More Heat Than Light
Posted on Thu Apr 16th, 2015 @ 11:32pm by Chief Petty Officer Edward Vane & Captain Aidan Rackham
Mission:
The Night Cries
Location: Exterior of Starfleet Administration Centre, Fraser Road, Pike City
Timeline: 2278.46: 0740hrs.
The foyer of the Starfleet Administration Centre was mostly made of glass and the early morning sun illuminated the dust which seemed to rise up around the heads of the two officers as they strode out beyond the meandering oak reception desk.
It really was ostentatious. Rackham had noted it several times since arriving on world but now didn't seem like the right time to mention it. It stretched for five or six metres and officers had to manoeuvre round it to get into the main body of the centre. It was almost like it had been bought before the concept of the Admin Centre even existed.
Commander Aidan Rackham and Chief Petty Officer Edward Vane emerged into the cool morning air at the top of the tall flight of steps which led up to the Centre. Everything about it screamed temporary. It sat in the footprint of what should have been a much larger building.
"This place is just ready to spring skywards, isn't it?" He asked Vane as they descended the steps slowly.
The Federation had a habit of setting up small colonies and using them as test-beds for architectural alterations they hoped to implement on the core worlds. Cestus III was perfect- a grid structured main city with mostly temporary buildings dating back to the resettling of the colony seven years previously. It was perfect for a system of absurd skyscrapers and hover-vehicle routes.
Vane paused for a moment, taking it in. "Perhaps," he said casually. "I've heard a few people say it will be the seat of the next frontier, whatever that means. It..." He shrugged. "It's ambitious."
"That's what all this is about, isn't it?" Rackham asked, his voice full of faked pomposity. "Ambition, grandeur, the glory and the future of the Federation. The great and glorious landgrab."
The oddly-skinned man squinted. "Legacy," he said. "Isn't that what it is really about? Trying to outlast time?"
"Yeah, I suppose it is." Rackham replied as they reached the last few steps. "I just don't know how I feel about the Federation turning what a burgeoning little colony into a massive monument to our expansion just to piss off the Kling-"
Rackham was quickly interrupted. "Commander, Commander!" A nasal voice was shouting at him.
He ignored it, hoping that despite it looking at coming at him quickly, they were simply mistaken. "Commander Rackham!" It wouldn't go away.
"Yes?" He stopped short on the last step and immediately had a microphone shoved in his face.
"Do you have any comment on reports that the Starfleet officer murdered last night was the Captain of the Farragut- the ship which is in orbit?" The voice whined as it finally reached him.
Rackham looked at Vane. The owner of the voice might as well have been wearing a hat with a 'press' card in it. "Is this guy for real?"
Vane shrugged half-heartedly, and then, almost on a whim, wedged himself between the Commander and the microphone. "The Commander has no comment at this time," he rasped. "All questions should be directed to the Public Relations officer, which can be found in the main office of the Administration building."
"You have no comment Commander?" The journalist persisted, seemingly staring right through the imposing Cheron. "I find that hard to believe! Your commanding officer shot dead in her own hotel room and you have nothing to say? I wouldn't be surprised if you were furious."
Rackham lightly shoved Vane out of the way as he stepped down off the step until he was at eye level with the man. He was weedy. It was the only word to describe him. His pale, almost translucent skin and hooked nose were pressed close to his face as he continued questioning the Commander. "Doesn't it make you angry that someone would jeopardise your mission like this?"
"Just who is it you represent?" Rackham asked in a completely measured tone, something which covered up the fact that he wanted nothing more than to knock the little prick out cold.
"Thomas Annan. Federation News Service." He replied simply.
"Pah." Rackham replied. "The News Service is nothing but a modern 'King and Country'. You're cheerleaders, nothing more."
"We're trying something," the weasel paused, presumably for dramatic effect. "different."
Vane pursed his lips, eyeing the Commander. Speaking to the press was never a good idea, and he was fairly certain that the Commander didn't have authorization for it. He also knew the man well enough to know that if he wanted to do something, he was going to. He looked at the reporter. The man was what you would expect; a rodent, hiding in the open, waiting for his opportunity. "A man can change a lot about himself," Vane said, "but it's all window dressing."
"You're Vane, aren't you?" Annan squeaked with obvious excitement. "So you're saying that Commander Rackham can't change? This calm façade is just covering up what an angry, vicious, bitter man he is? Oh, yes. I think that would work nicely as a quote."
