Duck, Duck, Goose

[Cmdr JFarrington 0]

Personal Log Stardate 5106071.6

Cmdr Jami Farrington, MD

Starfleet Medical, SFHQ, Earth

 

Despite her initial trepidation on leaving Manticore and the life she had known for the past nine years, Jami Farrington had been enjoying her time back on earth. It was a honeymoon of sorts, reacquainting herself with all the pleasures of being planet-bound and missing only a few things about starship duty, primary of which was her husband. Of course Admiral Gren DeJariov had made every attempt to fill that void – not romantically, of course, but in the way of offering her steadfast friendship and occasional companionship. Though he was 20 years her senior, the two made an acceptable presence for state dinners and Academy picnics. Yes, she had enjoyed the first few days on earth. Refreshing, I believe was the word she used more than any other.

 

But, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end, and it was the question of a wounded Manticore engineering officer, Ltjg Jim Stantion, who brought Jami out of the honeymoon and back to reality.

 

"Why are we here?"

 

Now, ordinarily that question would have had an easy answer, but the reference was definitely extraordinary and demanded an extraordinary explanation, which, in turn, demanded extraordinary investigation on the part of Dr. Jami Farrington.

 

Eager to return to medical practice, Jami had chosen to work a shift in the Medical Center where she could also keep in touch with the crew who had served Manticore so ably. She was finishing her rounds on an unusually beautiful day, the kind one rarely sees in July in San Francisco. The normal billowing fog had dissipated in early morning and Jami's mind was miles away, looking forward to an afternoon on the beach, so she hardly heard the question. "What do you mean, 'Why are we here?'" she asked absently, making a final entry on his record.

 

"I mean why are we here in this hospital, Commander? Why aren't we in the base medical center with the rest of the grunts 'n' squids?" There he stopped, as though he expected her to give the full explanation, and when it was not forthcoming he added, "McCoy Memorial Medical Center?" he continued, "Top floor?"

 

It stopped Jami cold. The top several floors of McCoy Medical were reserved for command staff, flag officers, Council members, ambassadors, and persons of political interest. Since the junior officers in the room were not command staff, flag officers, Council members, or ambassadors, there remained persons of political interest.

 

Oh, surely not, was her first thought, but Ltjg Stantion had succeeded in piquing her interest, so she began to dig, and what she found nearly put her in a tail spin.

 

Manticore's wounded junior officers were segregated, not only from wounded senior officers, but from those in other departments. Visitation among them, which would normally be encouraged in the name of rehabilitation, was discouraged. Surveillance cameras in the rooms fed not to nurses's stations, but to an innocuous room on the third floor, through which doors unregistered "doctors" who had no duties nor assignments moved. Several crewmen who had healed sufficiently for discharge were still in the Center. It did tend to make her wonder exactly what was going on.

 

She decided to check with Admiral DeJariov, who, when questioned, shifted uneasily, stumbled over his words, and otherwise displayed body language that made Jami question even further. DeJariov was obviously not as practiced in deception as were those in Jami's former line of work, and his obvious unease made her question his interest in her well-being, and if perhaps she, too, were a person of political interest.

 

Then DeJariov's aide, Saliq, disappeared. Reassigned, the Admiral said, but where he would not say. So she found out.

 

Things came to a head one brilliant evening, again unusual weather for San Francisco. Perhaps the atmosphere sensed Jami's storm brewing and decided to hold its own storms back a while. In any event, the Admiral had invited Jami to dinner – an uncharacteristic private dinner at the Waterford, one of the most exclusive haute cuisine restaurants in the city, revolving high atop the Waterford Tower overlooking San Francisco Bay. Though she was unsure of his motive in this sudden change of venue, her motive was crystal clear. She decided to play it to the hilt.

 

She wore a simple black silk dress that fell fetchingly over her figure, accentuating both her musculature and her more feminine attributes. At her neck a priceless string of perfect Risan pearls, a gift from Atragon on their fifth wedding anniversary, fell just to her breasts. A matching pair of Risan pearl earrings gently brushed her shoulders where a shimmering spun silver voile draped against a possible evening chill. The combination took DeJariov's breath away and made heads turn in the dining room, exactly the impact Jami had anticipated. Without speaking a word she had gained the upper hand.

 

She ordered Champagne oysters, followed by a signature mushroom consomme Waterford, and smoked duck. He ordered champagne, totally out of character and definitely for some ulterior motive. Somewhere between the soup and main course, Jami began pleasantly, "I've found your truant aide. He's aboard the Manticore. Fancy that."

 

She took a sip of champagne. He almost lost his. "Fancy that," he muttered, dabbing his white tux with a linen napkin.

 

"And, you have our crew under surveillance in McCoy Medical Center. Imprisoned might be a better word."

 

Luckily, this time he had stopped short of a sip or he would have lost a mouthful, which certainly would have earned him another look from the maitre d'.

 

"I'm not supposed to know these things, am I?"

 

By this time DeJariov had stopped eating altogether and glanced at the next table where, not unknown to Jami, sat Inspector General Stephen Morris, listening to every word.

 

Jami took a sip of champagne. "And yet, I do. And I have it stored in a very safe place. It's quite easy to find information when you know where to look." She turned and smiled demurely at Morris, then turned back to Gren. "And there could be quite a stir should the Federation Council find out."

 

DeJariov sat back in his chair and waved off the waiter who was attempting to pour more champagne.

 

"But, I'm sure we can come to an equitable solution." She started in on the duck, taking a chunk from its breast and devouring it with gusto.

 

After a long pause, DeJariov said, "Go on."

 

"The Manticore crew you may keep at McCoy, but you will curtail surveillance. They are to enjoy all the amenities of flag officers and be discharged in a timely manner, then given their first preference in duty postings."

 

He nodded. She ate more duck.

 

"I will be reassigned to Manticore, a shuttle will be ready tomorrow morning, and Lt Saliq will return the shuttle to you."

 

DeJariov glanced at Morris, Morris glanced at Jami, Jami glanced at Gren, who asked, "Is that all?"

 

"No," she said. "I'd like more champagne, please."