Subject: Grey Stars 2

From: [email-masked] (shimkevi)
Date: Thu Jun 25 16:37 EDT 1992

An alien city. Tall, white buildings under a bright blue sky with a shining
bright-orange ball of a sun overhead. The crowd in the streets is a mixture of
different races. It is not as warm as it seems from a first glance at the city
- most of the humans in the crowd are wearing coats or jackets.
Am alien with a diamond-shaped bump on a forehead (note: different race from
the alien in the beginning of the story), dressed in a short blue jacket and
brown pants is walking towards a huge transparent wall. The 3-d sign on the
wall says "Green Zone Hotel" in several languages. The alien is carrying a
small black suitcase. When he approaches the wall, a rectangular outline
appears under the hotel sign. The alien walks right through the wall which
gives way. (cut to the hotel lobby) We see the alien walking through the wall
towards us. He almost clears the wall when the outline flashes brightly and
then disappears. His left foot is now stuck in the wall. Suddenly stopped in
his tracks, the alien waves his hands frantically to regain balance. On of the
receptionists rushes from behind his desk with a contraption that looks like a
small vacuum cleaner.

Receptionist: A thousand apologies, sir. We've just installed this new system
and sometimes people get stuck. (raises his "vacuum cleaner". The wall around
the alien's leg starts to ripple slightly.) You can pull your foot out now,
sir.

Alien: From the speed of your reaction, I would guess that this happens pretty
often. Why don't you switch back to normal doors?

Receptionist: Not on this world, sir. Permeativity is the latest rage. If you
don't have permeable doors, you won't stay in business.

Alien: Yours is a strange world.

Receptionist: It sure is, sir. Can I help you with anything else?

Alien: I have an appointment here at two o'clock. Appointment number 47.

Receptionist: If you could just come to the lady over there, she'll give you
the directions.

(A lounge in the same hotel. A blond human male in his late twenties/early
thirties is sitting in an armchair, holding a portable viewer in his hand. He
is wearing a loose olive-colored suit. A klingon female, dressed in what is
best desribed as a cross between a business suit and a suit of armor
approaches him.)

Woman: Don't keep your appointment waiting, Pelle. (gives him a crooked smile)

Pelle: That mystery person of yours, Vernath? Showed up on time, hasn't he.

Vernath: He's already in the room. Take a look. (takes a viewer out of the
pocket and gives it to Pelle)

Pelle (he looks funny with a viewer in each hand): Just great. The only thing
absent in my life this morning is an appointment with a Lardonian.

Vernath: This one looks promising, though. (another crooked smile)

Pelle: Don't get too excited about the whole thing.

Vernath: Why not? Come on, Pelle, let's not keep our client waiting.

Pelle: Jeez, Vernath. You actually enjoy plotting, don't you.

Vernath (laughs): That's our evil Klingon nature, don't you know.

Pelle: Is the room prepared?

Vernath: Of course. As if you haven't checked it yourself ten minutes ago.

Pelle: Just to make sure. Knowing you, Vernath.

Vernath (annoyed): Just what is that supposed to mean?

Pelle: Er, sorry. That was supposed to be a compliment.

Vernath: <...>

(Pelle stands up and leaves. Vernath taps a jewelled pin on her collar and
says something in an alien language [not Klingon].
Cut to Pelle walking along a corridor. He stops at one of the doors which
slides open after a couple of seconds. One can notice the unusual thickness of
the walls. The room has windows but the curtains are down. A simple table and
two chairs are the only furniture. One of the chairs is occupied by the alien
who got stuck in the door.)

Pelle (pulls the chair away from the table and sits down, facing the alien):
Good afternoon.

Alien (stares at him): Are you Pelle?

Pelle (somewhat annoyed by the stare): No, I'm a Venusian slime mold.

Alien: This is not the appropriate time for jokes.

Pelle: All right, all right. You're my prospective employer after all. I am
Pelle.

Alien (not noticing the irony in Pelle's voice): You can call me Daruma. My
real name is not important.

Pelle: I understand. Some of the names that our parents give us are real
bummers. 

Daruma (smiles a forced smile): I heard that you like to make jokes.

Pelle: Not really. I'm just not as gloomy as other people in the business. I
just stand out, that's it. If I were to try being a stand-up comedian, I
wouldn't stand a chance.

Daruma: We don't want you for your comedy talents.

Pelle (bored): Guess not. Nobody seems to like my jokes. All right, what is
that you want me to do?

Daruma: We want someone in Starfleet to be killed.

Pelle: I don't usually do assassinations. You and your organization, whatever
it might be, ought to know that.

Daruma: Yet we know that you are good at everything you do. Maybe besides
making jokes.

Pelle: Who exactly in Starfleet?

Daruma: His name is Captain Picard.

Pelle (looks quizzically at Daruma): Captain Picard? He is a well-known
person.

Daruma (his emotions surface for an instant): Too well known for his own good.

Pelle (takes a deep breath): Kinda stuffy in here. The climate control needs
adjustment.

