Their waitress at Donner's Dive was a rather tired looking young woman with Asian features and hair dyed a shocking shade of platinum pink. Her ID badge announced that her name was Chaxia. It also displayed a nude picture of her in a provocative pose and the hours at which she worked in the other part of the establishment.
"Two coffees," Paget ordered cheerfully, indicating that he would be paying for both.
DelMonde took the waitress by the elbow before she could turn away. "Coffee an' a bourbon," he contradicted in an uncompromising tone.
"Two coffees," his companion corrected with equal authority, offering the waitress a credit chip as down payment on a generous tip.
"Coffee an' a great big ol' bourbon, honey," the Cajun countered, doubling his bribe, then sending the girl on her way with a firm pat on her scantily clad backside.
Paget sighed. "I can't take you anywhere."
"Sometimes I wish you wouldn't," N.C. replied, giving the defiantly downscale interior of the bar and its surly collection of scattered patrons a disapproving glance.
"So," Paget said, carefully keeping his gaze from wandering over the clientele. "What are you getting?"
"No," DelMonde answered tightly.
"Nothing?"
"No, I mean I not openin' up my brain in th' bottom floor of a damn whorehouse."
Paget raised a surprised eyebrow. "You're not going puritanical on me, are you?"
"No, I goin' on two damned hours o' sleep after a bad day," the engineer growled, glaring at customer who dared to pass their table on his way the restroom. "That what I goin' on, son."
"Which is why you should have had coffee," Jer reminded him.
"You jus' hope th' bourbon keep me from killin' you," DelMonde returned sourly. He crossed his arm and curled his lip in distaste at the environs. "You got no idea th' sort o' fucked up shit people t'ink 'bout in a whorehouse..."
"Like what?" Paget replied. "Sex, maybe?"
"If it were jus' sex, I not complain." The Cajun shook his head. "That'd be like complainin' 'bout folks t'inkin' 'bout food in a restaurant."
Jer smiled. "You've done that."
"When?"
"In New Orleans."
"Mais, that were tourists," N.C. dismissed crossly. "Tourists bother th' hell out o' me."
Their waitress returned with their order. To be on the safe side, she'd brought two steaming cups of coffee and a tall glass of bourbon.
Paget couldn't fault her reasoning. "Thanks," he said, making sure one of the coffees ended up on his cabinmate's side of the table. "Uhm... we're kind of looking for a friend of ours."
DelMonde snorted. "Some friend."
"She's dressed like we are," Paget continued, ignoring this input. "Around twenty-seven years old. Red hair. Freckles..."
"Stuck up nose in th' air," N.C. added. "T'ink she better than ever'body else. Always got to shoot her damn mouth off..."
The waitress's thin lips twisted into a sideways frown. "I not see her," she answered in an accent that suggested she'd emigrated from the Martian colonies. "I ask at the bar for you, yes?"
"Thanks." Paget handed over another credit piece for her trouble. He let his eyes follow her progress back to the bar before turning back to his companion. "So, get anything from that?"
The Cajun shrugged as he took a long sip from his glass. "Probably 'bout what you got."
Jer blinked at him. "And what did I get?"
DelMonde smiled at him maddeningly. "You tell me."
"She thinks she's seen Kane," Paget speculated. "She's pretty sure she'll get in trouble if she says so."
N.C. raised his glass in tribute. "Ensign Paget, you could be a telepath in trainin'."
"Just reading nonverbal cues," the Security Man demurred firmly.
"See, you not even need me, son," DelMonde said, leaning back in his chair with his bourbon. "Got them nonverbal clues..."
Jer's communicator chirped. "Paget here."
"Mangini," the voice on the other end identified himself tersely. "Anything?"
"Not yet. You?"
"Nothing. Where are you?"
"We're questioning locals in a bar on the third level," Paget replied, feeling a twinge of guilt in spite of himself as he watched his cabinmate down his glass of whiskey in slow, satisfied sips.
"Locals?" Mangini snorted. "All I get from them is bitching about how bad the repairs are."
"Yeah, we're not getting much either," Paget replied, noting the baleful looks he was getting from customers offended by his use of a Starfleet issued communicator in their bar.
"Third level? Hey, are you guys at Donner's Dive?"
"Yeah."
"I'm a couple doors down. Suspicious foot traffic in and out of the back of a storage unit with a 'Closed' sign in front."
"Sounds like a problem for Station security," Paget warned.
"Just observing," Mangini assured him. "It's the only anomalous activity I've seen."
"Well, don't get too close to it," his fellow officer cautioned. "DelMonde and I will join you there when we wrap up here."
"Great. Mangini out."
"Did he say a warehouse?" DelMonde frowned as Paget put away his communicator. "I t'ink I might have read...."
A cold shiver ran down the Security Officer's spine as his friend's face suddenly changed. "What is it?"
"Oh, hell!" The Cajun sprang to his feet, but it was already too late.
Armed local security personnel simultaneously appeared at all the bar's doorways, effectively blocking any possible exit.
"Oh, hell!" DelMonde repeated miserably as a guardsman with a bullhorn warned everyone to stay seated with their hands in clear view. "It a damned raid."
"I thought prostitution was legal here," Paget said uneasily as more armed guardsmen poured through the portals.
"It is," the Cajun replied quietly as he was gestured back to his seat by a number of laser rifle barrels. "It the photolectrine lab in th' back that breakin' the law."
Photolectrine was really not as strong as any of the comparable Haven drugs. However, the substance had somehow offended the sensibilities of a religious group headquartered in a nearby star system. The Benenites, who were quite politically active, had managed to outlaw the drug throughout this sector.
As he watched the grey and black armor-clad law enforcement personnel move through the crowd confiscating weapons, checking ids, and putting people into restraints, Jer decided that as little as he liked the Benenites, he couldn't really be too sorry they had picked on photolectrine. The drug tended to temporarily blind users while giving them strong hallucinations. Addicts - called star heads - were always freaking out and running into walls. Funny at first, but pretty annoying when you had to deal with it on a regular basis.
As he had hoped would not happen, three guardsmen moved to their table.
