Dianne Freeman's Story

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The usually glistening stretch of sidewalk that belonged to The Scarlet Crest was now painted as red as its’ neon lights. What on any other night was a block-long line of people hoping to see the inside of the opulent nightclub had been transformed entirely. A sea of blue uniforms, and orange tape had replaced the street hustlers, and mobsters. Luxury cars were swapped for CSI vans, while nobody really seemed to know what to do. A rare thing had happened here, the venerable Nillies Police Department had finally found a crime nobody was willing to pay them to ignore, so now they had to do their jobs.

Standing less than two feet away from the start of the gore, Dianne Freeman could see why.

For twenty-three feet the sidewalk looked like someone had hosed it down with blood. Every square inch had at least a thin film of it, more than a few puddles had begun on the asphalt. A quick glance showed Dianne that every several feet lay carved up bones, chunks of human flesh, and shreds of clothing. Even for Van Leugen it was a bit much. In fact it was more than enough to send the average rookie off in a mad dash for the nearest trash can to vomit in, but not enough to draw more than an arched brow from the Vice veteran. A fact that haunted her.

As she stared down at the pavement splattered with what used to be another Terran the void she felt made her uneasy.

She tried to shake it off, told herself the poor dead bastard deserved her attention more than her self-pity, but it was useless. She resented the fact that she had become numb, that this job had driven her to numbness, and at a scene like this all she wanted to do was get out as fast as she could. It was one thing to not feel empathy from behind a desk, but a short step away from a murder scene was something else. Something inhuman, and every time she felt nothing, ankle deep in blood, she was forced to admit she had completely forgotten that these were actual, real people.

Not just stiffs, and case numbers.

Without even realizing it she found herself looking up at the iconic Scarlet Crest sign, to avoid the blood at her feet. A massive work of neon, the Crest stood firmly fixed for over a hundred years, its ominous red glow spilling half way into the street. No matter how many times she came here, on duty or off, it never set right with her. The cartoonish Devil emblazoned in the center danced back, and forth while waving. It smiled too, and Dianne swore that on more than one occasion it had stared back at her.

“Get over it.” She sighed to herself, forcibly willing her body to take the next few steps up onto what was left of the “clean” sidewalk.

It was a hard scene to process for the people who called Van Leugen home. The entire block was condoned off with armed officers guarding barricades, yet still barely able to keep the almost violent mobs of Press at bay. Then as you got closer to the club it became nothing but CSIs, and photographers. Dianne had had to practically fight her way in, despite having a Detective’s Badge. All you could see from the street was The Scarlet Crest’s iconic neon shield.

It dominated the front of the building, and bathed half the street in a sickly red hue at all hours, rain, sleet, shine, or murder.

“Finally decided to join us, Detective?” The overly formal tone of the Coroner greeted her as she stepped closer to the group of science-types hunched in the center of the blood. One glance at the balding head in the center, and Dianne’s anxiety rose a little. Doctor Rex Burnham, as he was always quick to point out, was an extremely accomplished man. He was also very well known for his abrasive personality, and over-all lack of humor. She liked him though, and as she struggled with the protective slips for her heels she merely offered a shrug.
“I was thinking about sitting it out, actually.”

“I can’t say I’d mind,” Dr.Burnham glanced up from the hunk of meat he was hunched over just in time to catch her nearly slip on the slick concrete. “What are you wearing,” he groaned, nudging the photographer next to him. “You realize you were called here to investigate, not ‘Co-mingle’, right?”

Dianne waved him off, although her patience was thinning exceptionally quickly tonight. “I was off duty, and ‘co-mingle’, seriously?” She took a few more steps into the blood, careful of her balance. The tight black cocktail dress did not help, and took one of the CSI guys lending her an arm to get to the heap of gore they were surrounding.

“Aren’t you always.” Burnham turned his attention back to the mess at his feet, a latex gloved hand picking up a bone fragment. “Someone record this." He had a habit of talking to people while paying them no attention, which drove her mad. “So they sent Vice, did they?”

“You’re the one who cried E Outbreak.” She noticed his nostrils flare immediately, and cocked her head. He usually wasn’t this hostile, and it made her wonder. “Get it wrong already?”

The doctor cleared his throat, while the skin on the back of his neck stood up, and bristled.

“Ah-hah!” Dianne walked over to him, she was curious about the carnage herself by now, and more than a little eager to gloat up close. “Slippin’ under all the pressure of an actual case already?”

“Don’t even!” Barked Dr.Burnham, resisting the urge to fling the bone he was holding her way. “It showed every sign of being that, except,” he sighed, straightening himself up, and removing his gloves carefully. “Except this poor woman was shredded. To pieces.”

“No shit.”

“No, you daft fool,” Rex gestured at the chunk of meat he’d been studying. “Shredded, to pieces. Not exploded, not overloaded with magical energy, torn apart. Like someone shoved her through a potato peeler, but..”

“But what?”

“From the inside out.”

Detective Freeman was just about to open her mouth when a uniform busted through the front door of The Scarlet Crest. Everyone snapped to attention, shocked by the sudden noise. The patrolman looked around before spotting Dr.Burnham, and broke into a sprint. He came to a skidding halt beside his mark, sliding through the blood like it was an ice rink. He grabbed on to Dianne to steady himself, nearly pulling her to the ground in the process. Once he was done stumbling about, and caught his breath he apologized.

“Okay, so I was told to look for the old guy, and the broad that looks like she just came out of a sleazy lounge,” he glanced between the two rather obviously. “Which do you guys want first? Bad news, really bad news, or extremely bad news?”

He had an awfully chipper expression on his face, despite the location. It unnerved Dianne, and she exchanged a nervous glance with the Coroner. Dr.Burnham, of course, rolled his eyes.

“Let’s start with the extremely bad news, I feel whimsical tonight.”

“She’s Aschen.” The officer stated it completely matter-of-fact, and if it was profound.

Burnham merely through his hands up, and walked away muttering about crime scene integrity, but Dianne raised a finger. She was utterly unsure of what this Uniform was trying to do.

“No offense, but with ten bodies, who?”

“The eleventh body, and that’s actually the bad news, Detective.” He patted her on the back in mock reassurance. “We found another stiff in the broad’s restroom.”

All Dianne could do was offer a blank stare in return, “And the really bad news?”

“That’s why I was looking for the Coroner. Unlike the sidewalk,” he shuffled his feet for effect, “this broad has no blood. None. Zero.”

“How is that not the extremely bad new?” The detective’s tone became harsh, a headache from the patrolman’s stupidity starting to nestle in between her eyes. She loathed beat cops.

“Because being Aschen is always worse, ma’m,” he chirped. “Besides, if her I.D is correct she works at your friendly neighborhood Enclave.”

Dianne’s blood went artic on the spot, and with a heavy sigh she realized just how that was the worst news of all.

“Which means somebod-”

The officer cut her off with a smile. “You.”

“Yes, me,” she gritted. “Will have to call the goddamn Enclave."

It seemed like just another call, but even this one was out of the ordinary for a place like Van Leugen. Detective Cole had just finished going over the call notes from the officer who logged the original nine-one-one call. Fortunately, Cole was one of the few detectives in the VLPD to be afforded an MDT, or a Mobile Data Terminal, standard police fare in wealthier departments, but in a place that was rife with corruption and budgetary squandering, cops were lucky to be afforded such gear.

His car came to a stop, after negotiating the cordin of police tape, CSIs, and the mob of reporters just outside the Scarlet Crest. Almost immediately, Cole's senses were assaulted by the smell, and sight of blood, but it was nothing the seasoned sergeant wasn't used too.

It was seldom that he got called out of the central homicide office, but this particular case was different, already the rumors had begun to spread about it being more than a simple killing, and as Cole moved into the club, the mangled bodies and blood didn't seem to convince him otherwise.

"Let me see that." Cole said, coming seemingly out of nowhere, from behind Dianne, the Coroner, and the unfortunate uniformed messenger, snatching the Aschen ID Card out of his hand.

"She's not enclave Aschen." He said, handing the ID Card back to the officer. "Tech Con worker from the likes of it, you see too many of these damn secretaries running about their facilities, and ever since that damn office went up, the hate crimes have gone through the damn roof." He said, lighting a cigarette, and taking a long, thoughtful drag.

"Moving up in the world of shit, aren't you, Freeman." Cole said, chiding his old partner from his time in vice. "This is a Homicide case, and since it involves the Aschen; we need to do this by the book." He grunted, looking around at the mangled bodies.

"Anyways first thing you better do is call the Consular General of the Aschen Embassy in Wing City, because god forbid we fuck this up, and end up on one of their two minutes hate rallies or whatever the fuck it is those brainless sheep do these days." Cole said, taking another drag.

"Next thing we need to do is call Tech Con, and pray they don't try to shut us up. We're treating this like a real crime, so we need to do our jobs!" He called out. "Nobody in here that's not supposed to be, and that means you, rookie!" He said flatly, snatching the Aschen ID Card out of the Uniformed Cop's hand once more.

"Bring me my gear, I'm going to be here awhile." He grumbled. "Someone needs to ID the rest of these bodies, just because there's a couple dead Aschen doesn't mean they get priority, families need justice, people!"

He looked back at the crime scene before him, and grimaced, his mood shifting slightly.

"Alright, Freeman. Dr. Burnham, what do we know?"

That familiar, barking voice was more than enough to put a chill through Dianne, and slightly chip Dr.Burnham’s usually stoney visage. Reflexively the Vice Detective pinched the bridge of her nose. The with the wise-guy of a Uniform wasn’t enough, they just had to send William Cole to the same call. The dread of what she knew would happen once she turned to face him set in quick, and she shot the coroner a quick glance. Unfortunately for her, Dr.Burnham was oblivious at the moment, ever the professional he had been drowning Cole out by focusing on the remains of a femur in his hand. She waited, hoped for a few seconds he’d notice her expression, but it was useless. For the first time in her life she wished was a psychic, for all the good it did her.

Deciding she couldn’t put it off forever, she was about to turn around, and take her lumps for wearing a cocktail dress to a crime scene when Cole decided to start in on her already.

“Moving up in the world of shit, aren’t you Freeman?”

She froze in place, her heel dragging on the sidewalk made just enough noise to draw Dr.Burnham from his stupor. He caught her face in time to see both the expression, and lip bite, raising an eyebrow in response. It took him a few seconds to put it together, but once he did his brow furrowed, and he was about to open his mouth when Cole took a shot at him, too.

”We’re treating this like a real crime, so we need to do our jobs!”

He huffed, but let the Detective finish his bravado before saying anything. He offered Dianne a quick look of sympathy, hoping she’d catch on.

“Well,” his voice had more than a twinge of ire, granted it was a put-on. He didn’t really care about these sorts of things, he just linked Dianne a tiny bit more.

“I don’t know about you Detective, but I have been one of the leading Coroners in Van Leugen for the last fifteen years.” He picked himself up from his stooping position, placing the femur in an evidence bag his assistant had waiting for him. He was really hoping she caught on quick.

“And in those fifteen years my work has been disputed exactly seven times,” without even waiting for a response he dispatched his gloves with a flourish, and pushed his glasses up with another huff. He only now made eye contact with Cole.

“And in those fifteen years my work has been disputed exactly seven times,” By now even the CSIs that had been around him knew something was up. All four of them stared up at him, puzzled. That was when it clicked for Dianne, and with a small nod she gracefully side-stepped a few times before turning, and briskly walking off.

“Can you say the same of your arrest record? I always do my job, Detective.” He was really good at being indignant, and if he was also being really honest about it he was kind of enjoying putting one of the Homicide boys in their place. Once he saw the other Detective make her exist though, he dropped the act.

“We have one body, out here, obviously, and now seven inside.” He gestured Cole towards the massive, plush-red doors that hung mostly torn from their hinges.

“Shall we?”

---

Dianne’s brisk walk gave out once she was out of earshot, and became a slow trudge. The aggravations had quickly become endless with this case, not even fifteen minutes in. Why on Earth Captain Steg would send Cole of all people was beyond her, and as she ambled over to the nearest EMS vehicle she went over every conversation she had with him for the last month. Unable to think of anything that might have pissed him off, she collapsed into the open back of the Ambulance only to be greeted warmly.

