Interrogation x3

Posted on Sun Nov 22nd, 2020 @ 7:45am by Lieutenant Commander P’rel M.D & Lieutenant Kevan Dash & Ensign George Paxton

Mission: The Shadow of Arachne
Location: Brig
Timeline: After entering “nightmare space”
2831 words - 5.7 OF Standard Post Measure

Kevan dumped a semi-conscious Bolian body in the brig's third cell along. Adjacent to cell 1, which held Lt Commander Brill. And cell 2, which also housed Lt Commander Brill.

He looked up as Lt P'rel arrived.

"Well, I'm not sure if I hit my head, Lieutenant, but I'm seeing triple here." He grinned. "Which one are we having a pop at first?"

P’rel looked from cell to cell, noticing first the totally broken look of the first Brill, the one who had signed a confession; the one she had manipulated into talking by taking creative liberties with his family’s situation. “He’s done” she replied to the Lieutenant, pointing at the first as she walked over to the control station, motioning with her head for the custody officer to stand aside. With a couple of brief commands through the main menu functions, the force fields over the three cells turned an opaque cloudy blue, and each cell was individually muted. “I am as yet unfamiliar with the capture of the other two” she stated, looking at Lieutenant Dash for clarification.

"Clones," Kevan explained. "That's our working theory. Lines up with some of what we know about the Breen's recent operations. Each of them had an identical device and planned to use it for sabotage purposes."

Regarding the Lieutenant with a mild and passing disdain, she replied curtly “Clones I had already established Mr. Dash”. Motioning to the central cell, she sighed the words “this one...”, moving closer to the cell controls to undo the privacy locks, she quipped - only half jokingly - “and we are very much out of cells if there are any more of this little Tviokhs running around the Athena...”

"I hope not. Though giving them a punch to the face is real satisfying," Kevan grinned. "So what else do we know?"

The intelligence officer regarded the young Trill with a momentary flash of increased respect, replying with her own curt smile "I'll have to keep that in mind..." as she reached for the privacy release controls next to the clouded opaque forcefield. Her demeanour returned to her usual stoic and cold air; "I have made a full report to Lieutenant Sar, I doubt you have sufficient clearance to be informed" P'rel dismissed. Pressing the release panel she was looking forward to interrogating this clone; it would doubtless yield something useful. Looking at Dash, she saw the opaque cloudiness disappear in her peripheral vision and she turned to face -

The Borg. The Drone. It's dead, pigmentless skin clammy in the dim light of the cell. It's pointed ear protruding from a flashing implant, and it's mouth hanging gaping open, as if the mandible itself was gone and handing just by cheek muscle. It screamed her name and raised a ghastly, monstrous arm of whirring mechanical tools as she screamed and stumbled back. One foot misplaced the other, and she fell backwards landing on her behind, as she scurried backwards she looked back towards -

The Bolian. The confused, dazed and very much unassimilated Bolian.... "I...." she rasped.

Kevan moved quickly to her side, looking between her and the confused Bolian. "Stay in your cell!" he barked in warning, before crouching by P'rel's side and offering a hand. "What was that?" he asked. He didn't know the woman well, but being an emotional sort of Vulcan she was maybe prone to more unusual behaviour than most.

Taking a few seconds to gather her surroundings, she reached out and held onto Lieutenant Dash's arm reflexively; a kind of comfort and grounding. Hey eyes darted around the room, everything was completely normal...this defied logic. "Nothing" she snapped at Dash, yanking her hand away from his supportive stance; she rapidly sprang to her feet and straightened her uniform. "Proceed with the prisoner Mr. Dash" she ordered. Knowing that as a department head she outranked the young man, but also knowing that she should probably be leading the interrogation. In all honesty with herself, most of her mental strength was being used trying to maintain composure and in processing her experience; interrogating a clone wasn't something she wanted to add to her list at that precise moment.

Kevan blinked. Well, there was the more characteristic Vulcan element; stoic and stubborn. "Uh, okay..." he mumbled, looking back over his shoulder at Brill. "Not sure where to start with this one, though. I don't know what you managed to get out of the other one."

P'rel glared at the second Brill; "Well. Perhaps you could inform my colleague here; what exactly did I get out of the other one?"

Brill shifted on his feet, eyeing up the Vulcan and the Trill. His pathetic progenitor in the next cell might have crumbled, but he wasn't going to; it was only a shame he hadn't been able to take down more of these Starfleet scum before he was captured. Still, the handful of bodies in his wake would suffice. He wasn't entirely sure if he could take them both; certainly the Breen had crafted the progenitor's DNA about as far away from Bolian as could be achieved...but nonetheless, it was a tight space and they had the home advantage. No, he decided, he would observe this odd Vulcan - the only real physical threat. The Human could be killed easily enough. With the arrogance of his genetic makeup, that being essentially a JemH'adar in a Bolian-suit, he harrumphed and folded his arms with a smirk.

