Captain’s
Log, Stardate 51203.7:
The
Dauntless has entered orbit
over the crowded skies of Ardera II, a world which has recently joined the
Federation and is significant for three things;
Their strategic location alongside the Romulan Neutral Zone, the
planet’s large dilithium deposits, and the great beer they export.
We
are here to transport their new ambassador to the Federation Council on Earth.
Koester,
out.
Captain’s
Personal Log, Stardate 51203.7:
This
will be my second visit to Ardera. I
pray to God it’s less memorable than the first.
The
Dauntless maintained a high orbit
over the planet, one of literally thousands of spacecraft visiting Ardera
transporting dilithium, alcoholic beverages, and occasionally tourists.
“I’ll
tell you,
Kyman
nodded, having had a lot of experience in his long life with bureaucrats, then
tried to change the subject.
“Will
this be a quick beam-up and go, Skipper?
Or will we have time to sample the native.... craftsmanship?”
“I’ll
buy you a beer in spacedock,
“Another
second is too long in this dress uniform,” Kane said, fidgeting with his
collar. Bloom stepped over, straightened
the human-turned-Bajoran’s uniform, than took his place back in line.
“Ardera
II signals they are ready to beam up Ambassador Araph,” the transporter
operator announced.
“Very
well,” replied Koester. “Energize.”
The
transporter hummed to life and began to materialize when the system seemed to
blink for a millisecond. The operator
quickly engaged an override and the beam coalesced into the form of a humanoid
male with bright violet skin, snow white hair balding on the top, pale,
pupil-less eyes, three fingers and a thumb on each hand, and a meter-long
tail. Koester stepped forward to greet
the Arderan.
“Welcome
aboard the Dauntless,
Ambassador. I’m...”
Koester’s
words were cut off as the Ambassador suddenly fell forward, landing with a loud
clump on the transporter platform. An
ornate handle protruded from the center of his back.
All
five Dauntless crew members gaped in
stunned silence for a moment until Bloom, typical human emotions clouding his
Vulcan features, yelled out, “Transporter room 1 to sickbay, medical
emergency! Bridge, contact Ardera and
have them restrain the Ambassador’s assailant!”
Koester,
Kane, and Kyman surrounded the fallen Ambassador, the
“Bridge
to transporter room 1. We’ve received
word from Ardera. There was no assault
on the Ambassador. He was fine when he
dematerialized. Has something happened?”
Koester
continued to look at the body of the fallen Ambassador, grief covering his
features.
Space, the Final Frontier…
These are the voyages of the
starship Dauntless!
Its ongoing mission;
To seek, to chart, to explore…
Slipping the surly bonds of Earth,
Going where none have been before!
Star Trek:
Dauntless
“Sins of the
Past” By PJK
Based in
part on the Marvel Comic’s ‘Star Trek’
“Murder on
the
by Mike Barr
Kane,
Kyman, Counselor Sutherland, Security Chief K’danz, and Science Officer Q watched the image play on the
briefing lounge viewer. Captain Koester,
while sitting in his usual seat at the head of the table, paid little attention
himself.
On
the screen, Ambassador Araph was seen standing near a communications
transceiver. The voice of Captain
Koester could be heard over the comlink.
“The
Dauntless is ready to beam you up and
welcome you aboard whenever you’re ready, Ambassador,” the Captain’s voice
said.
“Yes,
Captain,” the Ambassador said in reply.
“I am looking forward to the trip.”
“My
senior staff and I are standing by in the transporter room to greet you.”
“Very
good, Captain,” Araph remarked. “I look
forward to seeing you again.”
Koester
winced as he heard the recording repeat the Ambassador’s last words. Q,
feeling his discomfort, glanced at him.
When she looked back at the viewer, she could hear the Captain’s voice
order, “Energize.” And on the screen,
the Ambassador dematerialized in the Dauntless’
transporter beam.
“I
don’t understand,” Kane said, voicing everyone’s frustration. “How could he dematerialize there perfectly
fine, but arrive here with a knife in his back and keel over dead?”