“Hey now, get the fuck up lady.” The driver was leaning out of his window, having felt the rig move. “This ain’t no lounge for drunk chicks. Go home.”

Dianne offered a middle finger with one hand, and her badge with the other. It was enough to shut him up, and once she was sure he’d gone back to whatever he was doing she withdrew both. Leaning back she let the top of her hit one of the gurney’s wheels, and let out a wary sigh, more than a little self pity seeping in. It was just one of those nights, and though she thanked Dr.Burnham for buying her time she knew she couldn’t escape the situation. She didn’t have a change of clothes handy, and that bastard would know immediately.

In fact now that she thought about it she was amazed Cole hadn’t smelled Sirico’s Italia on her.

Continuing the pity-party she fished her cell phone from her bra, and unlocked it hesitantly. The Aschen Consulate’s number wasn’t exactly high on her “Call For A Good Time” list, but she didn’t really have a choice about it. Cole was, begrudgingly, right about the importance of protocol in this. The thought of the inbound war-heads if she screwed up gave her a shudder, and made her thumbs feel extremely heavy. It took a good two minutes to find the number, and another three to actually press “Call.”

“Here we go..”

The detective stood in silence through the coronor’s indignant rant, through the statement about his work only being disputed seven times, William paid close attention, he knew better than to question some of the better medical examiners, but he had to let in one last barb before they proceeded.

As Diane made her way out, the Homicide detective put on a more serious face. “I’ve never had the unfortunate pleasure of having my case questioned, i’ve always built a strong case, but when three men pick up my daughters from school, and my captain tells me to drop the case, sometimes you gotta make a hard call.” He said, looking over the plush red doors.

“If putting away bad guys was as cut and dry as hacking up stiffs, we’d both be better off.” He said, gesturing to the doors.

“After you, Doctor.”

The CSIs that gathered around them seemed to not bother the detective, and he deferred to let the more seasoned coroner lead the way.

“The call said someone went nuts, this looks like a massacre, not exactly someone losing their mind; You think the chips are going to come down on this one too? I bet this has the Vandione family mob written all over it.” Cole grumbled.

He got in closer, and smiled at the coroner. “Have you seen just how believable Aschen propaganda gets? These guys dedicate their lives to writing shit about people they don’t like, that’s why I like to remind the unis and the other detectives here to do their jobs, I don’t want to be on the front page of the Voice of the Empire, doc. My wife would never let me hear the end of it.” He chuckled.

—-

When Diane picked up the phone and hit call, there was a brief terran dial tone, and then a click, a pop, and a more clear, but different sounding dialtone.

‘You have reached the Imperial Aschen Consular offices in Wing City, for Common; press one, quia Anquietas, Duas Premant, gia Táouron, patíste tría.‘

There would be a ring following Dianne’s number selection.

“If you are a Citizen of the Empire, and have been detained by foreign authorities, please press five, otherwise, stay on the line.”

A minute went by, and a rather bored sounding desk clerk picked up the phone.

“Good morning, Consular Offices, please state your name, and business...”

Every step of the call made Dianne Freeman just a little more nervous. The strange dial-tone alone made her want to hang up, and she was just about to when the recording came on. Jumping through each hoop was a lot like pulling teeth, and with each number she hit, she glanced from her phone to the street in front of her. She knew it as sort of silly, but she kept expecting to hear "Freeze, IIA!", and a Disruptor whine.

She shuddered when she realized I would probably be a lot more subtle than that I reality.

"Uh..This is Detective," for a moment she debated giving a false name, but knew better. "Dianne Freeman, I'm a Detective with the Nillies PD, and uh.."

She let it trail for a moment, looking around the inside of Ambulance as if it had a way out of this.

"And we sort of have a, uh, situation.."

The Desk clerk paused, and that culminated to about ten seconds of silence. “Please stand by while I pull up some information, Ah.. Van Leugen PD, Nillies Precinct, Dianne Freeman... yes please go ahead, how can I assist you today?”

The Detective couldn't suppress a nervous laugh when she heard that.

"Well, eh..I'm down at The Scarlet Crest," she paused for a few seconds, half excepting a missle. "And we have a dead, uh..Aschen..Citizen.." Without realizing it she crossed her fingers.

”That is very unfortunate, and we understand that this can be very stressful.” The Desk clerk replied, her polite, reassuring voice obvious over the line. “Has your agency initiated an investigation pertaining to the circumstances surrounding the incident? As well as identified the deceased?” The soft chirps of a futuristic keyboard echoed in the background.

The calm professionalism helped a lot. Dianne herself had been off-world for the Occupation, so she herself had no first hand knowledge of the event. She did however hear every horror story, and awful rumor the city had to offer since, which heavily coloured her view of them.

"Yes, and no. I'm on scene, as are most of us. A uniuniformed officer located the Aschen victim in a restroom.."

Her anxiety was creeping back up at the thought of sharing the details. As far as she knew the Aschen were violently superstitious, and something like this probably wouldn't be taken so well.

"She had an I.D badge on her person, we identified it as belonging to Tech Con, and have left the scene untouched.." As far as she knew, anyway.

The futuristic chirping sound continued as Diane spoke, sometimes it intensified, sometimes it quieted down.

“Alright... every citizen of the Empire is required by law to carry identification documents, these are blue cards bearing the seal of the Empire, and holds identifying information, You mentioned a Tech Con identification document, can you provide me with a name of the person on the card? I can query their background through either the unique identifier on their International ID Card, or the Employee ID on their Tech Con badge, it’s okay if you do not have this information at this time, Detective, I am simply preparing the casefile for the CPF Investigator whom will, per the treaty be dispatched to assist in your investigation.”

The Chirping of the keyboard died down.

Despite how well things had been going, the term "per the treaty" made the detective's blood run cold. Not only was some Aschen investigator looking over her shoulder terrifying in a general sense, it could also send the entire Precinct into chaos. There was no assurence he'd play by any rules, Aschen, Law Enforcement, or the corrupted, twisted code the Nillies ran on. People could lose jobs, and God only knew how the mobsters would take.

"I-I'm sorry," her voice showed obvious signs of strain. "did you say 'CPF Investigator', because I can assure you of the quality of our Policemanship."

It was a weak defence at best, and she knew nothing she could say would stop a treaty. Didn't mean she wouldn't try.

There was a long overbearing silence on the other end, interrupted only briefly by the woman speaking Anquietas to someone else in the room with her, the tone was formal, and not really hushed at all.

Maybe she was calling an IIA hit squad right this very moment.

“I assure you, this is not a poor reflection of your police work, Detective.” There was another pause, and more anquietas in the background. The corruption and incompetence of the VLPD was not lost on the Aschen consular staff who worked dozens of calls just like this. “However, the CPF Investigator will be running his own investigation in paralell, for preparation of extradition documents for when the suspect is apprehended, so that he may face our justice system.” The woman said calmly. “The CPF employes seasoned, experienced officers familiar with Aschen, and in your case, Terran laws and investigation practices, your department will have his expertise, and his resources at their disposal; I assure you, he will neither be a burden, nor a poor reflection upon your police work...”


“Have your personnel cordoned off the crime scene?”

The Anquietas made the Terran nervous, and she made sure to commit as much as she could to memory while listening. She hated to admit it, but this woman was actually likeable, and a hell of a lot more polite than the Terran Consulate receptionist. They didn't even bother to try to conceal their insults.

"Yes Ma'am, we have. Last I saw our Coroner, and a, uh.." Dianne was fairly certain that saying "dickbag" in a call with a forgien consulate was proper, so she bit her forked tongue.

"A respected Homicide Detective were going to locate, and secure the Aschen victim.." Probably.

"Hey, you might know him," she snorted a bit, maybe with some luck she could send the IIA Cole's way. "He goes to Langara for uh..Saturn..Uh..Saturnus, or whatever you call it.."

She visibly winced, and thanked the heaven's she hadn't wanted to be a diplomat.

“The Clerk didn’t say anything in response to that comment, though she had William and Socrata Cole pulled up on the central registry, She didn’t say anything as she quietly read the notes, and with a swipe of her hand on the holographic screen, the notations were forwarded to the CPF.

“Please notify your supervisor to expect Detective Sergeant James McKenna, from our Caprica Office to conduct the investigation, He should be arriving within the next few days, as he will require time to prepare his casefiles, I have also forwarded the details of this call to Ambassador Tarthus, for further review. Please inform your supervisor to preserve the integrity of the crime scene until Detective McKenna arrives.“

There was another pause.
“William Cole is one of the few terrans allowed to enter Imperial space, I’ll send along your regards to his wife, I’m sure he will be pleased that you mentioned him to us.” She said, in a well veiled barb. “It‘s refreshing to see people overcome their bias, in any case, the casefile has largely been prepared, I’ll notify the Tech Con security chief, and forward this file to the Ministry of Law.”

The woman was practically smiling over the phone.

”Is there anything else we can assist you with today?” She asked.

Though she missed the jab, Detective Freeman still felt just a little on edge. Something about the call being shared didn't sit to well with her, but oh well. From what she knew the Aschen weren't big on privacy.

"No, I think that does it. Just uh.." She wanted to tell the woman to issue this James guy a body bag too, just in case. Once again she knew better, too. It sounded like a threat, or racism at best. It wasn't out of contempt, or venom though, but a genuine fear.

"Make sure to warn your Detective, alright? Having a badge doesn't mean much here." She shook her head, already feeling the ass-chewing Cap Steg would give her for that.

"Oh, and uh, have a nice day, right?"

There was a slight pause, and the woman replied. “I am sure the IIA will foreward all the pertinent information to the CPF investigator before he arrives.” She said.

“You too, be well!.” She said, before disconnecting the call.

"The I..I...Ughhh.." Dianne winced again, this time from the tension headache setting in.

She pushed herself up from the ambulance floor, eyes fixated on the black screen of her phone. She felt like she was waiting for something - not a hit squad, but something. The light of her camera going on, the SIM card exploding, even the ambulance being tractor-beamed seemed plausible. It took her a solid ten minutes to shake the feeling, though it didn't improve her mood much.

She was about to leave, to suck it up, and face Cole again when she remembered the entire point of seeking out the EMS vehicle.

"Hey," she snarled in the general direction of the driver. "You got any trauma jackets left?"

He didn't even bother to look over his shoulder, instead shouting out of the window. "Any what?"

"You know, the stupid windbreakers we give to people in shock." She was glad he couldn't see her eyes roll.

"...Yeah, they're in the third drawer, left of the gurney."

"Thanks.

---

The lobby of the Nillies Precinct was surprisingly nice. The Station, a Gothic revival church turned nightclub, turned Precinct, had class. Age, budgeting issues, and general apathy had left it in a state of rundown disrepair, but everywhere you looked still showed signs of what it could’ve been. The benches were wrought iron, and elegantly designed, albeit rusted, and grimy,while the vaulted ceilings were filled with cobwebs, and every beautifully arched doorway was cracked. Smoke filled the air, the only energy in the place seemed to be the steady stream of uniformed patrolmen, and dingy, suit-clad detectives shuffling around.

Most of them just ignored James, disinterested in anything but themselves. A few stopped just long enough to glare, and a woman at the bulletin board just to his left froze.

She was just barely on the side of tall, clocking in at about 5‘8“, and even a quick glance would reveal she cared about appearances. Her hair was professionally dyed just the faintest hue of red, and painstakingly styled. The soft shade of pink she chose for her lipstick complimented her skin-tone as desired, and kept the matching designer blouse she had on in check. It didn’t hurt that the jacket she wore was in mint shape, with the label carefully on display. She tied it all together with a pair of wrinkle free slacks that clung to her legs, and expensive dress shoes easily identified. If she hadn’t belonged there she probably would’ve stuck out.

Dianne turned around subtly, a casefile held up to block her face so she could watch this “James”.

The clerk couldn’t have been more different however, a young blonde woman stuffed behind a massive sheet of bullet-proof glass. Her tiny room was decorated with bright colours, and a myriad of desk toys. She glanced up from her monitor, a heavy contrast to the muted Precinct, to address the speaker. Her curly hair was put up in exaggerated pigtails, and a bright pink cardigan drew the eye her way with everyone else primarily wearing blue, or gray. Her well manicured, and over-sized fake nails continued to clack loudly with each key stroke as she pointedly sized up the man in front of her, breaking only to push up her retro horn rimmed glaces. After a few awkward seconds of silence she offered an unhappy huff, turning her attention back to her screen without warning.

