Sgt. Dick Reilly pushed past the yellow “police line” tape that sealed the entranceway of the tenement off from gawkers. Patrolman Leif Garrotson was standing next to the door. The hour was late and no one was really around.
“Hey Sarge, I didn’t know they woke you up for this.” He smiled at the dour and obviously sleepy detective in the beige trench.
“Yeah, well, they said it was a bit…unusual. So they dragged me out of bed.” Reilly tried to smile as if he had cracked a joke but his boozy eyes made a lie of his humor.
Garrotson played along, keeping his tone light. “Unusual? Kinda like my wife’s pork chops. We got a burn mark on the floor-and not much else. You’ll see when you get up there.”
Reilly grunted. “Oh, great, an arson killer. Loving it already.” Garrotson put a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to pause before he entered the brownstone.
No, Sarge, this one is really weird.” Reilly caught the look in the patrolman’s eyes and wondered what he’d been woken up for. “You’ll see,” the cop added, letting Reilly go.
Reilly staggered up the stairs to the first floor landing. There were a couple more patrolmen outside the door of the apartment in question. Reilly waved a hand vaguely in their direction and entered the apartment. What he saw sobered him up instantly. The outline of a man was burned into the carpet, arms flung out in a sprawled position. The surrounding carpet wasn’t even scorched. There were a few fragments of ash within the burn but Reilly didn’t have to be a coroner to know there wasn’t anything to use for identification purposes. He glanced around the apartment. It didn’t impress him. The furniture was shabby, the kind you see at yard sales. There weren’t any pictures or decorations on the walls, which struck him as odd. Turning back to the door, he noticed a couple of odd gashes in the frame. “What the fuck is that?” he murmured to himself. The two cuts in the wood looked like knife marks. They were about fourteen inches apart. He got close enough to bump his nose on the wall so he could examine them through his still-bleary eyes. “That’s odd,” he said aloud. He often talked to himself these days. Since his wife had left it was the only conversation that occurred in his apartment and the habit had followed him whenever he was alone. The two cuts were distinctly different. “Who the hell would take the time to stab the doorframe with two separate knives?” He turned back to the …well, not body, but ash pile. “Stab the doorframe with two separate knives and burn some guy to cigarette ash. What the hell happened here?” At the thought of a cigarette he pulled a Marlboro out of his jacket pocket and lit it, a bemused expression on his face.
*******************************
The USS Seleya was in port at Deep Space Nine for maintenance and most of the non-essential crew was on shore leave. Joe Torres and Shandahat were strolling along the Promenade, having just finished lunch.
“I don’t know how you can eat that stuff,” Joe commented to his fellow Security officer. “When most people smell Klingon food they run the other way.”
His Andorian companion just grinned at him, showing off teeth filed to a point. “Like I told you, tibia claw is delicious. You eat that stuff-what do you call it-shrimp. How is tibia claw any different? It’s just Klingon seafood.” Joe gave him a look like he’d volunteered to go for a space walk without an environment suit.
“You know that the tibia has poison sacs in each of it’s twelve claws, right? And that all Klingon restaurants in Federation space are required to keep dedicated transporter units linked to the nearest medical facilities in case a customer dies from a poorly prepared meal?” Joe sounded exasperated.
Shandahat’s grin just got wider. “That’s what makes it a fun meal!” Joe shook his head in disgust and opened his mouth to add a rejoinder but they were both distracted by suddenly upraised voices near bye.
“You irresponsible idiot! How could you allow that?” The Human standing in front of the Bajoran temple was red-faced and angry, pillorying a temple vedek. The vedek was gazing back at him mildly. Torres and Shandahat exchanged a glance and sauntered over towards the confrontation, their Security instincts kicking in. “Don’t you realize the consequences, the potential for disaster?” The Human was practically frothing at the mouth.
Torres cleared his throat.” Is there a problem here?” he asked. The Human whirled on him.