“I
have Commander Bloom and Ensign Johnson going over the transporter system with a
fine-toothed comb,” K’danz, the former Carrie Karandanz, said.
“Have
they determined what caused the glitch during the Ambassador’s beam up yet?”
Chief Kyman asked.
“Transporter
records and traces indicate a slight power fluctuation before the pattern
reached the buffer, but nothing that could possibly account for a knife in the
Ambassador’s back.”
“Did
the Ambassador have any enemies?” Kane asked.
“None
his government is aware of. I’ll check
further into it,” K’danz replied.
“Bridge
to Cap’n. We’ve received wod from
Stahfleet, sah. They want th’ Dauntless to remain at Aldera ta assist
in th’ murda investigashun. They warn
that Aldera has threatened ta start a diplomatic incident and pull outa the
Federashun over this.”
“So
what else is new?” Koester mumbled to himself, but loud enough for the others
to hear. Kane, Q, and Sutherland all glanced at the Captain. Meanwhile, Commander Ray Russell continued
his report.
“Stahfleet
also adds that, due to the Cap’n’s previous experiences on Aldera, he is not,
repeat, not to be placed in charge of th’ invetigashun.”
Now
all eyes in the room settled on Koester, who merely turned his chair to
face out the window at the blue-green planet below.
* * * *
Captain’s
personal log, supplemental:
The
investigation into Ambassador Araph’s murder has been placed into the hands of
Lt Commander Kane, Chief Kyman, and Lt T’Cah, one of our Science Officers. It comforts me somewhat that a Vulcan is part
of the team. Perhaps her logic can see
through this muddle.
But
the moment I’ve feared since receiving this assignment to Ardera has come. I’ve been called on to explain why I was
specifically cut out of this investigation.
In the meantime, since the ship is stuck here indefinitely, I’ve
authorized shore leave for the crew.
* * * *
Koester
sat leaning forward on the couch in his ready room, his hands clasped in his
lap in front of him, his eyes moving back and forth between those of the investigators
and the floor between his feet.
“How
does a man get murdered while transporting?” Kane asked, totally perplexed by
the thought of the problem at hand.
“A
mystery worthy of Earth’s fictional detective, Sherlock Holmes,” commented
T’Cah.
“Well,
let’s hope we do not need to call up Sherlock Holmes on the holodeck to solve
this,” Kyman added. “What’s your part in
all this, Skipper, that has Starfleet all snippity?”
The
captain sighed, then started to say, “About ten years ago Ardera II had applied
for membership in the Federation. But at
the time, the planet was suffering from a civil war. Rebels, backed covertly by the Romulans
intent on gaining control of the planet’s huge dilithium deposits, were trying
to topple the planet’s monarchy. The
Federation Council assigned the USS
Al-Batani as a peacekeeping force.”
“You
were assigned to the Al-Batani,
weren’t you, Skipper?” Kane asked.
“Yes,
my first assignment out of the Academy.
Under Captain Owen Paris.”
The
Captain took a deep breath, released it in a long sigh, then continued.
“A
few weeks into our mission, a young Ensign Koester was part of an Away Team
assigned to protect the Crown Prince, Phara, next in line to the throne, at a
ceremony honoring those lost fighting the rebellion. As we had expected, rebel terrorists attacked
the ceremony, intent on kidnapping the prince.”
“Almost
immediately, Commander Truston, the Al’Batani’s
First Officer, attempted to have our Away Team and the prince beamed up. But the prince had gotten separated in the
ensuing confusion, and I and two others went back to retrieve him.”
“Soon
after recovering the prince, as we returned to the beam-down point, I was
struck in the back by one of the rebel’s disruptors. As I fell, unconscious, my phaser, which was
of course set to stun, discharged. The
beam hit the very man we were there to protect, striking him at the base of the
skull at point-blank range. Moments
later, the Al-Batani beamed us all
aboard.”
“I
awoke in sickbay with a headache the size of a shuttlecraft. Dr. Borden explained I would be alright. But Prince Phara was in a deep coma due to
the phaser hit, and was not expected to recover.”