“You look like a detective,” to call her tone “curt” would be an understatement. “You figure it out, I have actual work to do.”

Dianne couldn’t help but snicker, the contrasts with the Aschen Consulate clerk sticking in her mind. Part of her really wanted to just stay back, and see how long it would take a CPF investigator to get anywhere. She really wasn’t sure whether he’d get any information from the help desk, or notice his contact two feet away first, and if she had had the ability she probably would’ve started a betting pool. Instead she dropped the file, taking a few careful steps towards him.

“Excuse me,” her voice was a little deeper than her face would lead a person to believe, yet still extremely feminine. “I believe you’re looking for me.” She flashed a well-practiced smile, and extended a hand to introduce herself. “Dianne Freeman, Vice.”

Contrary to Dianne’s 5’8”, McKenna stood at an almost six foot, and clocked in at a solid two fhundred and fifty pounds of solid Aschen muscle, his figure, trench and all was an imposing one, and he seemed to tower over the desk clerk who was so casually seated behind the bullet proof glass, bullet proof glass that McKenna knew for certain wouldn’t protect her from a disruptor bolt, which would cleave clean through.

It was a brief thought that the Aschen quickly dismissed, and merely grit his teeth subtly at her response.

“With a work ethic like that, it’s a wonder you probably never get ahead in this department, or does no one else here care, either?” The man asked pointedly, with his Caprican accent lilting his words ever slightly.

He let the silver Civil Protection Force shield dangle from his leather ID holder.

“Where I come from, people like yourself would be out of a job.” He retorted, snapping his ID holder back up, and turning to greet the other woman, whom he saw approaching out of the corner of his eye.

McKenna took her hand in a firm handshake, while casting a brief glance back to the Desk Clerk.

“Detective Sergeant McKenna, Civil Protection Force.” He said, introducing himself formally. He didn’t have an assigned division, a fact he lamented, as the CPF tended to assign him on the cases that no one else wanted, and apparently dealing with snot-nosed terrans was one of those cases, his back was still sore from the economy class flight from Langara.

“I’ve read the report from the Medical examiner, and your supervisor, there’s two deceased Aschen, I require their identity documents and any additional case notes you may have.”

He stepped aside to gesture for the door. “I would like to see the deceased, if that is possible, are they being kept in your medical examiner’s facilities?” He asked, straight to the point as he shifted his weight, and adjusted his shoulder rig, the dark colored grip of his disruptor pistol slipping out from his trench coat, along with his other shield, which was pinned to his belt, only to be shifted back into place.

“Let’s hope that I didn’t travel ten thousand lightyears, only to have this investigation be snuffed out because someone has connections; I don’t do police corruption.” McKenna warned. “And the IIA dossier has told me some interesting things about the VLPD, which leads me to ask you, Detective Freeman; are you a good cop?” His gaze was intense, blue eyes almost piercing, he was a man who had seen some things in his long career.

From the moment their hands made contact, Dianne’s grip far exceeding the delicate appearance of her slender arm, she put detective McKenna under a microscope. Though she feigned sincere eye contact she capitalized on every blink, every wander of James’ own eyes to steal glances. No detail, no expression, or gesture was too small to be committed to memory right now. From his rigid posture, to exasperated, and reluctant mannerisms every piece of information contributed to one thing right now.

Dianne’s chances of survival.

The first two things she realized about her temporary “partner” were enough to make her blood run cold. First the firm grasp, the standing at full height, even the slip of his shoulder rig painted a clear picture of a dominate personality that bordered on arrogant in her opinion. Whether the Aschen realized it or not, most of his actions conveyed a clear message of aggression. This by itself didn’t bother Dianne at all, it was extremely common among both genders in law enforcement. So extremely common that she, and anyone else, would easily say the same of her.

Two dominates shoved together never ended well, she knew that from first hand experience. Someone had to give eventually.

Secondly, based off how quickly he jumped into the topic of corruption, and the accompanying absolute he spoke in it was a safe bet to assume he was rather straight-edge. The question he followed that up with both confirmed that, and caused Dianne’s left eyebrow to arch quite a bit. The purposefully neutral body language she’d clung to thus far cracked a bit, and she placed a hand on her hip defensively. He was a lot like William Cole, except from what she could tell a hell of a lot worse. Cole talked morals, and purity, while this idiot seemed to actually have them.

She let his question hang for a moment, opting to openly size James up in a bid for time.

She needed a plan, and needed it now. Someone like McKenna was the most dangerous person in the Precinct - someone with no respect for the Game. They came, and went in body bags like clockwork here. Every six months one of the “best, and brightest” of the Nashton’s Police Department ended up doing something stupid on accident. That meant every six months as punishment for doing something stupid, and making the NAPD look bad, the “best, and brightest” of the most “corruption free” Precinct would be promoted. The new Lieutenant was then sent over to the 75th to shake things up, and stem the tide of greed, they’d say. They had a name for them here, “Road Kill”.

That was because every seventh month the new guy who didn’t play along turned up dead at the very least.

She had let the question hang for a little too long, and realizing that was she was quickly veering into awkward, piped up.

“Well, if I’m being entirely honest with you Detective McKenna,” in a very deliberate move she locked her eyes with James’. Where as his where a piercing blue, hers were a soft, almost dull emerald, and she very carefully matched his intensity with indifference. “No.”

Dianne truly saw no reason to lie. Not only was it extremely likely any IIA dossier about the NPD would have detailed information on her career, they probably had a separate file just for her considering that Consulate call. She cautiously watched for his reaction from behind the veil of her casual expression before stepping forward. Right now she really wanted to sell the idea that she couldn’t care less about him, and to that end she set a brisk pace.

“The recovered Aschen body is safely at the morgue,” she made it a point not to look over her shoulder, and confirm his following. “After the scene where we found the body was extensively photographed, it was immediately moved there.”

She took an abrupt right, passing under an extremely damaged archway that marked the path to the bullpen. The extremely old marble floors got a little less chewed up as they went.

“The Consulate asked we not preform an autopsy without you present, so cause of death is unknown.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but she still didn’t like it. They didn’t need to do an autopsy to uncover two pin-pricks in her neck, and the absolute non-existence of blood at the scene painted a clear picture.

The two filtered into a large, open room. The center was recessed into the floor by about four feet, and inside the sunken area a sea of cubicles had been assembled. It was the Bullpen, a staple of any Precinct, it was where every uniform’s desk was crammed. Piles of actual paperwork sat on each desk, and everywhere you looked a a blue uniform stared back. It was a chaotic mess of people who’d rather be anywhere else trying to get through their least favorite aspect of the job, and it showed. People pushed, shoved, and generally ran about, no one had any time to spare, and right or wrong they’d shout at you if you were in their way.

Not the best second impression for the NPD, but the stair case down to the morgue was located in the back, and the west wing of the room branched to the Detective’s Offices.

Dianne finally came to a stop once they reached the center of the Bullpen. The graceful detective turned around, again offering a well polished smile.

“Would like to jump to straight to the autopsy, or would you like to see our case file first? The morgue is to your left,” she gestured towards a battered metal door, “and my office is just to your right.” She jabbed her thumb towards an open archway that led to a staircase.

“Either way, you lead on, Detective."

Just as Dianne was sizing the CPF detective up, he too was slowly but carefully studying her, reading her subtle body language, the dilation of her pupils, even the hand that went defensively to her hip wasn't missed.

Aschen police culture was very much a survival of the fittest, and to McKenna, the politics that went on here in the Nillies seemed like chump change compared to the things that went on in the Empire, mobsters paid bribes to silence investigators, but McKenna remembered exactly two times the Confessor Cabal themselves visited his office, and watched as they erased entire case documents, simply because the Emperor quashed an investigation on an arbitrary whim.

He'd watched good cops end up as "Enemies of the State" and Charged with sedition because they dug just a little too deep into a well-connected politician's affairs.

The way she regarded him seemed like she thought he was just some rookie, the man that survived the brutal purges that Prince instituted upon various Aschen Government agencies when he took power as someone who didn't know how to play the game.

McKenna opted to remain silent, and compliant for now.

He listened, and observed, quietly regarding her response in the negative to his question, he offered a slight nod.

"Good." He replied quite simply. "Then we'll work well together, and since this is your jurisdiction I'll defer to you, I'm simply here as a formality." He said, gesturing for her to lead the way, and following closely, while taking in the sights of the station. His footsteps were deliberate, heavy even, boots clunking on the floor of the station as he kept pace along their way to the bullpen.

Another contrast, the bullpens McKenna worked in were clean, physical paperwork largely being eliminated in favor of a completely digitized system, reports could be synced, transmitted, collated, and filed to the prosecuting Archon there, in real time without bureaucratic hangups.

"I'll need the photographs of the crime scene, if possible." He commented, while keeping pace through the station. "Let's look at the bodies, I'd like an idea of what we're dealing with."

He started towards the morgue, giving her little time to keep pace, his hand reaching out to grasp the door handle and pull the door open.

Stepping inside, he made a face as he looked through the window at the body on the cold slab, he was thankful they kept the bodies as long as they did, and he took no time to move to the woman with no blood, an expression of concern forming on his face as he pulled the sheet back, and surveyed the body.

His movements were careful, methodical, gently, he turned to angle her neck to expose the two pin pricks, the look of concern turned to a visible frown, and his next move would be swift, producing his smartphone. The reality likely sank in there, the phone resembled just about any smartphone, but with a glass-like, transparent screen. With the touch of an icon, a program was pulled up, and he attached a small module to the phone, after plucking one of the girl's hairs.

He frowned even more; they weren't lying. The DNA markers were a match in the Central Registry. With a swipe, he forwarded the entry to his MDT, and to the portable computron he was still carrying in his pocket.

Discarding the hair, and returning the module to his pocket, he dialed the phone and held it to his ear.

"McKenna, CPF Number Eleven Fifty Seven, Patch me through to Special Agent Connors." There was a long pause, and then McKenna began to speak in Anquietas.

"Ave, Ego autem mortuum hic vigilum statione ad Terran van Leugen, mortis causa videtur esse de exsangunatius vampirius.

Valde bona ...

Cumque causam notat mittam eos et tibi triduo... Bonum... Vale."

He hung up the phone, and turned back to see if Dianne had followed.

"Alright... Let's go ahead and take a look at the casefile, see what you guys have so far."

Dianne couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief as Detective McKenna blew past her. Playing second fiddle to anyone went against her nature, especially after the years she spent trailing behind William Cole, but it was the only plan she had right now. She kept pace just behind James, thankful for the few seconds it bought her to think. Unfortunately for the Vice Detective no matter which way she mentally sliced it, this case ended in either an IIA hit squad at her door, or an overweight mafioso with a Uzi in the back seat of her Buick.

The creaking of the Morgue door brought her attention back to reality, she looked up from her feet just in time to watch Detective McKenna dissappear inside.

“Al-hamdu lillah,” groaned Dianne. Out of reflex she pinched the bridge of her nose, a familiar headache starting. She took a tiny step backwards, quite legitimately debating her odds of turning tail, and bolting out of the building before anybody noticed. A very heavy hand, with a very firm grip on her shoulder cut that dream short. She turned her head slowly, just enough to confirm the massive, gnarled, and hairy fingers on her jacket. Captain Steg was as per usual, behind her.

“Yarhamuk-Allah, Detective, if you’re thinking what I think you are.”

Dianne glowered up at him in return, he knew very well how she felt about shots at her faith, and always seemed to go out of his way to take them. With a brisk dip of her shoulder she dipped from his grasp, and brushed her jacket off.

“Some day Captain, you’ll tell us all how someone like you manages to sneak up on a person.”

“Is that so?” The giant of a man arched an eye brow at his underling. He easily loomed over her, a massive six foot, seven inch Russian ex-pat, Ivanich Steg looked a lot like a fist with a thick beard stapled on top. The former Terran Marine took a step forward, once again grabbing Dianne’s shoulder, but now with a vice-like grip.

