Archeology of a Sort and Murder Most Foul...

Posted on Mon Sep 2nd, 2019 @ 8:28am by Lieutenant JG Gallia Norris

Mission: Mission 2: Heaven On Earth
Location: Cortic VI
Timeline: during R&R
1209 words - 2.4 OF Standard Post Measure

Colonel Kerri Tate had come to Cortic disguised as an Aide Worker from some charity, her real mission though was to get to the location of the windchime and find the main operating unit, aka the black box, retrieve it, and bring it back to Vulcan. She arrived at what the locals had nicknamed 'The Pit' before dawn, discarding her long red wig as she began securing her harnesses and ropes to herself and her anchor, her shuttle, to descend into the hole and find that data.

A set of eyes watched the redhead become a blonde from a distance, his mind hungry to conquer her, but not for sex. His intentions were murderous, not amorous, and she, beautiful as she was, was nothing but a target, money to be made.

The trip into the pit was easy enough, it was only a few yards down and her anchor and ropes were solid, she'd made it in seconds, now the issue was finding the damn box and getting off of this crumbling planet...

The Pit had a sort of silencing effect, muffling the sounds above to those below and vice versa, and he had decided to use this to his advantage, walking right up to her shuttle and leaning against it, waiting for her to return from below. He didn't understand why the Supreme Commander didn't want him to merely shoot her to death in the silence of the pit, much less why he wanted him to stab her with this giant hunting knife or why he had to wear this fucking hobo costume; but the SC was the boss of bosses and he was merely an agent looking to ascend the ranks, so if it was hobo costume time, that's just what it was, ~Do wish this bitch would hurry up though...~

Searching the area as quickly as she felt comfortable, the ground beneath the windchime still shaky beneath her feet, it took Kerri nearly twenty minutes in that pit to find the box, but, with it now in hand, she let out a victorious laugh and began her ascent. As she pulled herself onto solid, well, at least solid for Cortic, ground, she opened a comm channel to the Queen, "Madam Ambassador, I've got the..."

He saw her now and was making his move, having taken advantage of the shadows and her distraction in calling her boss, and plunged the knife deep into her stomach, watching her drop first to her knees, and then onto her side, blood running from her mouth as he took her commbadge and tossed it into the pit, destroying it with his phaser before beaming out. The SC would be pleased, the bitch was very dead.

Another set of eyes had been watching the pretty blonde lady, and now had taken off in a state of utter terror. Kyle Moran was fifteen and his mind had turned to what most teenage boys' minds does: girls. The redhead had caught his eye in the refugee camp where she was working and, hoping to get her attention he'd followed her, watched her as she took off her long red hair and revealed the short blonde crop beneath, wondered what she was doing with the harness, even considered helping her. He hadn't seen the large man until he'd come out of the shadows and attacked her; Kyle was too late to save her, and had bolted towards Home Guard as if the devil was on his heels, not sure if the man had seen him and was coming to silence the witness. He was nearly out of breath and about to pass out from exertion when he saw Sergeant Wilson out of the corner of his eye, "Sergean... Sergeant Wilson, sir...."

Wilson turned to see the Moran boy, Kyle, near collapse, no doubt he'd been off doing something he shouldn't, but he obviously needed help. He stepped forward to catch the boy in his arms, "Say now, lad, what's wrong?"

"Sarge.... he killed her." Kyle gasped, pointing back behind him, "At... pit... killed her."

"What? Killed who?" Wilson asked, the boy's expression of fright so overwhelming it frightened him a little, "Get yourself together, son, and tell me who was killed."

"The.. the redhead..." Kyle managed, "Alicia."

"Ah, the young lady from the charity you've been ogling all day." Wilson nodded, he'd lecture the boy later about following her around, "Where is she?"

"The.. the pit, sir." Kyle said with ragged breath, "She's dead. She's not a redhead, she's blonde...."

"Alright, none of that matters, son. Now, let's go to the pit." Wilson ordered, leading the boy to his vehicle, an Argo Jeep left behind as a loaner for Home Guard.

"Uh uh, no way!" Kyle tried to pull away but Wilson's grip was just too strong, "Hey, lemme go, Sarge, I don't wanna die!"

"And that girl might not be dead, Kyle." Wilson reminded him sternly, "You might be the only one who can help us find her and get her to someone who can save her life. Can you live with yourself if you let her die?"

"But what if he's still there?" Kyle asked, he felt like wetting himself, "He was like seven feet tall, Sarge, huge..."

"And tall and bulletproof aren't the same, lad." Wilson reassured him, one day he'd tell the kid about the Dominion War and the Jem-Ha'dar...

"Okay." Kyle nodded, a sudden burst of courage knowing that Wilson was coming loaded for bear, "Let's go."

"Right." Wilson smiled, "There's a good lad. Pike, move your bum, we're going to the pit."

The five minute ride to the pit felt like an eternity, the last thing he wanted to deal with was a killing right now in the middle of all the relief efforts. Upon arrival it only took Wilson a second to find the young woman and to find that Kyle was wrong, she was very much alive, though bleeding profusely, "Right then, let's get her up off the ground and over to a medical tent straight away."

"Right, Sir." Pike obeyed, leading Kyle to the woman and taking her by her shoulders, one for each of them, as the Sarge got her legs.

As they loaded her into the jeep, it took Wilson one look to recognize her, Kerri Tate. And with a stab wound... His blood turned to ice as he realized what that most likely meant, "Alright, let's not waste anymore time, lads, we've got to get her to a medical tent and let them do what they can. Pike, call ahead to the camp and double the patrol, get those shield generators up and going."

"Sir, why all the..." Pike began, Wilson's expression silencing him instantly, "Right, message the camp."

Kyle had, for some reason, begun walking aimlessly about the crime scene, reaching down and picking up a bloody, discarded knife, some thirty centimeters in length, "Sarge, I think this is his knife...."

"Then bring it and let's go." Wilson barked, not about to spend any more time than needed out here if Aubrey Tate was actually on Cortic and had just stabbed his sister. He'd call Starfleet and find her some advanced help, go looking for Aubrey Tate in the morning...

 

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