"On your feet, 'Fleeters," one of them ordered while the other two leveled weapons as his and his cabinmate's heads.
Giving DelMonde a warning glance to follow suit, Paget stood and docilely allowed the guardsmen to take his communicator and weapon. After downing the rest of his whiskey in protest, N.C. reluctantly did the same.
"Look, officer," Paget said in a very calm, professional voice as guardsman briskly searched him. "We're not part of this. We were just having a cup of coffee..."
"Tell it to the judge, Fed," the leader of the guardsmen snapped back unsympathetically. At his signal, the guardsman turned Paget around, pulling his hands roughly behind his back and clamping a pair of energy manacles around his wrists.
Please, don't let N.C. freak, he silently begged whatever cruel fates were allowing this to happen. Please, don't...
"Get your motherfuckin' hands off...!" came a few seconds later, as predictably - although far less welcome - as the morning sun.
When he craned around to see, four guardsmen had a grip on the struggling engineer.
The leader jerked DelMonde's head back using an ungentle handful of the Cajun's thick hair. "Settle down, pretty boy," the local advised. "Or I'll have to ram that nice face of yours into the wall a few times."
"Cool it, babe," Paget warned as the engineer growled impotently at his captors. "They're just doing their job."
"Yeah," a second guardsman chimed in as he and his companions roughly guided the Hood officers to the wall to join the other handcuffed suspects they were gathering. "And if we just happen to love our work, then good for us, right, Feddie?"
Paget failed to join in the triumphant chuckles this supposed witticism provoked in both free and captive locals.
"Dammit to motherfuckin' hell," DelMonde growled as he was shoved into place beside him.
"Calm down," Paget advised with an equanimity he did not currently feel as he watched the guardsmen single out more individuals for arrest seemingly at random. "We haven't done anything. They'll just take us to their station, check our IDs and we'll be out again."
"No we won't," the engineer replied quietly, turning so that only Paget could hear him. "The one that took my communicator was one o' the saboteurs. He planted a quarter ounce o' photolectine on me."
The horrible sinking feeling he'd been holding off ever since the police burst into the bar finally hit the pit of Jer's stomach. "Oh, hell."
"You too, pro'bly," the Cajun informed him before facing out again in an effort to not draw attention.
"They've got an insider in local security," Paget said, closing his eyes and shaking his head in despair. "Do you know what that means?"
"Do you know what th' penalty fo' bein' found wit' a quarter ounce of photolectine is?" his cabinmate countered in an urgent whisper.
A dose of photolectine was about the size of a grain of rock salt. A quarter ounce of the substance was enough to be charged with intent to sell. This - as DelMonde knew that he knew - was sufficient in this part of the Galaxy to send one for a two decade long sojourn in a Benenite gulag.
"We got to get outta here," the Cajun said out of the side of his mouth.
"Any ideas how?" Paget replied sarcastically.
"Yeah," N.C. replied without hesitation. "When all hell break loose, follow me."
Paget only had a second to reflect on what a perfect recipe for disaster that sounded like before all purgatory did indeed seem to descend on the crowd of suspects. The guardsman had corralled around a dozen ne'er-do-wells so far. The handcuffed group had not, of course, been enthusiastic about being chosen, but they had confined expression of their displeasure to sullen silence. Now they began to grumble and mutter. Some twitched as if itching powder was being poured onto their skin.
"N.C...." Paget warned preemptively.
"Follow me," the engineer mouthed back. "In 3... 2..."
"Fucking cops!" one handcuffed thug burst out, throwing himself angrily at the nearest officer.
Suddenly, almost all the suspects broke rank and began to either slam into guardsmen or run for the door.
"N.C.!" Paget shouted above the ensuing din as the engineer dropped back and headed for the portal nearest to their old table. "That's the door to the..."
When his cabinmate took off without heeding his warning, Jer had no choice but to follow, hoping that DelMonde knew something he didn't.
He dashed to keep up as the Cajun raced down the narrow hallway leading away from the bar then bolted through the entrance to the men's room... completely ignoring a clearly marked sign pointing to an exit.
"N.C.!" Paget called in stunned amazement as he watched his friend shoulder his way into one of the stalls. "This is the..."
"C'mon!" DelMonde ordered, unhesitatingly sticking a booted foot into the waste disposal unit.
"What are you...?" Paget gasped as the Cajun awkwardly pressed the button to flush the unit with his outstretched elbow.
"Come ON!" DelMonde roared as lights began to flash and warning buzzers sounded.
"What the hell?" Jer asked, dumbfounded as mechanical voice began to chant, "Malfunction detected. Please exit. Malfunction detected. Please exit..."
"Stand up on th' seat," the Cajun ordered. "NOW!"
Looking around and hoping no security cameras were capturing the moment, Paget reluctantly complied. After a few seconds of wondering if his friend had picked a particularly bad time to lose all mental acuity, the waste disposal unit began to slide backwards.
"See?" the Cajun grinned as they slid into an ill-lit, grimy, evil-smelling chamber. "Told ya."
Paget could hear machinery hum as a newer unit rose up to take the place of the one they were standing on and in. What had been the wall behind the unit folded down into the floor as a new wall slid up to close off view of the bathroom behind them.
Where the hell are we?" the Security Officer asked, sincerely wishing he had a hand free to put over his nose.
"Plumber's corridor," DelMonde answered, unperturbed as he took his foot out of the disposal unit and shook it off.
"Aren't we going to run into the plumber?" Paget speculated as he watched his friend cross over to an open tool caddy.
"No." The engineer squinted in the dim light at the meager selection of worn implements. "Prob'ly not. A low-class operation like this prob'ly only have a guy who come in once or twice a month - no matter how many o' their units break."
Paget turned his head away from the row of toilets lined up beside the one he was still standing on. "That would explain the smell."
DelMonde turned and leaned back to select a tool from the caddy. "C'mere."
"If you insist," the Security Officer said, not terribly enthusiastic about getting any further into this odiferous den than he already was.
"Turn around," the Cajun ordered, doing likewise. Paget could hear and feel the buzz of energy as his friend activated the small laser wrench. "Tthough I bet you got more experience than I do in gettin' outta cuffs like this..."