Koester
paused in his story, taking a moment to organize his thoughts. He took the moment to walk over to the
replicator, ordered a hot chocolate for himself, and offered refreshments to
those in the room. Chief Kyman accepted
a coffee, black.
As
he sat back on the couch, the Captain continued.
“A
few days later, rebels stormed the royal palace. In the ensuing fight, the king, Phara’s
father, was killed. Normally Phara would
then have ascended the throne but due to his condition, he was of course unable
to fulfill his obligations. Prince
Phara’s 1st cousin, Stephark, became king.”
“While
that made me feel bad enough, what happened next made me feel worse. King Stephark’s first proclamation was to
break all ties with the Federation, saying it was our fault that Prince Phara
was near death. The Al-Batani was reassigned the next day. A Starfleet inquiry cleared me and chose not
to place the incident on my permanent record, citing the unprovoked attack on
us at the ceremony. However, I found out
months later that Prince Phara had recovered fully, and he too blamed
Starfleet, and me personally, for losing the crown.”
“As
is traditional on Ardera II, when a member of the royal family is unable to
fulfill his obligations, he or she changes their name and moves into another
line of work. Phara was given a position
in his planet’s government.”
“Over
time, with Stephark having taken on an isolationist stance, the Romulan’s were
able to provided less and less direct support, and the government eventually
defeated the rebellion. Then, about a
year ago, King Stephark died, and his son and daughter renewed ties with the
Federation, applying once again for admission.”
A
moment passed in silence, after which Kyman spoke.
“I
don’t understand then, Skipper. What
does that past incident have to do with your involvement in the Ambassador’s
murder?”
“Is
it not obvious, Chief?” T’Cah stated.
Koester finished the Vulcan’s thought for her.
“
* * * *
On
the surface of Ardera II, four members of the Dauntless crew, Chief Engineer Bloom, Counselor Sutherland,
Tactical Chief Ga’gh, and Warp Specialist Johnson walked into one of the native
taverns. Aside from the bright purple
skin, snow-white hair, and three-fingered hands of most of the patrons, it
looked like almost any pub or tavern you would find in the historic districts
of Earth or Andor. Small tables, each
surrounded by four or five beings, filled the room, which was dominated by a
twenty meter long bar to one side. Raucous
laughter and argument could be heard all around the pub. The Dauntless
crew found an open table, sat down and ordered drinks.
“Now
be careful, Nate,” Bloom was saying to his subordinate. “This isn’t like the synthahol you’re used to
on the ship.”
“Hey,
I’ve been drinking since before your blood was green, Vulcan,” Johnson replied,
then added a hasty, “Sir!”
The
waitress brought four tankards of beer, placing one in front of each of the
Starfleet officers. As she turned, she
brushed her tail flirtingly against Ga’gh.
The Wilryk looked away, slightly embarrassed.
“What’s
the matter, Ga’gh? Women make you
nervous?” Sutherland asked with a chuckle.
“No,”
Ga’gh said defensively. “It’s just that
I have one of my own at home.”
Sutherland’s
next comment was drowned out by a voice coming from a nearby table. Bloom looked over toward the source, suddenly
wary of trouble. Six Arderans, who had
obviously imbibed great quantities of their planet’s finest export, cast glares
at the nearby Starfleet personnel while one of them, an Arderan who’s face was
hidden from the Dauntless crew behind
a cloak, continued to talk loudly between gulps from his mug.
“You
can never tell where you stand with the Feds,” he remarked. “Offer ya protection one minute, shoot ya in
the back the next!”
“Yeah!”
joined in one of his friends. “At least
with the Romulans you know where you stand!”
The
group all laughed loudly and slapped each other on the back as if the one
Arderan had told the funniest joke in the galaxy. Bloom noticed Johnson starting to get edgy,
and expected Ga’gh to make some sort of comment as well.
“The
Feds ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of thevin’, degenerate backstabbers is all they
are!” the first Arderan continued. “Why
I wouldn’t trust the honor of a Fed again if me life depended on it!”
Ga’gh
slowly rose from his seat. Bloom covered
his eyes and shook his head, disgusted because he knew nothing he could do
would stop what was coming.
