Promises Are Worse Than Lies

Posted on Wed Jan 4, 2017 @ 3:18pm by Commander Caleb Ryan & Civilian 'Key Holder' Yolanthe Ibalin

1,231 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Rumours
Location: MD 04 0330
Timeline: After Keepings One's Promises

::ON::

The insistent beeping at her head finally permeated Yolanthe's sleep-addled brain and she sent an arm out of her sleeping pod to fumble for her watch. Three thirty? That was wrong. She slapped her hand down on the communicator.

"Mss Ibalin?" Caleb Ryan's smooth baritone sounded grave.

"Ugh. Who died?" It was a joke, grim humor, because whilst she didn't need as much sleep as a Human, she still didn't appreciate being woken up less than an hour after she had got to bed. It needed to be something really good.

There was an uncertain pause. "A Ferengi. They found him outside the shutters of the Box of Delights when the mornin’ cleaning crew came in. We'd like to talk ta ya."

Yolanthe's eyes opened, as awake as surely as if she'd been dunked in water, and she rolled out of the pod in a second and began hunting for clothes. "Ugh. I'll be there in a minute. Be a sweetie and put a brew on for me. Anything with taurine and caffeine that doesn't taste of Klingon ball sack."

There was an awkward pause on the commline before it clicked off.

Yolanthe was there in fifteen minutes, approaching The Box from the turbolifts where Gabriel had accosted her a few nights before to see the mustard shirted men and women of security swarming around it. Her skin had been a similar color, but seeing just how many were there she turned pale grey.

The familiar figure of the security chief stood off to one side. She walked over to him. "Good morning, Commander. What can I do for you?"

Caleb turned and met Yolanthe's eyes, both of them tall, so it wasn't a stretch. "Seems there was an assault last night outside your club," he said. "Again." He scowled, turning to look at the bank of turbolifts nearby, across from the ones where she had exited. They led up to the diplomatic suites and were marked off with crime scene holotape. "Attaché Nazl," the name was said with visible disgust and loathing, "was found beaten and stabbed outside the lifts. I was wanting to get your security tapes to establish a timeline."

Yolanthe's face fell, and the grey deepened a little bit. "I don't have security cameras, Commander. I sell privacy as much as I sell drinks. What happens in The Box, stays in The Box."

Caleb rubbed his eyes wearily. It was just as early for him, having been awakened by the urgent call from his Security Department. "It is likely they might not have been functional anyway," he said, with obvious annoyance. The Box was a private establishment, so he couldn't force her to add security measures, and there were plenty on the Promenade itself. "I was hoping you would have something. Someone, somehow, is scrambling security sensors. This isn't the first time, either."

Caleb looked back at the forensics team and then returned his attention to Yolanthe. "Do you remember seeing Attaché Nazl in your establishment last night?" he asked her. "Can ya recall anyone specifically he was with?"

Yolanthe raised an eyebrow at the comment about the sensors. She knew someone who seemed to be able to do that. But he'd asked about the Ferengi. She thought. "There was a woman hanging ‘round the tongo table. Human looking." She couldn't remember anything more than the basics, not over- or underweight, average for a human in height, and she came in the shades of beige that she associated with humans, and what her species looked like in various stages of decomposition.

"Would you be able to work with a holo-artist on a rendering?" Caleb asked. "Do you know who was serving Nazl last night? Anyone on your staff that might have had more contact with him and his female companion, if they were together?"

"Sure." Yolanthe thought about the crowd the previous night. "As for others, I think the dealers are the best. Jessica is probably the best bet. She's the best I have for keeping the Ferengi in line."

Yolanthe drummed her fingers on her folded arms. She was trying to think of anything else she could tell that might help. Her mind kept drifting back to Dorian Gabriel's comments and his little toy. But it would also mean admitting that she couldn't handle a posing little boy and needed a crippled man to do it for her. Not whilst she had breath left in her body.

"Do you think she did it?" Yolanthe asked.

"It is too early to know yet," Caleb said guardedly. "At the least, she might have seen somethin'. Can Ah talk ta Jessica? Ya have an address for her?" He noted what Yolanthe said down on a padd.

"In my office. But she had a close shift last night. She'll be asleep for a while."

She led him back to the black and white rococo confection of her office and checked her records. She pinged the result to his padd. "Things are getting nasty out there, Commander."

Caleb sighed. “Ah know,” he said. “Thing is, we can’t stop people thinkin’ what they think, or sayin’ what they say. Unless they start incitin’ violence, we can only really react after the fact.” He ran a hand through his bed-mussed hair. “Ah’m gonna set up extra security patrols on the Promenade, but that’s a lot of ground ta cover an’ Ah only have so much staff. They need their time off, too. If ya hear things, though, Ah’d appreciate a heads up. Ah never thought it would come ta the murder of a diplomat, though. Not that Ah’ll miss ‘im,” he said bitterly. Then he shook his head. “Sorry. Lettin’ mah personal feelin’s out there,” he apologized.

"No one would blame you for disliking Ferengi," she assured him. She found them, the males anyway, odious beyond belief. In nearly four years of being in the civilized galaxy, she hadn't met one who wouldn't take a mile if you gave him an inch, as the Humans said.

"But," she continued, "it’s not good enough. All that fuss from the pro-Human jihadists at the Dilithium Chamber over that poor boy, claiming no cared because he was Human. That idiot at my tournament saying I let the winner cheat and didn't care because she was a Cardassian. It’s all paranoid delusion. How do you hope to fight that?"

“Sometimes, no matter what the facts, ya just can’t change someone’s mind,” Caleb admitted. “Ah’m not sure what ta do. Ah’m a lawman, not a politician, but maybe Ah need ta have a…town hall or somethin’,” he mused.

"Well, I suggest you do it sooner rather than later. Things are getting nasty." She went over to the replicator and ordered, "Breakfast, number one." It gave her a large glass of some sort of putrescent green gloop. "Protein smoothie?"

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “No thanks,” he said. “Ah prefer mah mornin’ protein ta come from a chicken an’ a pig on a plate with a side a whole wheat toast an’ mah mama’s strawberry jam, thank ya.” Caleb gave a tired smile. “Thank ya for your help, Ms. Ibalin,” he said, giving a gesture of tipping a non-existent hat.

FIN

Cmdr. Caleb Ryan
Chief Tactical/Security Officer

Yolanthe Ibalin
Owner
The Box of Delights

 

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