"I so seldom want to," Paget joked back, happily rubbing his wrists as the restraints dropped off.
"Don't even start in 'bout leavin' mine on," DelMonde warned over his shoulder as he handed the wrench to his cabinmate.
"Have I ever told you that you're no fun?" the Security Officer asked, making quick work of the engineer's wristlocks.
"Daily." The Cajun turned up the hem of his tunic on his left side and removed a small baggie adhered there. He frowned mightily as he did the same for his fellow officer. "We in a shitload o' trouble, son," he announced, holding up the two packets of illicit drugs.
"Yeah." Paget nodded grimly. "But can we discuss it in a place that smells less like it?"
The engineer scanned the top of the walls around them. "Yeah," he replied, quickly crossing the tool caddy, selecting a handful of instruments and sticking them into a belt pack that he quickly buckled on. DelMonde then put a piece of metal plating over the top the caddy and pulled it underneath an air vent. Using the caddy as a ladder, he deftly disabled the locks holding the vent cover in place.
"Apres vous," he said, gesturing Paget in before him.
"Why, thank you, kind sir," the Security Officer said, eagerly taking the hand up to boost him into the vent. Once inside, he returned the favor, by pulling his roommate up after him.
"My, my, Ensign DelMonde," he teased as the engineer welded the vent cover back in place from the inside. "But you do seem quite proficient at evading police custody."
When the engineer gave him a narrow look in reply, Paget remembered the rather precarious existence DelMonde had seemed to have been living in New Orleans when they had first met.
"I read a lot of novels," the Cajun informed him icily.
The rooms in the upper floors of Donner's Dive were very much like standard, cheap hotel rooms - aside from the cords and pulleys attached to the ceilings and the padded metal frames stuck in the closets. After crawling through the air vents long enough to assure themselves that they were not being pursued, Paget and DelMonde had decided to risk breaking into an unoccupied suite to get their bearings and change out of their uniforms. As in a cheap hotel, each room featured a credit chip-operated fresher unit that would allow a client the opportunity to leave with a clean set of clothes.
Paget stood guard at the door while DelMonde hacked into the unit and reprogrammed it to transform their uniforms into worn-looking versions of the sort of outfit that the locals wore.
"I feel naked without my tricorder," the Security Officer complained, using one of N.C.'s purloined laser wrenches to keep the door ajar.
The engineer snorted with laughter. "Yeah, that an' wit'out your pants," he said, tossing his fellow officer a dingy pair of brown trousers.
"So that raid was primarily designed to net the two of us?" Paget asked, pulling on the garment without taking his eye off his narrow view of the corridor.
N.C. stuffed his boots into the unit's intake bin. "Seem that way."
"All of them in on it?"
"I t'ink jus' a couple of 'em," the engineer replied distractedly as he punched in new coding while shouldering his way into the grimy-looking tank top he'd converted his uniform tunic into. "But I not sure."
"Still, that's a couple of them." Paget frowned. "And they knew exactly where to find us."
"That waitress coulda tipped 'em off," the Cajun pointed out as the fresher hummed and rattled.
"Or the surveillance cameras that aren't working for us could be working just fine for them."
DelMonde sighed and nodded grimly. "Reckon they done got Kane an' Carlos?"
"It's entirely possible."
The fresher dinged and spit out a dilapidated pair of mag boots.
"Gimme your shirt," the engineer requested, re-opening the intake bin.
"What you did in the bar was pretty impressive," Paget said, letting the door close for the seconds it took for him to remove his tunic.
"Yeah," the Cajun replied without a trace of modesty.
"I didn't know you could do things like that," Jer said, carefully reopening the door a few inches.
DelMonde tossed the tunic into the fresher, then sat down on the bed to put on his new, old boots. "Like what?"
"Whatever it was you did to make those guys lose their shit and rush the cops."
"I not make nobody do not'ing they not wanna do," the Cajun explained. "I jus' kinda give 'em a shove in a certain direction."
Paget turned around for a moment to grin at him. "That was a pretty good shove."
"Yeah," N.C. acknowledged with a touch of smugness. "But it were a pretty rough crowd... an', at that, most of 'em still jus' wanted t' run away."
The 'fresher dinged again and DelMonde took out a sloppy-looking t-shirt that he tossed to his friend.
"We're gonna need jackets and hats or something to hide our faces," Paget requested, pulling the garment on one-handedly.
"Already on it," the engineer reported, liberating a stack of towels from the bathroom and feeding them into the unit.
"Before the cops came into the bar, you were about to say something about a warehouse."
"Yeah." DelMonde tapped more code into the fresher's controls. "Don't know who was t'inking it, but there was somet'ing from someone earlier an' again at the bar 'bout droppin' somet'ing off or pickin' somet'ing up at a warehouse..."
"Wonder if that was Carlos' warehouse?"
"Wit' our luck, I not doubt it. He probably run right into th' whole nest of 'em." When the 'fresher dinged again, the Cajun pulled out a credible looking crummy jacket. "How's that?"
Paget caught the short coat and examined it. "Nice. With buckles even. Never know it started life as a towel."
"Them buckles is pretty flimsy," the engineer warned, re-loading the bin. "They extrapolated outta th' metallic threads in th' insignia on th' tunic."
Jer whistled, impressed. "We definitely need more braid on our sleeves. Imagine what you could have done if we were both admirals."
"Shiny begets shiny," DelMonde confirmed. "That jus' one more o' the privileges that rank hath, I guess."
"You called one of the cops a saboteur," Paget said, changing the subject as he donned his new, not-so finery. "What did you see that made you think that?"
"When he planted th' photolectrine on me, he were t'inking, 'The boss'll like this.'"
"So, you didn't actually see him sabotaging anything?"
"No." The engineer took out his own jacket. "Guess I jus' assumed."
Paget didn't waste time informing him how dangerous assumptions could be. Instead he gave his fellow officer a critical up and down glance. "Damn, N.C."
"What?"
"That's the same damned outfit I tried to get you to quit wearing for the first two years I knew you."
The engineer adjusted his collar defensively. "No, it not."