Daruma: Excuse me?

Pelle: oh, nothing.

Daruma: Do you agree?

Pelle: I said, he is a well-known person.

Daruma: We'll pay you well.

Pelle (another quizzical look): Just how well?

(Daruma takes his suitcase and opens it. Inside, there is a small grey box.
Daruma taps on the cover which becomes transparent. Inside there are several
fairly large crystals.)

Daruma: Dilithium crystals. Current market price is 500,000.

Pelle (takes a small tricorder from the jacket pocket and scans the box):
Looks real enough.

Daruma: Do you accept the offer?

Pelle (takes a deep breath, looks at the ceiling and breathes out): How 'bout
this: you take your money, buy your buddies from the Ladonian Liberation
Alliance some cookies at the nearest coffee shop and make this planet free of
your presence in 12 hours.

Daruma (in disbelief): What?

Pelle: Actually, make it 6 hours, or I'll keep the crystals. I could use some
pocket change, y'know.

Daruma (draws out a phaser): You are quite stupid, Pelle. You must realize
that I cannot let you out of this room alive.

Pelle: Whoa, you are holding it the right way. Congratulations. Must be quite
an accomplishment for a Lardonian.

Daruma: I was right about you. You are just a clown.

(Closeup of Daruma's hand. His index finger is straight and definitely not in
the proximity of a triger.)

Daruma: What the...?

Pelle (looks at Daruma in the same way a scientist looks at a rat): Works well
so far.

Daruma: I - I can't move.

Pelle: Of course you can't. This is a small invention of mine...Not entirely
mine, mind you - I was using other people's research in the process, but the
end result is quite unique...What incapacitates you now is a nanite-like
artificial parasite which I designed a year ago...Never had a chance to use it
before, I must admit.
(stands up and starts walking around the table)
These micro-parasites were spread on the table surface before you came here -
you didn't notice that I never touched it with my hands. The parasites
penetrated through the skin on your palms and into the bloodstream. That was
easy enough to design, nothing new, really, nature has been using this method
for millenia.

(Daruma looks at him with fear and hartred)

Daruma: You planned this from the start!

Pelle (ignores him): Now the interesting part: the surfaces of these parasites
were coated with a protein that has an affinity towards the cell membranes of
the glial cells that cover the nerves...Of course there is a problem that the
all might stick to one nerve and we don't want that, do we...well, I don't,
you do, of course...that's why there is a proximity detector in each of them -
the binding properties are temporarily suppressed when one of them is near an
already bound nanite. After five-ten minutes your nervous system is seeded
with these computer-controlled parasites...Now, when you presented me with
that loony proposition of yours, I said a keyword - "climate control". A
nanite attached to an auditory nerve has read the signal that the key word
generated and released a chemical messenger into the bloodstream. This
messenger activated the nanites attached to the nerves in your hand, telling
them to block a specific signal from the brain - a signal that tells the index
finger to squeeze the trigger. 

(takes a keychain from his pocket and spins the keys around his finger)

Pelle: You must have realized that this signal word is quite unnecessary. A
touch of designer's vanity on my part, perhaps. If I ever decide to sell this
thing, it would be just with the remote control, like the one I'm holding now
in my hand. (takes out his mini-tricorder) Or I might list the voice control
as an option and charge extra for it, I'm not sure...Together with the nanites
in your body this tricorder works as a CNS emulator, which results in your
body accepting my voice commands and not the ones from your brain.
(puts the keychain back into his pocket)
Anyway, Mr. Daruma, talking to you has been extremely enjoyable, but I'm
afraid I can't do this all day. (turns away from Daruma and looks at the
window curtains) Therefore, I would be much obliged if you could turn this
phaser around and pull the trigger...

(Daruma's hand turns the phaser around until it is pointing directly at his
chest. We can see sweat on his forehead.
A closeup of Daruma's index finger pressing the trigger.
A dull clunk of the phaser dropping to the floor.

Pelle turns around, comes to the table, puts on a glove and picks up the
phaser. He sets it on low-power, high-dispersion and moves the resulting broad
beam across the table and the suitcase. He then throws the phaser away, takes
off the glove, opens the suitcase, takes the box with the dilithium crystals
and puts it into his pocket.

The door opens. Vernath comes in.)

Vernath: Hey, you greedy human. Don't forget my share.

Pelle: One day those schemes of yours will get you killed.

Vernath (winces): Another of your hypocrisy fits?

Pelle: Where do you see hypocrisy?

Vernath: For one thing, you were the one taking risks.

Pelle: True, but I'm not doing this on a regular basis.

Vernath: Doesn't matter. Death is where you find it.

Pelle: Oh yes, the Klingon fatalism. A good way to avoid unnecessary stress, I
must admit.

Vernath: Could we discuss the respective philosophies of our races some time
later? Say, after I get the crystals.

Pelle: Crystals? What crystals? they were decomposed by a phaser blast, as
your report says.

Vernat: You know something? This Lardonian was pathetic, but he was right
about one thing, though...you are not funny.

