by Michael Blakeney and Gemini Lassiter
90426.1600
Soundtrack: Moonlight Serenade, (John Williams and the Boston Pops)
Following No Time to Lose
-=Office of the Director of The Alchemy Project, Starfleet Command, Earth=-
90426.1600
Soundtrack: Moonlight Serenade, (John Williams and the Boston Pops)
Following No Time to Lose
-=Office of the Director of The Alchemy Project, Starfleet Command, Earth=-
“Computer.” Lassiter whispered hoarsely as she began on her third glass of Macallan. “Search database for audio file.”
“Specify.”
“Search for an audio file entitled Moonlight Serenade.”
^The main database contains two hundred and forty two files bearing the title Moonlight Serenade. ^
“Of course it does.” Gem threw back her head and took in another swig of Scotch as if the practice was going out of style. “Glenn Miller. Begin playback and continue until notified.”
The computer beeped, and the first notes of the song began to reverberate through the room.
This wasn’t, however, the arrangement she wanted.
It wasn’t the arrangement she remembered.
“No, no, no. Computer, cease playback. Find a classical arrangement of the same song. Fully orchestrated.”
The computer chirped and began playing another version of her selection, and Gem nodded.
For a moment, she closed her eyes.
This was the song that she remembered.
She paced back and forth before the window, watching as the moon continued its solitary ascent.
It was a full moon tonight, she observed.
Its glowing, almost surreal image against the deep, consuming darkness of the midnight sky seemed to put the comparatively thin, wispy strands of light emitted by nearby stars to shame.
Glaring, Gem thought. Outshining all around him.
Yes, tonight she was convinced that while many referred to the moon as being female in gender, that this moon, so bold, and proud and beaming in its majesty, had to be of a more masculine bent.
Blinding in its brilliance, she thought. Just like Michael had been.
-=Flashback, continued- current timeline 2357: A grand ballroom, on Earth=-
All night long, he’d been purposely nursing the same glass of champagne. Through cocktail hour and appetizers, through dinner and finally now, after dessert; he’d kept himself all night out of reach of liquor’s sweet embrace.
He did this with a purpose, for even though it killed him to see so much beautiful drink go untouched by his lips, the mission he was on demanded he kept his wits about him. A drink or two would be nothing, he could easily handle the effects, but if something went wrong here there were others who’d say he couldn’t.
As agonising as was the tedium, it was not without relief. There had been a consistently interesting parade of entertaining faces to observe here over the course of the evening, even some of them with equally interesting bodies attached. So he watched and waited managing to keep himself amused. Thoughts played through his mind that he was sure many of the ladies would not appreciate. Acting always trumped thinking, but for now he was making do.
What exactly he was waiting for he really didn’t know. The information he’d been sent off with had been convoluted at best. At worst, and in truth, it had been maddeningly unhelpful thus far.
There was a threat and he was supposed to neutralize it. That was all they’d decided to tell him.
Right now, in a moment that could have been much more, he thought the only threat he could see was to his sanity if the evening continued to bore him as it had begun to do over the past fifteen minutes.
He kept his eye, one at least, always upon his target. A classless and shrivelled old man, the type Michael swore he’d never be, Ambassador Braylan had spent the evening shaking hands and telling his stories. It wasn’t much of a sight, and to make it worse, it was all that he seemed to do. He only did what it was he did best, what he was famous for.
For the entire night, he schmoozed.
As he finally finished the last, unsatisfyingly warm and flat drops of Champagne in the fine crystal flute in his hands, Michael asked himself how politicians could stand to do what they did. Most of their time spent either tied up in meetings or sitting at a desk.
He shook his head, and gruffly sighed, realising there was no answer. That was certainly not the life for him, and that was why he’d joined Starfleet to begin with, though a career in diplomatic pursuits was something he certainly could have undertaken. He had the background, he had the education and he had the charm. All qualities which served him well, but which he thought diplomacy would be a waste of.