"Really. How's it any different?"
The Cajun looked up and down the sleeves of the battered jacket and the legs of his shoddy trousers for a few moments before finally coming up with, "It green."
Paget rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You get any impression who the 'boss' is from the cop?"
"Sorta..." The Cajun paused to sort through his impression. "A rat-faced sorta man wit' funny eyebrows."
"Vulcan-funny?"
"No, kinda... fuzzy..."
"And the boss is not a cop?"
"No...." As DelMonde paused to consider this, the 'fresher spit out a hat and a knit cap it had fabricated from a pair of washcloths under the Cajun's direction. "He was... somebody in business at a place.... A business sorta place... kinda look like... a warehouse."
The two Hood officers exchanged a glance.
"We've got to find Carlos," they decided in unison.
Based on his knowledge of the layout of the first floor and what he'd observed crawling through the air vents, DelMonde had theorized that there was likely to be a service lift nearby that could take them directly to a street level exit. This did necessitate, however, venturing out into the corridor.
"Yeah, baby," Paget cooed, grabbing his fellow officer, and nuzzling his neck as they sighted an employee leading a client down the hallway to one of the rooms. "Sugar, I'm gonna do stuff to you that's gonna curl your hair..."
"I wish you not," the engineer growled back uncooperatively. "I not like my hair t' get all tangled up."
The Security Officer giggled and bit his friend playfully on the shoulder. "You're too cute."
"That not entirely necessary," DelMonde said, after the door had closed behind the pro and her customer. He used his laser wrench to deactivate the lock on the door to the service lift they were standing next to. "They not payin' no attention to us."
Paget blew into his ear teasingly. "They, who, honey?"
The Cajun hid his grin under a growl. "Behave yourself," he reproved, ushering his fellow officer into the 'lift.
The lift car obligingly deposited them out into corridor running along the side of Donner's Dive.
"If we could get to a public comm station..." Paget wished, squinting down the alleyway to the broader walkway that ran in front of the building.
"No." DelMonde put a restraining hand on his friend's shoulder. Signaling the Security Officer to do likewise, he then crossed the corridor and picked up one of the small crates stacked outside an entrance to the establishment opposite the one they'd exited.
"What is it?" Paget asked, as the engineer placed him so that his body would block the view of DelMonde overriding the portal's security codes. "Police?"
"Two undercovers at th' end o' the corridor," the Cajun reported without looking in that direction. "Cops t'inkin' cop thoughts..." His black eyes glittered with amusement as he looked up at his friend when the doorway slid open. "You all do, you know."
The entrance gave them access to what seemed to be the preparation area of a large restaurant of some sort. Although a veritable bedlam of activity swirled around them as workers hustled steaming containers from one part of the clanging, sizzling room to another, no one paid any particular attention to them as they made their way through carrying crates on their shoulders.
Using a pair of crates to pose as delivery men was such an effortlessly brilliant disguise that Paget had to ask, "N.C., have you ever been arrested?"
The Cajun scowled at him before checking over his shoulder to make sure that no one was watching them too closely as they approached the door to a locked room marked 'Service Personnel Only.' "What make you say a t'ing like that?"
"Professional curiosity," Paget admitted honestly as he watched his friend expertly pick yet another lock.
The door slid open to reveal what looked like part of the very grimy engine room of a medium-sized vessel.
"Good." DelMonde set his crate down beside the door that had slid closed behind him. He beckoned Paget to follow him down the metal catwalk that stretched out for at least a quarter mile in each direction. "Perfect, perfect."
"Where are we?" Jer asked as his friend consulted some sort of diagram posted on the wall.
"Service corridor," the engineer replied, tracing out certain lines on the chart with his forefinger. "Pro'bly runs through the back o' every buildin' on this side o' this level." He pointed at some translucent piping running over head. "See.? That the water recycle. That fo' heatin'. There the air recirculation conduit. You know, all that."
"We can just walk to the warehouse like this?" Paget said, peering down the catwalk.
"If I can figure out where it is." DelMonde chewed his lip as he scanned the diagram. "All right. I'm gonna say it gotta be this place." He tapped the chart. "A storage facility would need a more limited variety o' life support hook ups."
Paget nodded. "Sounds reasonable."
"Here." The Cajun handed him a large coupling spanner that someone had left leaning against a nearby piece of equipment. "Try t' look like you know how to use this if we run into somebody."
The Security man gave him a lethal grin as he pulled the knit cap down low over his forehead as he swung the spanner up onto his shoulder. "Oh, rest assured, I can make use of this thing... whatever the hell it is."
The Cajun shook his head as he set off down the catwalk. "I jus' can't take you nowhere..."
After they'd gone a few dozen feet, DelMonde looked back over his shoulder irritably. "An' quit t'inkin' 'bout that t'ing you t'inkin'."
"What?" Paget asked innocently.
"'Bout what you ask me." N.C. frowned mightily. "No call fo' you to t'ink somet'ing like that."
"Okay," the Security Officer agreed easily, although he continued to be impressed by the amount of savior-faire his companion was demonstrating in evading detection.
The Cajun walked on for a few more paces before bursting out with, "'Cause if you mean arrested fo' real... That defamation of character, son."
Paget turned his head to one side. "What constitutes 'arrested for real'?"
"You know," N.C. growled, setting off again. "You commit a crime. The police come get you. You go see th' judge an' get your ass thrown in the jail."
"Okay, then what's arrested 'not for real'?"
The Cajun stopped and sighed deeply before admitting, "I been detained a time or two."
"Detained as in 'detained for questioning'?" Paget speculated.
"Detained fo' th' purpose o' bein' yelled at mostly," DelMonde grumbled, taking off down the catwalk again. "Detained an' sent home in hopes I'd get a good beatin' for whatever I done."
"And what did you do?"
"Not'ing," the Cajun insisted hotly. After a few more paces, he grudgingly admitted, "Mais, you know I like t' drink."
"Yes." Paget nodded. "That I do know."
"An' I had a good fake ID, but ...well, I like t' drink... an' pretty much ever'body in th' quarter figure out who I was an' could call the cops t' toss me out if I pissed somebody off."
