Told ya' I'd been workin' on it!
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The ship’s corridors are dark, emergency bulbs and battle warnings providing just enough to see. No one’s battle station was in a corridor, even near the brig.
“Commander,” The II man is scuttling down the hallway. He moves without the typical rattle of navy personnel. He has no armor, no weapon. “The prisoner is ready for interrogation. With your permission, I will begin.”
La’ra keeps walking. The II man follows, in step with the larger man.
“We have limited time,” La’ra rumbles. There’s the odd vibration in the deck to remind him of that; it’s not quite as noticeable as it should be, continually telling him his ship’s stride was less than optimal. “I will question him myself. A mind-sifter will not be effective on a Vulcan.”
He had information of the man’s treachery, after all. Even a Vulcan would likely open up when that fact was revealed.
“No it will not, Commander, but I have other tools I can utilize…” The dark man continues. The brig door looms, and La’ra is shaking his head. “Commander, allow me a moment, please.”
La’ra frowns, stops. II agents were often threatening, sometimes cajoling, sometimes bargaining, but they were rarely polite. He meets the darker man’s gaze.
“Vulcans are difficult to read in physical interrogations.” The II man states. “They have their giveaways, their reactions, and these can be plain if one knows what to look for. I am skilled in that aspect of interrogation, sir, and I would suggest that, if you wish to question him yourself, you allow me to watch. Without the subject’s knowledge.”
La’ra considers the man. He was polite and logical. Efficient too, if his treatment of the late Feinster was typical. The combination was odd.
He’s one of Dar’tel’s, La’ra reminds himself. Dar’tel was an II Major. He was close to crazy, but La’ra trusted him to some degree. Of course he’s odd.
“Fine,” La’ra agrees. One of the brig guards is standing nearby. The Commander barks an order. Unobtrusive comms are delivered.
“What’s your name?” The Commander asks.
“O’Kag,” The interrogator answers. The two enter the brig. O’kag enters the jailer’s office, La’ra follows a guard to the bare metal room that houses the iHiv’laposh’s latest prisoner.
The Vulcan shows no sign of distress as the Commander enters. The prisoner is one of Surak’s older children, a few flecks of grey in his hair. He’s seated in an uncomfortable chair in front of a metal table. Both were rooted to the deck, lest they be used as a weapon.
“Captain Sevek,” La’ra says, easing himself into the chair opposite the man. It was far enough away from the Vulcan to prevent any sudden assaults. Klingons had much experience with captives. “On Stardate 7767.1, your ships was attacked and boarded by pirates who removed several passengers and crew before departing.”
“I am aware that you accepted payment for your cooperation,” The Commander growls. “Tell me what you know of these miscreants, their ship, and anything else that may help me find them and I will consider turning you over to the Federation for prosecution.”
The Vulcan's gaze shifts, almost imperceptibly. His eyes are grey, and there‘s, despite the usual cold-logic stare, something vulnerable in them.
“He is surprised. Alarmed. I don’t believe he expected this was the reason for his abduction,” O’kag says, voice a ghostly presence in La’ra’s ear.
“If you do not cooperate, you will suffer Imperial justice.” La’ra warns.
The Vulcan flattens his hands on the table. Looks down at them for a moment. He speaks, voice the expected near-monotone.
“I will supply you any information I have available, Commander,” he says.
La’ra blinks.
The Vulcan is not military, but one couldn’t successfully captain any starship, even a cruise liner, without some savvy. The Vulcan had to know that there would be ships pursuing the Hiv’laposh. He had to know that his rescue was a priority for crews of highly trained personnell, and that time, in such a situation, was invaluable.
Logically, he should delay. Logically, he should stall La’ra as long as possible. Why was he not?
“I find that statement somewhat dubious, Captain,” La’ra says.
“It would be difficult not too, I would suspect,” Sevek replies. “But I would estimate that our time is somewhat limited, and would suggest that you present your questions.”
“This is interesting,” O’Gak says. “His heartbeat is accelerated, and his brain chemistry is…unusual at the moment. He’s frightened, but he’s also…I believe he’s…remorseful, Commander.”
La’ra manages to keep his expression still. He could test his prisoner. He could ask for information he already knew and could confirm, but the Vulcan would suspect that…instead, he would see how much Sevek was willing to spill.
“Fine. Describe your encounter with the pirates in its entirety. Vulcans have eidetic memories in most cases; use it. Provide me with every detail.”
The Vulcan nods.
“We were seven days out from Sherman’s Planet, cruising at warp 4.6. My vessel was approached by a small ship and I took defensive precautions, including raising my shields,” The liner captain said. “These proved insufficient. The attacking ship was a converted high-speed luxury transport, I believe, and was more maneuverable. They utilized photon torpedoes set to a high-radiation yield to weaken our shields enough to allow phaser penetration and then disabled our defense generators. They then beamed over two heavily armed boarding parties and seized control of engineering and the primary commons area.”
La’ra’s face is a constant frown. His mind is searching for little things wrong with the Vulcan’s story already.
Yet he already knows why they took the common area and not, say, the bridge. That much had been in the account the Argellian woman had given Leral.
“Our security personnel were better armored and equally armed, but could not retake the captured areas without our attackers killing the common area passengers, which they threatened to do over subspace radio. They also threatened to destroy the ship by detonating the impulse engine’s hydrogen cells with explosives if we launched any attempt to retake those areas.”