“Why don’t you mind your own-“he started to snarl. Then he abruptly shut up as he took in their Starfleet uniforms. Pulling a small device out of his jacket pocket, he waved it at the two of them. “Lt.’s Shandahat and Torres, Security, USS Seleya. You were involved in that multiverse thing a while back, weren’t you?” He slipped the device back into his jacket and straightened his lapels.
The two men looked at him in surprise. “How the hell do you know that? And how do you know who we are?” Shandahat’s voice carried an unspoken hint of menace. The man waved a hand patronizingly at the vedek, effectively dismissing him. With a faint bow the vedek disappeared into the temple.
“Your com badges have an embedded frequency that links to your service records,” the man answered crisply. “We don’t have much time and you’re cleared for high level security. You need to come with me.” Torres looked at Shand and then back at the man.
“Sure, no problem. We’d love to help you with your hallucinations.” The sarcasm in Torres’s voice was so blatant Shandahat winced visibly. The man looked at them with poorly concealed contempt.
“Your records mentioned that you both have a problem with poorly-timed attempts at humor. Now is not the time.” He reached back into his jacket and pulled out a Federation government ID unit. In the one hundred and fifty years since their introduction no one had successfully counterfeited one, and Torres and Shandahat both knew it. He activated the basic information tab and Torres blanched while Shandahat turned a pale blue. “You’ll come with me now. Your leaves are revoked and any activities you engage in under my orders are covered by the Archer Protocols.” In an off-hand aside he added, “My name is Saunders.”
Torres looked at his buddy and then back at Saunders. “Um, we never saw you and we’re leaving now.” He started to turn and Saunders grabbed his arm.
“Sorry, not going to happen. I only have a few minutes, maybe an hour, before the temporal change wave hits. That fool Bajoran gave the wrong person access to the Orb of Time and all Hell’s going to break loose unless you two do exactly as I say. You two are all I’ve got and you are going to help. Otherwise you guys are going to spend a long time in whatever version of Sundancer survives the temporal flux. If you’re lucky. I said I was invoking the Archer Protocols. You know that gives me authority due to ‘immanent and impending temporal changes’, so stop your grousing.” Torres looked at Shandahat, who nodded at him, and quit trying to get away. Saunders carefully let go of his arm.
“Look, um, Saunders, everyone who has anything to do with you Temporal Investigation guys ends up with some kind of black mark or reprimand on his record. I’m just not interested in having my career ruined.”
“Yeah,” piped up Shandahat,”He’s already got me-he doesn’t need any more trouble than that.” Saunders gave them both a sour look.
“Time is not on our side.” Saunders acted as if he hadn’t heard either of them. “My ship’s on Docking Ring Three. Let’s go.” He strode off at a good clip. Shand tipped his antennae at Joe and held out one arm.
“After you,” he said. Torres eyed him speculatively for a moment and then shrugged. They trailed off after the TI agent. Various shoppers of an assortment of races walked passed them, blissfully unaware of the air of impending doom that enveloped the two security officers.
*******************************
Reilly flipped his cigarette out of the open window of the apartment and glanced down at the layer of undisturbed dust that coated the sill. Whoever had committed the crime, they hadn’t come up the fire escape or left that way. He looked about the room for any other hint of who’d been killed or who’d done the killing. CSI hadn’t found anything to identify the victim and the killer or killers hadn’t left anything behind. Reilly hated efficient criminals. They made his job that much tougher. His hangover chose that moment to come screaming back and he swayed lightly. Groaning, he sank to the floor. “I should just lie down for a moment,” he thought. He eased himself from a sitting position until his head rested on the carpet. “Ah, that’s the ticke-“ He froze, peering under the radiator attached to the wall near the door. “What the Hell is this?” He snaked his hand under the radiator and pulled out…something. It was about five inches long, a thin cylinder that elongated right on the end, almost like a suction cup. The other end had a cut look. He looked into it and noticed a liquid coating the cut end. It was tacky to the touch, almost like congealed blood. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, trying to clear his vision. He wasn’t sure if it was the residual effect of the alcohol in his system but in his view the liquid looked blue.