Rackham could feel his hands clenching into a fist as he breathed in deeply. He had to avoid doing what he was desperate to. He also had to avoid escalating it more than just a broken jaw. He wanted to throw him off a bridge.
Vane hit the man. It was... impulsive. Even he was surprised as he shook his hand in pain. The blow was solid, and he felt bone crack - whether it was the man's face or his fingers, he wasn't sure just yet. Either way, as his fist met face, Annan let out the smallest of yelps. His entire body shifted sideways and his face stretched out, his eyes going dark as they rolled back, his face slack, jaw drooping and open. He dropped like a ragdoll and didn't move. Vane looked at his right hand, the white hand, and then looked at the Commander. "Uhhh," he managed. "Heh, I don't know what came over me," he admitted.
Rackham's eyes were wide with tension. What the hell are we going to do now? He looked at the man who now coming around, nursing his cheek. "Don't pretend you didn't deserve that. You've been on the front line out here long enough to know that you don't get in people's faces. You'll get your quote as soon as I have something to give you. In the mean time, all of this?" He stopped and smiled slightly. "Is off the record."
Vane eyed the man darkly, and then followed the Commander as they walked away from the scene. "That'll come back on me," he said. "I'll be sure it is clear that you had no part in that. I... I apologize, that was brash of me."
"He won't print that." Rackham was fairly confident in himself as they walked away toward the local surveillance station. "The chance to get information on the murder of a Starfleet officer will far supersede him trying to smear either of us."
Vane shook his head. "It's all a scandal," he said. "He deserved it, though."
"Trust me. Murders sell more news cyclets than some disliked journalist getting a smack in the face, just try not to smack him next time, yeah?"
Vane smirked. "Sure," he said. He nodded ahead. "Sir," he said, hesitating slightly. "Can I ask you something... Freely?"
"Sure."
Vane stared at the Commander's face for a moment. "Do you remember," he started, "back on the Pilgrim when we were still on patrol around the Neutral Zone?" He didn't wait for the Commander to respond. "Captain Gunning was a tyrant," he admitted, "but a good Captain. I remember that incident with the Kriosian rebel. The Klingon warship chasing her had called her a terrorist." He looked at Rackham. "You didn't agree, but the Captain... It never ceased to amaze me, the choices she would make. She never looked back, either. Never regretted her decisions. She let the Klingons take the woman. It didn't happen in Federation space, it wasn't up to the Federation to solve that problem."
Rackham remembered all too well. Of all the things Elsa had done which he hadn't agreed with- that incident was right up there. The Kriosian had actively tried to seek asylum with the Federation and Gunning had turned her over to the Klingons like she was a barrel of blood wine. "What are you getting at, Ed?"
Vane pursed his lips. "Captain Gunning didn't die on the Farragut, Commander. She died here." He stopped, reaching out and grabbing Rackham by the arm, pulling him aside. "Why are we doing this? Why aren't the local authorities handling this case?"
"We have jurisdiction." Rackham answered half-heartedly. It wasn't the real reason. The fact that Gunning was Starfleet gave them the equivalent of a military police reign over the case but if he had any faith in the police force, he would have handed it over to them. "Doesn't this seem like more than just some random murder? She was Starfleet Captain for christ's sake."
Vane didn't answer immediately. There was conflict there. He was loyal to Gunning, proud that she had asked him to join her crew, but... "People are murdered," he said, "sometimes for no reason at all. You don't know that her being a member of Starfleet had anything to do with her death," he said. "We're peacekeepers, Aidan, not police. I'll follow your lead, but it is important that you know why you do a thing, and not simply do it because you think it is right."
"I know you hate 'gut feelings' but I have one. It doesn't sit right with me." Rackham couldn't place the feeling he had but it was all he had at this point. "There's something more to this than just a random shooting. The lack of forensic countermeasures, the execution style. All of it makes me think we're missing something."
"Of course," Vane replied. "If we weren't, it would already be solved." He fell back into a more formal pose. He'd known Aidan Rackham for years, but in public it didn't do for a non-commissioned officer to be so familiar with his commanding officer. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to check the security recordings, if there are any, sir."
Aidan cocked an eyebrow as they rounded the corner. "Yes, let's do that," a wry smile momentarily made its way across his face, "Mister Vane."
Commander Aidan Rackham
Executive Officer
Chief Petty Officer Edward Vane
Boatswain
USS Farragut