The anger bubbling inside her at the Bolian provided a useful anchor to move beyond the hellish vision she had just experienced. A little earlier than expected, the doors to the brig suite opened and in walked an engineer holding one of the 'Brill devices'. "Lieutenant Keating also provided a power cell and converter, I assume, Ensign?" P'rel asked eyeing over the equipment in the man's hands and not entirely recognising most of it.

"Those parts came separately," Kevan explained. "You wouldn't want theta radiation spilling out everywhere..." he spied the intelligence officer's expression, then glanced over at the Bolian with a sly grin on his face. "Although shoving one of them in that cell might not be a bad idea."

P'rel looked to the young engineer, taking the bulky and thus surprisingly light contraption from him, she studied it in her hands momentarily, finding a fairly crude control panel and subsequently the activation key. “Mr Dash....” began the Vulcan, locking eyes with the Bolian who had almost imperceptibly begun to shift his demeanour, “...I couldn’t agree more.”

Piecing together what was about to happen, George piped up. “Uh just so you’re aware, based on our analysis the force of the blast from that thing would be pretty significant ma’am. We also don’t know precisely how long the countdown is before the device is triggered.” He nervously looked at the steely-eyed Vulcan, half thinking that she was mad for even considering the implied course of action.

"I bet he does" P'rel responded, not breaking her eye-locked stare. "Don't worry Ensign...I'm sure we can make an educated guess before it blows based on how much the prisoner is...you know..." she looked for the right word, something which would frighten Brill, and ideally panic the young men around her, reinforcing the threat to Brill - "...melting".

Brill exhaled slowly through flared nostrils, this Vulcan was bluffing, and if she weren't the Trill would stop her. Surely. He worked out the distance between himself and the human engineer, a couple of decent strides he figured; he could probably make it if he needed to...

"Uhm, I assume you don't need anything else from me then ma'am?" George asked. His whole body had become visibly tense and he was itching to get the hell out of dodge. If she was going to activate that device and throw it in the cell then he wanted to be at least two decks away before it went off.

P'rel regarded the Ensign with a moment of consideration; his palpable fear could be useful in upsetting the Bolian, and adding to the sense of urgency and danger. "Please remain" she ordered. Looking to her other colleague, she motioned him to move into the cell; "Mr Dash, secure the prisoner please."

Kevan wasn't sure what the Lieutenant had planned, but gave a cursory nod and motioned for the Bolian to stand facing the wall, arms out. Better keep it by the book this time - they had no idea what they were up against.

As Dash made sure the Bolian clone remained rooted in place, P'rel stepped into the cell and placed the device on the floor. Equipping the small power cell, she activated the component and stepped back as the object began to hum and slowly pulse with a green light. Stepping out, she looked back to Dash; "full containment protocols" she ordered, before looking back to the human engineer; "go to the transporter room; before it blows beam everything in that cell into space. Am I clear?".

"Yes ma'am," George responded. He gave a nervous glance to the Bolian in the cell. He knew he shouldn't, yet for whatever reason George couldn't help but feel a twinge of sorrow for the blue clone. He hated for anyone to suffer such a horrible death, but it was out of his hands. With that George quickly turned around and left the brig for the transporter room.

"You're...beaming him into space?" Kevan asked with a frown. "I wasn't aware that was protocol. The treatment of prisoners is protected under the Federation Charter as well as Starfleet regulations." Kevan surprised himself with the quoting of regs. He was usually as far from that as possible, but this was one of those situations he simply couldn't understand.

"Oh I wouldn't worry about that Lieutenant" she began with a tinge of threat in her voice, so far the unease of the others would be working in her favour and unsettling the clone, making him wonder just how serious she was being. "He'll have melted long before the transporter is required..." she looked at Brill, "right?".

Brill stared dead into the eyes of the Vulcan, something distant bubbled inside him, a kind of breathlessness, a tightness in his chest and stomachs. "I know nothing which the progenitor will not have already told you" he offered, angry at his own willingness to concede even the smallest detail.

"We'll see" P'rel replied, before ordering Dash; "activate the forcefield, full radiation containment".

==Meanwhile, in the transporter room==

George entered the transporter room and prepared to follow P’rel’s orders before making a full stop. She said to beam everything into space. Surely she didn’t mean the Bolian as well, right? Or did she? George had been so keen to get as far away from that room as possible, his brain hadn’t even fully processed the order until he started to type in the commands for the transporter. He didn’t want to disobey a direct order, but from a moral standpoint he couldn’t just beam the Bolian into space either.