"Which happened a time or two," Paget concluded gently.
"So, there was that," DelMonde acceded sourly. "An'... also... from th time I was 'bout knee-high... wit' the right tool I could get past any lock in town..."
Paget was genuinely surprised. "Breaking and entering?"
"No," the Cajun denied, appalled at the suggestion. After a few more feet, though, he confessed, "Mais, there was a time... T'ings were real bad for me... An' for a while... I used to get into this antique store on Royal Street an' sleep in this old wooden bed they had up in there... Man, that was a fine sleepin' piece o' furniture..."
"Until you overslept?" Paget predicted.
"Yep," his friend confirmed ruefully. "The worst I ever got detained, though, was one time a cop pulled me out a club, put th' cuffs on me, throwed me in th' back o' his vehicle an' then cussed me out fo' 20 minutes straight."
"Why'd he do that?"
"His mama run that club an' I kinda call her a bitch... an' sorta dropped a big hint 'bout him bein' illegitimate... an' pretty much named the name o' the low-life who fathered him," DelMonde admitted. "Though a bunch o' people already knowed all 'bout that..."
Paget nodded. "Cops can be sensitive about that sort of thing."
DelMonde rolled his eyes ruefully as he came to a halt in front of a metal portal marked, 'Graylord's Storage.' "You have no idea, son."
When the engineer moved to start work on the lock, Paget held him back. "If this is the place we're looking for, then they may have an alarm on that door."
"That they may," DelMonde conceded. He began to search the wall surrounding the portal. "Hold on a minute," he said, tracing out something with his finger on one large diagrams like the one he'd referenced earlier. "We may have another option here...."
"Another entrance?" The Security Officer asked as his friend pressed a series of button. In response a narrow metal ladder came sliding down beside the door.
"Kinda," the engineer replied tersely, mounting the bottom rung and ascending rapidly. "C'mon. I t'ink you might like this."
When the Cajun slid, a story and a half up, into what looked like a symmetrical crack in the wall, Paget had his doubts. Despite his misgivings, he followed and found himself in a tiny enclosure that wasn't tall enough for a man to stand or even sit up comfortably. Lining the back wall of this crawlspace was a row of computer screens.
"What is this?" he asked, sliding in beside DelMonde on his stomach.
"Diagnostic bay fo' th' enviro system."
In response to the press of a button, a control board rolled out for the engineer. As he began to tap on it, the opening through which they had entered slid closed. To fight the wave of claustrophobia this provoked, Paget turned his focus to the bank of computer screens in front of him. Most were steadily displaying perfectly level readout bars or regular pulses of what he assumed to be mechanical health. A few of them, though, had begun to flicker.
DelMonde paused and bit his thumb thoughtfully for a few seconds. When he tapped the control board again, more screens flickered. The engineer frowned mightily at this development.
"What are you trying to do?" Paget asked, as his friend rolled on to his side so that he could get a couple tools out of his jacket. "Can I help?"
"I not t'ink so." There was a whining beep of mechanical protest as the Cajun applied a focused beam to some circuit in the ceiling of the crawlspace. "'Less you wanna cross some fingers while I do this..."
There was a spark, a crackle, and then one of the flickering screens began to display a static filled picture.
"I tryin' to re-route th' visual feed from th' security system through here," N.C. explained, twisting his laser wrench until the picture became a very clear shot of a room full of boxes.
Paget grinned. "You're right. I do think I'm going to like this."
"Told ya." The Cajun rolled back over so he could input more commands into his board.
A few more screens flickered into displays of other rooms or other angles of rooms.
The Security Officer nodded approvingly. "So we get a birdseye view of the whole layout... Can we contact the ship from here?"
"Jeremy, these are monitors fo' a diagnostic system - not Puff, the Magic Computer," the engineer replied acidly as he continued to input commands. "I not make it contact th' ship, neither can I make it grow wings or dance th' two-step."
"Sorry."
"It a minor miracle I can get it to do what it doin' now."
Paget cheerfully retrieved the wrench that was trying to roll away from him. "May Engineering Heaven forgive my lack of appreciation of even the most minor miracles of St. DelMonde of the Diodes...."
The Cajun let this levity pass unremarked as he worked on switching more of the monitors to the security feed.
Jer propped his chin up on his fist as he scanned the pictures. "Well, you can't say this building is exactly swarming with people, can you?"
"There one." DelMonde pointed to the image of a lone humanoid stationed near a doorway. The person was either on guard or sleeping. It was hard to tell. The Cajun turned to his friend with a superior smile. "That a perfect picture of a Security Man at work."
"The camera can't capture the mental drama," Paget replied easily. "How many feeds are there in this building?"
The Cajun consulted his board. "A fuckload," he estimated.
"And we have to go through them one by one?"
"Unless you got a better idea."
"I do." He gave a sideways grin to his companion. "Don't know if you and Puff the Magic Computer are up to it or not..."
DelMonde scowled at him affably. "Let's hear it."
"The environmental system probably has a way of registering heat..."
The engineer interrupted with a strangled cry of frustration. "...On every friggin' atom in the place. How th' hell could I not thought o' that?"
Paget smiled as his friend's fingers began to fly over the board. "It's kind of draining to have to perform minor miracles on two hours of sleep and four ounces of bourbon."
"Tell me 'bout it." The Cajun gave a satisfied grunt as the screen directly over the one carrying the picture of the lone guard displayed first a scroll of numbers then a display of colored bars and finally a picture configured like the picture on the bottom with a vibrant green, yellow, and red outline of the guard contrasting with cool dark blue and black box shapes. "Now, let see where th' hotspot be in this joint," DelMonde's fingers flew over the keyboard again. The screen flickered back to a blurred scroll of numbers, then to mélange of colored bars, and finally settled into a psychedelic ghost gallery.
The Engineer squinted at a designation in the corner of the screen. "That A1944C1A," he read off, typing in the code. The bottom screen showed a side view of the room with six humanoids lounging around a desk.
"Wish we could hear what they're saying," Paget said.
DelMonde shook his head. "T'ink they jus' talkin' 'bout sports."
"Do you have other views of the room?"