“Oh come on..” She couldn’t help but wince as his fingers dug in painfully, but the grin on Captain Steg’s face told her not to bother. He completely blamed her for an Aschen investigator being here to begin with, and had been sure to make it clear.

“Come now,” he mocked as he gestured towards the Morgue. “We have an Aschen to ‘debrief’.”

The two filed in just in time to catch James leaning over the corpse to collect a hair sample. They both cocked their heads to the side, but for completely different reasons. The Captain was the first to recover, and simply cleared his throat before pulling up the nearest chair, content to watch the intruder in action. The more professional part of him was actually interested in Aschen police tactics, but his wounded pride was far more prominent. His oft bloodshot eyes narrowed as McKenna made his call, the cigar Steg kept firmly clamped between his lips was worried back-and-forth while every word was carefully taken in.

His time with the TNG had instilled a distrust of the Aschen that ran to his core.

He opened his mouth to speak, but a wary Dianne cut him off quickly.

“You see..” She trailed off without meaning to, more thankful for averting her eyes before James turned around than worried about the flimsy files. “The case file we have is. Lacking, to put it mildly. Your Consulate asked we put the entire investigation on hold until you arrived.” She gestured to both the drained corpse, and the plastic tub of remains on the table next to it.

“Our Coroner hasn’t even examined them yet, and no statements have been taken. The depar-”

It was Stegs turn to interrupt now, that booming voice sweeping Dianne’s aside with great ease. “The department, quite frankly, doesn’t care at all about a dead Aschen. There is no case, so there is no case file."

While James quietly went over the first body, he took note that Dianne, and what looked like her supervisor had just walked in, whether it was the acrid smell of burning tobacco or the sensation that he wasn't wanted that briefly washed over him.

He moved over towards the assorted pulverized flesh, and bone, withdrawing a Q-tip and a small glass vial, and what looked like a Diabetic blood sugar strip.

He dipped the end of the strip into the bloody mess, and then placed it into the DNA module in his phone once more, following his call while Dianne was explaining the lack of case-files.

"I've identified both the bodies, I'll start the paperwork to have them transferred to Aschen custody so they may be given to their families for a proper burial, after your medical examiner finishes their autopsy of course." McKenna said pointedly, before slowly shaking his head, and producing one gold Aureus coin, he moved towards the exsanguinated woman, and kissed the coin, then tapped it to his forehead.

"May Charon guide you on your journey." He said, before carefully placing the coin on the woman's forehead. He moved towards what was left of the Second Aschen, and performed a similar ritual with the second Aureus coin, ignoring Steg's brief tirade about not caring about a dead Aschen.

"May Charon guide you on your journey to Elysium; so say we all." He said, briefly venerating the remains before clearing his throat, moving to approach the Captain.

"Yes, we at the Civil Protection Force know full well that this department doesn't care at all about a dead Aschen; that's why I'm here. But you know what separates a lazy, loathsome, disgusting Cop in name only from someone like me? I care, I care about the dead Aschen laying in this morgue, I care about the dead Terrans laying in this morge." He said coldly, his voice gravely, and brimming with the authority of a seasoned Aschen investigator.

"I'm here to get justice for everyone involved, Terran, Aschen, whatever. I'm going to do my frakkin' job." He said, standing a few feet from the captain now, challenging his pride, his masculinity then and there.

"If you're not going to bother, why don't I save you the trouble, Captain. Let me call the IIA and have them take these two young ladies to our medical examiner, is that what you want? More Aschen suits snooping around? Maybe you want this to go to the media? The Ministry of Information would absolutely love an inside scoop... VLPD refuses to investigate a heinous murder because the Victims are Aschen; that'll make sensational headlines at the next two minutes hate."

He stood back, and shook his head. "Before you toss me out, the bloodied mess is a very close friend of Fidelia Fazekas, That name probably doesn't mean much to you, but Fidelia is the Guatrau's daughter, the Boss of Bosses for the Ha'la'tha, which is probably the single biggest crime syndicate in the Aschen Empire." James said coldly.

"I'll be sure to let him know you don't care, Captain Stegs."

After his outburst, James turned to Dianne, he briefly remembered the question he posed to her earlier, about being a good cop.

"Detective, I believe we have a case to get started on..." James said, almost as if he was imploring her. "With your Captain's blessing of course."

Captain Steg, a proud testament to Russian Stoicism, sat impassively as James spoke. He didn’t bat an eyelash at the insults, or the intruder’s moral grandstanding. He didn’t puff up or bluster when his masculinity was challenged either. It all rolled off his back, until the Aschen went just a little too far. This “Detective”, this nobody from Caprica being allowed to stomp around in his Precinct, demanding his resources, his time was something he could almost choke down. Politics were politics, and whether the Captain liked it or not, that fact kept him in business. He could even almost tolerate the arrogant little man’s attitude, it showed a back-bone that was all too rare around the NPD, but James McKenna had blustered his way into a minefield.

The moment the word “IIA” escaped James McKenna’s lip the Captain’s expression went from begin contempt, to ice cold murder. That old searing pain right behind his eyes, the feeling like someone was pumping napalm through the inside of his skull one drip at a time washed over him.

That’s how the memories always started.

Dianne, quite aware of her Captain’s history, lurched forward a little when she heard it. An audible hiss slipped out, and she took an instinctual step back towards the door. She couldn’t swing a dead cat in this city without hitting someone who had a war story, or someone who had a lot of violent trauma just beneath it. Frankie Crutz, Jimmy, the Captain, even Cole once, she could picture the look on Steg’s face despite his back being to her, the unsettling hate of someone unable to move on.

“Ca-” Steg’s neck moved a fraction of an inch, the tiniest of twitches, but enough to display movement, and more than enough to shut the Vice woman up.

Returning his full attention to James, Captain Steg watched him with a calm intensity until the “speech” was over. He watched the detective very carefully as he walked over to Dianne, even going so far as to let James try to recruit her right under his nose before doing anything. With a fluid single motion the burly man rose to his full height, postured as rigid as it was back in boot camp. He then took all of three strides to close the gap between himself, and the others, while placing himself directly behind the Aschen man.

“Allow me to put this simply, detective McKenna,” his deep voice was resonating especially low, all the rumble had been cut from it. “you are here by the grace of the Terran National Government, our wonderful mayor, and most importantly my discretion.”

Steg circled around to look the outsider in the eye. “You can scream, shout, curse, and insult me all you like, but you ever think you’re tough enough to threaten me again, and I will kill you.” Before James could respond he pointed to the massive scar above his left eye.

“Your spooks don’t scare me, comrade. I spent six months in The Crucible, one of your wonderful ‘detainment centers’ during the occupation.” The pain flared up again, but he refused to acknowledge it, to give the satisfaction to any of their kind. “I’ve been through your golden chairs, and when I finally left that shithole I took two of your precious IIA with me.” He rammed a hand down the collar of his white dress shirt, and produced a chain necklace.

On it were two incredibly small microchips, built completely from Aschen tech if you looked closely, preserved in small resin cubes.

“Don’t feel so safe behind your spooks here, Detective.” He stuffed the necklace back under his shirt, and once it was out of sight his anger seemed to go with it. He turned, pushed the morgue door open, and was halfway out of the door before he called back to the two.

“Besides, learn to pick your fights. I didn’t decide it wasn’t a case. Sirico did, so you want to investigate? You go ask him.” He broke into a wheezy chuckle for a moment, before turning to look back at James one last time.

“Take the stupid broad with you, that way at least they can’t blame me if you get yourself killed.” With that he offered a wave, and slipped out.

Steg’s departure finally freed Dianne from the limbo she’d been stuck in. It was kind of sad really, the way he kept looking at her like she should’ve done something. She had stayed stoney-faced, and unyielding through the Captain’s performance though, well aware of the hell she’d catch if she much as glanced at James sympathetically. Now that he was gone she offered the Aschen a wary smile.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was much softer than before, and bordered on genuine. “I thought he was content to be pissed at me, honest. He uh..”

Dianne just shook her head instead. “He’d been saying there was no case, but I thought he was just being,” she cast a cautious glance over her shoulder, making sure no one was in earshot. “Just kind of a dick, you know?”

She started pacing back, and forth, eyes firmly fixed on the ground. “First time he mentioned Sirico’s involvement around me. You’d think in a town this big, it wouldn’t always come back to the same six people..Well..” As Dianne rounded one of the autopsy tables she offered her temporary partner a shrug.

“Do you like Italian?”

“Allow me to put this simply, detective McKenna,”

James stopped, the hostility, the icy cold in the voice, as Stegs circled around, James let his trenchcoat slide from his back, and fall into a rumpled heap in his left arm, the weapon rig was fully exposed, the carefully crafted leather straps contrasting against James' white shirt, the disruptor hanging snugly inside it's holster.

Slowly, the Detective began to roll up his sleeves, revealing toned musculature in his arms, a large tattoo of the symbol of Zeus, a body perfectly attuned for combat, he had just finished rolling up his sleeves when Stegs came back around, issuing a threat that he would kill the detective if he threatened the captain again.

He didn't say anything as the Captain continued his tirade, he didn't say anything when he produced the resin necklace with what James immediately recognized as military grade subspace transponders.

James' stance was slightly bladed, his weapon side slightly faced away from the Captain, and his hands brought up to his abdomen, resting on his belt. He was waiting, calculating, eyes hypoerfocused as he waited for the Captain to throw a punch, and make good on his threats, Although deep down he hoped the man had more sense than to start a fight with an Aschen cop, not withstanding the political fallout and the likely loss of both their careers if this erupted into a fight.

James had gone tense, though, and when he tensed up, an old familiar pain shot up his arms, but he ignored it for the time being.

"Your department is going to be no help, and since they don't have a case put together, we're on our own it looks like."

He shook his head, bringing a hand up to rub his brows briefly.

"You have nothing to apologize for, this isn't your fault. I got the shit end of this stick when my captain told me to go on this investigation." James said shaking his head, while throwing his trench over his shoulder.

"The man has no business being a cop with a temper like that, but that's not my call to make." He said with an exacerbated sigh. "By the lords this place needs help."

"I've got friends in this town, though, so we're going to work that angle. I'll make a couple phone calls later tonight and we'll put some pressure on this Sirico, just so happens the Guatrau is in town, and he owes me a favor." James said, winking at Dianne.

Maybe he really did know how to play the game.

"Let's eat, I'm good for some Italian, whatever that is, never hurts to try new things." He added, gesturing towards the door. "Lead the way, your car or mine?"

As the two detectives walked through the once-hallowed halls of the Seventy-Fifth, Dianne was in her own world. She hadn’t said a single thing since James raised the notion of putting “pressure" on Sirico. She wasn’t capable of it. Every thought she could now slow down long enough to capture caused her to shake her head. Absent-mindedly she ducked out of the room, and dived through the familiar swarm of Uniforms. There was no mistaking that she was on autopilot, and weaving a chaotic path through the building to the garage. Her pace quickly became exceedingly brisk, a subconscious response to how quickly her mind had begun to race, and how badly she needed out of the Precinct.

She knew it was quickly spiraling into something like panic, but all she could do was keep walking.

Without even realizing it she’d taken up the habit of throwing a nervous glance over her shoulder every few yards, just to make sure James was keeping up. Some part of her knew it just pure hope that he wasn’t, that it was all just a stress-included hallucination, and she wasn’t on her way to what was no doubt an execution. Her execution, to be exact. By the time she’d crossed the building, gone down the three flights of stairs, and smashed the elevator call button a few dozen times she was mentally exhausted. She had thought she was prepared all of this, for an Aschen Investigator to upset “the” status quo, just not “her” status quo.

An irritate sigh escaped her, and now completely out of excuses to ignore James without being directly rude, she turned to him.

“So partner,” the feigned smile she offered was the best she could do. “They give you a nice a ride here? I hear all you Aschens -” The elevator doors issued their costmary soft “ping” as they opened. “- drive nuclear VTOLs.” she joked.

It wasn’t until after the potentially tone-deaf statement left her mouth that she realized how it might sound right after Steg’s tirade. She immediately groaned, slipping into the elevator sheepishly, and giving the “Hold Door” button a push. Knowing she couldn't just leave it at that she shrugged.