*************************
“Hey Sarge, I didn’t know they woke you up for this.” He smiled at the dour and obviously sleepy detective in the beige trench.
“Yeah, well, they said it was a bit…unusual. So they dragged me out of bed.” Reilly tried to smile as if he had cracked a joke but his boozy eyes made a lie of his humor.
Garrotson played along, keeping his tone light. “Unusual? Kinda like my wife’s pork chops. We got a burn mark on the floor-and not much else. You’ll see when you get up there.”
Reilly grunted. “Oh, great, an arson killer. Loving it already.” Garrotson put a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to pause before he entered the brownstone.
No, Sarge, this one is really weird.” Reilly caught the look in the patrolman’s eyes and wondered what he’d been woken up for. “You’ll see,” the cop added, letting Reilly go.
Reilly staggered up the stairs to the first floor landing. There were a couple more patrolmen outside the door of the apartment in question. Reilly waved a hand vaguely in their direction and entered the apartment. What he saw sobered him up instantly. The outline of a man was burned into the carpet, arms flung out in a sprawled position. The surrounding carpet wasn’t even scorched. There were a few fragments of ash within the burn but Reilly didn’t have to be a coroner to know there wasn’t anything to use for identification purposes. He glanced around the apartment. It didn’t impress him. The furniture was shabby, the kind you see at yard sales. There weren’t any pictures or decorations on the walls, which struck him as odd. Turning back to the door, he noticed a couple of odd gashes in the frame. “What the fuck is that?” he murmured to himself. The two cuts in the wood looked like knife marks. They were about fourteen inches apart. He got close enough to bump his nose on the wall so he could examine them through his still-bleary eyes. “That’s odd,” he said aloud. He often talked to himself these days. Since his wife had left it was the only conversation that occurred in his apartment and the habit had followed him whenever he was alone. The two cuts were distinctly different. “Who the hell would take the time to stab the doorframe with two separate knives?” He turned back to the …well, not body, but ash pile. “Stab the doorframe with two separate knives and burn some guy to cigarette ash. What the hell happened here?” At the thought of a cigarette he pulled a Marlboro out of his jacket pocket and lit it, a bemused expression on his face.
*******************************
The USS Seleya was in port at Deep Space Nine for maintenance and most of the non-essential crew was on shore leave. Joe Torres and Shandahat were strolling along the Promenade, having just finished lunch.
“I don’t know how you can eat that stuff,” Joe commented to his fellow Security officer. “When most people smell Klingon food they run the other way.”
His Andorian companion just grinned at him, showing off teeth filed to a point. “Like I told you, tibia claw is delicious. You eat that stuff-what do you call it-shrimp. How is tibia claw any different? It’s just Klingon seafood.” Joe gave him a look like he’d volunteered to go for a space walk without an environment suit.
“You know that the tibia has poison sacs in each of it’s twelve claws, right? And that all Klingon restaurants in Federation space are required to keep dedicated transporter units linked to the nearest medical facilities in case a customer dies from a poorly prepared meal?” Joe sounded exasperated.
Shandahat’s grin just got wider. “That’s what makes it a fun meal!” Joe shook his head in disgust and opened his mouth to add a rejoinder but they were both distracted by suddenly upraised voices near bye.
“You irresponsible idiot! How could you allow that?” The Human standing in front of the Bajoran temple was red-faced and angry, pillorying a temple vedek. The vedek was gazing back at him mildly. Torres and Shandahat exchanged a glance and sauntered over towards the confrontation, their Security instincts kicking in. “Don’t you realize the consequences, the potential for disaster?” The Human was practically frothing at the mouth.
Torres cleared his throat.” Is there a problem here?” he asked. The Human whirled on him.