The engineer fed a few rapid commands to his board. "Ask an' you shall receive," he said as all the screens filled up with views of the same scene.
"If you could magnify this view..." Paget said, tapping a screen to his right. "We might be able to see what's on the computer screen that guy's staring at."
DelMonde tapped a few more times and the image of the computer became bigger and bigger until it filled up most of the screen.
It displayed an Aldeberan in front of a pink skyline talking excitedly about something. After a few seconds, the image changed to that of a group of swimmers in heavily padded gear blocking the passage of a glowing orb in deep-sea setting.
"Dive-ball," Paget concluded.
"Sordeson versus Korgzukat." The Cajun nodded. "Should be a good game."
The Security officer pointed to a screen on the upper row. "Can you let me see the faces?"
The camera did a slow scan of the assembled humanoids.
"That guy was at Kane's speech," Paget concluded.
DelMonde nodded at the next faces scanned. "An' them two were at the bar."
The Security Man frowned. "And they're just thinking about sports?"
The Cajun shrugged. "It a good game."
Paget's frown depended. "Hope it doesn't go into overtime."
The two scanned the screens in silence for a few minutes.
"Speakin' of mental drama," DelMonde said, after a pause. "You need to stop t'inking that professional interest stuff."
"We're kind of on an investigation right now." Paget pointed to a different screen. "Focus on the on the label on that crate."
After a few minutes as fruitless observation of the object, the engineer said, "That not what I talkin' 'bout an' you know it."
"It's what I'm thinking about." The Security man gestured his request to scan to the left.
"No," the engineer replied as he complied. "You keep plannin' out how you'd catch me if I were a perpetrator."
Paget smiled and gestured for him to pan upwards. "Do I?"
"You know you do," the Cajun grumbled.
"Well, that's a waste of time."
"Hell, yeah."
"I know exactly how I'd catch you."
DelMonde gave him a narrow glance. "Oh, you do, do you?"
"Yeah." Paget nodded as he gestured for him to pan right. "I'd just line up a trail of shot glasses leading to the bunk inside my brig, fill 'em with Johnnie Walker Red, then sit back and wait to activate the force field."
The Cajun shook his head. "That jus' mean."
Paget shrugged. "It would work."
"I not sayin' it not work. It jus' mean, is all." DelMonde frowned as he switched the requested view to a better angle. "Somebody bound t' get to leas' one o' them shot glasses 'fore me."
"Then I'd just add in the manslaughter charges and let you have the rest of the bottle inside the cell," Paget replied amenably.
"You bet your ass you would."
"Zoom in on that table," the Security Officer request. "Yes.... Yes... Right in the center on those metal... What was the technical term you use for those?"
"Widgets," DelMonde supplied, then whistled. "Son of a bitch. There they are."
A collection of parts from the machinery they'd worked on that afternoon was scattered in a careless pile on a table opposite from the figures watching the game.
"Wonder how they got there?" Paget asked rhetorically.
"Kane could probably figure out a way I could manage to drop 'em there," DelMonde said.
"Hey, we've got activity," the Security officer alerted him, pointing at a blur of color on one of the top screens.
"Yes, we do." The engineer switched cameras to give them several angles on the newcomers.
They were two rag-tag adolescents. One of them placed one of the ubiquitous Di'Adonat's take-out containers on the desk.
"They ordered ribs," Paget concluded, disappointed and a little jealous.
"Not exactly," DelMonde said just before one of the men watching the game opened up the box and dumped out several bits of metal. "Motherfuckers."
"More widgets?" his fellow officer asked as the man sorted through the metal as if he were counting.
The engineer supplied the Security Officer with a tight shot of the boys' offerings. "Motherfuckin' ball-pin bearings from th' fuckin' J-12 line that I jus' motherfuckin' installed. Motherfuckin' bastards..."
"Well, I think we've found Saboteur Central," Jer said as the man counted out credits into the boys palms.
"Now the li'l jackasses laughin' 'cause they heard that we got chewed out," DelMonde fumed. "Fuckin' jerk-ass kids."
"Hard cash and a good laugh," Paget said. "That's a combination that would be pretty hard for any good juvenile delinquent to pass up."
"I gonna pass my fist upside they heads," the engineer promised darkly. "An' now Mr. Paymaster tellin' 'em to be sure to call the cops if they t'ink they see one o' the two o' us. They heard we mixed up wit' a photolectrine smugglin' gang."
Jer shook his head at the insidious efficacy at work. "So everyone on the station will be after us."
"The jerk-ass kids wanna know if they's a reward," the Cajun reported. "An' - why, yes - quelle surprise - they is a nice bonus on top o' anyt'ing the police may be offerin'."
"I'm shocked."
The two boys left, talking excitedly. "They arguin' 'bout whether to stake out two o' the last three places where we ate, a public comm. station, our central beam down point, or..."
"...A bar?" Paget guessed.
"Li'l bastards." DelMonde switched the view back to the box containing their purloined booty. "At leas' we got..." His words stuck in this throat as the man unconcernedly dumped the would-be evidence into a disposal unit. "Bastard!"
"There's ways to trace what's gone through a disposal," Paget soothed his friend. "So, is this guy the boss?" he asked when the man went back to watching sports.
"No." The Cajun turned his head to one side. "He waitin' for... somet'ing... a call? Somet'ing 'bout orders... or instructions on... what to do wit'..."
Paget's guts tightened as his friend's eyes suddenly went wide.
"Oh, shit," DelMonde swore, his fingers flying over the control board.
"Carlos," Jer said, even before the image of another room with three occupants - one of whom was lying on top of a crude bed of boxes - showed up on one of the screens. "Is he...?"
The engineer immediately brought up a duplicate scene recording heat readings.
"Not dead," the Security Officer concluded gratefully as a normal range of colors lit up his fellow officer's form.
"Out like a light an' trussed up like th' Christmas turkey," the Cajun agreed. "But he alive."
Paget shook his head at the two humanoids guarding the unconscious Mangini. Their careless positioning of themselves relative to their captive spoke volumes to him about their lack of proficiency in sentry duty. "Amateurs."
