A Bird in the Hand

Posted on Sun 11th Feb, 2018 @ 8:58pm by Colonel Horatio Drake

844 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: A Phaser as Deadly as a Candlestick
Location: W/V Constantine Imperator

Drake and Perry were the last to transport across from the Marine runabout to the civilian transport ship. They materialized in the quarterdeck, and Drake looked around, sighing silently as he noted that his late husband Patrick and Special Agent Solo had come along for the ride.

"Colonel!" shouted an angry voice. "I demand to know why these jack-booted thugs are searching my ship!"

Drake turned to look at the source of the voice, and winced. Surely that was a hallucination, he thought. There couldn't possibly be that many tentacles on one creature! His eyes caught a pair of epaulets, heavily embroidered in gold bullion; they had four strips. "Captain, ah..." he trailed off. What was the captain's name? Someone had mentioned it.

"Vick!" the tentacular apparition exclaimed in anger. "Avar Vick!"

"Captain Vick. Yes." Drake fought back a smirk as Patrick's ghost stood behind the Captain and began pulling faces. "Well, to start with, Captain Vick, Federation Marines don't actually wear jackboots. Jackboots, you see, reach the knee, and the standard Marine combat boot only comes slightly above the ankle."

"You think this is funny?" the tentacled horror demanded. "I have a schedule to keep!"

"I don't find it funny in the least," Drake responded, directing his words at his husband, rather than the Captain. "We're searching for a murderer, Captain Vick. Once we've located our query, or ascertained that she is not here, we'll go away and you may resume your journey." Drake looked at Perry, flicking his eyes toward the transport captain meaningfully.

Isabella caught the glance from Drake and produced a PADD from her pant leg cargo pocket. With her phaser in her other hand, she held up the PADD to Vick to show him a freeze frame picture of the buxom suspect.

"We know she boarded this shuttle. Where is she?" The Security Chief asked Vick.

Drake was distracted by the sound of hard boots on uncarpeted deck plates. As a pair of Marine Raiders in light assault armor came around the corner, the Colonel found himself wondering if greaves counted as jackboots. He looked at the woman between the pair of Marines. She was attractive, he realized in an abstract way. Long hair held back by some sort of hair ornament; sapphire drops and posts in her ears, a sapphire stud in her left nostril. Her eyes were as blue as sapphires, and a ruby, emerald, topaz and sapphire... well, necklace didn't do it justice. Would one call that a "pectoral," Drake wondered. Certainly the large drop on the end did an effective job of bringing one's eyes to her breasts.

Patrick waved a hand at Drake, and he looked as his husband made a gesture of running his hand through his hair. Drake felt his brow creasing in puzzlement, then he was distracted by Special Agent Solo pointing at the jewel beaded clutch the woman was carrying.

"Colonel," one of the Marines said. "This lady came up positive in facial recognition. She's traveling under the name of 'Anise Lay'di."

"Because that's my name," the woman said, pulling her left arm away from the Marine on that side. The Marine simply recaptured it.

"Really?" Drake said, dryly. "A Nice Lady? I think we all know that to be a lie." He moved toward her, holding out his hand for the clutch under her arm. "If you'd let me examine your bag, I think we can clear this all up quickly."

"I am a citizen of Zuanus; I know my rights. Do you have a warrant to search my person or affects?" The woman held her back straight, with her chin up.

"You're a murder suspect," Drake countered. "We have probable cause to believe that evidence pertinent to the death of Starfleet Criminal Investigative Service Special Agent Ilya Solo is in that handbag." He held out his hand. "You can hand it over, or my Marines can take it," he said.

The woman glared at the Marine to her left and pulled her arm free again. She held out the bag toward Drake. He took a step forward, glancing at patrick who was again making a gesture of running fingers through his hair. Drake frowned, trying to figure out what his late husband was trying to convey.

As the bag transferred from hand to hand, the woman reached up, behind her head. The dangling weights on her hair ornament were obsidian, and she popped one of them off, turning it into a long, slim, exquisitely sharp blade. With a single forceful, fluid motion, she shoved in Drake's throat, behind the trachea, instantly severing both jugular vein and carotid artery.

"Well, crap," Patrick said.

"That's how she got me, too," Solo agreed.

Drake sighed, and stood. "So much for that," he said, and then he smiled at Patrick. "Thanks for waiting for me."

Patrick smiled, and the two men kissed. As they faded out, Special Agent Solo shook his head. "Get a room," he muttered, turning to watch the Federation Marines stunning the holy living snot out of his murderess.

 

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