“I
have more honor in my little finger then all six of you drunkards,” Ga’gh said
to them. Johnson nodded in agreement,
and slowly turned his chair to face the Arderans as he did.
While
the cloaked Arderan watched, Counselor Sutherland noticing his face was
completely covered by bandages barely visible beneath his hood, his five
companions slowly stood as well. Not a
single one of them was shorter than two meters tall, and each had the demeanor
of an enraged drunken bull.
Johnson
quickly stood, partly in support of Ga’gh, but mostly to get out of the way of
the backhanded swipe that sent his chair flying onto a table five meters
away. Bloom sighed in resignation and
stood as well, as did the Counselor.
Within
moments had started a phenomenon known to all planets whose populations have
learned to ferment grain into alcohol.
The barroom brawl. Chairs and
tables flew. People ran screaming out of
the pub. The bartender, fearing for his
life and his inventory (though not necessarily in that order) yelled at the top
of his lungs for calm to be restored.
Within
minutes, the pub was a wreck. Tables and
chairs flew. A body was thrown over the
bar and into the stock of bottles behind it.
When
it had ended, all five of the drunken, loudmouthed Arderans lay unconscious on
the floor. The cloaked and bandaged
instigator had fled when the fighting broke out.
“Damn,
that was fun!” Johnson said as he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth
with his uniform sleeve, then looking down where the table had been, remarked,
“Hey, where’s my beer?”
“Forget
the beer, Nate,” Bloom warned. “I think
the Captain’s going to want to know about this.”
“But
it’s a waste of perfectly good alcohol!” Johnson whined.
“I
don’t think the Captain will be happy,” Ga’gh commented.
Right
then, local authorities burst in through the doors. They glanced at the bartender, who sat
whimpering over the loss of half his stock, then at the Starfleet Officers.
“I
know he won’t,” sighed Bloom.
* * * *
“...And
as of this moment, all shore leave is cancelled. Until this crisis is solved at the very
least,” Captain Koester ordered over the ship’s intercom. He glanced over at the side of the bridge
where the four members of the crew, Bloom, Sutherland, Ga’gh, and Johnson stood
at rigid attention. “I want crew muster
reports to the Chief of the Boat by 1300.
That is all.”
Koester
stood up from his Command Chair and walked over to the four barhoppers.
“And
what am I to do with you four?” he asked.
“Let
us off lightly for defending the Federation’s honor?” Johnson said with a grin,
then quickly added, “Sir!” Koester
glared at him and the junior Engineer took half a step back. Koester shook his head slowly, looking at the
deck at his feet.
“Dismissed,”
he finally said. Half of the group,
though surprised, beat a grateful path to the turbolift. Ga’gh visibly relaxed as he walked back to
the tactical post, checking with Lt Commander K’danz on the sensor readings in
their current orbit before relieving her of the watch.
Bloom,
however, stood where he was, not quite still at attention, but definitely
formal. The Captain looked up at him
with curiosity. His voice sounded weary.
“Yes,
Jeff?”
“There
was something that proceeded the incident that I thought you should be made
aware of, Captain,” the emotional Vulcan said.
“The Arderans who picked the fight were openly talking about an alliance
with the Romulans. Could it possibly be
the Romulans who are responsible for the Ambassador’s murder?”
“Anything’s
possible,” supposed Koester. “But how?”
“Perhaps
our investigation will uncover it. There
is, however, one comment they made that didn’t make very much sense. One Arderan called the Federation a bunch of
backstabbers, which under the current circumstances I can understand. But he also accused us of shooting them in
the back, which I don’t get? Maybe he
was speaking in cliche’, but no one here has been shot.”
“Not
this time,” Koester mumbled.
“CMO
to Captain,” interrupted the voice of the Dauntless’
Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Dourden.
“Go
ahead, Doc.”
“Woulds’t
thou please report to sickbay. I have
finished thy autopsy report.”
“On
my way,” Koester said, then tapped his combadge. “Kane, T’Cah, Kyman, report to sickbay
immediately.”