Pelle (with resignation): All right, here they are. (hands the box over to
Vernath)

Vernath: Great! Too bad we have to share it with the spaceport security.

Pelle: What about the other two Lardonians?

Vernath: We tried to arrest them twenty minutes ago. Unfortunately, they
resisted arrest and were mortally wounded in the resulting shootout.

Pelle: And this guy here? (points over his shoulder to the chair where Daruma
was sitting)

Vernath: As we decided earlier. He presented you with a ridiculous
proposition. When, understandably, you refused, he tried  to kill you.
Fortunately, you had a concealed phaser with a neural link, which you used to
protect yourself... Not that you don't have one, in those padded shoulders of
yours. 

Pelle: I just love the law enforcement here!

Vernath (annoyed): I see nothing wrong in what I did. Only a falzh would
surrender the spoils of war. Or law enforcement, in my case.
[Note: "falzh" - literally translated as "subdued warrior"]

Pelle: Come on, Vernath. It was not about morality at all. Just a humorous
conmment. 

Vernath: Yet humor is a reflection of reality and in reality humans are
hypocrites who hate to confront their own selfishness. Thus your comment.

Pelle: Is this Klingon psychoanalysis? Stereotypes, stereotypes.

Vernath (gives him a side look): You, humans, are too frail for Klingon
psychoanalysis.

Pelle: Then it's just stereotypes.

Vernath: These are my observations.

Pelle: Maybe you should observe more.

Vernath: Sure. I'm going to drop everything and devote my life to observing
human behavior patterns.

Pelle: If you had time to observe, you would have noticed a lot.

Vernath: Like what?

Pelle: Just think about it. (points at Daruma's chair) This sort of thing
would have been unthinkable even thirty years ago. Some third-rate provincial
terrorist plotting to assassinate a key Starfleet figure? (after a pause)
Somewhat ironic, isn't it? Even as the Federation is growing in size and
power, it is losing respect.

Vernath: The better for us. When people do not believe that the Federation
will protect them, they come to us.

Pelle: Or our competitors...Well, I have to go now...

Vernath: When are you leaving?

Pelle: Tonight. They should finish the work about ten. I'll run the
diagnostics - should take about thirty minutes - and then take off.

Vernath: I'll have the money transferred to your account as usual. Good luck
in whatever you are looking for this time.

Pelle: Nothing in particular, just some loose ends...Good luck to you, too.

Pelle/Vernath: See you.

(Pelle leaves. Vernath sits down on a chair, takes one crystal out of the box
and tosses it into the air like we usually would toss a coin.)

-------------

(Inside a spaceport. Somewhat similar to a modern-day airport, but more
sophisticated (obviously). Everything looks shiny, new, expensive and somewhat
tasteless - twenty-fourth century baroque. A counter with a huge holographic
sign above it in the air says "Luxion Spacelink - Customer Service". A young
girl in a white and gold uniform is standing behind the counter, the wall
behind her back a huge 3-d screen which is showing short flashes of various
places where you can get by Spacelink. Two people are standing near the
counter.)

Girl: I am truly sorry, sir, but the engine parts won't be here until
Wednesday. This kind of a malfunction is extremely rare, basically unheard of
and we just don't have the right part in stock here on Rocinante.

Wesley Crusher (yes, it's him): And there is no othe company that flies to
Starbase 37?

Girl: No, sir.

(Wesley mutters something)

Wesley's companion: Wes, what's the problem? They are gonna pay for the hotel
and give us a 50% refund. Why not stay here till Wednesday? This is Rocinante
after all, not some starbase.

Wesley: I told Captain Picard that I'm going to be there on the eleventh.

Mike: So what? We can't have a better excuse. Come on, when will you ever have
another opportunity to come here?

Wesley: Picard is not gonna like it and nobody will believe our story about
the engine failure. They'll think that we've stayed here on our own.

Mike: We can get a confirmation from Luxion if it comes to that.

Wesley: Mike, I just have to be there on the eleventh. You can stay here, it
is fine with me. You don't have to come.

Mike: No way. If you go, I can't stay and you know that. 

Girl: Excuse me.

Wesley: Oh, er, sorry.

Girl: There are no flights, as I said, but I can try something else.

Wesley: Could you, please?

Girl: There might be a freighter or a private ship of some kind going to
Antanarivu, a planet in the same star system as Starbase 37.

Wesley: That would be great.

Mike (to himself): No, it wouldn't.

Girl: Let me remind you that if you use a non-registered flight, you are not
eliegible for the 50% refund on your ticket.

Wesley: That's OK.

Mike (sourly): Just great!

Girl (puts her hand on a grey panel on her desk. Since there are no visible
keys, the panel must be a neural interface of some kind.): Hello, is Changting
here? Hi, this is Dora. Oh, nothing much. Listen, one of our flights got
cancelled...Do you know of anybody going to Antanarivu today? Oh, really!
When?...Will they take passengers?...Two, both human, they are actually going
to S-b 37...I see...Yeah, sure. (to Wesley) There is a small ship leaving for
Antanarivu around ten-thirty. A friend of mine is going to find out if they
take passengers.