“Sorry, I bet you guys get that shit a lot, huh?"

McKenna simply laughed and shrugged off the comment as hehheld up his hand, a simple remote held inside. He clicked the remote twice and two deep sounding chirps reverberated through the parking garage.

"No nuke trucks I'm afraid." James said while letting out a rather amused chuckle.

Parked before them was a rather nondescript Tech Con Mag XL, a full size SUV, painted a deep glossy black, and deep tinted windows to match.

"Huh.."

Dianne risked a quick glance at her car, a beat up Buick LaCrosse, parked a few spaces to the left. It was a barely functioning disaster, kindly painted a shade of green which most aptly resembled vomit. It was also the only thing she could on lease from the motor pool after the "abrupt decision to sell" her last ride. The choice was rather obvious.

As casually as she could, and staying as far away as possible from her own car, Dianne made for the Aschen vehicle.

"I guess they have to set you up pretty nice when they ship you to a place like this, don't they?" She hoped a little Terran self-deprication would ease things up.

McKenna simply shook his head as he opened the door with an audible thunk. “Not quite, by our standards this car is a piece of garbage, the IIA’s sloppy seconds, if you will.“ McKenna said, climbing into the driver seat and waiting for Dianne to climb into the passenger seat, and what would greet her inside was a fairly spartan interior, and a large center console that had a flickering three-dimensional holographic projection that the CPF logo spun idly on.

“This was what Tech con had available, I’d have much rathered the versatran, as they’re much nicer cars.” McKenna said, sliding the magnetic key into the key slot mounted on the dash.

“Kanvium armored doors, a one thousand kilowatt tylium power plant, inertial dampeners, subspace relay... tamper detection sensors, armored skid plate capable of resisting antitank mines... treated glass panels..” McKenna said, trailing off.

Turning the key, there was a flash of light that engulfed the SUV, and a shrill howl as the Tylium engine started up. A voice echoed from the dashboard.

“Engine, online, shield generator, online, sensors, online, Datalink Connection... Authenticated... Active Response System... Online... Navigation... Online...”

Putting the car into gear, he slowly started to pull out of the parking space. “So... tell me about yourself..”

The violent laugh that escaped Dianne was anything but graceful, somewhere between a snort, and a coughing fit.

"Really? No, 'Howv 'bout it sailor, come here often', just straight into, eh?"

Regaining her composure the Terran sunk back against the seat. The inside might have looked minimalistic, but it was still comfortable enough by her standards. She shifted a bit so that she could stare out of the window, instead of at the man next to her.

"I'm sure your Empire had a nice file about me," she sighed, focusing on the car beside her. "and whatever it didn't have you're about to find out."

She ran a hand through her hair, the excessive spray keeping it in place.

"Gennaro Sirico, don Lucas Sirico's son, has dinner at his grandmother's restraunt every Wednesday..." Dianne trailed off, unsure of just how much he needed to know.

"I guess Captain Steg was suggesting you talk to him." She offered a shrug.

“So, that’s where we’re headed to?“ He asked, looking at the small icon on the bottom of the projection, It was Dies Mercurii. “Today is The Day of Mercury, I believe that is what you call, Wednesday.” He said, pulling out into the street, while using his right hand to key into the holographic projection, the two bodies that Dianne had worked with earlier were displayed, their entire personal histories, where they ate, where they went to temple, even down to the brand of toilet paper they used.

“Both of these young ladies worked for Tech Con.” McKenna said, bringing the SUV out into the street, it’s brilliant blue-white headlights illuminated the dank, noisome streets.

“Secrateries.” He said, scrolling through the information, which was translated into terran common for Dianne to read. “Neither one had criminal associations.” He said, continuing to scroll through the data. “Connors has a chair, so we’re going to try and nab Sirico and figure out why he decided to quash this investigation.”

Despite having no real grasp on what an Aurora Chair actually was, every Terran in Law Enforcement or Millitary Service "knew" what one was. The thought of strapping the don's son into some unknown, alien torture device was just the "nonsensical" sort of thing she'd been afraid of for the last half hour.

"Khāk bar sar-am, is that what you want?" Dianne shifted back, glancing at the holoscreen with a mild curiosity.

"His sister owns The Scarlet Crest," She said this quiet softly, and quite wearily. "That's not public knowledge, either."

She glanced over at James just long enough to gauge him. "Think about it. Would you want a murder, and narcotics investigation in the headlines if you could help it?"

“I’m suprised you know that, you seem to be full of suprises, Detective. I understand the logic behind it, though... malkes sense, not wanting An investigation to make your club look bad, it’s bad for business..” He said, slightly dissppointed that he couldn’t put a corrupt cop in the aurora chair.

They had managed to reach the main drag, pulling into the avenue and accelerating.

“But, you would also think that he would be interested in finding out who caused the incident in the first place; poisoning your patrons is bad for business...” He said with a slight nod, as the holographic screen chimed.

“Look at that...” He said, reading the text message briefly. “Connors wants an update..” He said, keying something into the computer.

“We need to figure out how to get his cooperation, so that we don’t have to use only Aschen assets, what can we use to put pressure on him?”

She just looked at him, unsure of how serious he was.

"I don't know how things work in Caprica, but you don't 'pressure' a don's son here." Dianne reached out somewhat tentatively to give the holoscreen a tap, pulling up the I.D photo of the maimed victim. It was somewhat surreal to her to see what the sidewalk covered in blood used to be, who it used to be. She stared at the picture for a solid minute, all while giving James' question thought.

"Do you really care about them," She didn't bother to try, and hide the way she studied his face for any hint of a lie. "Or was that just to ruffle Steg?" She asked.

McKenna paused to consider his answer, coming to a red light, he slowly turned to face Dianne. “When I became a cop, I took an oath, to protect and defend the people of the Aschen Empire. To preserve and enforce law, and order.” He explained. “If I didn’t treat every case as if it were someone my own, if I didn’t ‘care’ about the people I was getting justive for, than I would be undermining the whole system, and I would be undermining every victim, every family member, who grieves at these deaths.” McKenna added.

“The Law is clear, our job Is to enforce it, we don’t get a say about which case we care about, we are to care about all of them” He said, turning onto another street. “That’s what separates a civilization like the Aschen, from the barbarians that we lay low.”

His face darkened slightly. “There was a moment though, that I wish Stegs tried something, because I would have snapped him in two.” He growled.

A frightening realization gripped Dianne. Either the Aschen were truly gifted actors, and their diplomacy record sure weighed against that, or James McKenna was a genuine person. Either way her survival rate plummeted, partly because it was clear the other detective wouldn't ditch the case, but mostly because she knew herself. Law and Order once meant a great deal to her, and when she first became a patrolwoman she set out to make a difference.

It still didn't mean she had to go easy on him, and the bravado made her groan. "You would think so, woiwouldn't you big shot?"

She sunk back into her chair, rolling her eyes at James. "Hell maybe you could take him, but what he didn't mention was that he didn't simply "walk out" of that detainment camp."

Dianne really wasn't sure it was her place to offer any details, except she despised Steg so it made no difference to her.

"He escaped, four months before the Occupation ended. He killed the two IIA agents by getting out of one of your chairs, they say." She herself had no clue if that was true, but Steg never denied it either.

Perhaps somewhat rudely, since it wasn't her car, she opened the glovebox.

"I'm not asking if you'll trust me, McKenna, but can you take a little direction here?"

“Did he?” McKenna asked, the lights of the italian restaurant coming up ahead. “Did he walk right out of that Aurora chair, and out of the detention camp?”

With a swift keystroke on the holographic display, video footage came up, it was Stegs in the aurora chair, several officials in the room, and the chair humming away. Stegs was a blubbering mess, screaming, pleading, begging to be let go while tears, and snot streamed down his face.

McKenna pulled up another video, of Stegs managing to escape his cell, overpower the guard who happened to be reading a porn magazine, slipping into the control center where an IIA Agent was sleeping, killing him, and making for the exit.

“Just.. walked out of that detention camp? I guess that was partly true.” The Detective said. “See these scars?” He said, holding up his hand.

“Before I became a cop, I was in the military, involved in an experiemental project to augment soldiers, titanium rods were fused to my bones, and I was given hormones to enhance muscle growth, every night my muscles spasm violently, and I have to take medication to prevent my muscles from snapping what few natural bone I have left. I can snap someone like Stegs in two, just as easily as I can bench a small car.” McKenna said with a growl, holding up his hand to reveal the faint pattern of scars on his skin. “When I shake a person’s hand, I have to make a conscious effort not to crush it.”

The footage was difficult to watch, that little string of human empathy tugged at her heart. Even if it was Stegs in the chair, nobody deserved that. As much as Dianne wanted to keep an open mind, the video, and the willingness to show it put a damper on that. Not wanting to watch any longer she shifted her focus to McKenna's scars.

Just how similar the two me were struck her as somewhat comical, but as they pulled up to Sirico's Italia she was out of time to jab James about it.

"Alright," adopting a grim tone she undid her seatbelt, and motioned to the glovebox. "Disruptor, and badges, or I.D, or whatever go in there."

Completely unsure as to whether he'd believe her or not, all she could do to keep the both of them alive - his augmentation or not - was lay as much as she could on the table.

"Aschen aren't welcome, neither are police as a rule. You want to put pressure on Gennaro? Easier ways to kill yourself, more fun ways too." She looked at him with intensity for the first time.

"You don't put pressure on him, you let him put it on you. Irritate him a little, but don't piss him off. Gennie is smart, you push him he gives you nothing, but let him talk a little, and he'll say a lot more than he should." Dianne nodded, more to herself than anything.

"Believe me, his old man used to smack him around for it."

James quietly considered the propsal, glancing briefly to the glovebox and frowning. “I’m not letting my ass hang out like that, I’ll need an insurance policy of some kind.” He said, frowning at the glovebox once more.

“You don’t need a disruptor to identify an Aschen, C’mon, even without the IDs i’m pretty obvious.” He protested, before going to unclasp the chest rig from his back.

No, he needed an out, and swiftly, he tapped the terminal. “Connors, McKenna, where are you?” He asked, and the image flickered to a young blonde woman, who looked like she was in her early thirties appeared.

“I’ve been tracking you since you left the station, you’re not exactly hard to keep tabs on, what do you need, Mckenna?” The woman asked.

“I’m about to go into this restaurant unarmed.” He said to the woman. “Oh, Dianne, this is special Agent Kathryn Connors, with the IIA InOps division. Shes been stationed here in Van Leugen for the better part of a year.” He said, introducing the woman on the screen. “This is...” Connors interrupted. “Detective Dianne Freeman, quite the interesting career; McKenna’s a good partner to have, guy’s straight laced as they come.“ She said, nodding.

“Alright, look I’m at the safehouse but I’ll get a squad put together if you need some help, I don’t want to make too much noise though so try not to piss someone off.” She said. “I’ve got dossiers on half the precinct, bunch of assholes if you ask me. Anyways you need to make tracks, both of you. Propaganda mills are spinning and this murder is about to be on the next hate week rally.”

She turned back to Dianne. “You do not want to be front and center in one of our two minutes hates, otherwise you, and your department is going to be instantly famous in the Empire.”

McKenna nodded. “Two minutes hate is a propaganda ritual, people are shown propaganda images and encouraged to hate whoever is on the screen, Ministry of Information must have gotten ahold of my preliminary report from your consulate call.” He said, sighing, putting everything in the glovebox.

“Alright, watch my back, Connors.” McKenna said, and the woman nodded. “I’ll try to get a mole in the restaurant, give me a millicenton. See you later.” Kathryn then terminated the link.

“Alright, disruptor and badges...” He said, taking his gear and putting it in the glovebox. “You better have my back, Freeman, otherwise Connors will probably send a hit squad.” He half joked. “And nobody wants to deal with the hit squad.”

"She already sent a hit squad," she chuckled a bit, the tension starting to ease off for her. "I'm just not it's target yet. Yet."

Dianne adopted a more serious tone, and slipped a hand into her jacket. "Besides.." With a quick jerk she produced her weapon of choice, a wheathered Tariq 9mm. "Just because you're unarmed doesn't mean I'll be." She slipped it back into the interior pocket with a smile.

