. The entire query took just over 3 tension filled seconds. "Lieutenant Laxis, andorian," began the computer, "location turbo-lift A-5, destination deck 452. Life signs normal." Kelly exhaled a sigh of relief and collected his feelings as he tapped his comm badge. "Donovan to Lieutenant Laxis." The andorian's voice sounded metallic over the comm speaker. "Hey Kelly, what's up. I've have encountered a situation, and need to talk to you in person. I'm off duty now, if you want to join me and scope a few babes." The light-hearted answer broke the serious manner of the investigation. Doctor T'lar even raised an eyebrow. "Not just now," replied Donovan. "I'm actually looking for Ensign Hansen. Is he with you?" "The Ensign wasn't feeling well so I left him in our quarters several hours ago." Over the intercom speaker was heard the sound of a door opening, and Laxis' voice lost it's metallic tone. "I'm almost there now." Mr. Chen turned to Shelby, "Shall I dispatch a security detail?" Shelby gave a quick nod, and Chen tapped his own comm badge. "Security team to deck 452." . . . Laxis stopped at the door with the identification "Guest Quarters 452-0629". He asked over his comm badge, "Should I go in, he's probably asleep." Donovan looked over at the admiral for authorization. "Have him wait for security," she replied. "Laxis, wait outside," instructed Donovan. "There's a security team dispatched to your location." "What, did the ensign up and die or something?" asked Laxis. Donovan again looked to the admiral for confirmation. . . . "Confirm," spoke engineer Osborne through gasps of breath. "Chief engineer Sorenson is suffering from second degree radiation burns to his hands and arms." Chief Sorenson was no small man, and bringing him to triage was a difficult task. The task was made even more difficult because the changeling wanted to buy as much time as possible. It wasn't afraid to kill again, but it didn't want to get caught. It knew that as soon as the medical technician began his scan, it's cover would be blown. It also couldn't just kill these crewmen now and leave their bodies lying in the corridor to be found. It needed a plan and needed one now. The trio rounded a corner and entered the medial triage center for the engineering decks. On a station this large just one sickbay wouldn't be practical nor efficient. So a handful of medical triage centers were spread across the station for immediate access and treatment. Being the night shift this triage center was unmanned and dark. The faint hum of holographic projectors could be heard powering up as the Emergency Medical Holographic program (EMH) was initiated. 'This is my only chance,' thought the changeling. "Lights," ordered the female technician. It was the last word she ever spoke.
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