Wesley: Thank you very much.

Mike: Wes, you can't be serious about going on a freighter. Come on, let's
stay.

Wesley: Sorry, Mike, I just can't.

Mike: Is it really about Captain Picard? Or is it about that girl on the
Enterprise? She's gonna be mad if you stay here on Rocinante, right?

Wesley: What are you talking about? Robin is not that kind of person at all.
Besides, we are just friends.

Mike: Yeah, yeah, sure.

[Note: Robin is Robin Lefler from "The Game". In her Starfleet Academy years
was one of the initiators of the RRF boycott.]

Girl (puts her hand on the panel again): Yes, Ching...They will?...OK, I'll be
sending them over...All right, see you later...Bye. (to Wesley) She said
you'll have to talk to the captain of the ship.

Wesley: Thank you very much. Where is it?

Girl: It's in zone fifteen, hangar 182. I'll load the directions into
your pocketbook.

Wesley: Thanks a lot. (gives her his pocket book)

Girl (takes the pocketbook and passes it over a blinking light): The
directions are in your pocketbook now. Voice and visual. (to herself: Shimada
66? This stuff is old! Gives Wesley his pocketbook and also a thin pad with a
stylus) Could you sign this disclaimer form, please?

Wesley: Disclaimer form?

Girl: Yes, that you don't want the hotel and are changing to a non-registered
carrier.

(Wesley takes the pad, examines it for 20-25 seconds and signs his name.)

Wesley: Thank you very much. (opens the pocket book and starts walking away,
holding it in his right hand)

(Mike starts to pick up his bag.)

Girl: Are you sure you don't want to stay? In such a hurry to get to this
Antanarivu place?

Mike: Ahh, he is hopeless. I would love to, though. (picks up his bag and
walks away)

Girl (taps one of her earrings): Calling Jennifer Baer, scrambled...Hi,
Jen...listen, we've got two who are taking a non-registered carrier...Yeah,
we've had a cancellation...Can you convert the hotel stay into cash?...Great,
I'll do the paperwork...Great, we'll blow it together. Is your boyfriend in
town?...Where do you wanna go?...Sounds great...Allright, I'll meet you in the
cafeteria at 5...Bye.

---------------------------

An open field that stretches as far as the eye can see. Huge hangars here and
there, arranged in an irregular fashion. An immense holographic projection of
a beer bottle to the left. several large cargo shuttles and a couple of sporty
warp sleds stand in the parking lot to the right. The parking lot is marked by
luminous lights. An antigrav truck glides by.
An automated taxicab stops near one of the hangars. Wesley and Mike climb out
with their bags. Wesley is still holding his pocketbook in one hand.

Mike: Jeez, this spaceport is HUGE.

Wesley: This should be the place.

Mike: Nobody's here.

Wesley: Perhaps they are in the hangar.

Mike: I wonder what kind of a ship this is. The hangar is really big.

Wesley: It is probably for a cargo shuttlecraft. I'm pretty sure the actual
ship is in orbit.

Mike (points at the door in the hangar wall): Shall we knock?

Wesley: I guess so. (walks to the door and examines it, then puts his hand on
a pad to the right of the door) Nope, doesn't open. No buzzer, either.

Mike (knocks on the door): Anybody here?

(The door opens and Pelle steps out. He is dressed in a standard issue
Starfleet field jacket, jeans and boots with force plates.)

Pelle (looks them over): You are the ones going to Starbase 37?

Wesley (pulls up a smile): Trying to get there. Could you give us a lift?

Pelle: Starfleet cadets, aren't you. What year?

Wesley: Fourth year.

Mike: Third year.

Pelle: So you've had some practical experience with warp drive, eh?

Wesley: Oh, I've had plenty. Even before the academy.

Pelle: How 'bout a deal? I give you a lift to Antanarivu, you calibrate the
warp coils on my ship.

(A look of puzzlement on Wesley's face.)

Wesley: But I thought that you were leaving tonight.

Pelle: That's right.

Wesley: But how can you calibrate the warp coils while in flight?

Pelle: If the speed is below warp 7, it is no problem.

Wesley (still puzzled): OK, we'll do it.

Pelle: OK. Got any baggage?

Wesley: Just our bags.

Pelle: Fine, pick them up and get in. (disappears into the hangar)

(Wesley and Mike walk back to where they dropped their bags.)

Wesley: This is weird.

Mike: I told you we should have stayed. We don't even know the guy.

Wesley: He looks alright. I wonder what kind of a ship he's got, though.

Mike: What do you mean?

Wesley: You see, there are only four kinds of ships where you can calibrate
the warp coils when the warp drive is operational. Three of them are pretty
ancient types and the fourth...no, it can't be.

Mike: Oh, well, we'll find out soon enough.

(Wesley and Mike take their bags and return to the hangar. They both step
inside. Cut to the inside of the hangar.)

Wesley: Oh, SHIT!!!!

Mike: Oh, man!

