Somehow I forgot that this was a LONG weekend, being at work and all... but, just to let you all know, the next section is being edited for 'realism' and flow. Well, the next section after this one that is. McDougal was quiet as he rifled through the personal belongings of Lieutenant Commander Selma Jean Jones. It was a hard process, mostly because he didn’t know her well enough to know what to keep, what to toss and what to send home to her family. He’d given up sorting for the three long ago and just started to pack out everything. Her quarters were a mirror to his, with the exception that hers were immaculate while his had remained somewhat disheveled before the universe tried to stomp on him yet again.
Thirteen crew members had perished that day, two weeks ago now.
Cerberus managed to crawl under her own power into one of the massive repair bays at Starbase
Hyperion, with much thanks to Captain Smyth and his crew. In honor of the dead, the small crew that piloted the crippled frigate lit every one of her lightable lights, a beacon to guide her lost children home. The wounded, totaling sixty-five, had been transferred to the station and most had recovered fully; but at present, McDougal was sans engineer, security officer, and a handful of not-so-critical positions.
“Shawn?” a familiar voice called from behind him, sending a chill down his spine.
“Over here, Admiral,” he replied, half heartedly. Yesterday he’d watched as Baker’s vessel arrived in the sector. He had dreaded this moment since, and hoped that Baker would catch up with him.
Baker walked in from McDougal’s side of the shared head, and sighed as he passed into Jones’ quarters. “I didn’t expect to find you,” he started bluntly, “especially after that stunt you pulled at New Alexandria.”
Here comes the butt chewing, he thought. McDougal stopped packing momentarily and straightened his back. He sighed, “Permission to speak candidly, sir?”
“You’re going to say that you hate me, my style, and possibly my great aunt Thelma for not dropping me on my head more as a small boy, right?” Baker smiled slightly. “I get that a lot, son, so don’t you worry, I won’t take offense,” he raised a thin finger as if to guide his next words home, “but Aunty Thelma did have a killer gumbo recipe…”
McDougal squared his shoulders and turned to face the man. Anger at being mocked held at bay for the moment, he simply said, “Permission to speak candidly, sir?”
Baker waved his right hand at him, a gesture that mimicked his words, “Whatever you need to say, go ahead.”
McDougal produced a communicator from his belt and operated one of the tiny dials, setting it to ‘record’. “You don’t mind repeating that do you sir, for the record?”
“I don’t know what game you are playing at here… Yes, you have permission to speak freely.”
“Good,” he said calmly, hoping to hold all the pent up anger he had just a moment longer. He set the device down on top of Jones’ bed and turned silently to gaze out the small window afforded to these quarters. The view was spectacular, despite being framed in such a small way. He looked out over the forward hull, the ship’s glistening grey-white hull reflecting much of the work lights positioned about in
Hyperion’s major repair bay. Work bees and shuttle craft of all types darted around the busy complex, but his gaze fixed and held fast on two vessels that were docked near to
Cerberus.
It was Operation Unity at work, peace through the cooperation of war, for the two vessels ahead were Kzinti and Klingon. Days ago he’d met with both captains in the stations main bar, and was shocked when they laughed, joked and even held conversations with others of the normally warring species. It was an odd philosophy to him, but the Klingon explained to him simply, “Tomorrow we may fight again as enemies, but today, here, we meet as friends.” McDougal had taken part in the festivities, and managed to milk some important information from the Klingon.
“Do you know how many died on this little excursion of yours?” he asked the admiral coldly.
“Thirteen, if memory serves.”
“Thirteen of
my men and women died because of you, Admiral.”
“I hardly think that…”
“I’m not finished!” This was the first he’d raised his voice to the short man. He turned abruptly to face him, scowled down into his eyes and held up a threatening right index finger. “Because you,” he poked the admiral in the chest, “had a gripe with me about destroying that
enemy vessel.” He paused and let the anger flow from him. “Do you recognize that vessel out there?” he almost yelled the words and pointed to the viewport. The admiral paused a moment and McDougal shouted, “Look!” He resisted the urge to ‘persuade’ the admiral, and allowed the man a brief moment before restating his demand. He moved aside to allow the admiral access to the window.
Hesitantly, Baker complied and looked out the small viewport. “I don’t recognize either of them,” he said calmly. “And I have half a mind to put you on report!” Baker calmly turned around.
“Negative, Admiral. You know which ship that is! It’s the
Decimator, the same ship that dropped off the ambassador to us! The very same ship that left New Alexandria a full hour before we departed, Admiral, and the same ship that arrived
three full days before we were scheduled to arrive.”
“Maybe it is,” Baker replied. “What of it?”
“You told me that
Cerberus was the fastest available.” McDougal again poked at the admiral, this time, though, he was standing out of reach. “
You told me that the Klingon vessel was not granted passage through Federation space! Yet there he is, right before us. Had the Klingons taken the ambassador as planned, they could have decoded his message faster than we could have, and saved a lot of lives.”
“You’re making a big mistake, here,” Baker said threateningly.
“No, I’m not.” McDougal retrieved his communicator and keyed it to an open channel. “Security to the XO’s quarters. Medical team to the XO’s quarters.” He didn’t have time to restore the device to its resting place as Baker made a mad dash for the exit.
Cerberus was mostly unmanned, and of those on board, most would likely be yard workers, there to begin much needed repairs. McDougal hoped that the security detail and medical staff that he’d persuaded on board hadn’t left yet. Without further hesitation, he started up to a run and sped after the now escaping admiral.
Baker ran through the corridor with speed and agility that was uncommon for a man of his age. But that was where McDougal held an advantage, as the younger quickly closed the gap. Through the empty corridors they ran, until Baker finally turned to stop, panting. McDougal was still a bit behind, and didn’t have time to prepare for the phaser beam that struck out at him.
Set to kill he mused as he dove to the floor. “That’s not very Starfleet of you, Admiral!” he taunted. He managed to jump back in time as another beam of death shot at him. He smiled lightly at the scorch in the carpet where he once was.
“You will never understand!” Baker shouted as he fired again. The shot went way off the mark as he was turning to flee again. His escape was cut short as two phaser beams found his torso. “The Masters will prevail!” he shouted as he slumped to the deck, not fully stunned.
McDougal motioned to the two security guards to hold their fire as he approached the crumpled form. He kicked the admiral’s weapon from his hand and gazed down at him. “Med team here!” someone shouted from behind
Cerberus’ CO. McDougal’s view clouded over with red from anger and narrowed to a small tunnel. Baker tried to stand, but McDougal felled him with a swift and forceful kick to the jaw. The anger passed almost wholly as he heard a satisfying crunch from Baker’s face.
“Doc,” he said shakily as the adrenalin rush began to flee his body. “There’s the patient.”
Czar "Ain't I a stinker?" Mohab, who is open to ANY comments (you too, lurkers 
), including guesses *HINT HINT* as to who is of the 13 dead (hint: at least 10 have no name )
P.S. If you don't wanna guess now thats fine, but I'd still like to know later if I killed your guess or not 
