EP 6 "ASSASSIN" - TEASER





SS FANTASY, CAPTAIN'S OFFICE

Captain Christian's eyes snapped open - the dream had ended abruptly this time, although most of the main features had been there, as always: his parents, the stage on which they had died, the Medusan murderer, his colleagues from the USS Venture, and the mysterious figure dressed in black.  Looking straight up from his prone position, the subtly carved ceiling of the SS Fantasy's Captain's office seemed more intricate than he had noticed before.   Its linear, mock wood and plaster panelling casting deep shadows in the dimly lit room, the design standing proud in the atmospheric low lighting.

He blinked long and hard and mentally composed himself for another stressful day.  His neck felt crooked from his semi-upright sleeping position and his left foot, hanging outside the blanket, felt cool.  Small beads of cold perspiration plastered his hair to his forehead.   Beyond his exposed foot he could see a small fire crackling in the hearth - but he could neither hear it nor feel its heat.  Someone had obviously got the hearth's holo-programme working, but not entirely.   There was one other light source in the darkened room, and he craned his head back toward it.

The desk lamp shone brightly onto the ebony wood of the Captain's desk some distance away, its glass shade glowing a vibrant spring green colour.  The radiance bounced off the brass lamp fitting and a dozen uniform grey padds scattered on the desk's leather surface into the engrossed face of Yeoman Lirik, leaning forward over them with great intent.

"Yeoman," Christian called.   The diplomatic aide did not respond.   "Mister Lirik," still no response.  The Captain glanced at the floor beside the couch and saw an open tricorder silently flashing and across its keypad what looked like an old fashioned Starfleet communicator - also flipped open.

The Captain reached down and closed the communicator, immediately collapsing the dampening field around him with a dull 'pop'.   Yeoman Lirik looked up.

"Ah, you're awake," Lirik half-grinned in a friendly manner.

Christian swung his blanket-shrouded legs over the side of the handsome antique couch on which he'd slept for the umpteenth night.

"Why was there a dampening field around me and what," Christian dragged a heavy hand down his face, trying to make it feel more awake, "what the hell are you doing in here?"

Lirik didn't outwardly react.   "I'm working.  Or at least, I am now - you were snoring and shouting in your sleep quite a bit so I erected the field for a bit of peace and quiet," Lirik smiled, knitted his hands and leaned forward.  "You were so fast asleep I didn't want to wake you, but not to worry, I've got a head start on things here," Lirik nodded down at the padds.

"What time is it?" Christian rubbed his eyes.

"0700 hours.  We've got plenty of time to get some work done before you address the survivors at 0900," Lirik fiddled with the padds, assembling them in order.

"Just how long have you been in here?" Christian hadn't the faintest idea whether he'd said anything embarrassing in his sleep that Lirik may have heard.

Lirik pouted and looked up.  "About forty minutes - I had an early breakfast with the Commodore-"

"Come to think of it, why are you even here in the first place?" Christian interrupted; not sure he was being treated with the respect he deserved as the survivors' leader and ship's self-appointed Captain.  Then again, Christian considered, Lirik was a part of the Starfleet Annexe known as The Diplomatic Corps, and they notoriously barrelled over standard Starfleet etiquette.

"At the Commodore's request," Lirik licked his drying lips.  "Seems she thinks you need me - in my illustrious past I served under several Captains and Admirals as personal assistant, and I'm fully appraised of all the duties involved in running a starship.  So I'm here to offer you all the support you need," Lirik smiled that sickly smile again.

Christian was unsure how to react given that the Commodore had endorsed Lirik's actions.  The chubby Englishman continued, waving the particular padd he'd been working on:  "I've scheduled your day and the next few weeks based on your notes and what we know needs urgent attention."  Lirik held up three padds: "Priority list of requests from team leaders." A stack of eight was pushed forward: "Personnel evaluations gathered so far, broken down into origin and allegiance." Another padd was added to the pile: "Personal requests and concerns from some of the more…er… vocal civilians."   Another two padds: "A list of recommended routine meetings and a prioritised list of protocol requirements."

Lirik held up another padd: "And um… oh yes," Lirik tossed it to Christian and he effortlessly caught it with one hand: "Captain's log - overdue by over a week, if you please, Sir."   The Yeoman grinned; a reflex that was dropped when clearly not taken with the intention it was given.

Christian didn't even look at the object, dropping it beside him and rising to his feet he approached the desk with some ire.   The blanket dropped away to the floor as he moved and Christian stood wearing only his standard issue underpants in front of the Yeoman.  Undeterred, Christian spread his hands on the desk and leaned toward Lirik.

"I don't need an assistant, Mister.   That fad for personal Yeomans was phased out years ago and besides," Christian leaned even closer, "if I was going to pick someone to assist me I certainly wouldn't pick you!"

Lirik held his composure, instead leaning back with confidence.  "This is about your parents, isn't it?"

Christian straightened, suddenly aware of his near-nakedness and lowered his voice.  "Get out."

"I know what happened to them," Lirik assured, "and I can quite understand why you associate me with the Medusan who killed-"

"YOU are disMISSED!" Christian shook as he shouted, causing the Yeoman to recoil slightly.  Lirik stood, composing himself, and quickly walked toward the door.

Stopping in the opened doorway he turned for a departing comment, but seeing Christian's rigid, unfriendly back and hung head, he decided not to say anything, letting the doors swoosh closed behind him instead.  As he ascended the ramp to the bridge, Lirik allowed himself a private smirk at the sight of the arrogant Captain shouting at him wearing only his briefs.

Back inside the office, Christian looked up through the rear windows at the perpetually moving stars slowly shrinking into the distance at just under sub-light speed.  He was trembling, and not satisfied at what had just happened.   How could he have so easily lost control and embarrassed himself like that?  Lirik was partly right: as a half-Human, half-Medusan he was a constant reminder of the pain he had suffered at the hands of the rogue Medusan entity.

ACT 1