(The hangar is dimly illuminated and it is hard to see, but the ship inside is
undoubtedly a Bird of Prey.)

Mike: This guy owns a Bird of Prey? No way!

Wesley: Oh, no.

Mike: What's the problem? 

Wesley: Not the BOP warp coils!!

Mike: What's wrong with them?

Wesley: The Klingons did not design this thing to be user-friendly. And the
warp engines, they are a nightmare when it comes to maintenance. 

Mike (vindicated): Well, I don't know much about warp drive, anyway. I'm
pretty sure you can handle it with your background.

Pelle's voice from above: There is a ramp under the right wing. It's pretty
steep, so watch your step.

Mike: We're coming.
(Walks towards the ramp, Wesley is trailing him, terror in his eyes.)

(Cut to the inside of the BOP. Pelle is standing near the airlock door. Mike
and then Wesley climb in.)

Mike (shields his eyes): It's kinda bright in here.

Pelle: Yeah, I had brighter lights installed. All right, let me show you the
room, cause we have to take off in ten minutes - the air traffic here is
pretty thick. I had to book the clearance three days in advance.

(Pelle walks out of the airlock, followed by Mike and Wesley. The doors
close. Cut to Pelle, Wesley and Mike standing outside a door in the corridor.)

Pelle: OK. here is the room. You can get the bedsheets and other stuff from
the locker under the bed. I'll be on the bridge, you can join me if you want.

Mike: Just a curiosity question, but where is the crew?

Pelle: There is no crew. Kazhar is entirely automatic. (leaves)

Mike: This whole thing is weird. I think I remember the guy, though.

Wesley: From where?

Mike: er...er...Yes! Last year's Warp and Impulse magazine! They had a report
on privately owned Birds of Prey and there was a picture of him and his ship.

Wesley: Oh, I see. Another playboy.

Mike: Wes, there might be bugs in this room. Just keep quiet, willya.

(Cut to the bridge, which is brightly illuminated. Pelle is sitting in the
captain's chair, which has huge control panels attached to both armrests.)

Computer voice: Information. We are cleared for takeoff. Activating the hangar
roof now.

Pelle: Hey, Unit. we've just got ourselves a free coil job.

Unit (the computer): That would mean a savings of 10,000.

Pelle: Exactly. Just monitor them to make sure they do not screw anything up.

(Cut to the outside of the ship. The hangar roof starts to shimmer. The BOP
rises and goes through the roof in almost total silence.)

Wesley and Mike appear on the bridge.

Pelle: Want to see the takeoff? Unit, visual.

(We see first the inside of the hangar, then a thin horizontal line moves
across the screen and then there is a rapidly receding view of the field
below with brightly illuminated spaceport buidings and the multitude of lights
- the megalopolis that surrounds the spaceport.)

Wesley: Why is everything so quiet?

Pelle (glad at the opportunity to boast): I've had reactionless thrusters
installed instead of the regular impulse engines.

Wesley: Oh, wow.

Pelle: Saves space. Besides, they are more efficient and more reliable. Wonder
why Starfleet is not using them. The Klingons are putting them on the newer
Birds of Prey standard.

Wesley: There are some shortcomings, though.

Pelle (not inclined to argue): Everything has shortcomings.

Unit: A message from Flight Control. They need a voice confirmation from the
captain.

Pelle (in a bored voice): This is Kazhar, registry number PCC-3698, clearance
number, what is it?

Unit: 98R45

Pelle: Clearance number 98R45.

Voice: You are cleared for orbit. A reminder that energy transfer to any
weapons systems is illegal in Rocinante space. Have a safe trip. Flight
Control out.

Pelle: Unit, once we are in orbit, set a course for Antanarivu. Warp 5.
(To Wesley) Get something to eat - there is a food synthesizer in the hall
outside your room - and let's take a look at the warp drive. No hurry, though,
take your time. I'll be in Engineering anyway.

Wesley: OK, sure.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Path: moe.ksu.ksu.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!cis.ohio-state.edu!pacific.mps.ohio-state.edu!linac!att!bu.edu!buchmf.bu.edu!shimkevi
From: [email-masked] (Sergey Shimkevich)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Grey Stars 3
Message-ID: <[email-masked]>
Date: 22 Jun 92 19:12:55 GMT
Sender: [email-masked]
Organization: Boston University Chemistry Department
Lines: 462

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3.
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A shot of the U.S.S. Resilient moving at warp speed.
Cut to someone's private quarters (quite small as compared to the Enterprise).
There are two beds at the opposite walls, a built-in dresser facing the door
with a large holographic screen [note: it can be set to the reflection mode
and used as a mirror]. Right now the screen is showing the stars
outside the ship. A desk next to each of the beds.
A girl in a T-shirt and bikini pants is lying on one of the beds, eating
something that looks like a candy bar. There are some 3-d pictures on the wall
above her bed - the girl with a couple that look like her parents, the girl
and her father, both wearing unfamiliar uniforms, the girl and Amu, both in
the same uniforms, the girl and Amu in civilian clothes. A large sheathed
sword is hanging on the wall above the pictures.