He chose instead to focus his charm on a much more narrow audience; one of the opposite gender. It was a choice that had payed off well given the women that he’d met. More beautiful than any jewel, more of a challenge than any mission, the pursuit of a woman was not for the faint of heart.
Michael understood women, most of the time, and the rest of the time was what made it fun. There was a woman here tonight he imagined could be somewhat fun.
He had noticed that Braylan had this lovely little piece of eye candy attached to his withered, aging arm all night long, and he asked himself how it was that a woman who looked like that could stand to fawn so over a man old enough to be her grandfather.
She was a mystery at first but when he remembered that man was one of the most powerful in Federation government and it all made sense. She was still a beauty, perhaps no more a challenge, but she still held his free eye.
Women loved power, it seemed to him, and so would willingly lust after any man who possessed enough of it, whether he was half past dead or an up and coming young member of the Ambassadorship. Which mattered little, it seemed to Michael, just so long as the man was powerful, the woman was happy to do whatever it took to gain a portion of that power by association. She seemed to make sense, but there was something more, so he still didn’t turn fully away.
There was a large orchestra playing so-called swing-style now, and the Bolian who had the clarinet in his hands certainly seemed to know what to do with it. One song blended into another as Michael made polite small talk and accepted offers of dances from the wives of several of those prominent dignitaries so that he could be out on the floor, remaining close to Braylan and luckily this woman as well.
It was amazing the stamina of the old man, Michael thought. His date wanted to stop dancing three songs ago but the Ambassador, who it seemed had taken no care at all in making sure his own Champagne consumption was moderate tonight, refused to allow her to sit down.
Braylan now danced his partner off toward the corner of the floor as the song ended, and Michael watched as she smiled at him with a forced sort of politeness and backed away. The old man was having none of it however, and clasped his hands around her waist again as the next song started to play.
The introductory strains of Moonlight Serenade echoed through the ballroom, as Michael thanked his partner and politely refused another dance so he could move closer to the loveless couple. When he did, he observed that the Ambassador’s date had clearly had just about enough.
“Please, your Excellency,” she said softly, as she tried once again to escape the grasp of his wrinkled, and wandering hands. “It’s very late, and I’m not accustomed to wearing shoes of this sort for so long.”
“So take them off. Dance barefoot.” Braylan slurred slightly, leering at her and grinning lecherously at the thought. His hands seemed to have a problem with staying on her hips at this point, continually attempting to slide down her silken dress and backward, much to her profound annoyance.
“Look, I’m here to protect you not to be your fun for the night.” The woman growled, so quietly that only Braylan, and Blakeney, who was now hiding behind a towering and leafy potted plant, could hear. “I’m done dancing with you.”
“You’re here to do what I tell you to do,” Braylan warned her in a voice sweet as sugar. “Dance.”
Gem sighed and tried to steer the old man out of the corner and back toward the middle of the dance floor, hoping that at least he may show a little more restraint if everyone could see what he was doing.
Hearing those last words made Michael see her in a new light. Damsel in distress, He thought to himself. To the rescue.
In a flash, he was dressed with his million-strips-of-latinum smile and so stepped out from hiding. “Good evening, Ambassador Braylan. Might I cut in?”
Gem hesitated to allow it. She was not to get any farther than few feet away from Braylan, those were her orders. But she would have been lying if she didn’t admit at least to herself that she desperately needed a few seconds to breathe.
The song couldn’t have more than sixty seconds left by this point until it played out.
What could possibly happen in sixty seconds?
“Of course…” Braylan grudgingly released his grip on his partner and stepped back. “But just one dance, Jade.” He stressed the name that she had been going by all evening, reminding her not only of her place, but also of her duty.
“Of course,” ‘Jade’ replied. She held her arms up and nodded politely toward the newcomer. She was taken aback a moment as he took each of her hands in his; a much more formal and proper form for dancing than the Ambassador had taken.