"Okay, three things quick. One, no matter what I say you play along. Don't raise any eyebrows, or act surprised. Secondly don't say anything bad about the food, or the chef. Not only will you get shot, you'll break an old lady's heart.."

"Third, you blow my cover, and we'll have innocent dead bodies on our hands." She gestured for James to get out with a smile. "So would you please get my door for me, like a gentleman." She stressed the final word as a hint.

As written by barney_fife and Blazezon



James looked at the pistol with mild curiousity, the weapon was crude, and primitive to him, but I suppose it was effective if one needed to blend in.

He made a face as he started out of the black SUV, opening her door with a thunk and offering his arm, if she opted to take it, the titanium plates in his bones could be felt by the keen observer

Slowly, and with careful footing, he walked her to the front of the restaurant, to approach the host.

"Two please, taking this lovely lady out for a night on the town." He said, smiling.

Dianne was quiet pleased with James' performance, and with only slight hesitation she took his arm. Though the detective was fairly certain his claim of lifting a car was exaggerated, she couldn't help but picture her arm being accidentally crushed. She put her weight on him to pull herselff up, a casual enough act, but also a good chance to test his arm a little. It was extremely subtle, but his arm felt more like a lamppost than flesh. A small chill want down her spine as she adjusted her jacket.

She made a mental note to duck behind him if bullets started to fly - he was probably as durable as your average flak jacket so why not.

The walk to the door was the most stressful twenty seconds of her life. A lot of people's safety, hers included, was riding on her ability to bullshit professional bullshitters. With an Aschen on her arm of all things. She fell into character rapidly, staying just an inch behind her "date". Her usual, almost soldier-like gait became more of an aggressive strut, and by the time the pair reached the door her demeanour resembled an arrogant socialite.

She was just about to say something when James piped up, both Dianne, and the ancient host shooting him a glare.

The silence lasted for an awkward few seconds while the host, an Italian man easily broaching eighty if the weathered lines of his face had any say in it eyed James up. He stepped off his small podium, shambled his way over to the "couple", and stuck a stubby finger on James' chest.

"Who the hell'a you, pretty boy?" He asked, the words hard to make out between his heavy accent, and heavier wheezing.

Something seemed off, this was too soon, Connors probably hadn't arrived yet and there were probably a hundred armed men in this establishment. His piercing blue eyes went to the old Italian man.

McKenna was a seasoned actor, a professional bullshitter, he had been in seedier mob dens than this, but his eyes briefly betrayed a fire, the stubby finger landed on something hard, they didn't feel like ribs, and it was obvious James wasn't wearing a vest.

"Who am I?" He asked, leaning forward, all two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle standing at six feet towered over the fraile older man.

His arm moved at inhuman speed, clenching five crumpled hundred dollar bills inside his fist, subtly putting them into the host's hand.

"I'm a man who'se trying to take this lovely woman out for a nice night on the town? Why does it matter who I am." He said, reaching his other hand out and patting the host on the back.

"Plenty more where that came from."

The old man, easily half James' height due to his bent back, merely blinked. In a surprisingly swift motion, he pocketed the cash, and shrugged.

"You know how to pick 'em, Tesoro." He motioned toward the open door of the small brick building. "You know the drill."

Dianne nodded in response, digging her pistol out with her free hand, and turning it over to him. She half wished she knew what James was thinking at that moment, but mostly just prayed he wouldn't panic. The old man shifted his attention back to James then, a massive, bushy eyebrow raised.

"You gunna fork the piece coglione?"

James paused for a long ten seconds, he had shed most of his weapons, but he must have set off some kind of detector, and so reaching into his ankle, he unclasped his final piece, a small dagger of ancient greek design. Spinning the well balanced blade in his hand, he held it out, pommel first to the host.

"Guatrau sends his regards." The man said, surrendering his weapon. "Please take care of it, it belonged to my Baba."

The greater took it with a disinterested shrug, "Everything belonged to somebody." He said, waving them off in the process.

The second they crossed the threshold, a waiter pounced. She was a young blonde in early twenties, Terran by the look of it. She gestured toward the "couple", and approached with a smile.

"Buona sera, signora Freeman!" She was rather chipper for a waiter, and as was customary she greeted them both with a pair of kisses to the cheek each.

"Come stai?" She asked in a warm tone, all while giving McKenna a not-so-subtle checking out. "And who's the friend? He's nicer than the last few." The waiter winked at Dianne rather unsettlingly.

The detective chuckled in return, hugging his arm tighter. "This is, uh.."

Damnit. She immediately realized they hadn't done the most basic part of all undercover work - set up a name.

"Paul. Paul...Lawrence." She looked up at the Aschen, feigning the star-struck expression. "He needs to talk to Gennaro."

The perky blonde clammed up in the blink of an eye, regarding her new "guest" much more harshly.

"Follow me," her tone was grave, and just as she turned to leave a man in a black suit popped out of the kitchen, waving to her. "Vinne's got your gun, Dianne, you know the way right?"

Dianne just nodded, tugging on James' arm a little.

"Ready...Paul?" She asked, barely containing a snicker.

James opted for a demeanor of quiet, letting Dianne do the talking after what transpired at the door, James had to play it easy.

His footsteps were careful, and he played along with the waitress' greetings, though he didn't speak a word of Italian.

At that moment James' phone chimed, and he checked it briefly. It was a lone text message, from an anonymous number.

'In position'

Quietly, James showed the screen of his phone to Dianne, so she could read the text as well, before swiftly pocketing the device. It was the reassurance James needed, the edge to take off the anxiety of being unarmed in a den of lions.

As they made their way to the Gennaro's table, James whispered in Dianne's ear. "Paul? Really?" He hissed slightly, while feigning a smile, and pulling her closer.

"I hear the food is absolutely wonderful here!"

The eyes on him, and everyone regarding him with suspicion made him uncomfortable, but with Connors on watch, he could relax just a little bit.

"Indeed it is, Paul!" She stressed the bogus name jusjust to chaff him a bit. Dianne was really starting to worry about her partner, any more pressure, and she wouldn't have been surprised if he started sweating literal bullets.

As casually as she could she let her head rest on his shoulder as they walked, making it easier to speak quietly.

"Just relax a little," It was strange for her, seeing an "officer" so uncomfortable around the other side of the table. "The people here are on business. They're more worried about you over-hearing something."

The claustrophobic hall they'd been winding through opened to a rather large bar. Just behind the bar was an old archway, covered with a thick black drape, and guarded on either side.

"This is it, Paul." She whispered, urging him forward.

As soon as the two were arms-length from the door both guards seemed to snap life. They each held a hand out in a "halt" gesture. The guard on the left, an Italian man who looked ex-military, took a step forward.

"Gennaro Sirico is busy tonight," He said, demonstrating a very Terran accent. "Wednesday is a night for family, and I must ask you to lea-'

Both of the thugs broke into a light chuckle, the one on the right snorting.

"Here Danny," He pulled a gun, Dianne's gun, from his pocket, and tossed it to her. "Keep him in check, yeah? Your last date left a lotta cleaning to do."

Dianne looked up at her date with a smug smile as she shoved the pistol in her jacket. "This one's pretty...Tame."

Both guards snickered, the one on the right pushing the door open.

"Signora Sirico is here tonight, so you know the sauce is jussstt right."

The room inside was little more than a smoke filled den. Once an above ground wine storage of all things, it was quickly converted into a backroom meeting hall. An ornate wooden banquet table took up the majority of it, leaving the old-world chairs against the walls, and seven well dressed men, and women took up the remaining space. Each head slowly gravitated to the two new comers.

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, and no one dared to move until the man at the head of the table stood.

"You can't make it for Christmas dinner, you step on my brothers pride by bringing another man here," he gestured to James. "So this better be damn good Danny girl."

He slicked the wrinkles from his pastel-blue suit, and sat back down slowly.

"So tell me Paul, why are you wasiting my family night?"

"It doesn't help that my people are responsible for two mass genocides on this planet, I'm hoping to play my cards right, and get this moving otherwise this is going to be a very short visit." He replied while her head was on his shoulder, and they continued to walk through the hallway.

James took in every sight, every sound around him, regarding tactical positions and calculating an escape, he would have to live just long enough to reach the IIA Hit squad that was no doubt poised to storm the restaurant the moment things went wrong. Connors was in position, and she was an excellent agent of the Empire.

He paid close attention to the guards at the door, but otherwise said nothing, he was formulating his character, running his mind carefully.

He kept his stance nonthreatening, but observant, this was the moment of truth, this was the moment that his acting skills would need to shine, and he prayed to the Lords of Kobol that these mobsters had at least heard of the Ha'la'tha.

He spoke with a thick accent, almost like Greek, but not quite, something seemed off, his voice was low, gravely, and difficult to understand. "My proper name is Paûlos Konstantin, and the Guatrau sends his regards." He said, offering a slight, but respectful bow.

"But the Guatrau sends me on business, and recent events has My Guatrau very upset, he has come seeking an arrangement, blood for blood, the Tauron way." James said cooly. "But he recognizes this thing of ours and understands that certain individuals snooping around is bad for business, thus he humbly seeks your audience."

The man at the head of the table sat back as his guest spoke. He placed both hands on the table, folding the carefully, It had been awhile since anybody, especially an off-worlder had marched in to "his" establishment for any reason, let alone an audience. Gennaro could feel every eye boring down on him exexpectantly.

Hungrily.

He let the words sink in, and while he didn't know the Guatrau from any other Aschen, he did know what it meant. For better or worse the arms that the Ha'la'tha had pushed into Leugen changed the landscape, and the Sirico Family had playing catch up for awhile. Gennaro motioned to the others in the room, giving them permission to sit.

The Don's son drummed his fingers together, looking from Dianne to James, and back to his hands.

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about," Despite telling the truth he chose his words carefully. "I run a couple eateries like this, a casino, a hospital." He shrugged. "I don't however run a private investigation service, nor would I know anything about any blood."

A few of the people seated around him snickered, Dianne included.

"I don't know who told you I was the man to bother, Paul, but I don't think I can help you." He gestured towards the doorway. "If that's all."


James stood there in silence, keeping his head inclined in respect. "I understand, signore Sirico, you're a legitimate businessman, we're all legitimate businessmen." He held his hand to his heart to feign empathy.

"But, you understand when two young ladies, of whom are personal friends with the Guatrau's daughter, turn up dead at a nightclub owned by your sister, in a brutal, bloody mess; that sends a very clear message to the Guatrau, and then the sources within the Aschen Government; tell the Guatrau that you told the Police to back off?"

James shook his head and tsk'd at them.

"Signore Sirico, that's just bad for business, for all of us, but I can understand you have a reputation to consider, but it's blood for blood, the Tauron way, the murderers must be brought to the soil." James pleaded.

"Consider the alternative, Signore, the Aschen propaganda machine, seeing your sister's face on the Aschen's two minutes hate would be bad for business... but I understand, I believe I have wasted enough of your time, Signore... I beg your leave." He said, inclining his head, gesturing to the door.

The moment Paûlos dropped the word "daughter" the entire atmosphere changed. The table of guests had been stoic until now, following Gennaro's lead, but the implications were heavy. Concerned expressions spread like wildfire, and a few people - including Dianne began to whisper to one another. The table seemed split down the middle over whether this was an act of disrespect, or a calamity.

Just about then Paûlos wagged his finger, sending the hushed discussions into Italian, and more than a few subtle hands to their weapons.

The man to Gennaro's right made a slight move as if to stand, but froze when his boss raised a hand in protest. The Don's son was very interested in what he was hearing, if not a little insulted, and he intended to hear it through. As Paûlos continued to speak the table took the hint, and quieted down gradually.

This discomfort was universal, and clear.

When Paûlos finished, offering his bow, Gennaro let out a deep sigh. He reached into his jacket, and retrieved a cigar-case, his eyes never left Paûlos' face.

"Alright, alright." He said, a measure of exhaustion in his voice. "You don't have twist my arm so hard, guy."

A few people around the table chuckled sheepishly.