(The door slides open and Amu comes in)

Amu: Hi there.

Rena: Hey. What's new?

Amu: Don't you know? More trouble.

Rena: How come?

Amu: We've got new info from Gilchres. Looks like the terrorists are cyborgs,
after all.

Rena: Yuck! That's bad.

Amu: So Vildan wants a new weapon - in a couple of hours.

Rena: No way! That's impossible!

Amu: Tell me about that. But we have to come up with something. Those guys are
hyper-liquid powered - we cannot just come in shooting phasers.

Rena: I wish I could help you...I just don't know anything about hand weapons.
(after a pause) Had anything to eat?

Amu: No, not really. This was one hell of a morning.

Rena: Want some? (pulls another "candy bar" out of a plastic bag on her bed)

Amu: Where'd you get that?

Rena: It's the emergency ration from the dropship. Comes in pretty handy when
the Rat shuts down the FP's. (FP - food processor)

Amu: Just make sure he doesn't find out. I had a run-in with him at the staff
meeting.

Rena: Not again! He probably hates your guts by now...

Amu: You bet he is. He's gonna file a formal complaint.

Rena: What did you do this time?

Amu: Something really stupid. Dumped my phaser into a FP to get coffee for the
staff meeting and fried it.

Rena: Whoa, he must have been really mad.

Amu: He was. I really shouldn't have done that. It's just that something got
into me.

Rena: Don't worry about it too much. Vildan is on our side.

Amu: Yeah, she is. I wonder why.

Rena: Aw, come on. One of your moods again?

Amu: I'm so tired of all this crap. Every time we dock at a starbase, those
ensigns giving you side looks. And the officers, they are even worse, looking
you over as if you were some kind of a bug. I never knew it would be like that.

Rena: Who cares about some stupid starbase? Those ensigns are just jealous.
Most of the people on our ship are really nice and that's what counts.
Besides, we've got a job to do and we are doing it. 

Amu: Sure, a job that nobody wanted us to do in the first place.

Rena: Just who is "nobody"? Some moldy Starfleet bureaucrat and his
ass-kissers from the Academy?...They hate me, fine. In fact, I want them to
hate me. I don't want to be liked by them...You're gonna eat or what?

Amu: Put it back. I don't want you to get into trouble.

Rena: Don't worry about that. What I do to the dropship is none of the Rat's
business - Dwight is in charge of all the SWAT stuff.

Amu: Thanks. (takes the "candy bar" and unwraps it)

Rena: No prob. The Rat is an emergency, anyway, so our actions are morally
justified.
(Amu manages a weak smile.)

Amu: Guess I have to start working on this weapon.

(Rena gets off the bed, walks up to the closet and takes out her flight jacket
and pants.)

Amu: Oh, sorry, I didn't mean it this way. You don't have to leave.

Rena: That's fine, I have to go to the hangar anyway.

Amu: Are you sure?

Rena (puts on her uniform and the boots): That's OK.

(Rena leaves. Amu sits down at the terminal on her desk.)

------------

Cut to the bridge, quite small as compared to the Enterprise-D or even the
original Enterprise. The captain's chair has large instrument panels attached
to both armrests. Janosz is working on something on his station, two ensigns
at the helm and navigation are just sitting there looking at their consoles.
The turbolift doors open and Vildan steps out. She is now wearing the RRF
uniform which resembles the one from the ST movies, but it is green with a
golden collar. (looks very impressive on her)

Janosz: Captain on the bridge. (He stands up. The ensign at the navigation also
stands up. [Note: the helmsman and the navigator are not required to])

Almost immediately Vildan's comminicator pin beeps.

Vildan: Cevelek here.

Dwight's voice: Bekele here, captain. We've replicated some weapons. We have
to test them, though.

Vildan: Go ahead.

Dwight: We need your permission to open the shuttle bay doors, Captain.

(Vildan and Janosz look puzzled... Since both of them are standing, the
ensign at the navigation station assumes that he is not supposed to sit down
and continues to stand.)

Vildan: Shuttle bay doors? 

Dwight: These are projectile weapons, so we cannot test-fire them in the
holodeck. We're thinking of opening shuttle bay doors and using the
resulting opening for target practice.

Vildan: Can't you simulate them in the holodeck?

Dwight: Not enough data. All these weapons are pretty old, so the only thing
we have in the computer are the blueprints. No ballistic data whatsoever.
Can't make extrapolations here.

Janosz: What about the contaiment forcefield? 

Dwight (coughs): Well, we were thinking about lowering the frequency and
decreasing the intensity. That would permit the bullets to clear the field but
will still keep the air in.

Vildan: M-m-m-m, allright...Do what you consider necessary.

Dwight: Thank you, captain. I'll give you the test results as soon as we get
them. 

Vildan: I better go and take a look at what they are actually up to. You have
the con, Mr. Illy. (to the ensign at the navigation who is still standing)
You, ensign, are to stand here until further notice. Understood?