"That make it easier for us to get him out, non?"
Jer nodded. "Still..."
DelMonde grinned at him. "Like listenin' to cats tryin' t' sing opera, eh?"
"Wonder if they snuck up on him?" Paget frowned at the scene. "Or.."
"Or if he ran in like a lust-crazed idiot?" the Cajun finished for him. "You gonna try to make this my fault?"
"Maybe we should concentrate on finding the big boss," Jer suggested instead of replying aloud. "Bring up all the smaller concentrations of heat sources."
"'Cause it not my fault," N.C. muttered as he complied.
"Can you give me a different angle here?"
"There such a t'ing as free will, you know..."
"Despite the number of security cams," Paget observed. "They seem to have a fair number of perimeter guards."
"Not like he a zombie puppet or somet'ing..." DelMonde continued despite Paget's pretense of not listening.
"These could be other drop off points for the saboteurs they're hiring," Jer speculated. "Or maybe they've had problems with break-ins..."
"He makin' his own decisions..."
"... Because if they're paying per mechanical part, it might have occurred to someone that they could just break in and steal from what they assumed to be a stockpile here..."
"...An' you know good an' damn well I never do anyt'ing to make it so he get hurt..."
The Security Man turned and looked at his friend. "N.C., if there's anything you're feeling guilty about, please feel free to talk about it as much as you want."
"Oh, Sweet Mary," the Cajun groaned, realizing he'd played right into Paget's crypto-psychologist hands. "Sometimes I hate you."
"Hey," Jer said, his attention genuinely diverted by what was on screen. "What's wrong with that guy?"
The engineer brought up extra views of a hunched over figure. After a moment he smiled. "The main t'ing wrong wit' that guy is that he Serena Kane."
Upon close examination, Paget could discern that the lieutenant had also assumed civilian garb to disguise herself and had her fiery red hair stuffed up into a cap. "Well, I'll be damned. What the hell does she think she's doing?"
DelMonde made a face. "She t'ink she gonna go in an' rescue Carlos."
"Does she?" The Security Man raised his eyebrows disapprovingly. "She knows they've got him?"
"Yeah." The engineer switched the view on one of the screens in front of them to a diagram of the first floor of the building showing the relative positions of all the heat sources. "I t'ink maybe she saw a couple saboteurs an' followed 'em to this warehouse. She got in through th' air vents, I t'ink. She could see an' hear 'em draggin' Carlos in an' talkin' 'bout catchin' him, but th' vent openings too small to fit through in that room. She gotta go through a door."
"Does she know there are two armed men in that room standing guard?" Paget asked.
"She hopin' it jus' one now. She do got a phaser wit' her."
"And that there are eight well-armed people in the room just beyond?" the Security Officer asked, indicating the mass of heat readings emanating from the group watching dive-ball.
"Nope. She not t'ink 'bout that," DelMonde reported. "Them guards sure not payin' no attention to their surveillance cameras, is they?"
Paget gave a deep, disapproving sigh for the whole scene. "Amateurs."
"Now this is all her craziness," the Cajun asserted, pointing at his fellow officer's image on the screen. "Don't have not'ing to do wit' me."
"I didn't say that it did."
"Well, don't," N.C. requested crossly.
"Although," Paget began, keeping his eyes on the lieutenant's halting progress towards the door to the room where her fellow officer was being held. "I will say that I've never seen you screw around with somebody the way you're screwing with Kane and Mangini."
"You not watch me all the time," the engineer rebutted irritably.
"You know who would be pissed off by you playing around with them that way, don't you?" Paget asked, watching Kane carefully peer into a blind alley created by the stacks of crates and boxes surrounding her.
The Cajun gave him a narrow look. "Don't say it."
"I think almost all the fights I ever saw you have with Ruth started over her thinking that you were misusing your telepathy," Jer observed, heedlessly.
"Shut th' fuck up," DelMonde warned.
"But it's not like you're trying to get even with her or something, is it?" Paget asked, staring inoffensively at the images of the building's guards displayed on the upper level of screens. "Not that I think that, but someone on the outside of the situation might conclude your manipulation of Kane and Mangini's feelings for each other was actually an act of sublimated aggression indicating deep feelings of unexpressed anger and perhaps a desire for revenge through an ostentatious reassertion of personal power that seems designed to counteract feelings of helplessness and/or emasculation."
When Paget turned, the Cajun's eyes were glittering at him dangerously.
The Security Officer smiled disingenuously. "But I wouldn't say that. I would shut the fuck up."
"Thank you," the engineer replied, with an imposing frown.
"Because I know good and well," Paget continued, undaunted. "That you would look at someone saying something like that as nothing more than a heinous act of pure skull-fuckery."
"Yes, yes, I would," DelMonde agreed adamantly.
"So I would just shut the fuck up," Jer concluded.
"Please do," his friend requested shortly. After a moment of very sullen silence, he switched the camera view back to room where the saboteurs had been watching sports. "A call comin' in."
Paget frowned at the plump, middle-aged humanoid in the frame. There was nothing at all odd that he could see about the man's eyebrows. "Is this the boss?"
"No," the engineer replied shortly. "Some messenger-boy lackey."
"Can you tell where he's calling from?"
At that moment, an unfamiliar woman in a familiar, skimpy set of clothing passed closely enough in the background that one could see the naked picture of her on her nametag.
"That a big enough clue fo' ya?" the Cajun asked unkindly.
"What is he saying?"
"The plan is to bring in photolectrine an' overdose Carlos. then dump him in th' alleyway beside Donner's Dive," the engineer announced bleakly.
"Getting rid of him and further linking us to illegal drug trafficking." Paget shook his head. "We're going to need to do something fast."
DelMonde chewed his lip thoughtfully for several moments, then reached for a button on the wall in front of them. "I got an idea."
"We're in a hurry." The Security Officer quickly halted him. "But I think we've got enough time for you to tell me what the idea is first."
"What the matter?" The Cajun frowned. "You t'ink I too angry an' emasculated t' come up wit'a good plan now?"
"You come up with some very ingenious plans," his friend insured him.
"You damn right, I do." DelMonde reached for the button again.