"At first, I won't lie," A practiced hand fished out a cigar, and within seconds the man to his left pulled out a lighter, and readied the flame. "You kinda pissed me off. Come in to my Grandmother's joint, up in to my private dining room, and you make threats?"

He tore the end off with a snear, and leaned towards his lackey's lighter.

"You Aschens, you aren't just outsiders, you're the enemy. This isn't Lan-gear-rah, this isn't your city."

A few people nodded, but most eyes were on Paûlos, begging for a read on him. Dianne was no exception.

"But two things have kept you breathing." He pulled back, taking a few quick drags to ensure it was lit. "One, Danny here likes you, clearly if she hung her ass out this far for you, and second," He took a long drag, mulling the smoke around for a moment.

"Second is that you got coglioni the size of a goddamn starship." He started to chuckle, pointing his cigar at the would-be Ha'la'tha. "Maybe not brains, but balls you, and your Gautrau have."

He gestured to one of his other guests, who promptly got up, and offered his seat to Paûlos.

"Sit the fuck down," said Gennaro, "tell me just what it is your man wants, and why the hell he didn't come himself."

As written by barney_fife and Blazezon

The moment Paûlos dropped the word "daughter" the entire atmosphere changed. The table of guests had been stoic until now, following Gennaro's lead, but the implications were too heavy. Concerned expressions spread like wildfire, and a few people - including Dianne began to whisper to one another. The table seemed split down the middle over whether this was an act of disrespect, or a calamity.

Just about then Paûlos wagged his finger, sending the hushed discussions into Italian, and more than a few subtle hands to their weapons.

The man to Gennaro's right made a slight move as if to stand, but froze when his boss raised a hand in protest. The Don's son was very interested in what he was hearing, if not a little insulted, and he intended to hear it through. As Paûlos continued to speak the table took the hint, and quieted down gradually.

This discomfort was universal, and clear.

When Paûlos finished, offering his bow, Gennaro let out a deep sigh. He reached into his jacket, and retrieved a cigar-case, his eyes never left Paûlos' face.

"Alright, alright." He said, a measure of exhaustion in his voice. "You don't have twist my arm so hard, guy."

A few people around the table chuckled sheepishly.

"At first, I won't lie," A practiced hand fished out a cigar, and within seconds the man to his left pulled out a lighter, and readied the flame. "You kinda pissed me off. Come in to my Grandmother's joint, up in to my private dining room, and you make threats?"

He tore the end off with a snear, and leaned towards his lackey's lighter.

"You Aschens, you aren't just outsiders, you're the enemy. This isn't Lan-gear-rah, this isn't your city."

A few people nodded, but most eyes were on Paûlos, begging for a read on him. Dianne was no exception.

"But two things have kept you breathing." He pulled back, taking a few quick drags to ensure it was lit. "One, Danny here likes you, clearly if she hung her ass out this far for you, and second," He took a long drag, mulling the smoke around for a moment.

"Second is that you got coglioni the size of a goddamn starship." He started to chuckle, pointing his cigar at the would-be Ha'la'tha. "Maybe not brains, but balls you, and your Gautrau have."

He gestured to one of his other guests, who promptly got up, and offered his seat to Paûlos.

"Sit the fuck down," said Gennaro, "tell me just what it is your man wants, and why the hell he didn't come himself."


Paûlos offered another somewhat respectful inclination of his head. "I am merely a messenger." He said, while the table made ther deliberation. Though when they began subtly reaching for their weapons, the hairs on Jame's neck stood on end slightly, sure he could take one, or two hits, but this many mobsters with this many guns would put him down pretty quick.

"That's the problem, you hold the people responsible for the actions of the Government, I no more represent the Aschen Military, than you do the Terran National Government." He said, approaching the table to take a seat.

His eyes watched the other mobsters in the room, and no doubt Connors was keeping close tabs on them as well, he subtly glanced around, wondering just where the IIA hit squad had been positioned.

"My Guatrau simply wishes to know, why the Police have refused to investigate this nightclub, and while he'd come himself, he is meeting with the Taiyou Yakuza on a faraway planet." James said while making himself comfortable in the chair, although not too comfortable.

"My Guatrau wishes to know what you, and your family are willing to divulge."

Though the room was still tense, the pressure began to give way to business. All around the table people began to relax, cigars, cigarettes, and joints were all brought out, while a quick gesture from Gennaro had the wine flowing in. Despite the severity of each person there, their crimes, and charges ranging from murder, to racketeering, and even a few failed Ricos, they were in fact family. It showed in the little things, the informalities, and barbed exchanges that dominated the quiet side conversations.

The poor "Ha'la'tha messenger" couldn't get a word in without a comment from the peanut gallery. The man in charge however hung on the outsider's every word, his scheming mind working over time.

When Paûlos mentioned the Taiyou he only grew more severe, but still allowed his new guest to finish, maintaining a polite expression.

"I see, I see.." Mumbled the mobster, pushing a hand through his slicked hair. "Now I can understand a man, having lost hus daughter, trying to figure out why, but." He nodded to each of them beside him, who rose, making for the doorway.

"What I just can't wrap my head around is why the Guatrau would send you here to me, and not to the Don." The two left without incident as their boss spoke, exitting in complete silence.

"Do you offer your disrespects intentionally?" Gennaro leaned forward a bit, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Or are you just blind to manners?"

The tension was creeping back up, the background banter fading into whispers. Everything had gone to hell faster than eveb Dianne's paranoia had predicated. She broke her conversation with the woman next to her, a physical anxiety setting in.

As Gennaro watched patiently, attempting to make Paûlos sweat she broke, speaking up before Paûlos had the chance.

"That's on me, Gen." Dianne struggled to keep her voice stable. "Paûlos here came to me, asked me who to go to in the Nillies. I wasn't gunna feed him to your old man."

A few of the people left snickered, but Gennaro's eyes narrowed, darting between Dianne, and the Aschen. He spoke very slowly, and very softly. "Is that so, Paûlos? How did your Ha'la'tha know who to ask, or that the case what shutdown, in our Precinct?"

Dianne had to suppress the desire to scream, she knew it was trap. The Sirico family owned the majority of the Precinct now, and those from other outfits payed a hefty tax to get their own men in. Gennaro would know them all by name, and she sure hadn't ever heard of a Ha'la'tha mole. All she could do was shoot her partner a brief look, and pray he could pull it off.

James let out an exacerbated sigh, and steepled his fingers on the table, while slowly shaking his head.

The rollercoaster of deception went round and round, back and fourth, but the Mobster sitting across from the Aschen was a smart man, and James was a shit actor, he was running out of excuses and had to put everything out on the table.

He moved from his steepled fingers, to rubbing the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "Alright... why do you always have to do this the hard way? It doesn't matter if you're Ha'la'tha, or two bit criminals." He said, heaving an exacerbated sigh.

The tension was palatable, but James shot Dianne a look that said to trust him, and things were about to get hairy.

"I think your girl set me up, but it doesn't matter; you're going to tell me exactly what I want to know, I'm going to walk out of this restaurant, and we'll all profit from this. You can go to business as usual with whatever it is you disgusting scumbags do." James' tone went several octaves lower, and he rose to his full height at the table. "And I can get some justice for two dead Aschen."

James shifted slightly, his eyes were on every mobster in the room, looking for tactical positioning, he could take the closest one hostage the moment they reached for their guns, but he prayed that Gennaro had a sensible mind.

"Or we can consider the alternative; The IIA have this place surrounded, poised to kill everyone in cold blood the moment they hear a gunshot, my lifesigns go silent, or I give the codeword, and then you..." He said, pointing a finger at Gennaro. "Are going to be the only survivor, because those very same IIA Agents are going to have a nice chat with you, while you're sitting comfortably in the Aurora Chair. Local cops won't know what happened, Aschen weapons have been hitting the black market for years, and it'll look like a rival mob took you out."

His voice darkened, piercing eyes on Gennaro.

"Your move, Signore." He spat, still not revealing who he was exactly, but one thing was obvious, he wasn't bluffing.

For a solid ten seconds it was like someone had plunged the room into stasis. Not a single person moved, not even to breath, or blink. Every single eye was firmly fixed on Gennaro, and no one dared to even take a hit off a cigarette before he moved. That brief, frozen moment was the epitome of "the clam before the storm."

Gennaro slammed his hand down, his reserved face contorting. Three people jumped, Dianne included, and the woman beside her even drew a gun. It looked like a countdown to an internal incident, right up until Gennaro Sirico burst out in uproarious laughter.

"Ho-ly fuck Danny, Stegs was ri-ight!" Was all the mobster could choke out as he threw his head back, nearly smacking into the wall.

The rest of the family followed suit, all while shaking eachother's hands, and exchanging Terran Credit Slips. The lion's share of the betting proceeds funneled its way over to Dianne, who was exceedingly smug about it.

"Did I not tell you he was the biggest swinging dick they had?" She nudged the woman beside her, who begrudgingly forked over a slip for five grand.

"Yeah, but come on." Gennaro pushed himself out of the cramped chair, and strode towards James. "This guy?" He shrugged, and fished out another cigar, offering it to the man.

"While you're sitting comfortably in an Aurora Chair." The mobster did his best mock growl. "Is it just in the water back home, or what?"


McKenna was coiled up like a serpent ready to strike during the oppressive silence, ten long seconds that he would either live or die, and the IIA would come storming in with spice gas grenades, and disruptor bolts.

Then the most peculiar thing happened, the mobster started laughing? The obvious look of confusion dawned upon the CPF Detective's face, he looked towards Dianne briefly, as if seeking out some sort of reassurance.

He watched the money exchange hands, they knew? They knew he was an Aschen cop the whole time, the look of confusion turned to a look of slight anger, but it quickly vanished when the Mobster offered the man a cigar.

"What is the meaning of this?" James asked, confused.

"You guys knew?" He asked again, incredulous.

Dianne stood up, stuffing her ill-gotten gains into her jacket. She shook her head, and reached out to offer James a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"The second Stegs set foot out of the morgue I knew he'd be on the phone to Gen in ten seconds." She gave him a half-sincere smile. "I couldn't say anything in the Precinct though, and I couldn't risk you coming in here, uh, I dunno.." She looked to Gennaro.

"Waving his Aschen sense of inadequacy around with a rifle?"

"Something like that," She was interrupted by the drapes behind them being ripped open. An extremely aged looking woman in a chef's smock stood on the otherside.

"Okay," The small woman's voice was surprisingly deep, and had a tone of grim authority. "Food is ready, you gunna eat, or you gunna bullshit all night?"

The old woman directed a quick glare at Dianne. "Still too good for Christmas, huh, but you bring an Aschen?" She huffed. "Been a few years since one of them have been in here."

Dianne just shrugged, and gave James' shoulder a squeeze. "If it makes you feel better 'Paul' was a safeword."

Gennaro interrupted with a cough. "Please, CPF Investigator James McKenna, of the Caprica City...Something. Won't you join us, we have a mutual Captain problem I'd like to discuss."


McKenna was almost embarrassed, he didn't see this coming, but things seemed to be going well, for now anyway.

"Always got to hammer home the sense of inadequacy, don't you; I guess since all the cards are on the table... You can show yourself now." He said to no one in particular.

His eyes followed the older woman, as she brought the food to the table, and he opted to ease himself back down into the chair. "I hope you have room for one more..." McKenna said, and when Gennaro mentioned something about a mutual captain problem, a metallic buzz filled the room, and there was a faint outline behind McKenna, a faint outline that coalesced into the faceless visor of someone wearing a combat skin.

The figure was armed with a sleek, and compact Type 03 Disruptor PDW, which was slung lazily over their back, it seemed the figure in the combat suit had a better read on the situation than James, as she had been standing rather calmly for it seemed the entire time.

There was a hiss, and a click as the visor retracted, revealing the same woman in the video call from earlier.

"Sometimes you gotta roll a hard six, Mckenna. I think I fell asleep once or twice back there." The woman said, patting him on the back, and nodding to Dianne.

"Special Agent Kathryn Connors, IIA; I've got my squad watching out for any unwelcome guests, I understand we have a mutual problem that needs taking care of; good. My aurora chair was getting cold."