Ensign (totally confused): Yes, ma'am!

(The ensign at the helm chuckles.)

(Vildan leaves. Janosz returns to his station without even paying attention to
the standing ensign.)

Ensign at the helm (turns around and says in a "compassionate" voice): You
better do as she said, man. She's ROUGH!

(Cut to Vildan in the turbolift. The doors open and Amu steps in. She is
carrying a rather mean-looking gun.)

Amu: Captain.

Vildan: Leutenant.

(awkward silence)

Vildan: That's quite an interesting idea, leutenant.

Amu: Excuse me, ma'am?

(Vildan's communicator beeps.)

Vildan: Cevelek here.

Meckelein's voice: Captain! Did you authorize the procedure that Lt. Commander
Bekele is requesting?

Vildan: Yes, I did. And yes, it involves opening shuttle bay doors and
changing the containment field parameters.

Meckelein: Yes, Captain. I was just making sure that I that nothing
gets distorted by the chain of command. Sorry to disturb you, Captain.

Vildan: Not at all, Lt. Commander. I appreciate your concern. Cevelek out. (to
Amu) What idea? The one about using the shuttle bay as a shooting range! 

Amu: This is the first time I hear about it, Captain!

Vildan: Hmph, I was sure this was your suggestion...So that's what you've came
up with? Let me see.

(Amu hands the gun over to Vildan who examines it.)

Vildan: Aha, a modified AC-12 [Automatic Caseless]. Haven't seen one for a
long time.

Amu: You used one before?

Vildan: No, I've been shot with one.

(A bewildered look on Amu's face.)

Vildan: I was about your age then. It was supposed to be a routine arrest,
then everything went awry and the shooting started. When I got hit, I didn't
understand what had happened - there are phaser shots all around, I'm
just sitting there, can't get up and my shirt is getting wet. So I am trying
to feel the place where the blood is coming out and thinking: I'm not
stunned 'cause I can move, I'm not vaped 'cause I am still here. So what
the hell is happening? Then I passed out and woke up in a hospital three days
later...Taught me never to underestimate any weapon, no matter how ancient.

Amu: You were in the police, Captain?

Vildan: On my homeworld. Three years.

Amu: Then...

(The turbolift stops. Vildan and Amu step out and start walking down the
corridor.) 

Vildan: How did I end up here? Headhunted, very much like you: the Starfleet
decided that there was a shortage of security personnel and established a
one-year accelerated program for people with law enforcement background. I
applied and (smile/shrug) got accepted.
(after a pause)
Of course there was much less controversy back then. Not that I didn't get my
share of side looks, mind you...People in Starfleet are usually very
protective of their organization. Can be very disheartening if you are an
outsider. One can understand them, though, they are the backbone of the
Federation, after all. So...hang in there, Leutenant. Things will get better
for you.

Amu (grateful): Thank you, Captain.

Vildan: And Leutenant, if I you ever stick out your tongue at somebody at a
staff meeting, you might as well say good-bye to it. I'll cut it off.
Personally. Understood?

Amu (snaps up): Yes, ma'am!

(Cut to the main shuttle bay. It is huge - now it is clear why the rest of the
ship is so cramped. Two levels, one level is basically an elevated platform
that covers approximately 1/3 of the total area. One large door on the first
level, two smaller doors on the second level. The assault craft is on the
second level, two shuttlecraft and several landing modules are on the first.
Various loading equipment on both levels, tractor beam emitters built into the
walls and the ceiling. 
The large door on the first level is open, revealing the warp-distorted space
beyound. Several SWAT troopers in orc suits are shooting at the 3-d targets,
generated by a small holographic projector that is standing to the left of the
bay doors. Bright flashes every time the bullets clear the containment field.
The rest of the SWAT team are standing around the table on which there are all
kinds of guns, mostly arguing. Rena and some guy are on the second level,
doing something to the left engine of the assault craft. Dwight is at the bay
door, shooting a gun and checking a tricorder screen on his arm after each
shot.

Vildan and Amu come in unnoticed.)

Vildan: You recognise the smell, Leutenant?

Amu (not sure): Is it the ozone from the forcefield?

Vildan: That and the pyroxine.

Amu: Pyroxine? 

Vildan: A chemical used in projectile weapons. Very old stuff.

Amu: How do you know all those things, captain?

Vildan: Well, you come across a lot of things when you are in the police.
Contrary to what most people think, common street thugs don't use phasers that
much. A top of the line phaser with auto targeting and a neural link is very
expensive, especially when sold illegally. Also, there aren't that many of
them being manufactured, with all the weapons control laws that the Federation
has. Those that are for sale have an indentification code that is practicaly
unbreakable. No criminal in his right mind will want a weapon like that.

Amu: But one can buy a Romulan or a Klingon disruptor on the black market.