“The attackers offered to negotiate their departure so long as we did not attempt to broadcast a distress call, as we had not at that point due to the speed of the attack. I…agreed, to this, as I felt they most likely wished to take the valuables belonging to the passengers or perhaps parts or equipment, as most pirates in this sector do.”
La’ra is straining his own ears, barely believing something he’s hearing. Not the Vulcan’s words, but the pace they’re being delivered, the pitch. His words are coming fast, his voice getting just slightly higher.
“I met with their leader, a human, slightly but not greatly taller than average with a bearing I would associate with a military or paramilitary organization. I will provide a greater description if you wish. The conversation was brief. He said that he’d gotten what he was after and would buy silence on my part about the finer details of the raid and shoved approximately ten bars of gold-press latinum into my grasp.”
“I did not immediately understand what he meant, but saw that he was herding around twenty female passengers and three males to the center of the common area deck and realized then he was most likely raiding for slaves. He turned away, and I considered administering Tal’shi’a while he was vulnerable, but I realized that action would serve no logical purpose other than ensuring my death.”
There was a hint of…something, in the liner captain’s voice. Vulcans were loathe to express their feelings of course, though they often made exceptions for irritation or condescension. Whatever La'ra had heard had been neither of those.
The admission of a murderous impulse was odd, of course. Even if that particular method of snapping a neck was fairly painless.
Sevek pauses for a moment. His voice doesn’t quite return to it’s original monotone, though it’s more controlled now.
“I admit I was allowing my emotions to sway my impulses at that moment and regret that I was unable to indulge them. Instead, when the raiders beamed away with their captives, I ordered our engines repaired, as they had disabled them, and headed for the nearest defended outpost.”
“I did not broadcast a report of what had transpired initially as I feared a reprisal attack if that occurred. Once in contact with Starfleet, I gave a mostly complete version of events in my statement, turned over all available sensor logs and allowed them to perform a complete and intensive search of the ship without permission from company authorities, for which I was reprimanded more harshly than for being boarded and having my passengers taken, though, logically, I did not have a choice in that situation, but did in the case of Starfleet examining my vessel.”
“I also turned over the latinum to Starfleet Command,” he finished.
“Mostly complete?” La’ra asks. He finds himself believing the Vulcan, though perhaps O’kag is about to tell him he’s mistaken on that point.
Sevek is quiet again, for a brief moment.
“I omitted the detail of wishing to perform Tal’shi’a on the raider commander.”
“Why?”
“I felt a…distinctly Vulcan self-consciousness about admitting that feeling in the presence of humans, given our reputation with that species.”
“They why mention it now?”
“First, I believe that you are no doubt monitoring my biometric readings and would be aware, or at least capable of detecting, any falsehood on my part and I felt an omission might affect those readings. "
“Second, I believe that admitting that particular desire might be seen as both understandable and even sympathetic to a Klingon, possibly softening any further actions toward me.”
"Third, I find myself occasionally wishing that I had gone through with my impulse at the time, which sometimes causes disagreeable mental preoccupation, and believe that voicing the urge may soothe future incidences of this.”
La’ra stares at Sevek for a moment. Realistically, he supposes, it’s nearly impossible to tell if he was acting and playing to the Klingons wishes. Yet he believes him. Something in the eyes, in the voice, in the edge of certain words when he relays the story.
He almost trusts him enough to mention there was a witness to the bribe…or the attempted bribe. He does not.
“You expect me to take this story at face value?” The Commander asks.
“No, Commander, I am not certain you will,” Sevek replies.
“And you have nothing to add?”
“No. I can think of no further detail that would be immediately useful, though I would suggest you investigate my ship’s sensor logs, which I assume you downloaded during your raid. I could recite specific descriptions of the vessel and the personnel, if you wish.”
La’ra stands.
“One moment,” he says. And walks out the door. O’Kag is waiting.
“I believe him,” La’ra says.
“I concur,” says the II man, and there’s a brief spark of surprise in La’ra mind. It was his instincts telling him to believe the Vulcan, and sometimes more grounded folks questioned those.
“Why?” La’ra demands.
“His biometric readings were consistent with someone telling the truth while in an…agitated, frame of mind, and he has elevated levels of the hormone produced by fear in Vulcans,” the interrogator says dryly. “And, looking at things from the Vulcan mindset, if one were to feel anger at the level he seems to be, it would be logical to impart as much information as possible to us, since…we wish the cause of his anger harm.”
The Commander nods.
“Chance he could be an exceptionally gifted liar, who is using some Vulcan method of regulating himself to fool your sensors?”
“Possible,” O’Kag admits. “But unlikely.”
“We’ll operate under belief, then. He remains in the brig, but he’s now a…guest we are suspicious of, rather than a complete prisoner. Take advantage of his cooperation. Mine him for every scrap of detail you can and report to me. Do it quickly, I may need him.”
“Yes, sir,” The II man responds. “Need him for…”
The ship bucks. It’s a hard, sudden motion, violent, though not harsh enough to throw anyone off their feet. It’s a familiar sensation, and not one the old battlecruiser, even in contrary moments, is prone to make.
Photon torpedo. In close proximity.
“Quickly!” La’ra barks, and jogs toward a turbo lift.
Topic: Pound of Flesh (Read 17757 times)