[JP] Marshall, Sienelis & Josett - The Labyrinth's Scream (Part II)
Quinn Reynolds
((Great Cabin, Labyrinth’s Scream))
::Thertas' voice bade them inside after Lena thumbed the chime, and the doors opened to reveal the quarters of a man who, it seemed, really did have everything. Luxurious without being ostentatious, the decor was a curious mix of authentic Andorian and Boslic. Hues of white and blue saturated the room, an ice palace in the stars, with splashes of sumptuous indigo to add warmth.
::Reclining on a plush, comfortable chair, the captain of the Labyrinth's Scream looked up from the datapad he was reading. An older Andorian man, nudging toward the end of middle-age, he was every bit the "silver fox" that Lena had described. He dropped his reading on the table as he stood, opening his arms in invitation, while a warm smile lit up his face.::
Thertas: You're early, Lena. Trouble at Hai Tac?
Josett: It's not Hai Tac if there isn't trouble. ::She laughed, accepting the offered hug for a few seconds, then stepped back and presented him with the bottle she'd brought.:: Your favourite. Don't ask me how I got it.
::He chuckled, evidently knowing better than to do so, and his pale blue eyes passed over her head toward the other two in the room.::
Thertas: And who are they?
Josett: Big spoon and little spoon. You'll probably want to use their names; Valesha Sienelis and Orson Marshall.
::The dark-curled hybrid received a narrowed eyed glance from Bear, in the vain hope the nickname had been left behind on the Klingon shuttlepod, however, it was living well between the lips of the smiling pirate. Attempting to keep a facial expression of neutrality, Bear held his hand out to the silver-peppered and cobalt eyed Andorian in the parochial Terran custom. Not simply a greeting, although it had evolved to become one, the action was a measure of trust — the shaking to make sure the other didn't have a weapon stashed up the sleeve.::
O. Marshall: Thank you for taking us on, Captain. You have a beautiful ship.
Thertas: Do you really mean to start on a lie, Marshall? ::He raised his eyebrows, amusement glinting in his eyes as he grabbed the man's hand in a firm shake.:: The Scream's a lot of things, but a thing of beauty isn't one of them.
O. Marshall: In that case, I'd say it's in the eye of the beholder, but you've got me there too. ::He grinned wryly, momentarily wondering if his hand would survive the Andorian's grip.:: Boslic influence a personal taste?
::Thertas released Bear's hand, his gaze darting over toward Lena, with the barest hint of mild suspicion deepening the creases around his eyes. Then he looked back toward the blond.::
Thertas: My husband's.
::Nerves ticked at the lining of Bear's stomach and without anything to add to that, other than an inquiry into whether the marriage was arranged by trade or not in the traditional Boslic manner — something he thought better of asking — he made slow reach for the inner lining of his jacket. The luminescent isolinear chip appeared between his fingers and he held it out to the Captain between them.::
O. Marshall: What's the old saying? Beware of Greeks bearing gifts?
Thertas: It's Vulcans, if you're Andorian. ::He took the chip, shrewd curiosity catching at his weathered features as he examined it. Then he looked toward the Romulan in the room.:: I imagine your people might have a similar sentiment.
Sienelis: Our sentiments don't so much involve bewaring them as shooting them. ::She stepped forward, emboldened by his answering chuckle, and offered him the book that Lena had given her in the shuttle.:: I'm told you'd like this.
::He took the book, tucking the isolinear crystal into his palm. He glanced over its cover with a bemused smile, flicking through the yellowing pages of Cyrillic text.::
Thertas: Not me. Jarlath, on the other hand, will be delighted. My husband's fascination with alien literature escapes me, but at least I can always find a gift that will delight him. ::He glanced toward Valesha, then Lena with a wry smile.:: Or rely on others to do so.
::He stepped away from the trio, moving toward a table in his rooms, where boxes and other books had been stacked in neat, orderly piles. Patting its cover, he returned and picked up his datapad, sliding the isolinear chip into the port. He took a few paces as he read its contents, nodding quietly to himself as he did so.::
::Bear watched, a little taken with the personality on show within the confines of the room. Rumours had circulated for years regarding the state of Syndicate ships — their treatment of crew, living conditions, notable Captains — but this failed to live up to the legend, with rows of literature and personal effects. Instead, it looked like someone trying to make a home.::
O. Marshall: What you were expecting, I take it?
::Thertas looked up from the screen and toward Bear with a genial smile, his momentum carrying him forward. As the datapad fell from his fingers, tumbling through down toward the chair, he reached for Lena. In one smooth, swift motion pulled her close, her caramel curls bouncing, the serrated edge of an ushaan-tor biting at the soft skin of her throat. With eyes of granite, he slowly twisted the blade until a trickle of crimson beaded at the sharp point, and spoke in a low whisper, full of threat.::
Thertas: You bring Starfleet spies aboard *my* ship?
::No smiles from the scoundrel hybrid at this point, her eyes locked on his, intent and without fear. Her heartbeat pulsed in the veins of her throat, echoing the gallop of her heart at the sudden turn of events.::
Josett: I brought what you want. A way out.
::The surprising speed of the drive behind the Andorian forced Bear to step back, his arm reaching out to cover Valesha and draw her almost behind him. A racing heart drummed against the inside of his ribs with solidity, the threat now stark and clear, veiled mist of pleasantries disintegrated. Bear held his hand out in the space between them, a plea to stop, fret real and cold at the steel pressing against Lena’s gullet.::
O. Marshall: We just want to talk. ::He swallowed thick, breath heavy.:: If you want to hold someone at knifepoint while we do it, I’m right here.
Thertas: How noble. How very Starfleet. ::He smiled, but it was hollow, and he didn't take his eyes off his hostage.:: How long have you been working for them, Lena?
Josett: You want to retire. Starfleet can make it happen. ::She quirked an eyebrow, about the only part of her she was willing to move.:: What else are you going to do? Buy an asteroid and spend the rest of your years defending against every would-be Boss with something to prove and their eye on your spoils?
::Wrestling for something to use, some lever to pull that would either bring the situation back into their favour, or at the very least, turn the Andorian’s murderous intentions his way, Bear darted his eyes around the room. They settled on the book of Cyrillic text Valesha had handed over, gilded cover facing down on top of another.::
O. Marshall: Jarlath. ::Even as he said it, he was almost sure he had the Boslic pronunciation wrong.:: What does Jarlath want? Living out his retirement on a floating fortress? Not the kind of life for a book collector.
::Behind him, Valesha took advantage of the physical shield Bear had made of himself to slide her hand into her jacket, fingers curling around the phaser she had stowed there. Heart thumping under her ribs, her thumb stroked across the trigger. Set to stun, she had the training to know how and when to shoot in this situation, but she'd never really imagined a time when she'd *have* to. As she had so recently been fond of protesting, she was a scientist, not a spy.::
Josett: Not the kind of life for a father.
TBC...
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Orson Marshall
Fugitive
G239304JM0
&
Fugitive
T238401QR0
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Scallywag
Orion Syndicate