Divine Retribution; Part 1

Posted on Mon Mar 14th, 2011 @ 9:42am by Captain Nathan Cowell MD & Lieutenant Three of Seven

Mission: Shore Leave 1: Pacifica
Location: Various
Timeline: After 'Karma will be a bitch'

While the El-Aurian cardiovascular system was not on par with say... that of the Vulcans, the drug worked its way out of his body a little more rapidly than most likely intended. The view, the sounds, and the theme of the environment Nathan awoke to were not on his top ten favorite places to be when a drug wears off. The only consolation to it all was that he wasn't stark naked on Pacifica being sacrificed to some obscure god. He was, however, being assaulted by a rather fat woman who was no doubt the creation of his kidnapper. It was unsettling, to say the least, that someone would have conjured up the monstrosity that was looming over his body, jiggling rather obscenely at the slightest movement. The grotesquely huge fat man singing old Earth songs wasn't helping the atmosphere much. Nathan was sure this was going to go down as one of the more bizarre pranks he'd ever been involved in, however, he was determined not to let it play out quite the way his abductors planned.

"Computer, end program..." Nathan ordered, to which the holodeck instantly discontinued everything, including the surface he was laying on. The sudden drop was just enough to jar the Captain back to full lucidity. The fact that his ass now hurt was a minor concern given the recent decor he'd had to suffer. Yet another consolation, his clothing was still intact, which meant among other things that he had likely not been there very long.

Nathan walked over to the control arch and demanded it display the one responsible for his venue, which he had obliterated the moment he had been conscious enough to do so. The registry proudly displayed Lieutenant Junior Grade Xylia Lischka, complete with time index and everything. 'Girl doesn't know how to cover her tracks very well...' Nathan mused as he archived the information in his private log before departing the holodeck. His next order of business was a trip to the transporter room.

Upon arrival to the Transporter Room, it became abundantly clear that the one he'd entered had been the one he'd been carried into not long ago. The Petty Officer began averting his eyes, acting as if he had oh so much more important things going on just then other than one incredibly pissed off Captain storming around the ship.

"You either talk, or you live in the brig," Nathan threatened.

The jumbled story of half-truths and explanations of threats against his person was enough to confirm his suspicions without the man ever actually pointing the finger at anyone. And then there were two on his shit list...

Nathan stormed back out of the Transporter Room and found the first of what would likely be a LONG list of accomplices, both willing and unwitting, that would aid him in his Divine Retribution. The first of which would be the Borg...

The Borg was, at it had said it would be, waist deep in waste. Bio-neural gel covering part of the former Ocampa and the remainder best left undescribed, the automaton worked in the lowest parts of the ship pulling out isolinear rods and their sub-components, which were exchanged for the more modern relay circuits. It was extremely dirty work, but nothing about that so much as registered with the Borg. It was a task which, in Three's estimation, required doing. The drone had received all the necessary authorizations to begin the work, so there was neither doubt or hesitation about doing it. Three had, however, changed out of the regular duty uniform and donned the gold-colored engineering coveralls appropriate for this kind of labor.

"Three!" the voice of Captain Cowell echoed through the corridor in which Three was currently working, "I have a job for you."

Before the Borg could even stand, Nathan began laying it out for him, "You're working on the waste management system. I need you to go to Major DeVries' and Lieutenant Lischka's quarters and cause a back flow into their respective domiciles. Don't ask questions, don't over think it, just do it. If anyone asks, it was already a malfunction and you've been working on the problem. Make it happen, kiddo."

Again, the Captain circumvented all possible arguments, suddenly walking off to his next destination...

Three of Seven, former Central Processing Unit for Probe NX100101, merely blinked as the drone tried to process the command. While seemingly befitting of a joke, it was clearly a captain's order. It was also incredibly random. Which meant that it made no sense whatsoever. However, the captain had instructed that his orders were not be to 'thought over'. With that single piece of data for solace, the Borg began to make adjustments to the waste processing commands for the specified personal quarters.