Cold Leads

Posted on Sat Jun 29th, 2024 @ 1:21am by Lieutenant Ix

Mission: Mean Green Queen
Location: 4.7 Light Years Away; Bearing 032 mark 315
Timeline: Mission Day 5 at 1300

Field Investigator's Official Log, Supplemental... Shuttlecraft Pecos is being detained by the Malon Theta-Rad Hauler Sevuon-Arno at the request of their Captain Shebur. This is despite our protests that we are in pursuit of a fugitive outside the Extended Hazari Jurisdiction Zone. We are currently at condition yellow. Theta radiation is rising but we are still inside the safe zone for now. Additional. Have sent a priority band subspace message to Starfleet Security Investigations at Pathfinder to advise, see attached Investigations Log, RE: Shuttlecraft Hawkins, deviated flight path, and attached Stardate for reference. End Log.

Ix grunted their displeasure, staring at their fine-boned face in the reflective black of the table. "How do Humans eat this shit?" They muttered. A squishing, squelching sound accompanied their words as they mashed a spoon into an unappetizing slurry of pulverized red vegetable, strange planes of some kind of boiled grain mush, and a congealed layer of white relatively flavorless goo. They tugged on the rigid extension of their ear along their cheek and then pushed the unappetizing square ceramic dish and its strange square meal, away. They dabbed their mouth with the napkin and then slapped it atop what Humans called, "Las-ag-na."

The plate positioned in the dotted circumference of their center of the table, it de-materialized as the computer deconstructed their meal back into its constituent subatomic particles. Oh well, they thought. They'd had worse. Farius Prime was a culinary delight- if one could afford it. Most people got by with the flavored nutrient pastes. "Computer, time," Rayph rose, stretched and then Picard Maneuvered their uniform shirt back around their midriff.

"1304 hours." The computer stated, almost terse.

"Rad levels?" Ix asked, raising their eyebrows. Their eyes shifted out toward the cockpit where the dull reddish-brown, lobed-looking Malon vessel hung in the blackness of space.

"514 mSv and rising. Lethal exposure in one hour, fourteen minutes. Recommend moving this vessel to a safe distance."

Ix smirked and blinked their eyes at the perceived naivete of the suggestion. "Would if I could. Any idea how to short out their tractor beam?" They folded their arms across their flat chest. "Without pissing them off and causing an interstellar incident? If you do," they flicked their finger at the pointed and ridged shape of their T'Lani ears, "I'm all ears."

The computer whirred and ground. The T'Lani chuckled dryly. "Thought not. Alright." Ix sighed and focused their attention at the center of the table. The satin copper, bronze and silver bars of Kal'toh. They reached for one, withdrew it and then slid it into a new location. The game made a down-turning squelch and the crystalline-lattice perfection diminished. The T'Lani frowned. This waiting was ruining their focus. The suggestion from Commander Simak on the Tyson that they pick it up from was.... dubious... to the T'Lani officer. The only reason Vulcans asked non-Vulcans to learn Kal-toh was so their Vulcan companions could beat them at it.

"Incoming subspace message from the Malon Hauler Sevuon-Arno on a secure channel," the computer abruptly reported.

"About damned time," the T'Lani said brusquely, rounding the ovoid table and heading back to the cockpit. When they punched up the communications display, a species that looked vaguely like jaundiced, unhealthy, flaking people appeared. She had tired eyes and bags under her lids. "This is Lieutenant Rayph Ix, Starfleet Security." They folded their arms in a defensive way, their voice they chose not to lilt up in a question but down. Dour. Definitive.. It felt sturdy and strong to them, always had. When you were staring down a Markalian with a Whip-Flail, it felt strong then, too.

"Union Lead Shebur," the mangy-looking alien stated. "Of the Outer Pureen Waste Transport Consortium." Sounded like a company and not a government to Rayph, who tightened the fold of their arms.