* *
* *
The
sickbay doors swished shut behind T’Cah as the Vulcan science officer joined
the others at the examination table, where the body of the Ambassador was
covered.
“What
have you got, Doc?” Koester asked, now that the whole group was gathered.
Dourden
hrumphed at the nickname, then said, “He died of a stab wound to the back.”
“That’s
what you called us all down here to tell us?” Kane blurted out.
“No,”
Dourden answered. “Though I fear I
append more to the mystery than I displace.
According to the transporter records, the Ambassador beamed up at 0900
hours.”
“That’s
correct,” Kane said.
“But
according to the autopsy I hath just completed, the Ambassador died at 0800.”
“That’s
impossible!” the Captain shouted. “I spoke
to the Ambassador myself moments before he beamed up.”
“Are
you positive this is the Ambassador?” Kyman asked.
“Fingerprints
and bodily markings match those given us by Arderan authorities,” said Dourden.
“So
now instead of one mystery, we have two,” groaned Kane in disgust.
“I
may have some relevant information,” T’Cah offered. All eyes fell upon the Vulcan woman. “I have been investigating the murder weapon,
an ornate dagger. I have learned it was
a symbol of office on Ardera. By tracing
it’s markings and symbols on the handle, we should be able to determine the
dagger’s owner.”
T’Cah
presented the dagger, now sealed in a marked plastic container to preserve all
evidence. She pointed out one emblem on
the center of the handle.
“This
is a symbol of the Arderan royal family,” she explained. “As Captain Koester has told us, the
Ambassador was a member of the royal family, the former heir to the
throne. These symbols,” she now pointed
closer to the hilt, “designate for whom the dagger was made. I’ve been in contact with authorities on
Ardera and they inform me only one craftsman makes daggers such as this for the
royal family. He should be able to tell
us who this dagger belongs to.”
“I
suggest we send down an Away Team to question this craftsman, Skipper,” Kane
suggested. Koester started shaking his
head.
“The
Arderans are already wary of any non-Arderans.
Especially after that incident at the bar this afternoon.”
“What
if we disguise ourselves?” Kyman asked.
Koester
looked skeptical. “Do you really think
it’ll work?”
* * * *
“This’ll
never work!” Kane protested loudly. The
Captain, Kane, T’Cah, Kyman, and Counselor Sutherland were gathered in
transporter room 2, each dressed in native Arderan clothes, their skin now
tinted bright purple, their hair snow white, and tails hanging limp behind
them. Kane held one of his hands out in
front of them. “All they have to do is
look at our hands to tell we’re not Arderans!”
“Relax,
Exec,” Koester said. “We’ll beam down,
ask this guy a couple of questions, and beam up again. I’m not planning on taking up permanent
residence on this planet. Just don’t
make your hands too obvious, alright?”
He looked at Kyman. “Do we know
where this place is,
“From
what I could find, it’s within the main city walls, about two blocks from the
palace gates.”
Koester
nodded, prompting all five to ascend the transporter platform.
“Find
a nice dark alley to put us down in,” Koester told the transporter chief.
“Aye,
sir,” Lt(JG) Daniels replied, and moments later the Away Team faded from view.
* * * *
Kyman
glanced around the corner of the alley, satisfied that the narrow street was
empty, and signaled for the others to follow.
It was just after dark in the
“What
can I do for ye?” the ancient Arderan behind the counter asked as the door
closed behind the disguised Away Team.
The man must have been at least one-hundred years old, his hair long
since gone, revealing the dull, wrinkled purple skin of his scalp.
“We’re
looking for the craftsman who creates the ceremonial daggers for the royal
family.”
“Well,
ye found him,” the old man cackled.
“Been the only one for over eighty cycles.”
T’Cah
stepped forward, placing the murder weapon quickly onto the counter, and said,
“We are part of the team investigating the murder of Ambassador Araph aboard
the Federation starship. It would help
greatly if you could identify the personal markings on this dagger.”
The
Arderan hefted the small weapon, first looking skeptically at his visitors,
then studying the handle’s markings with an expert eye, after which he looked
back at the team and said, “Why, I easily recognize this dagger. I just crafted...”