After a few minutes of internal struggle, he set the transporter to beam everything out except for the one Bolian life sign. “Paxton to the brig, we’re all set on the transporter.” He informed P’rel of his status through the commbadge, strategically leaving out the details on exactly what he planned to beam out.

====

Kevan waited outside the closed containment field, eying up the Lieutenant and wondering if this was some sort of ploy. He'd seen 'good cop, bad cop' before, but this felt like 'good cop, sadistic evil cop'. Intelligence officers usually gave him the creeps, and this one was no exception.

Brill stood with his arms folded, staring down the Vulcan. Without being connected to phaser coils, he knew there wouldn't be any radiation; heat on the other hand from the device itself was another matter and he could feel his lower legs starting to warm. The Vulcan was starfleet, ultimately, and his genetic sequencing wouldn't break before her woefully limiting ethics.

Locking eyes with the Bolian clone, P'rel waited for him to break. He was a product of engineering, but at his base coding he was a Bolian, ultimately, and her Vulcan discipline and tactical plan wouldn't break before the Bolian's survival urges.

Taking a step away from the rapidly heating device, Brill inwardly scolded himself for showing the first weakness.

P'rel didn't break her gaze, not a second, as the uncomfortable looking clone made the first move and stepped away from the heat.

Brill gasped involuntarily, the heat in the air had dried it like a Cardassian sauna and his Bolian physiology struggled to keep up. He would not yield however.

Looking sideways to Lieutenant Dash, P'rel tried to convey a look to him to trust her; she wasn't going to let the Bolian roast alive, and he was close to breaking.

Kevan, for his part, shifted awkwardly between feet. This plan of hers was pretty dangerous, especially if the prisoner died as a result. "Maybe...that's high enough...?" he suggested, taking a half-step towards the door but still fearing P'rel as much as a court martial.

Were she alone, P'rel would have certainly continued; she would be accountable only for her own actions and have nobody else involved, and if the worst came to it she could brush things under the carpet - only if alone, however. But Kane had made it blatantly clear to her, the importance of teamwork and cohesion aboard a starship - especially his starship, and she didn't ultimately want to get the young Lieutenant in any trouble. "Perhaps" she conceded quietly, seeing the apprehension on his face.

She turned back to face - the Borg. The drone. It's piercing red scanning beam almost drilling a core through her like a plasma torch. She froze. Rooted to the spot. Fear? No. Sadness? No. Mourning and devastation, the full depth of Vulcan emotions raging through her as if fire itself were in her veins. This was the chance to end it. To resolve the nightmare. The heat behind the forcefield made the air shimmer, and the drone dropped to it's knees; skin blistering and a terrible cry escaping from it's closing throat. "Let it burn" she said coldly, staring at the thing she used to call brother.

==Meanwhile, in the transporter room==

Paxton carefully watched the sensors as the temperature rose in the cell. He had warned the Vulcan that there was no way to be sure when the device would go off, but she had insisted on going forward with the plan anyways. Why hasn’t she made the call yet to beam it out of there? George wondered as the climate where the Bolian was held had surely reached an intolerable level. Maybe I should go ahead and beam it out? Would it be better to just ask for forgiveness instead of permission? His fingers tapped nervously on the transporter console. He wasn’t sure which to be more afraid of; P’rels wrath if he pulled the device too early or a court martial for allowing a prisoner to be tortured to death.

After a few moments of indecisiveness, George made his choice. The device was beamed out of the cell into space a safe distance away from the ship. “Paxton to Lieutenant P’Rel,” he called once the deed was done. “I’ve beamed the device out as the temperature was reaching critical levels.” He waited apprehensively for what he assumed would be a scathing return communication from the Vulcan intelligence officer.

====

=/\= critical levels...=/\=... P'rel stood silent and still; totally detached from her surroundings. In the distance, a faint voice had spoken but not sufficiently clear for her to recognise or align her concentration to. She instead remained light headed, staring at the Bolian commander slumped in his cell, unsure any longer of what was reality and what was nightmare.

Hesitantly, Kevan edged into the cell, still feeling the lingering heat of the device. The Bolian was almost certainly dead - the Brill clone's face contorted unnaturally as he lay there. Kevan didn't need to feel for a pulse. He looked back over his shoulder at the Vulcan, who looked decidedly un-Vulcan-like in that moment. "Uh...maybe we should take a break from this, yeah?"

"The drone..." escaped the Vulcan's lips in a confused and detached rasp. "No." she looked around the room, returning her stare to the Bolian, whose skin had blistered in a blue-white mottle. "Where...?" she muttered, taking some cautious steps backwards until she heard the doors open behind her. Without any real sense of purpose or direction, her autopilot seemed to kick in as she retreated back towards her quarters absently, a complete lack of grasp on the events which had just unfolded.