Dianne jumped as Connors fizzled in, Leugen was plenty high tech, and had more than enough magic laying around for invisibility to be common, but it always gave her a hard jump after the Gremlin case. She whirled about, hand flying to the grip of her pistol, like most people in the room did. Lucky for them all Connors' visor disengaged, leaving the Detective enough time to shout.

"Damnit!" She gave Connors a sideways look, her hands shooting up to signal the others. "She's alright, she's alright.."

The elder woman, clearly having had more than enough, moved far to quickly for someone almost a century old. Her hands shot to her face, and with the grace only a mother could muster she issued an ear-splitting whistle. Most of the room cringed, or held their ears.

"For fuck' s sake." Hissed Dianne, but the elderly chef ignored her.

"Talk with a plate in front of you." She barked, and servers cued by the noise started filing in.

The family did as their matron told them, everyone including Dianne shut up for just long enough to find a seat. The trays that were brought in didn't look like a whole lot. The dishes weren't arranged with visual appeal in mind, but the heavenly aroma wafting off of each drew attention. Chairs were pushed in, napkins were tucked, and wine was poured as quickly as possible.

Two extra chairs got drug in by the door guards, and set on either side of Dianne. Plates soon followed, and once everyone but the staff were seated the old woman nodded.

"Good," she huffed. "Now Gennie?" She pointed to the man at the head of the table.

"Yeah ma'?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Don't bother me no more tonight." She turned, and left without another word.

"Mothers, eh?" Gennaro just sighed, his eyes rolling as he grabbed his wine glass. "D here was right, James. That three-faced Russian fuck was burnin' my line up before you two showed up."

He took a large gulp, and shook his head. "Tellin' me 'The Aschen' this, 'Dianne' that.."

"Which," Dianne was more than comfortable interrupting him now. "Is bad, because what Stegs doesn't know is that I work here, so to speak." She made sure to take note of her new "partners'' expressions.

"Right." Grunted Gennaro, a sneer directed at his lackey. "He's getting too close, and outright told me I ought to put a bullet in both of you." He gave an awkward look to Connors. "Didn't mention you though."

"She's our way out, G." Dianne turned to face the IIA woman, her expression a bit more serious now. "You see..If I, or James more importantly to you, walks out of here alive..."

Gennaro chuckled "The whole thing goes face down in a river, you know?" He shoved a forkful of pasta into his face, then pointed the utensil at James. "And before you ask, you can investigate all you want, within reason." He stressed the final word.


Getting himself comfortable in front of the meal, while Connors didn't move to sit, rather she kept a stoic expression, and monitored the room from where she was standing, actively listening in on multiple cell phone frequencies; a woman in her position couldn't take chances with poisoned food, either.

"I think I have a solution to your Stegs problem, he more or less confessed to me, that he murdered two IIA Agents, and I have the footage to prove it, it wouldn't take much to get a warrant for his arrest from the Ministry of Law, his extradition to the Aschen Empire would prove more difficult, unless... perhaps maybe you know the right people, Mr. Sirico." McKenna said calmly, while taking a thoughtful bite of his own plate of pasta.

"His execution would be both brutal, and public; if found guilty, he would be hanged, drawn, and quartered on state television."

The CPF Detective took a thoughtful bite of his pasta, savoring the flavor, it wasn't bad and reminded him of several dishes back home in the Empire.

Connors merely nodded slightly. "I have more than enough assets in place to quickly, and quietly apprehend him, either way. I could probably stand to gain some intel by interrogation." She said, pondering.

McKenna was thoroughly enjoying the food, however, downing another bite, followed by a gulp of wine, he continued.

"The Aschen Government has little care what you do, on the contrary, any actions that disrupt the local governments of this planet are seen as beneficial to our interests, My sole interest is investigating the deaths of two Aschen, so long as your folks aren't involved, I think my investigation should be plenty within reason. In fact; I wonder what the Aurora Chair could squeeze out of the captain..." He trailed off.

'Jesus Christ," Gennaro ran a gnarled hand through his slick black hair, taking the suggestion with a healthy dose of wine. "You fuckers are a bloodthirsty lot, huh? I can almost appreciate that."

'With all do respect," A low, rumbling voice broke its silence.

Two to the left if Gennaro rose a man in an expensive black suit. He stood much taller than the average human, at least 7'1", and his skin had a pale green hue that matched his tie. Most strartling though were his deep, ruby red eyes, and the tiny horn like protrusions that substituted for eyebrows. Those more familiar with the more exotic races of Terra would easily recognize an Arsgoth Orc when they saw one.

"But I must ask why you would ask kharahg to handle business that is ours." Though he spoke very formally his accent was a touch guttural, and brought with it a certain menace.

"Because!" Gennaro snapped, his head whirling around to face the Orc. "This is my business, my family that's in danger."

"Oh really?" Another voice joined the fray. This one was soft, feminine, and displayed obvious signs of vocal coaching to maintain its rather sultry tone.

Gennaro glared at it's owner, the woman Dianne had been speaking to before. She was lithe, scrawny even, with extremely long blonde hair, and had the sort of self impressed look one might expect from a movie star.

"You got something to say?" Asked a very agitated Gen.

"Me? Never." The woman brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, and offered the man a smile, it was an obvious sign of false sincerity, and glibness. "But our father just may."

A round of "Oooohhh"s went around the table, with Dianne laughing in earnest.

"How about we play 'who daddy loves most' later, and keep me alive for now, hm?" She nudged Connors' leg subtly with her phone. The screen wasn't visible above the table, but a Memo file was up on the screen.

"That's -a name-, Gennaro's sister, and the owner of The Crest. She's who you two need to convince."

James continued to eat his food, paying little attention to the bickering that started to erupt around the table, however even though James was preconcieved with eating his food, Connors was paying close attention to what was going on.

Her green eyes moved over to follow the movements of the Orc as he stood up, she didn't regard him or his outburst as threatening, as to them, she was nearly invincible in her suit.

Her eyes moved down briefly to the phone, the name of Gennaro's sister moved to the forefront of her mind, and she used the suit's systems to access what dossiers the IIA could get ahold of, she would have to speak with Birkhoff later to hack into the VLPD database and get some more information.

The look of conviction briefly flashed on Connor's face, she decided that this woman would need to be interrogated, and any leads explored.

"I believe this is going to turn into an IIA Investigation, McKenna." Connors said flatly.

She looked back up to Gennaro, and the rest of the people gathered around at the table.

"The Empire will thank you for your cooperation; and you will be rewarded." Connors said firmly.

Almost eight long hours have lapsed since they first boarded the liner back on Terra, departing from the Tech Con spaceport in Wing City, McKenna had applied for special dispensation along with granting temporary deputy status to his newfound Terran partner, Dianne Freeman, a status that his superiors with the CPF begrudgingly accepted.

There was a great deal of paperwork on their end, IIA background checks, along with recommendations, and clearances, the was granted approval.

McKenna also made the arrangements for them to use the CPF Laboratory in Caprica City, where the forensics could be done on the bodies, as to what killed them, and the circumstances surrounding their deaths, as the investigation back in Van Leugen yielded little results.

The low hum of the ship's engines offered a dull ambiance to the cabin, drowned out only by the occasional snore of their fellow passengers, most of whom were Tech Con executives returning home from their tour on Terra, and the occasional Tech Con employee dressed in civilian attire.

McKenna himself had decided to use the lavatory before they reached the last checkpoint, and began the descent into Langara.

A young flight attendant in bright blue attire could be seen making her rounds with the drink cart, and assorted dried fruits, fishes, and other goodies that were being offered, she made her way to Dianne's seat, and with a soft smile, and a calm voice she spoke.

"Miss... would you like something to drink?" Before gently nudging her.

The Marines shook their head, rather the Marine sergeant gestured towards one of his subordinates, whom nodded and moved to open the outer airlock with a sudden hiss.

The Aschen marines weren't worried as they had their hermetically sealed Cuirasse suits on, which sealed them from the outside environment.

The outer airlock door opened up, and a cool rush of air filled through the airlock, bright lights creeping inside from the Reverence IIs hangar deck.

The Marine Sergeant pointed to the lined up crew, and then pointed to the door of the airlock, outside things would become clear, as dozens of soldiers positioned themselves behind redoubts, and deployable cover. There were at least a dozen more Adepts of War as well, in addition to one officer in a dark colored uniform trimmed with dark blue, waiting expectingly. The Marines would escort them out of the airlock, forcibly if needed.

The Oberon crew cooperates with the motions of the Aschen Marine, filing into the airlock with Paul in the lead. They don't show much surprise, the exclusion being Paul, who is shocked at what he sees. They appeared to be in a hangar, but a very large one. The telecommunication of observations through their BrainPals was continuing. Despite the hesitation to leave Henry in the ship, the crew of the Discovery VII continues on and out of the ship. The crewmate known as Robert, their situational Analyst, shares the observation that the heavy ones must be able to operate in gravity after all. Paul is more focused on the fact that there's gravity on this ship. As the crew is escorted out of the ship, they take visual recordings using their BrainPals that they will send to headquarters when they get the chance.

If they get the chance.

The Oberon crew stands silently. Paul has an uneasy feeling that he quickly dismisses, but he still tries to get the attention of the two Aschen, the Marine officer and Lieutenant, and he does his best to convey that there is another person on board the ship. He speaks for the first time, the words undoubtedly foreign to the Aschen, that there is someone else on the ship and tries to convey so through hand gestures, but quickly ceases as he realizes the pointlessness of it, and goes back to silently cooperating. They continue to take visual and audio recordings in the hope they can study them later.

The Officer directed the Marines to take the group to interrogation, and then he turned to leave, they would no doubt find the one called Henry when they searched the ship.

It was a long walk under heavy escort, the Marines escorted them one by one through a long tramway that ran the length of the ship, at least a twenty minute ride at relatively high speeds gave the Oberon crew a rough guesstimation on the sheer size of the vessel they were inside.

It was a long ride, but they finally arrived at their destination, the tram slowed to a stop with an audible hiss, and the doors opened up, Paul and his crew were now being led into what was obviously a brig, or a detention block, which was for the most part empty. They were separated, one by one, and shoved into a small eight by five cell.

Paul was the last one, the Marine shoving him forward into his cell, and turning to leave, while a second Marine latched the door behind him, and they all walked away, leaving the captain in a stifling silence.

He was there for about an hour, until the sound of heels on floor echoed through the detention block, the sound of heels stopped, and the door keeping Paul imprisoned slid open, revealing two heavily armed Marines, and a young woman wearing a neatly pressed suit, and white blouse. She also wore a dark pair of sunglasses, and a strange, but sleek looking device that coiled around her right ear, and went inside it.

Slowly she stepped inside, and took the sunglasses off, frowning for a moment, and then looking at Paul almost with a malicious smile, before she slid them into the inside pocket of her blazer.

"Who are you, and where did you come from." She asked, this time, in words he understood.

Paul's anxiety increases as he is divided from his crew, but he continues to communicate with them through his BrainPal.

When the woman enters his cell and speaks to him in a way he understands, he quickly makes a mental log before responding.

"I am Paul, of the Oberon. I come from the galaxy RA-619, star system Glendathu, base of operations Klendath.'

He references his mental interface before continuing with some statements of his own.

"We intend no harm towards your people. Our mission was simply to learn about you and contact you at a later point in time. I can say nothing else."

Paul has a quick moment of panic, and sends his recording of the questioning to the rest of his crew, before responding.

"I will answer your questions. Although, and remember this, nothing I say represents the views of my people, the expeditionary forces, or my people's government. I will answer your questions to the ability that I have in answering them. I understand your terms."

He mentally curses himself, wishing any Oberon but himself had been selected, as any other would have said nothing. He'll just answer what he can, he supposes.

Kathryn moved to Paul's right, her eyes staring daggers at him, she was watching his every move, something seemed off though, and it seemed her intuition was nagging at her for some reason.

She got close, close enough that Paul could feel her breath as she whispered.

"Your people, are nothing." She said, pulling away, and going back to tapping at her tablet. "Your people managed to somehow slip your vessel past our defenses, into our core systems, undetected." Kathryn said as she paced around Paul. "We will dismantle your vessel, and we will learn of it's origins. Tell me about your people, tell me about their military strength, their technology level, the location of your home world."