The
ancient Arderan suddenly stopped, emitting a slight grunt, then fell face down
on the counter, the dagger he held dropping to the floor. Another dagger, similar in size but with an
ordinary unadorned handle, protruded from between the craftsman’s shoulder
blades.
“There!”
shouted Kyman as he noticed the shadow in the back room of the shop. The five Away Team members rushed behind the
counter and into the back room but the mysterious figure had already escaped
through a back entrance. Giving chase,
the team found themselves in the twisting streets of the centuries-old Arderan
capital. It was obvious to them the
murderer was a native of the city as he darted through half-hidden alleyways
and around corners, and soon even the tricorder T’Cah held could not locate
him.
“Enough...
(huff)... running... (puff)...,” Koester said between gasps, then reached into
his clothes and took out his combadge.
Taking a deep breath, he tapped it.
“Captain
to Dauntless. I need main sensors on-line. We’re looking for a native Arderan within
four blocks of our current location who would appear to be hiding or loitering
in some fashion.”
“Aye,
sir,” replied Lt(JG) Shawn Natchez, one of the Dauntless’ operations officers.
A moment later though he said, “Sir, do you realize how many Arderans
are within a four block radius of you!?”
“Let
me narrow it down a little for you. The
Arderan we want will have a higher than normal respiratory and cardiovascular
rate and probably somewhat higher body temperature, and will probably appear to
be hiding in an alley or doorway.”
Moments
later, “Got him! One block east, in a
small alley across from a park or field.”
“Thank
you, Lieutenant. Lets go!” said the
Captain.
The
five quickly made their way down the block, finding the park across the narrow
road, then spotting the small alley they had passed without noticing while
going the other way. The Captain
motioned for them to take out their phasers.
Slowly they approached the entrance to the alley, Kane peering into the
dark cul-de-sac.
In
a dark corner, behind some refuse containers, the First Officer spotted the
subject of their chase. Covered by a
hood and dark cloak, the Arderan crouched low, oblivious to the fact his hiding
place had been compromised.
“There’s
no way out,” called out Kane. “So walk
out slowly.”
The
Arderan’s head jerked up at the voice.
He seemed ready to spring, then reassessing his situation, stood up and
slowly moved out of the alley.
“Don’t
move! Any of you!” a new voice shouted
from behind the Away Team. Koester
froze, as did the rest of his crew, but out of the corner of his eye he saw
three Arderan security officials approach, weapons drawn. They quickly frisked the disguised Starfleet
Officers and the Arderan man, confiscating phasers, combadges, and pretty much
everything else all six were carrying, then cuffed them all.
“As
I thought,” one of the officers said, looking closely at Koester, Kane, Kyman,
Sutherland, and T’Cah’s hands as he cuffed them. “Offworlders!”
All
six prisoners were lined up against the wall, a crowd gathering to watch the
spectacle, as the other officer removed the original murder weapon from under
T’Cah’s cloak, still sealed in it’s Starfleet marked plastic protective cover,
and said, “You are all placed under arrest for the murder of Craftsman
Gibbons.”
* * * *
By
the time the Away Team and the real Arderan were brought into the local Arderan
Security Headquarters, King Goeremty and Princess Cascius were already
there. Even while still in his disguise,
Captain Koester was immediately recognized.
“What
do you personally have against our world, Captain?” the Princess asked in
genuine anguish.
“What
do you mean, your Highness?”
“It’s
obvious you hold some grudge against us, Captain,” the King answered. “Years ago, you, personally, were
responsible for our cousin losing his place in line to the throne. Years later, the same man is murdered aboard
your vessel. And now you have murdered a
simple craftsman! Why?”
Koester
glanced down at the floor, then back up at both the King and Princess.
“Your
Highness, what happened during your civil war all those years ago was an
accident, one I have regretted since the day it happened, but under the
circumstances, it was unavoidable. If
your cousin, the Crown Prince, had stayed with the team sent to protect him
rather than break away and try to run, chances are he would be King instead of
you today.”