Vildan: It's not that easy as it seems. Romulan smuggling operations are
usually controlled by their intelligence ops, so they wouldn't sell
the weapons to anyone with the money so as not to blow their cover. Most of
the "romulan" stuff that is being sold on the side is actually made on
Rocinante and of rather poor quality. Besides, since we are the dominant race
in the Federation, yes, we are, it's just a fact, most of the criminals are
humans and they wouldn't deal with the Romulans. Warped patriotism, I guess. 
As for the Klingon disruptors, they usually sell them on the frontier worlds
where the prices are higher. Some eventually trickle down, but not much.
Besides, Gavron has now cracked down on the smugglers so as not to strain the
relations with the Federation. 

Amu: Guess it's easier to rewire a food synthesizer and make a gun.

Vildan: Exactly. Cheap and impossible to trace.

(They now are at the table. The SWAT people finally notice them and salute.
Amu is trying her best to look very important.)

SWAT trooper (shouts): Dwight! The captain is here!

(Dwight stops shooting, turns around and walks up to the table.)

Dwight: We're down to three, Captain. Two standard cartridge-based guns, one
EM (electromagnetic). (points at the three guns lying in the middle of the
table)

Vildan (picks up one of them): This is pretty small for an EM.

Dwight: This one shoots darts instead of the regular slugs. Rather short
range, but we won't need more.

Vildan: What are the test results?

Dwight: They all work, more or less. Performance isn't the problem, really.

Vildan: Then what is?

Dwight: These things work on the all-or-nothing principle - kill or
miss. That place is packed and they WILL be using the hostages as shields.
Frankly, I don't see how we are going to pull it off without some of the
hostages getting caught in the crossfire.

Vildan: What choice have we got? If we use phasers, we can lose everyone.

Dwight: The cyborgs could be wired for self-destruct from the beginning,
anyway .

Vildan: Could be. Could be not.

Dwight: A game of possibilities.

Vildan: So it is. We just play by the rules and count our
blessings...(examines the EM gun) This is an intreresting one. Can I? 

Dwight: Sure, Captain.

(Vildan comes up to the bay doors and starts shooting. Even though she hits
all the targets, her mind is clearly somewhere else.) 

Dwight (to Amu): Hi, Amu. Got another one for us?

Amu: Yeah. Looks like I'm too late to make suggestions, though.

Dwight: Let me see it. (takes the gun) Just curious, why this one?

Amu: Well, I just browsed over the specs and this one looked like it would be
the best against the type of armor that those cyborgs have. 

Dwight: I'll test it, anyway. Say, why did you keep the laser sight? 

Amu: Oh, I just told the computer to make it as it was, didn't change
anything.

(Dwight takes off the laser sight and walks over to the "shooting range". Amu
picks it up and looks it over. Suddenly a paper plane hits her shoulder.)

Rena's voice from the second level: YAHOO!!! GOTCHA!!!

(Amu picks up the plane and throws it back, but misses Rena by a wide margin.)

(Rena climbs down from the platform and walks up to Amu.)

Rena: Hi! What's up? What's that?

Amu: Hi. It's a laser sight from one of the guns.

Rena: Looks like a Mark 2 hand phaser without the handle.

Amu (she was not listening): Say what?

Rena: I said it looks like a mark 2 without the handle.

(Amu looks at Rena, then at the laser sight.)

Rena: Eh? 

Amu: You know what? You've just given me an idea.

Rena (suspiciously): What kind of idea?

Amu: I'll tell you in a second. (runs off and out of the shuttle bay)

Rena: Weird woman!

(Cut to Amu in a small section of the ship that looks like a lab. She is
standing near something that looks like a food synthesizer, but more
complicated, and punching the controls furiously.)

Amu (pushes the panel for the last time): Done! 

(Something materializes on the pad. Looks like a gun with a laser sight. but if
one is to look more carefully, it is obvious that the "laser sight" is
actually a phaser. Amu picks up the gun and runs away.)

(Back in the shuttle bay. Vildan puts down the gun and looks at the small
display on the handle.)

Vildan: Just as I thought - has to be calibrated every ten minutes. That's
what killed the EM handguns in the first place.

Dwight: It shouldn't take longer, Captain.

Vildan: That's true.

(Amu comes rushing in)

Vildan: What's the rush, Leutenant?

Dwight: Another one? 

Amu: You see, I put a phaser on top of this one, set on stun. If you could
take this (gives her pocketbook to Vildan, who is now standing with an EM gun
in one hand and Amu's pocketbook in another). You see, you fire the phaser
first, then it hits the guy..er, terrorist. If he is normal, he gets stunned.
If he is a cyborg, then the charge dissolves some of the sythskin, which gives
these spectral lines. The auto-targeting scanner right here (points at the
upper part of the gun that she is holding) recognises those lines and shoots a
dart. 

Vildan (looks at Amu's gun and then at the pocketbook): Hmm, looks
reasonable...Dwight, what do you think?

Dwight: Could work. We'll have to test-fire it here and then run a simulation
in the holodeck. If we have time, that is.

Vildan: You have five hours. After that I want the whole scenario completed
and ready to go.

Dwight: Yes, ma'am.

Vildan: I'll be in my quarters. (leaves)