"Ah huh, and why are you detaining my shuttle. I have a proxy warrant from the Hazari Bounty Hunters' League to pursue quarry in this area of space." They raised their brow on their angular face, "Space which isn't claimed by anyone." The Malon didn't need to know he was trying to track down a delayed shuttlecraft.

The Malon was cautious and swayed her head from her protuberant chin in a non-committal way, "We needed to make sure. Do you have a theta radiation suit?" She asked, raising her chin. Rayph relaxed. Her body language softened enough that they suspected this wasn't about to be a piracy action.

"No," Their eyes narrowed. "Why do you ask?" Rayph asked.

The Malon brushed it off with a gesture of a gnarled hand, "Do you have medical facilities?"

Rayph's eyes narrowed again. What was this about. "Rudimentary. But yes. Does someone have a hangnail over there? Or I can beam over some bandages." Their mouth, while sardonic, had an infectiousness that the Malon peered at before blinking.

They were unperturbed. The Malon's suit had begun to blink two green diodes near her neck. "Expect myself, my Chirurgeon and a corpse momentarily, Security Officer." The channel cut, showing the Malon Sanctum's more official seal overlaid with what looked to be a corporate logo.

Rayph rose and tugged their uniform. They checked that the satin-silver of their phaser rested against their hip, the blue light suggesting it was in standby- and set to the lowest setting. As they moved to the center of the Type 14 Shuttlecraft, Ix considered the surrounding they had just seen the Malon woman in. It hadn't been a Bridge- at least not one that Starfleet understood to be of current or previous Malon design. If anything, it'd resembled a Morgue with a bank of sealed hatches bezeled in a garish yellow lighting surround. Their thought was scarcely complete with a deep, thrumming wash sound emanated from further within the hold.

Rayph followed it past the small four-person sleeping cubbies and into the cargo bay. Two Malons stood there- one was elderly and even more gnarled and mangy than the Captain. Theta radiation had bent their bodies in a hunch. They stood over a corpse in a black bag. Rayph eyed it. "Welcome aboard," they greeted with a cool nod.

"This might belong to you, Security Officer. It was floating in space near a depot we left two days ago. It has your badges." When the Chirurgeon and the Captain lifted the bag, it was ghoulishly stiff and unyielding. They moved it upon a biobed and there, the Chirurgeon unsealed it. A desiccated and frozen whitish-blue corpse with gray skin stared back through dried and lifeless eyes.

Rayph leaned over it. They'd seen too many corpses in their time in Investigations. What really scared them is how blase they were starting to feel about it. "Mmm," they acknowledged with a grim line to their face. "My thanks, I'm in your debt." They reached for the commbadge of the freeze-dried corpse and pulled it away. Ix turned it over and read the name: "Peters, Joshua." A-ha. Space is big, but so small sometimes.

"What do I owe you?" Rayph asked. The Captain and Chirurgeon both swayed as if they were containing a lust for payment with trying to look relaxed. "Do you all use latinum in these parts?" The two Malons looked at each other.

"Latinum is fine. But we prefer a liter of your warp plasma reserves."

Rayph did their best to not expose their hand, that this corpse belonged to the pilot of their missing shuttlecraft. Instead they studied the body. It was broken out in a plethora of strange vein-shaped bruises and the mouth was gasping open. All of that was easily decompression. "Done," they stated. "I'll transfer it to you and then I'd like to be on my way. Give me a moment."

"One other request," the Malons stated with suddenly agile and quivering fingers raised to slow the Securitry officer. They looked at the wall. "It has been a month since we had anything but rations. May we use your replicator while we wait? You have one aboard, yes?"

Rayph smirked into one creased cheek. "Yeah," they scratched their cheek wryly. "I recommend the Las-ag-na. Earther delicacy." Their eyes narrowed, "Very delicious, personal favorite." The T'Lani turned and headed for the small warp core, smiling to themself. "Computer, replicate a class one containment vessel for one liter of warp plasma."

A Post By:

Lieutenant Rayph Ix
Security Investigations Officer