Deep Shit 69 - Chapter 5-2

As the DS 69 team stewed, the Deflated towed the Genghis Khan back to spacedock for a thorough examination. Odor and a detachment of Marine Security personnel went over the runabout with a fine-toothed comb. Unfortunately, they found the process of dragging a fine-toothed comb throughout the ship to be tedious and time-consuming. Shortly, they resorted to standard tricorder scanning. After this, they reported back to Major Keepyer and Colonel Moppett-DeFleur.

KPR: What did your team find in the Genghis Khan, Odor?
ODO: We initially found nothing out of the ordinary in the ship, but after a second sweep with the tricorders, we found a tiny transponder under the helmsman's seat. My preliminary evaluation suggest the Hardassians homed in on it before the Colonels' troops could blanket the ship with their shields.
MPT: Can you identify the make of the transponder, Odor?
ODO: It's of a Happicampan make, Colonel; favored by the Hardassians for its size and strength.
MPT: Happicampan? Our intelligence reports on them didn't suggest trade with the Hardassians.
ODO: They deal through third parties over the demilitarized zone. Probably the Monquies.
MPT: But,...how did it get on Krisko's runabout?

The Major and Odor exchanged a quick, knowing glance at each other and answered the Colonel simultaneously.

ODO/KPR: Garbaj!
MPT: Who is he? I assume you know him?
ODO: Garbaj is the only resident Hardassian left on the station. I questioned him about the Hardassian's knowledge of the gasshole, but drew a blank.
MPT: Do you still have reason to suspect him?
KPR: Garbaj has intimated for some time now that he has connections with the Obstinate Order, but we can never prove if he's telling the truth or blowing smoke up our asses.
MPT: Well then, I suggest you detain him again. I'll have my security team help you.
ODO: Very well, Colonel. If you will excuse me?

Odor left the briefing to arrest Garbaj. He also gave orders for the detainment of Quirk. Back at the conference, the Majoran and Marine teams continued.

MPT: Major, what of this Obstinate Order? You feel this Garbaj fellow may be involved?
KPR: The Obstinate Order is the elite internal security force for the Hardassian Empire. Their methods make the Romulan Tal Shi'ar seem tame by comparison.
MPT: Hmmm. Sounds like the old American Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms,...and this Gul Lattrek? You seem to recognize his name.
KPR: Lattrek helped orchestrate the execution of a troupe of Majoran mimes. He thought they were passing codes along to the Resistance.
MPT: He slaughtered a troupe of mimes? What a terrible thing to waste!!
KPR: Typical Hardassian methods of subordination, Colonel. Unfortunately, they may try similar tactics on Commander Krisko.
MPT: Despite my tight restrictions, Major, I may have a plan to get Krisko back.

The conference was ended with Moppett-DeFleur returned to the Deflated. By using the ship;s advanced speed, he hoped to catch up to the Hardassians before the crossed back into their sovereign space. As time wore one, the Ops members grew impatient waiting for a reply from the Deflated.

KPR: DS 69 to the Deflated: Colonel Moppett-DeFleur, report.
MPT: Yes, Major,...I was about to give you a call.
KPR: Any luck finding the Fourth Order, Colonel?
MPT: Negative, major. The Hardassians have jammed our ship's radar. Take a look for yourselves.

Sure enough, the forward sensor arrays were covered with thick, red goo.

BRK: Wow! Looks like elderberry jam, Captain Recks!
RCK: No shit, Sherlock!
BRK: Just trying to be helpful, Captain.
RCK: PsyCorps didn't make you the sharpest pencil in the box, did they, Lieutenant Brooke?
BRK: Uh,...no, sir.

Major Keepyer simply shook her head in disgust and amazement.

KPR: Are you telling me you let the Hardassians jam the radar on the Federation's best ship? You must be kidding!
MPT: No, Major. Colonel Kitting commands the 10th Marine Division.
KPR: Well, what do you plan to do next, Colonel?
MPT: After the 121st Lackey and Flunkey Squad cleans all that jam off the sensor array, we'll have to return and start from square one, Major.
KPR: Oh, I can't wait, Colonel.

Meanwhile, the command ship of the Hardassian Fourth Order returned to Hardassia Prime. Krisko was led away to the Central Incarceration Prison to await processing by the Hardassian government. After what seemed like days, a Hardassian dressed in robes of the judicial caste entered his cell.

IBL: Greetings, Commander Krisko. I am Gul Ibble, your jurist.
KRS: My jurist? Now that's a crock o' shit! I know your judicial system all too well, Ibble!
IBL: "Guilty until proven guilty." It's a very effective crime reducer, Krisko.
KRS: If I am already guilty, why have a trial?
IBL: To remind the citizens of the Hardassian Empire what happens when they stray from the flock. Your verdict and sentence have already been worked out. My job is to see that all goes smoothly and that justice is dispensed.
KRS: Humph! Sounds more like justice being dispensed with!
IBL: If you have nothing further to say that will speed things along, then I shall see you at the trial in the morning.
KRS: Wait a minute! I'm a Starfleet officer! I'm entitled to representation from a Federation lawyer! I want to contact the Judge Advocate General's office!
IBL: I'll file a motion on your behalf with mediator Shapiro, but I doubt the Federation will be able to respond before your hearing. Until then, good day, Krisko.

The officious lawyer left Krisko in his cold, grey cell. A short time later, several Hardassian guards entered his cell and escorted him to an office complex. He was led into the chambers of an obviously high-ranking official. A moment later, the Hardassian entered from an antechamber. He wore a Hardassian uniform that Krisko was not familiar with. After inspecting Krisko like he was a new form of insect life, the Hardassian took a seat behind his desk and introduced himself.

LTK: Commander Krisko, I am Gul Lattrek, commander of the Home Sector, Obstinate Order. I wanted to have a small chat with you...before your trial tomorrow.
KRS: You'll get nothing more from me than my name, rank, and serial number.
LTK: You are Benjamin Krisko, Commander. Starfleet ID #135-AB-89007. You're widowed and you have a son named Jerk. You like something called "baseball," which strikes me as humourous. You like to cook and have an obsession with large-breasted Andorian females.

Krisko gawked at Lattrek, dumbfounded. The Gul smirked at him and continued.

LTK: You see, Krisko, that your ancient code of silence means nothing to me.
KRS: If you know all of this, then why bother with this charade? Or am I being taped for display to your loyal citizens?
LTK: Ha, ha, ha! You amuse me, Krisko! As much as we know about you, and the gasshole, we know little of what you encountered inside the hole.
KRS: And you'll get nothing from me. I'll take that knowledge to my grave!
LTK: Again, you are being humourous!
KRS: I don't follow you, Lattrek.
LTK: Didn't Gul Ibble brief you about your trial?
KRS: No.
LTK: Oh, very well. (Sighing) As you now, you will be found guilty of trespassing in Hardassian space and spying. The sentence will be death...by hanging. So you see, Krisko, you might as well "spill the beans," and fill me in on what lies beyond the gasshole.

Will Krisko spill the beans? Will Lattrek make him squeal like a pig and play the banjo with some inbred redneck?....Oops, sorry! That scene's from my parody of "Deliverance."

Anyway, hang on for the next thrilling episode of,...

Star Yecch! Deep Shit 69!