“As
for the murder of both Ambassador Araph, and the craftsman this evening,”
interrupted Lt T’Cah, “I believe you have the proper suspect in custody right
here.” The disguised Vulcan indicated
the cloaked Arderan arrested with the Away Team.
King
Goeremty looked at one of the Security Officers and asked, “Who is this man,
and why exactly was he arrested?”
“He
was found with these offworlders, your Highness,” the Security Leader answered,
“though they had all been arrested and cuffed before we realized these five
were not Arderan. We’re not absolutely
sure he was even involved in the murder.”
“What
is your name, citizen?” Princess Cascius asked.
The man did not answer immediately.
“You!”
the Security Leader growled. “Pull down
that hood and answer her Highness!”
One
of the other Security Officers reached over.
The Arderan tried to block the officer’s hand with his own, but cuffed,
could not reach up to stop the officer.
The officer’s hand grasped the hood of the cloak and pulled it down,
revealing a bandaged face.
“I
know him!” Sutherland blurted out. “He
was the Arderan who instigated the fight at the bar earlier today.”
“So,
he was the one speaking out anti-Federation sentiments and an alliance with the
Romulans?” Koester asked.
“I
ask you again,” the Security Leader said.
“Who are you?” Again, the Arderan
refused to answer.
“I
believe I may know the answer, your Highness,” T’Cah said, then turned to the
security officers. “Was anything
confiscated from this man when he was arrested with us?”
One
of the Security Officials nodded, then produced an evidence box, which he
dumped onto a nearby desk. Amongst the
pile of equipment were the Away Team’s phasers, combadges, a tricorder, the
murder weapon still sealed in plastic, and another dagger, also with an ornate
handle. T’Cah picked up both daggers,
holding them side by side for comparison.
“They’re
identical,” said Kane.
“No,
not identical,” corrected T’Cah. “From
analysis, and from what the craftsman briefly tried to tell us before he too
was killed, the murder weapon is no more than a few days old. Your Highness,” she said, turning to face the
King and his sister, “do you recognize the markings on these handles?”
Princess
Cascius squinted, looking closely at both daggers, before responding,
“Yes. They are the markings of Prince
Phara.”
“As
I had surmised,” T’Cah said with a Vulcan form of smugness.
“The
Ambassador was murdered with his own knife?” Kane asked.
“No,”
said Koester, starting to catch onto T’Cah’s line of thinking. “The Ambassador was killed with a cheap copy,
because the murderer couldn’t bear to give up his last badge of office.”
“Why
would a murderer want to keep his victim’s dagger?” the King asked.
“Your
Highness, if we’re right, the murderer didn’t,” Koester said, then nodded
toward T’Cah. She opened the tricorder
that had been sitting on the desk and began scanning the bandaged Arderan.
“Scans
indicate considerable plastic surgery,” the Vulcan woman reported, then moved
the tricorder toward the Arderan’s hands.
“Attempts have been made to alter his fingerprints, but I am still able
to discern the original pattern.”
The
Arderan man began to growl in anger, but was restrained by two of the security
officers.
T’Cah
completed her scan, and faced the tricorder toward Koester, the King, and the
Princess.
“It
is as I surmised. This man is Ambassador
Araph.”
* * * *
Captain’s
log, supplemental:
The
Arderan officials have released the Dauntless Away Team and dropped all charges against us after Araph was put
through a lengthy interrogation.
Now,
however, the Dauntless is stuck here a
few days longer while the Arderans appoint a new ambassador.
Counselor
Sutherland sat at a table in crew’s mess, a plate of calamari and linguini on
the table in front of her, her nose stuck in a new vampire novel programmed
into her padd.
“Mind
if I join you?” a female voice asked.
Sutherland looked up from her padd to see Commander Q standing by the table, a tray full of food in her hands.
“Please,”
Sutherland said, motioning to one of the empty chairs.
Q sat down and took a quick sip from
her tea before asking, “What happened down there, Kethry?”
Sutherland
face took on an apprehensive expression, then with a deep breath, said, “The
man we captured has been proven to be the real Ambassador Araph.”
Q’s eyebrows knit in confusion.