Paget stopped him again. "It's just that you sometimes have to come up with a second, more ingenious plan to get you out of the mess your first plan landed you in."
The Cajun growl. "I swear, you workin' my last nerve."
"Humor me," the Security Man requested firmly. "I've read a lot of novels about this sort of thing."
"Fine." The engineer gave a sigh that was more than half snarl. "I trip th' fire alarm on the second floor. Alarms go off..."
"Flame-retardant foam splashes all over everything and everyone in the building," Paget ticked off. "The station's Damage Control teams are automatically summoned."
"Everyone in here run out."
"Kane has her opportunity to save Carlos?"
"Or the DC team identify him as a casualty," DelMonde confirmed, then tilted his head at the image of the bound and gagged Security Officer. "A suspiciously tied up casualty."
"Hey." Paget shrugged. "Bondage happens."
"...An' take him to Medical."
"This group has at least one ally in the station's security force. What if they have someone in DC or medical?"
"They may," DelMonde conceded. "But we got th' element o' surprise this time. An' unless Kane knocked unconscious, she gonna start squawkin' loud an' long to all that'll listen as soon as she get the chance. She done seen sabotage an' followed it back to where she t'ink it originate. There no reason fo' her not to call th' ship as soon as she get th' opportunity."
Paget nodded. "Rescue Mangini and claim her promotion."
The Cajun lifted his finger over the fire alarm. "So?"
"A very ingenious plan," Jer pronounced.
"Not too bitter an' emasculated fo' ya?"
"Babe, you know I think of you as extremely masculated." Page licked his lips with a purposeful excess of lasciviousness. "In fact, I would love to masculate like hell with you right now."
"Thanks," the engineer replied coolly as he reached for the button that would activate the fire control system, "but I kinda busy right now."
At the press of that single control, all hell obediently broke loose. Paget watched all the figures on all their screens look up and around frantically as red lights began to scream and clouds of foam descended on them. Although they had no audio feed, the ear-splitting sirens where violently audible even in the seclusion of diagnostic bay.
Despite the fact that everything seemed to be going according to his plan, DelMonde suddenly gripped his fellow officer's arm and swore, "Shit!"
Paget scanned the screens for signs of whatever trouble was bothering him. "What?
"Move! Move! Move!" the Cajun ordered, pressing the controls that would reopen the bay doors.
Paget didn't pause to question him as the engineer pushed him towards the exit. He descended the ladder, fireman style, sliding down the sides. DelMonde was climbing down conventionally, but when he saw that his fellow officer was at the bottom, he jumped the last six or eight feet.
Paget helped him scramble to his feet, but the engineer only repeated, "Move! Move!" as he pushed his friend down the catwalk and away from the warehouse.
As they quickly slipped down an access passage to a lower level, Paget could hear feet pounding on the catwalk in the direction from which they'd come and the sound of angry curses audible over the screaming sirens.
"What happened?" he asked in a quiet scream to be heard over the din as DelMonde wrestled briefly with a lock.
"A bunch o' them jerk-ass kids tried the same t'ing las' week," the engineer explained once they were safely inside an ill-lit tunnel of some sorts. "You right. The scum they hire to sabotage us been tryin' to steal shit from 'em to sell back to 'em."
"Serves them right." Paget wasn't sure if what he could hear was the sound of footsteps above them or just the natural surge and flow of machinery.
"We best get outta here." DelMonde said, beckoning him forward into the labyrinth of pipe-like tunnels. "They gonna find how I rewired that bay an' know it weren't no kid."
After they'd rapidly covered a twisting enough path to confuse any pursuer, the Cajun stopped to catch his breath.
Paget hoped they weren't as lost as they hoped the people following them to be. "How's Kane doing?"
The Cajun's eyes went blank and unfocused for a few moments. "She... she happy she got a hat on... 'cause all that foam would sure take th' curl right out her hair."
Jer sighed in frustrated relief. "Well, I'm glad we know that..."
"I... I t'ink she done stunned... one o' them guards," the engineer reported, his voice taking on a faraway and abstract tone. "Maybe both... She wit' Carlos now.... Seem like she got him dragged down behind some boxes... Done got th' gag out his mouth.... Get th' foam off his face..."
"What?" Paget asked, when his friend's mouth quirked into a rueful expression.
"She t'inking he got a nice mouth," the Cajun admitted reluctantly. "T'inking it okay t' give him a li'l kiss 'cause she done rescued his ass all brave-like."
His friend considerately refrained from any further comment on DelMonde's hand in her affection for Mangini.
"Now he wakin' up," the engineer reported. "They start into slobbering on each other. Oh, Serena... Oh, Carlos...Oh, Serena...."
"Is Damage Control on the scene yet?" Paget asked, tactfully re-focusing the subject.
"She not payin' no attention to that." The Cajun shook his head, coming fully back to his own thoughts. "They got them a phaser an' a blaster she took off one o' them guards. They down behind boxes. When they quit tryin' to lick each other's tonsils, they can hold off a good number 'til th' DC team get to 'em."
"Good," Paget said, peering back into the murky tunnel behind them to listen for the sounds of any pursuers.
DelMonde crossed his arms. "You wantin' to go back to that whorehouse, non?" he postulated, an expression of distaste on his face.
"The warehouse was run by low-level operatives who had to wait for instructions on a fairly obvious thing to do with their prisoner... which was a good break for us, but..."
"It show they not nobody there who in charge o' nothing," the engineer agreed.
"The warehouse gives evidence that there has been sabotage. It also speaks to how the crimes were accomplished..."
"But not much 'bout who or why," DelMonde finished for him.
"It's possible that this location is only one of several collection hubs. It's also possible whoever's behind this could just write off the warehouse and the guys running it completely and move the same sort of operation to a different location."
"Besides," the Cajun concluded sourly, "Kane gonna take credit fo' anyt'ing that have happen in that warehouse. If we wanna look like anyt'ing but jerk-offs who been runnin' 'round all night like chickens wit' the head cut off..."
"Then we've got to take down the big boss," Paget affirmed.
"Shit," the engineer swore with bitter, but resigned bravery.