“Why don’t you mind your own-“he started to snarl. Then he abruptly shut up as he took in their Starfleet uniforms. Pulling a small device out of his jacket pocket, he waved it at the two of them. “Lt.’s Shandahat and Torres, Security, USS Seleya. You were involved in that multiverse thing a while back, weren’t you?” He slipped the device back into his jacket and straightened his lapels.
The two men looked at him in surprise. “How the hell do you know that? And how do you know who we are?” Shandahat’s voice carried an unspoken hint of menace. The man waved a hand patronizingly at the vedek, effectively dismissing him. With a faint bow the vedek disappeared into the temple.
“Your com badges have an embedded frequency that links to your service records,” the man answered crisply. “We don’t have much time and you’re cleared for high level security. You need to come with me.” Torres looked at Shand and then back at the man.
“Sure, no problem. We’d love to help you with your hallucinations.” The sarcasm in Torres’s voice was so blatant Shandahat winced visibly. The man looked at them with poorly concealed contempt.
“Your records mentioned that you both have a problem with poorly-timed attempts at humor. Now is not the time.” He reached back into his jacket and pulled out a Federation government ID unit. In the one hundred and fifty years since their introduction no one had successfully counterfeited one, and Torres and Shandahat both knew it. He activated the basic information tab and Torres blanched while Shandahat turned a pale blue. “You’ll come with me now. Your leaves are revoked and any activities you engage in under my orders are covered by the Archer Protocols.” In an off-hand aside he added, “My name is Saunders.”
Torres looked at his buddy and then back at Saunders. “Um, we never saw you and we’re leaving now.” He started to turn and Saunders grabbed his arm.
“Sorry, not going to happen. I only have a few minutes, maybe an hour, before the temporal change wave hits. That fool Bajoran gave the wrong person access to the Orb of Time and all Hell’s going to break loose unless you two do exactly as I say. You two are all I’ve got and you are going to help. Otherwise you guys are going to spend a long time in whatever version of Sundancer survives the temporal flux. If you’re lucky. I said I was invoking the Archer Protocols. You know that gives me authority due to ‘immanent and impending temporal changes’, so stop your grousing.” Torres looked at Shandahat, who nodded at him, and quit trying to get away. Saunders carefully let go of his arm.
“Look, um, Saunders, everyone who has anything to do with you Temporal Investigation guys ends up with some kind of black mark or reprimand on his record. I’m just not interested in having my career ruined.”
“Yeah,” piped up Shandahat,”He’s already got me-he doesn’t need any more trouble than that.” Saunders gave them both a sour look.
“Time is not on our side.” Saunders acted as if he hadn’t heard either of them. “My ship’s on Docking Ring Three. Let’s go.” He strode off at a good clip. Shand tipped his antennae at Joe and held out one arm.
“After you,” he said. Torres eyed him speculatively for a moment and then shrugged. They trailed off after the TI agent. Various shoppers of an assortment of races walked passed them, blissfully unaware of the air of impending doom that enveloped the two security officers.
*******************************
Reilly flipped his cigarette out of the open window of the apartment and glanced down at the layer of undisturbed dust that coated the sill. Whoever had committed the crime, they hadn’t come up the fire escape or left that way. He looked about the room for any other hint of who’d been killed or who’d done the killing. CSI hadn’t found anything to identify the victim and the killer or killers hadn’t left anything behind. Reilly hated efficient criminals. They made his job that much tougher. His hangover chose that moment to come screaming back and he swayed lightly. Groaning, he sank to the floor. “I should just lie down for a moment,” he thought. He eased himself from a sitting position until his head rested on the carpet. “Ah, that’s the ticke-“ He froze, peering under the radiator attached to the wall near the door. “What the Hell is this?” He snaked his hand under the radiator and pulled out…something. It was about five inches long, a thin cylinder that elongated right on the end, almost like a suction cup. The other end had a cut look. He looked into it and noticed a liquid coating the cut end. It was tacky to the touch, almost like congealed blood. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, trying to clear his vision. He wasn’t sure if it was the residual effect of the alcohol in his system but in his view the liquid looked blue.
*************************