“It doesn’t suit you.” Michael observed with a gentle smile, as he carefully led his partner back toward the center of the dance floor, all the while keeping only a few steps away from Braylan, who was looking, it seemed, for a waiter so he could get another drink.
“I’m sorry?” She scoffed slightly, thinking the apparently very self-assured man dancing with her was making some sort of remark about her attire for the evening.
He was clearly that type, good looking but far too aware of it. Even his smooth English accent was exactly what she’d expect. He had looked her up and down quite obviously just before he began to dance with her; an action that both surprised and unnerved Lassiter. The beauty in a lack of vanity was that she could usually avoid such unwelcome attention.
How dare he? She thought, feeling he had wrongly assumed he had a right to make such a statement. Michael could see what she was thinking it but it was not an unfamiliar situation.
“The name. Jade. It’s the wrong shade of green.” He remarked, looking into her eyes with a carefully practiced, false sincerity. Though feeling by rights she should be angry, for the first time in the dreary evening Gem nearly laughed. Naturally though decorum and reason won out and she managed to contain her amusement.
“Is that so?” She asked, barely able to force annoyance into her voice as the man led their smooth, graceful dancing movements with ease. “How do you mean exactly, the wrong shade of green?”
“Your eyes look much more like emeralds than jade.” The man replied, grinning broadly as he swept her around in a circle, his eyes darting from her face only long enough to watch the old geezer across the room take a long swig of Champagne. “I’d have thought that Jewel would be a much more appropriate name for so rare and beautiful a gemstone such as yourself.”
Oh brother, Gem thought, her eyes almost rolling at the clichéd line. Ironic, she mused, given her real name.
“I didn’t catch your name, Sir.” She tilted her head only slightly, but it was enough to betray her true curiosity.
The music began to wind down and this indisputably handsome yet entirely wrong man returned his full attention to her.
She had observed him looking over the room when he thought she didn’t notice, and she began to worry that he was up to something, and that something was attempting to distract her from her duties with some dark purpose in mind.
“Michael,” he answered, bowing gallantly, subtly always watching her eyes to see what his chances were. The song was nearly over, and she had him intrigued, but he released her pre-emptively to search for the ambassador, whom he worried that he couldn’t see anymore.
Gem was just as worried, though they both expertly hid their concern.
“Well Michael, thank you for the dance,” Gem said absently, pretending her search for Braylan was just a casual glance. Michael didn’t miss the sudden change, but his own search was keeping him busy. “Now, I had best find the…”
It was a single moment where they’d both lost him and an explosive charge detonating was heard.
Lassiter’s eyes flew wide. What could happen in sixty seconds, indeed.
“Braylan.” They both said, as they took off running through the crowded room, which was quickly plunged into chaos. Neither immediately understood the other’s interest but there wasn’t time for them to be concerned.
Michael outran Gem until she ripped her shoes off angrily as she hurried, knowing she could not afford to be held back by them a second longer. She was a very fast runner, and Blakeney was shocked to find that she was already shielding Braylan with her body before the second round of phaser fire rang out and ricocheted off the walls in an attempt to snuff out the old man’s life.
Chaos had soon turned to saturation as Michael realised he’d been caught by the crowd. The bouncing light in the air could have been blinding for those who’d not been in these situations before. The air near a phaser blast was much warmer than most had expected.
There was fear in the room.
The stamping feet, the collapsing furniture and the screams fed into themselves. Many were convinced by the heat that they were almost hit and swarmed in panic towards the exits they prayed would be safe.
On every side he was trapped, and the full force was attempting to shove him the wrong way.
“Starfleet Security!” Michael shouted, forcing his way through the throngs of terrified people. “MOVE!”
Gemini Lassiter
Director, The Alchemy Project
And former TI Agent
and
Lt. Commander Michael Blakeney
Starfleet
Director, The Alchemy Project
And former TI Agent
and
Lt. Commander Michael Blakeney
Starfleet