“If
the murderer was Araph, then who did I assist Doc in performing an autopsy on?”
“When
he finally confessed, Araph admitted his whole plot,” Sutherland said. The Counselor took one more bite of her
dinner and placed her padd on the table. “Araph apparently had a long but well
hidden association with the Romulans, who wanted access to Ardera’s huge
dilithium deposits. During the civil war, Araph covertly backed the rebellion.
It had been his plan, once he became king, to break all ties with the
Federation and openly ally with the Romulans. In fact, during the rebellion all
those years ago, he was trying to sneak off to join the rebels before their
attack on the
“Once
Ardera finally did join the Federation, Araph considered it his greatest
humiliation to be assigned as ambassador to the Federation Council. However, when he learned that it would be the
Dauntless that would transport him to
Earth, with Peter Koester in command, he devised an elaborate plan that, if it had
worked, would have decimated Ardera’s relationship with the Federation and
completely ruined Peter’s career.”
As
Q listened with rapt attention,
occasionally taking bites of her tuna sandwich, she noticed the crew’s mess
doors open and both
“That
reminds me,” the Counselor said, her voice a little softer then earlier. “Don’t you and Peter normally eat dinner
together in his quarters?”
Q nodded, then said, “He cancelled
out. Said he wanted some time alone to
think.” She took another sip of tea,
then added, “Please, continue.”
Sutherland
nodded, then continued, “Araph and his pro-Romulan faction found a homeless
indigent who resembled the Ambassador in height and weight. They had the man surgically altered to look
like Araph, including fingerprints and distinguishing marks. Then they murdered the man about an hour
before Araph was ready to beam up to the Dauntless. A ship belonging to the anti-Federation
faction with a few of his co-conspirators aboard, in a lower orbit than our
vessel, intercepted Araph’s transporter signal and replaced him with the
recently murdered man. The Arderan authorities
later determined it was these same men who instigated that bar fight with us
and they are now likewise in custody.”
“Apparently,
the plan originally called for using Araph’s actual ceremonial dagger as the
murder weapon, to make it more difficult to trace. Araph’s undoing was that he could not bear to
part with it, the only reminder left of a life that could have been. So he privately arranged with the craftsman
who made it to make another copy a few days before we arrived.”
“Why
didn’t Araph kill the craftsman as soon as he got the copied dagger?” Q asked.
“Apparently
he didn’t want to raise any suspicions before the ‘Ambassador’s’ murder,”
Sutherland answered. “And once the
murder took place, Araph’s appearance was surgically altered as well. He was recovering from the surgery and unable
to take care of his loose end before our Away Team arrived to investigate. We just happened to get there the same time
Araph did.”
As
Q nodded and continued to eat her
dinner, Koester walked with Kane to another of the small tables, where the
First Officer sat down.
“Sure
you won’t join me?” Kane asked, digging into his Bajoran stew.
“No,
thank you, Exec. I find I’m not too
hungry tonight,” the Captain answered, sounding much older than his 31 years.
“What’s
going to happen to Araph now, Skipper?”
Koester
smiled a humorless smile, then said, “The Arderans have a strange justice
system, Exec. They try to subscribe to
the old adage ‘a life for a life’ as literally as possible.”
“Capital
punishment?” Kane asked with some shock.
“No,
Exec. Apparently, Araph will pay for his
crime in a more.... as the Arderans say,
poetic way. He will be mentally
reconditioned so as to not be a danger to anyone, even himself. He will then be set loose onto the streets,
to replace the homeless indigent he and his comrades pointlessly killed.”
Kane
shivered as he thought about the fate of the former crown prince and how far he
had truly fallen.
“Exec,”
Koester said, “we’re going to have to be here for a few more days. Authorize shore leave for the crew. Make sure no one goes out in groups of less
than four, and no excessive
drinking. Tell them to stay out of
trouble.”
“Aye,
Skipper. What about you? Going to take in some of the Arderan night
life?”
Koester
looked directly at his First Officer, and with a weary voice, said, “If I never
see Ardera II again, it will be too soon.
You have the
The
End
Return to 2374.
Return to Stories Archive.